Heavy is the crown Beta 1

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<div style="text-align: center;">''//PROLOGUE//''</div> <div style="text-align: left;">''//THE KEY TO ALBION//''</div> Merlin's footsteps were fast, in rhythm with the maddening beat of their hearts. Barely slowing their pace on the stone floor, they took a sharp turn to the left, heading deeper into the underground labyrinth. In the darkened light of the shimmering torches, their appearance surprised the guards. After all, the King had been planning behind their back, they should never have been able to find his spouse. Unless Uther let him. He had changed lately. The thought made the wizard's lips twitch. "Demon seed!" cried one of the guards as he drew his sword from its sheath. Others followed. A demon. Yes, that's what they must have looked like as they continued to advance, unchilled by the metal taking the light. Their eyes with slit pupils in a vertical line were proof of that. "There was a time when you gave me more consideration than this, Sir." Merlin grimaced as he lowered the hood on their head, revealing a mane of 🧙‍''//<<cycle "$Merlinhaircolor" autoselect>> <<option "blond">> <<option "brown">> <<option "red">> <<option "black">> <<option "purple">> <<option "pink">> <<option "blue">> <<option "green">> <</cycle>>//'' hair. "Those days are over, traitor." There was so much gall in that answer. The sorcerer tilted their head slightly to the side and peered at his opponents with a pained look. How long had Uther been whispering his venomous thoughts in their ears? Yet, as sad as the situation was, They answered the guards with words that mixed anger and grief. "I see..." With an imperceptible movement of the wrist, they sent Uther's dogs flying. The King's men crashed against the walls in a symphony of broken bones. They had barely had time to rush towards them, blades in sight. Rag dolls caught in the wind of time. ''//[[And Merlin had little time as Igraine's moans of pain rang out the beginning of a new story.]]//''

''//Heavy is the crown...//'' That's the first thing Merlin said to you after you woke up in his tower (right after he told you that you were definitely not what he expected but that “we'd deal with it.” But how much weight can a bruised ego carry in the face of the survival of a Kingdom?) For generations, your family has been in charge of protecting the Sword of Light, and like every 1st born of your generation, it's up to you to pass it on to its true owner. So here you are, with Clarent, the twin blade of Excalibur in your hands. And according to Merlin that's enough to send you on a quest. You must at all costs reunite the knights of the round table, find Arthur and Morgana and save Camelot (you must also defeat Uther Pendragon, but we'll see about that later...) Anyway, Merlin has assured you that he will accompany you. He's a powerful sorcerer, isn't he? So what could go wrong? ''Heavy is the Crown'' is a text-based interactive fiction heavily inspired by Arthurian Legends The game will focuses on relationships and will be character driven. ''//Moreover, in this story, you have the possibility to choose the physical appearance of the Ros in addition to Mc//'' ''//This emoji will indicate choices concerning Merlin 🧙‍//'' ''//This emoji will indicate choices concerning Mc ⚔️//'' <div class="choice">[[Begin Story|0.0][$abuse to 10]]</div>

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, children." The apology is addressed to the body, yet deep inside, Merlin knows they speak more for themselves. Too many lives have been lost because of them. And if at one time it was possible for them to throw the weight of wasted lives on their own shoulders as well as Uther's, it was not so sure now, as they felt the weight of too many versions on their shoulders. Magic could be cruel, but they were even crueler to themselves. This was their punishment. One they hoped to finally atone. One last time, they thought as they took another step. Immediately, their legs weakened, something ran through their bodies and staggered, they stabilized against the sandstone wall. It was cold to the touch. Vision blurred, they blinked before looking at their dominant hand. Had they just slipped away? For a few seconds? Fear gripped Merlin's heart. They breathed out slowly and deeply, their ears alert for the slightest sound. In the distance, near the entrance of the labyrinth, they could hear the sound of a fight, steel and screams echoing those of Igraine, farther ahead. This did not alarm them as much as their condition. Passing their tongues over their lips, they closed their fist before opening it again. Doing the move four times to make sure they were still there. Their 🧙‍''//<<cycle "$Merlinskincolor" autoselect>> <<option "fair">> <<option "brown">> <<option "tan">> <<option "beige">> <<option "umber">> <<option "olive">> <<option "rosy">> <</cycle>>//'' skin followed the movement of their muscles and reassured them. The grip on their hearts having become less, they resumed their journey, taking one last look at the body they were leaving behind. ''//[[Next|behind]]//''

"You can talk," the archer huffed, crossing his arms. "You're not much older than me." A teasing smile stretched Ector's lips. "I am, however, mature enough not to annoy a wizard." Nostalgia gripped the Sorcerer's chest. The bickering of the two young men had become too familiar. Merlin breathed out, eyebrows jumping violently as their patient shrank. "Enough, we're wasting time, stay here or follow me," they cut off as they turned away, their black cloak flapping in the movement. The children thus disputed, hurried to follow them. Any pockets of resistance the trio encountered were quickly dismantled more cleanly than Merlin had ever done before. Even after so many times, it was reassuring to know that Ector and Lot's skill had not waned. On the contrary, this time the two children that were their companions seemed to handle weapons with the experience of the men they had been in the past. Did their entourage consider them as exceptionally gifted, or was there suspicion? At least the two boys had escaped Uther's clutches in this life. The old dragon's words had not tempted their hearts and the half-demon intended to keep it that way. Too many men had already joined his ranks, driven by desire for glory, power, and the taste of blood for some. The others had succumbed to the sheer weight of fear that the spectacle of Uther's atrocities had instilled in their hearts. And those who had opposed him had ended up perishing, one did not live long when one was not on the side of the King. ''//[[Merlin was the exception.]]//''

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Heavy is the Crown

"Well, life is full of surprises," Merlin glanced over their left shoulder. "And there are two of you, so that's not a problem." "What?" snapped Lot. "I was only supposed to accompany you! It's not fair!" "Life rarely is," the half-demon snarled. "Get over it." "But!" Without paying him any further attention, Merlin turned back to the maid. "Now would be a good time to leave." "My lord?" Ector's voice was as tense as his body. "And I would advise you against returning to the Master you serve. He'll kill you as soon as he hears you." Merlin continued without heeding the interruption. "My King would never..." the young woman began. "Your King is a cruel man and a murderer, did you not ask the Queen?" the half-demon cut her off. "Make haste, you are wasting time." It took the young woman a few seconds to make her choice and, once the look of shock passed over her face, she dropped her load to the ground before scurrying off, her shoes making loud noises on the floor of the now deserted hallway. "Shouldn't we? You know..." questioned the young Lot who had stepped in front of Merlin, bow bent in the direction of the one who abandoned them "I can easily get her." The sorcerer raised one hand. "Save your arrows, Lot. You'll need them on the way back." "Is that a guess or a fact?" the young man inquired, his hazel eyes shining with controlled fear. ''//[[At the wizard's silence, Ector laid a friendly hand on his companion's shoulder.]]//''

"My apologies your majesty." They bowed their head deeply before meeting the Queen's eyes again. "However, I am delighted to see that you are doing well. You are resplendent." Igraine snorted. "I just gave birth to two children, Merlin! How could I look resplendent?!" They opened their mouth but were cut off before a sound could pass their lips. "Enough with the pleasantries, Sorcerer." With a shake of her head, she pointed to the seat on her right. "Sit down! Tell me what's going on outside these four walls." She took hold of their handle. "How's Anna?" In a gesture of appeasement, the half-demon placed their hand on Igraine's. Her skin was cold to the touch and without taking their eyes off of her, they placed themself on the small stool next to the bed. For a few minutes, they silently ruminated, their mind in doubt as to what to say to this woman who had lost everything. Each version of the story began with the same thing. More than sixteen times already, the hourglass had turned over and woken them up on the eve of the invasion of Tintal's castle. This version was no exception. As usual, Merlin had woken up in their tent, in the middle of the military camp, and as always, they had cried. The crisis over, they got up at the messenger's call and headed for the Dragon King's tent. Maybe this time he would be able to stop Uther. They didn't want to mop up the blood he was spilling every time. But soon he realized that it was a fool's hope. Arthur had to be born and for that... His body bent in two and they vomited their guts on the green grass, flattened by too many feet. And after that, there was fire, blood, and screaming. Anna's as her father collapsed to the ground after his head, and Igraine's, even more, horrible as her eyes met Merlin's. But the most horrific was the look on Uther's face and the expression on his face. A twisted satisfaction, a vicious joy. ''//[["Merlin?"]]//''

The honest mistake made the sorcerer's cheeks flush and they bowed their heads in contrition. "I'm sorry," they murmured hoarsely. Igraine was no longer Duchess, so that term of address was no longer relevant. She was Queen, even if it was only a title, and Merlin felt even worse for having stirred the knife in this still open and painful wound. The young woman brushed off their excuses with a sweep of her hand. "Anyway, what about my daughter, Merlin?" They bit their lips. Of course, she couldn't forgive them, Merlin couldn't even forgive themself. Besides, they weren't friends. They were, after all, as guilty as Uther of the young woman's misfortune. Yet they had become partners. Brought together, among other things, by the vagaries of magic. A blessing and a curse at the same time. Oh yes, magic could be cruel and as if driven by its own will, seemed to find it amusing to torture them further. ''//[[It was surely for this purpose that it had pushed the half-demon through the doors of the throne room of Camelot, a week after the invasion of Tintagel.|reminescence]]//''

the honest mistake made the sorcerer's cheeks grow warm and they bowed their heads in contrition. "I'm sorry," they murmured hoarsely. Igraine was no longer Duchess, so that term of address was no longer relevant. She was Queen, even if it was only a title, and Merlin felt even worse for having stirred the knife in this still open and painful wound. The young woman brushed off their excuses with a sweep of her hand. "Anyway, what about my daughter, Merlin?" They bit their lips. Of course, she couldn't forgive them, Merlin couldn't even forgive themself. Besides, they weren't friends. They were, after all, as guilty as Uther of the young woman's misfortune. Yet they had become partners. Brought together, among other things, by the vagaries of magic. A blessing and a curse at the same time. Oh yes, magic could be cruel and as if driven by its own will, seemed to find it amusing to torture them further. ''//[[It was surely for this purpose that it had pushed the half-demon through the doors of the throne room of Camelot, a week after the invasion of Tintagel.|reminescence]]''//

It was a horrible night. The flames that had devoured Gorlois and Igraine's shelter had been replaced by torrents of water in Camelot. It was as if heaven itself was lamenting this waste and mourning all those dead. A hellish wind howled outside, rushing through the corridors and making the living shiver with both cold and fear. Yet Merlin knew that the most horrific aspect of this night was that Igraine would suffer in the hours to come. To swallow their revulsion and walk to the high throne had seemed a tremendous effort, even for them, with demonic blood running through their veins. A hundred men-at-arms stood in the hall, arranged in a guard of honor as if celebrating them, yet not a word came from theirs lips. This layout gave them the impression of a platoon of execution and with each step, Merlin dreaded hearing a blade come out of its scabbard. There was almost no light coming from the outside, thick curtains of purple velvet concealing any welcome warmth and giving the impression of suffocation. The sorcerer had come to believe that Uther preferred his living quarters to reflect his dark and cold personality. It was necessary to climb nearly forty steps to reach the throne. Not an easy undertaking as these were narrow and slippery underfoot, a true metaphor embedded in reality. Merlin remembered Arthur, once, who had turned to him with eyes wide with fear and whispered anxiously. "What if I fall down on the way up? What do I do?" ''//[[Next|king]]//''

All answers were stuck in the back of his throat and Merlin merely bowed his head as they screamed inside. All their cells seemed to have frozen. A shiver ran through their skin again. Why did they choose this turn of phrase? Could it be that Uther knew, that he remembered the many transgressions they had made to shape things as they should be? Moistening their lips, they spoke barely louder than a whisper, fearing the ruler's response. "All wars are alike, my king." Uther's hand came down hard on their shoulder. Crushing it more than squeezing it. "Please, Merlin. You know as well as I do that they're not the same. From time to time, it changes. But I have to tell you, I particularly like this one." Merlin forced a smile on their lips. They felt as if the skin on their cheeks was being ripped off. "Your happiness is my happiness, my King," they offered graciously to the Tyrant. The latter took a deep breath, patted his sorcerer's shoulder, and stepped back. "I don't doubt it, Merlin. I don't doubt it. Good, and now I must go and find my wife." ''//[[Uther's smile turned sharp. "After all, this is our wedding night."]]''//

//"Urg, this is why I hate half seeds. You're weak, Emerys. Looks into his eyes, that's what this bastard thinks too. Prove him wrong, make my day. Seize him by the throat and rip him apart. Seize the throne. Then there's no more trouble!"// A fiery heat coursed through Merlin's veins. //"You see, your teeth are already out,"// Cael rejoiced under their skulls. The hint almost made Merlin jump out of their skin and they winced as they felt their teeth pierce their palate. Their teeth were indeed out." Uther's eyes burned the back of their neck, but Merlin refused to raise their head, no, they were forced to do so by the King himself, who grabbed their jaw and abruptly raised their face to his. "Well, Merlin, are you excited?" Grey eyes harder than steel pierced their souls as Uther lowered his lower lip with his index finger, revealing sharp...demonic canines. Hard organs thirsting for blood. " Do you want to come with me?" A dull roar rose from the depths of Merlin's throat. "I would never dare, your majesty." "Too bad," Uther released his hold. "I like to see you like this, it's how you look the most like me. Especially the eyes, as if there were two of you looking at me." Merlin's heartbeat quickened, and within them, they felt Cael's perplexity stir. The old dragon had never known about Cael, not so soon at least. Not until they clashed on the battlefield. No, that was impossible...The tattoo on their chest suddenly burned their skin, but they refused to associate the two elements. Uther could not know, he could not remember. He couldn't. ''//[[Unthinkable.]]//''

Arielle

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Faint cries roused Merlin from their reverie and they fluttered their eyelids as the background whisper of Igraine's voice grew louder. "They must be hungry," the young mother murmured, directing her gaze to the crib. The chair's feet scraped the floor as Merlin stood up. Nervously, they cautiously walked over to the crib from which came poor wailing. The frantic beating of their hearts swallowed up Igraine's voice again as they bent over to see the baby. No, not the baby, but the babies, the sorcerer frowned, pursing their lips. There were two of them, tucked under that blanket. So small and frail. United, when they were so used to seeing this girl and boy torn apart. A flood of memories nearly drowned them again as they watched the two of them and their knuckles closed tightly on the wood, their $Merlinskincolor's skin clung so tightly to the wood that it cracked slightly. Yet Merlin's nervousness diminished when they laid eyes on Arthur. Lingering on the little being who would grow up to be in a few years, this boy, and then this man they adored so much. "Arthur..." Nostalgia hit them hard, choking their throat. "It always seems to be too long. Sorry, it will be different this time, I assure you," they added in a whisper. //"Isn't that the promise you always make?"// taunted Cael. //"Look where it got us."// "I don't want to hear it, Devourer." retorted Merlin. Taking a breath, the half-demon eyes turned to the second infant and darkened. ''//[[Morgana...]]//''

"It can't have been easy to bring two children into the world one after the other," they commented, looking over their shoulders at the Queen. From memory, it was the first time this had happened since the hourglass began its multiple turns. Igraine raised an eyebrow. "Not easy, Merlin? Have you ever given birth? Childbirth is a battlefield, it's noisy, messy, tiring and potentially deadly. And you ask me if it wasn't easy?" The young woman rested her head against the pillow behind her. "Oh, Merlin you are so far off base." "Well, I don't know if you remember, but I was once a woman," Merlin recalled, clearing his throat. "I remember." A somewhat icy smile stretched Igraine's lips. "And even then, you were with Uther." "Never forever, and always to make the future better. I have always worked in the interests of the people!" They didn't know why the queen's reflection had suddenly offended them so much, perhaps fatigue. But wasn't that the truth? Despite this, they had raised their voices, disturbing the two infants who began to cry with more force. The half-demon winced. They hated that noise. It made it hard for them to concentrate. And it stirred up a paranoid fear in them. And it was this fear that drove them into action. Quickly, they plunged their arms into the cradle to pull Arthur out pressing the baby boy against their chest. "Let's not waste any more time," pronouncing more for themselves than for anyone else, the phrase caught the queen off guard. "What are you doing?" "I'm keeping my promise, I'm going to keep these children safe. Uther must not find them." ''//[[For it was not death that awaited these two little ones if they were discovered or captured, but an even worse fate.]]//''

"Not as much as you and I, but it won't be long now, it seems. Magic is a strange thing..." Raising a hand, they added for Lot who was about to open his mouth again. "I have a lot to explain and not enough time to do it, save your questions for later." "And you have faith in them for my children?" Nodding their head, Merlin went back to the crib to pick up Morgana, gesture uncomfortable and awkward. "Yes, they will do nothing rash and risk their lives for them. And if it makes you feel any better, I want you to know that regarding the mistakes of Lot's past, I have every hope that he will spend the rest of this life making them right. And no, don't question me now Lot! Here, hold her tight! Not like that, idiot, like that!" the sorcerer reprimanded him. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," commented the young archer as he considered the infant in his arms as if it were a previously unknown creature. "I don't know anything about girls," he added alarmed. Ector burst out laughing, only managing to calm down after Merlin squinted in his direction. "Well, you'll learn, Lot. You will learn!" the sorcerer snapped at him. "You really need to find someone, my friend," Ector teased him. Watching the three men in turn, Igraine tried to push back her blankets, sarcasm making itself clear in her words, "Well, that promises for the rest!" Understanding her intentions, Ector approached, allowing the queen to remain alliterated, and knelt down by the ''//[[bed.]]//''

Your world is limited to darkness, and in its icy embrace, your mother's voice still acts as a soft, warm blanket, a flame that brings your dark world to life. <div class="choice">''//[[It wasn't always like this, before you could see perfectly.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You have always known only darkness.]]//''</div>

Her voice is soft and steady, the perfect example of calm and serenity as are her gestures. They're tender and full of love and fill you with the same feelings every time. It's not easy not to talk, some might even think that without words, the relationship you three have is not as authentic as the others, but they are wrong. Words are often just words, sometimes empty and hollow without weight. <div class="choice">''//[[When you sign, and they sign back for you, no one can argue with all the love between you and their sincerity.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[It doesn't matter if you use a pencil and a magic board to communicate, no one has the right to even think that what you write isn't as strong as what you might say.]]//''</div>

You like to see your parents' features stretched into a smile that takes over their whole face and their eyes sparkle. Being deaf, you can only rely on that to communicate with them in some way most of the time. <div class="choice">''//[[You can also read lips and sign your responses to people.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can also read lips and write your answers to your interlocutors.]]//''</div>

<<type 60ms>>\ //''Our world, year XXXX''// \<</type>> Since you left the city, the landscape has been an endless string of the same things, trees, mountains, trees, mountains, you know this road by heart, every turn, every bump of it. Your mother slowly lifts her foot off the gas pedal. At this rate she has already made your car swallow almost half of the kilometers that separate you from your destination. In the passenger seat, your father keeps tapping his foot on the floor in a nervous gesture, and it's not because he's afraid of your mother's driving style. Yet you can't deny that it's fear that's moving his leg so fiercely because the same fear is driving you and sends a shiver down your back. You don't know what it is, but that bad feeling, that black cloud over your head, it weighed on you at dusk as you walked home. Mastering a language without words for years, your parents had stopped in front of your apartment door, before rushing you back into the car. Since then, you've been on the road, and you know it, there's only one place you can go back to so quickly. To the Manor. The Key Manor. The Key family's land extends far beyond what some might think. Your mother often jokes that it is a small country within a country. A country made up of only your family members. <div class="choice">''//[["Are you okay?" your mother asks you in the rearview mirror, her blue eyes finding yours.|Mcpath]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you okay?" your mother asks you, and in the darkness that is your world, her voice is warm and comforting.|BlindMcPath]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you okay?" your mother signs after finding your gaze in the rearview mirror.|MuteMcPath]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The flashing light of the car's overhead light, draws your gaze to the front of the car. Your mother smiles, happy to have been able to get your attention for lack of being able to call you.|DeafMcPath]]//''</div>

Her voice is soft and calm, the perfect example of calm and serenity. Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now?"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?"]]//''</div>

The blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the yellow-orange color of the sun at sunrise and sunset, you used to see them, to take them for granted, until everything was taken away. All it took was an accident, a blink of the eye, and your world was considerably reduced. Maybe it was to balance things out. [[To humble you, who has a gift that is incomparable to others.|BlindMc]]

The blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the yellow-orange color of the sun at sunrise and sunset, you have never seen them, but you have been told of their beauty. However, you understand their deep meaning, you have attributed sensations and emotions to them. Red is warmth, like the sun, blue is the coolness at your fingertips when you dip your hand in the water. The green is the freshly cut grass that you rub with your feet in the garden of the Manor. Maybe your disability was there to balance things out. [[To humble you, who has a gift that is incomparable to others.|BlindMc]]

Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.|blindmc1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now?"|blindmc2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?"|blindmc3]]//''</div>

Don't actions count more than words, they say? When your parents sign for you, you feel included, appreciated and valued. Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.|mutemc1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now? you sign worriedly"|mutemc2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?" You question, your fingers moving with velocity.|mutemc3]]//''</div>

You could sign, like your mother, you learned after all, but you always found it easier to write your answers. If only to communicate with those who don't know how to sign, than to keep your hands safe during the cold winters or the torrential rains that sometimes plague the country, and besides your magic board is pretty, ecological, and infinitely reusable. Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.|penmc1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now?"|penmc2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?"|penmc3]]//''</div>

You have never been able to hear the music of your parents' voices, you don't know if your mother's voice is soft and high pitched or if your father's is deep and gravelly and they have never been able to hear the sound of your voice either. But it doesn't matter if you can't hear any sound, you can still feel. Feel the vibrations of the music blasting from the car radio, and the love of your parents as their pupils widen and you read the words "I love you" on their lips. "Are you okay?" your mother silently articulates in the rearview mirror. Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.|deafmc1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now? you sign worriedly"|deafmc2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?" You question, your fingers moving with velocity.|deafmc3]]//''</div>

You have never been able to hear the music of your parents' voices, you don't know if your mother's voice is soft and high-pitched or if your father's is deep and gravelly and they have never been able to hear the sound of your voice. But it doesn't matter if you can't hear any sound, you can still feel. Feel the vibrations of the music blasting from the car radio, and the love of your parents as their pupils widen and you decipher the words "I love you" on their lips and they write it down on your magic board. "Are you okay?" your mother silently articulates in the rearview mirror. Are you okay? It's a question you've been asked many times, by your parents, your aunts and uncles, grandparents, and even cousins, whether they're younger or older than you. They all orbit around you, hundreds of satellites around a planet. <div class="choice">''//[[You nod with a smile so as not to worry your father.|penmc4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are we safe now?"|penmc5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["How long are we going to stay at the Manor?"|penmc6]]//''</div>

You're used to this kind of behavior. It is a habit, a way of life. It's not the first time and it's certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand...You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod firmly. "I'm good, Mom." Her focused look relaxes and her eyes soften. "So much like your father." A jeering laugh escapes your father's lips. "Too much like me, you mean." The bitterness in his tone of voice makes you purse your lips. "Percy!" your mother exclaims, elbowing him in the face. With a discreet head bob, she points you to your father, but you've noticed that, the same way you've noticed your father's face turning as white as his knuckles. "That's not!" he grimaces and turns to you, pulling on the seatbelt as he does so. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he hesitates and places a hand on your lap. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[[You're not an idiot dad.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I get it dad, don't worry."]]//''</div>

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood it terrifies him and he's already told you many times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, being like him is dangerous, but even so. "I love you too dad." Reassured, he smiles weakly at you and turns back to the''//[[road|soontheroad]]''//.

You should be sure that these words are not addressed to you, it is not against you, but against the likeness you share, against this blood that runs in your veins that this disdain is directed and that terrifies him. hE has already told you several times. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you ask weakly. "Of course I am! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I." He swallows, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you dad." Reassured, he smiles weakly at you and turns back to the''//[[road|soontheroad]]//'' .

You smile. You know that these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, that your father feels so much disdain. What runs in your blood to you and him, it terrifies him and he has already told you several times that he would have preferred that you were different because according to your father, to resemble him is dangerous. "Don't worry dad, I get it." What he's expressing here is a plea to fate, a curse on your heritage, but it has nothing to do with you. He loves you and you are perfectly aware of that. Reassured, he smiles weakly at you and turns back to the''//[[road|soontheroad]]//'' .

"Are we safe now?" You're used to this kind of behavior. Leaving everything at a moment's notice, which is why there are always bags of groceries close by in your trunk, and money stashed here and there. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've been able to move, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't escape unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several wads of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your parents's preferred answer. "Not yet, but we will soon, my love," your mother assures you. Your lips pinch. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds, clenching his ''//[[fists.|soontheroad]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up to the sound of a car door slamming. You wake up groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. A sad whine makes you turn your head. Sitting gently, your dog makes eyes at you from the trunk. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggenderm]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggenderf]]//''</div>

Neither your mother nor your father meets your gaze, but a long silent discussion takes place between them, the features of their faces morphing to reveal a multitude of emotions that you have no trouble putting into words. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother says softly, her eyes sliding slowly to your father. With his face turned to the window, he replies, "We'll be going home to London soon. He sounds so final. <div class="choice">''//[["But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.]]//''</div>

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the manor? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this? So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he asks, turning his head in your direction. Your mother rests her hand on his lap. "Well, we can have two homes, right?" "I guess so," your father murmurs. "But there's only one I like...," he adds even lower. "Percy..." ''//[[You sigh and turn to theroad|soontheroad]]//''

You already miss your home in London, and the few friends you've managed to make. The Manor has always seemed stifling, making you feel tiny in its size and insignificant in its allure. Your family's land has always been intimidating to you, and you always feel like you can't be yourself there, as if more is expected of you than you can give. "I hope so," you make a wish, your stomach growing uncomfortably heavy. ''//[[Your father smiles weakly and you turn to theroad|soontheroad]]//''

It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" you pout. "I don't think this is a good idea." "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend. "Sorry $dogname, I tried..." Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. Flipping down the blinker, your dad looks out the window before starting the car again and you and your mom exchange a look. ''//[["My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks.|safetyissues]]//''

"What?" your father takes offense. "It's a safety issue," he adds, stepping into first gear. Such caution isn't really necessary, as you have long since left behind any cars that might have followed you. Getting to the Key is not easy, and only a chosen few are allowed to drive on this road. And it's not just any old law. Only those with Key blood running through their veins are able to walk the King's Road to the Manor. It remains invisible to all others, with a few exceptions. You and your father fall into the first category, your mother into the second. In your family, we call these exceptions Clairvoyants. Sensitive beings that your family members have managed to raise to a higher level, thanks to faith and most of the time love. In other words, you have to believe. You don't know if your mother shared the faith of the myths and legends that are at the roots of your family (your grandfather would slap you on the back of the head if he heard you think about it, no question of myths and legends for him, but of stories), but she believed in your father and in the feelings that made them vibrate, and this love opened her eyes, very literally. It had torn the veil before her sight, making her a clairvoyant. Blessed by magic, or perhaps cursed. That's what your family is. ''//[[Next|better]]//''

After some time, the Manor finally emerges on the horizon, you guess its shape thanks to the many flickering lights in the windows, like so many people being sheltered inside these walls or outside, in the houses around. The King's road takes you straight to the barrier and you slide into the middle seat with anticipation, your fingers gripping the seats of your parents fiercely. The difference is noticeable instantly, it's like going through a mirror, a door. All the tension in your shoulders loosens up, the muscles in your back relax, and above all, the pressure on your chest evaporates. It's as if something had been extracted from a rock. The discomfort vanishes and you feel whole. You and your father breathe a sigh of relief. "Feeling better?" your mother smiles, her eyes mischievous. Two different answers came to him. "Yes!" and "Why would I feel better!" your father snaps in bad faith and pouts. You continue at this same pace for another twenty minutes, the black sky taking on an industrial orange hue through the window as the streetlights become more present on the path. You have just entered the lower courtyard. More and more houses appear too, some made of wood, others of stone but all placed so that the roof of the next one is always higher than the one of the previous one. A military architecture put in place by your ancestors in order to allow the archers of your family to aim and shoot from their roofs without fear of injuring the archers in front of them, as Bedivère, one of your father's cousins, explained to you one day while you were walking on the estate with your family. ''//[[Next|commmitee]]//''

As you cross the bridge separating the lower courtyard from the large black iron gate leading to the Manor, the car slows down. and your mother leans toward the windshield. "It seems we were expected, here comes the welcoming committee." Your father has an acidic laugh that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Several dozen yards away multiple figures are waving frantically. "More like monitoring, the old man's control freak...," he replies, his face flushed with anger. Your eyebrows furrow with worry and you seek a new position, trying to chase away a different kind of anxiety. It would be foolish to think that this time things will be different. ''//[[Next|home]]//''

If you are ever asked, you will answer without hesitation that yes. Yes, setting foot in Key Manor is an ordeal in itself. How can you believe that assailants could ride in on their horses while you feel yourself wasting away in the back of your own car in that long wait (or agony)! In a movement of despair as much as frustration, you slam your forehead against the backrest in front of you. Please, $dogname is no longer the only one who wants to fulfill a natural need. You are about to ask, "Are we there yet?" When the car stops again. Permanently you hope. You, your dog and your respective bladders will accept nothing else. You let out a sigh, and hurry to get out of the car. You rush to the trunk, which you open with force, a flattened smile on your face. $dogname comes out with as much impatience as you, $doghis barks resounding happily in the night that will soon be over. "Freedom!" you exclaim as your four-legged companion performs a crazy dance involving wagging $doghis butt. How good it is to be able to stretch your legs. Your mother's shoes crunch against the gravel as she walks up to you and puts an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," she smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" "Don't say that!" "I was speaking metaphorically. $dogname, get back over here!" Your recall has no effect. "Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[["That dog is awfully rude!" you pout.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Chicken, sausage, cookie!" you shout.]]//''</div>

You turn to your mother. "Aren't they supposed to be an intelligent race?" Her eyes begin to sparkle with mischief and she rolls her lips together. "It doesn't mean anything, look at you, you're smart and yet you're as stubborn as a mule when you want to be." You squint your eyes as your father is caught in a suspicious coughing fit. "Did you just compare me to a dog and a mule?" "She did, to her own blood. What an unworthy mother." "Ha.ha.ha. How funny you are! We can't have a serious discussion with you," you mutter. ''//[[Next|flowers]]//''

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. With its grey stones, its many towers, and its walkway, it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. Uncles, aunts, and cousins flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center. It's a sight to behold, and yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. Its calm water reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.]]//''</div>

Again, your recall has no effect, or only one. Tail straight, wagging happily as $doghis snout sniffs the grass, $dogname turns to you, stares at you a moment before turning away and continuing his little traffic. What nerve! You tilt your head and find your father's eyes. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Nice try!" "I remember your dad used to do that kind of thing too when you were a baby and you were blubbering." "That didn't work either, you kept crying." They snicker and you sigh. "Don't worry, you'll get it! One day $doghe'll do anything you want." adds your father. ''//[[Next|flowers]]//''

More than once you have been told that this is your task, as well as finding Arthur and making him the true king of Camelot, but this is not an adventure you think about with any joy. What would be the consequences if you failed in your quest? ''//[[Next|Ondine]]//''

"Greetings uncle," you begin, lifting your chin. Manner and appearance are important things, your grandmother told you. There will come a time when you will have to address people of high rank and even though your uncle is only a great fighter and not a king, you owe him respect. "My apologies, I am still training $dogname. I dare to hope that $doghis behavior will not affect our good relationship." Erec bites the inside of his cheeks before clearing his throat, quickly meeting your parents' eyes. "Greetings, sword bearer!" Your father tenses at the term, but your uncle pays no attention to it and places his left hand over his heart before tilting his head in your direction. "It is an honor and a pleasure to receive you home, be reassured our relations are not marred by the behavior of your dog." ''//[[Next|greetings]]//''

Your uncle's eyes sparkle and he blows out an amused breath before bringing your hand to his lips. Your pulse quickens, but you concentrate on keeping a calm expression. You shouldn't be so flustered by this gesture, it will be the norm in Albion. "Too long indeed," the man agrees. "I'm glad to have you here, we all are." "My apologies for $dogname's behavior it doesn't excuse anything, but I am still honing $doghis education." Your uncle graciously tilts his head. ''//[[Next|greetings]]//''

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away to roam your face. You beams, then add with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|greetings]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" You gasp, out of breath. "Breathe, my joy at seeing you again won't last long otherwise!" he laughs as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|greetings]]//''

"Hello uncle," you mumble. "How are you doing?" "Hello," he lowers himself in front of you and you breathe easier, he immediately looks less impressive. "How are you holding up?" You tug on your fingers "Sorry about $dogname $doghe is still young and learning." "That's okay." "I'll do my best to get $doghim to learn." "Take all the time you need." ''//[[Next|greetings]]//''

"If the greetings are over, can I have the spot now?" Your uncle steps aside to let appear. "Aunt Elaine!" "Sup kid!" Dressed in cargo pants and combat boots, she gives you a smirk. At her belt is a quiver full of arrows and in her hand, she holds a black duffel bag that tints as she drops it to the ground. The sound of weapons rises to your ears. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks, raising an eyebrow. Your aunt hugs your mother before turning to him. "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," Elaine rolls her eyes. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." Your father winces and she puts an arm around his waist. "I missed you," he whispers. $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $doghe licks your fingers and you scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired as he detailed your four-legged friend. you nod. <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">>""And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" "Yes" Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise and he whistles. "Well, that's a surprise." He adds behind his hand, "I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." The goal was probably to be discreet, but your father heard and his response is cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," "Play nice, you two." Your aunt looks at them in turn and Erec raises his arms, dismissing himself. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Your dad snort.. <<else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature..." Your uncle nods his head satisfied with his inspection. "$doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> ''//[[Next|LancelotKey]]//''

"Safe, you mean like you did with me and Anna. I haven't forgotten, you didn't answer my question, about my eldest child." Igraine snarled, seemingly having regained her strength amidst her worry. Remorse crushed the intestines of the sorcerer who exhaled with annoyance. "Don't be unreasonable, Igraine. They must leave and quickly! Anna is alive," they added in an attempt to appease Igraine. "Unreasonable, me!" the Queen took offense as they turned toward the door. "Ector, Lot, make haste both of you." The two young men entered the room, their eyes riveted to the floor, seeking to accommodate the queen as much as to preserve her modesty. But their contrition did not soften the young woman. Their name alone had awakened in her a dangerous flame of rebellion. Or rather a name, that of Lot. Nothing Merlin could not foresee. Such a reaction was expected, natural even, but ill-timed at this moment. "You!" roared Igraine, staring at the young Lothian with a fiery look of anger. "You coward, traitor, murderer!" No doubt she would have beaten the young man to death had she been able to stand up. The Queen's vociferations almost made the young Lothian jump out of his skin, then the surprise and fear passed, it was an expression of frank anger and incomprehension that painted his features. "What? What! What have I done?" "Nothing, please get over the Queen's anger," sighed Merlin, who felt the weight of fatigue building on their shoulders. "You're not the one being insulted!" cried Lot as Igraine became more offended. "I have every reason to be angry! This man is one of Uther's dogs!" ''//[[Next|Utherdog]]//''

"I think it's a beautiful name." add another voice "Lancelot, how you have grown!" your mother gushed. "Hello aunt, hello uncle, it's a pleasure to see you again." You tilt your head to the side. You didn't hear him arrive, Lancelot is always so quiet. Silent as a shadow. There are many who congratulate him on that. Just like with his father, you take the time to observe him. As your mother said, he has grown, but you couldn't tell by how much. He was always taller than you. Six years your senior, just as his father is your father's first sword, Lancelot is yours. Your cousin swore protection and service to you the year he turned 14. That was two years ago and you still remember it well. Even before that, he was always kind to you, loyal, and helpful. The ceremony only enhanced qualities that were already present in him. You are not mistaken, however. For as gentle as he can be with you, he can be harsh and unyielding with those who displease him or wish you ill. His eyes find yours and a tender smile stretches his lips. Your heart tightens as he drops to one knee in front of you. He takes your hand and places a kiss on your fingers before resting them against his forehead. The greeting saved for the bearer by their blades and shields. A rule that your aunt and uncle did not respect when they greeted your father, but Lancelot was always very serious. ''//[[Like the one whose name he takes.]]//''

"Your fingers are icy," he notes. "Huh?" "And your lips are blue," he adds after running his eyes over your face. A certain annoyance is perceptible in his tone and you shift from one foot to the other. "Sorry," you says. His eyebrows furrow. "Why are you apologizing? You are in no way responsible, my father should not have made you stay in this cold." "So serious..." If a look could kill, Lancelot would be accused of patricide. "As I must be!" Your cousin sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." with a movement of his shoulder, he gets rid of his jacket and places it on your shoulders. He stays there, close to you and you suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. Your uncle raises an eyebrow. "Your cousin needs a Blade, not a second mother," he lets out as he sees Lancelot fussing around you. Your first blade stops and bristles. "I have taken vows of protection //and// service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, one word in particular. Your name. "My charge," he mumbles, unable to meet your gaze. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." "And it's not a curse either," your father agrees. ''//[[Next|mcname]]//''

Lancelot straightens up and walks a little away from you without even being aware of it before coming back. He moistens his lips, looks for help everywhere, without finding any, then his eyes fall on you again. Your throat tightens and you struggle against the pressure behind your eyes, threatening to break like a dam. Your family has a long tradition with names. They all have to remember the characters - no, the people - that run through Arthurian stories. Is stories even the right word? Erec, Elainne, Lancelot, Ana, Gareth and Percival. The names of the members of your family might sound like a strange whim of a myth-lover, but you know it's not. It is not a whim, but an obligation, a necessity started by one of your ancestors and continues to this day. Until the end. Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. ''//[[An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you.]]//''

However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the voices rose between them, how the angry silences were long- But they are still there, and so are you. "Lancelot," you beg. "please." The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear shines in his eyes as your name falls from his lips in a low voice. ⚔️ <div class="choice">''//[[Susan]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|Mcname]]//''

"Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. The sky is slowly turning pink as you and your cousin approach the stone steps. With each step, the shadow of the Manor expands and lengthens above you, as it is gently rocked by the light of the emerging day. In the park, the birds come to life, but their chirping does not help you shake the lethargy that embraces you. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you, -straight and proud posture, his chest is not bulging, but it's just the same- and as usual <div class="choice">''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You feel yourself straightening up, showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.]]//''</div>

"Lancelot?" "Yes?" "Walk with me, please." "Isn't that what I do?" "I mean by my side," you clarify with a smile. He hesitates, his mouth opening slightly and his eyebrows furrowing. "Should I order you to do it?" you ask, pained. "You are my first Sword, but you are first and foremost my cousin, please Lancelot," you add, reaching out to him. "Walk beside me." A soft smile stretches his lips and he quickens his steps to stand beside you. "Giving me this order will not be necessary," he confirms before adding with tender eyes. "Thank you." "You're welcome!" ''//[[Next|equal]]//''

At the top of the steps, your grandfather sits enthroned, surrounded by his Swords and Shields. But even in this crowd, we only see him. Fifty-two years of experience follow your every move, with his grey eyes. There is no anger in his eyes, but you can't help but wonder what you are sending back to him each time. What does he see when he looks at you? His flesh and blood? Nothing but a symbol? Both at the same time? Lancelot gives way to the four adults who have caught up with you and your father puts a protective arm around your shoulders, his right hand gripping your bicep with strength. A squeeze on your hand is the last encouragement your mother gives you before you climb the stairs together. Four generations stand aside as you pass, bowing their heads as the last Sword Bearer and the future one finally return home. Your steps stop in front of Gareth Key, your grandfather, the man who for nearly three decades has been the leader of your family. The man your father has had so much trouble interacting with and vice versa. You can already feel the uneasiness twisting your stomach and making your palms sweat. The man's features are frozen in a stern expression, lips flat. His eyes only scan your father up and down quickly before a softer glow softens them when he turns to your mother. "It's a joy to see you again, Ana. Your beauty only grows with the years, but I regret to see it tainted by the fatigue of a nomadic and selfish life," he sighs casually. Your muscles tense and you hold your breath, the ground at your feet suddenly becoming extremely interesting. You feel as if they've jettisoned it... Oh by Merlin...Here it begin. ''//[[Next|begin]]//''

The tone employed for your mother is affectionate, almost tender, but the subtext is clearly for your father. The verbal spike doesn't miss anyone and it plunges directly into the previous Sword Bearer's chest. An awkward silence descends on the assembly and the hairs on your arms stand on as your father tightens his grip on your arm. An unconscious gesture that makes you let out a small gasp of pain. our mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and meet the steel gray of the patriarch's pupils. He raises an eyebrow and you inhale, throat dry. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." You could swear you see his lips begin to lift, but there is no trace of humor when he answers you. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They have one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>> Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|angrydad]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>> Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|angrydad]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>> Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|angrydad]]//''

You pale as much as your father turns red. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and his features distorted by a deeply buried wrath freezes your blood. His mouth opens, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your sight is blocked, and your hearing is impeded, but these bonds are not strong enough to prevent everything and you hear. You hear those words that no child should throw in the face of their parents; that no parent should hurl in the face of their child. <div class="choice">''//[[Bursts into tears.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please, stop!" you beg them.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Try to break up the fight.]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes you and scorches your soul. Your body is too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, who presses you harder against her and buries your face in her chest. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You give in, exhausted, and leave her to support you. You worry briefly about whether your tears will make her feel even colder, but only briefly your brain can't continue to feed such futile reflections. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice and sobs didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You sniffle and rub your eyes with your sleeve, trying to keep your sobs to a minimum. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|grouphug]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. "Stop, please stop!" you plead. The words seem to scrape your dry throat. You're not even sure they can hear you as they continue their face-to-face. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump and immediately close your mouth. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|grouphug]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you cry out, arms spread wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" "The $youngPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|grouphug]]//''

Now that all eyes are on her, Lady Blanchefleur carefully arranges the white woolen shawl draping her shoulders before placing her hands flat on her lap. Caelia doesn't miss a beat and Iseult slides her chair over to you after your great-grandmother bows her head slightly. She is ready, she is the true Mistress of the House, the oldest Sword Bearer. "Well, now that you're done acting like a bunch of hysterical baboons, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on here?" she asks quietly. Her steel gray eyes move from your grandfather to your father to you before your uncle Erec finds the courage to answer her. "Lady Grandmother," he begins. She raises a hand. "Have I spoken to you?" "No, but..." "Then why are you talking to me? You will open your mouth when I allow you to, until then, keep it shut." Your uncle's jaw snaps shut and your aunt has a suspicious coughing fit. Again the leader of the first generation scans the other Swordbearers with her eyes. "Well, I'm waiting. Can't any of you three give me any answers?" Only silence is heard and your great-grandmother raises an eyebrow. "I see. Well, then it must not have been important." You could have sworn you saw your grandfather fidgeting, like a child caught in the act, and Lancelot's lips turn up for a mini-second. "Well, now that that's settled, let me remind you all of what's important," Now she encompasses everyone with her gaze, stopping on none in particular. "Three members of our family, hunted like animals and enemies soon to be on our doorstep, have you nothing better to do than to stand here like a herd of cows ready for the slaughter?" ''//[[Next|Blanchefleur]]//''

The response is immediate, and as your grandfather bows and whispers "Very well, mother." the members of your family get to work as if defrosted by a flame. You watch as some of them rush to the barn while others rush to the cars, bags full of weapons under their arms. Your father pulls you and your mother out of the way as your grandfather takes one last look at his older son before sighing. "The barrier," you hesitate for a moment. "It's going to stop the Trepassers, right?" "It will," your great-grandmother confirms. "And we're going to eradicate them, so that you, your father, your grandfather and our entire family will be safe." You glance at your mother, who returns a relieved smile. "But it's only temporary, you understand," Lady Blanchefleur adds, pointing at you. You nod as Lancelot's hand rests on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll keep you safe." Only now do you realize that his civilian clothes are mixed with his armor. Lady Blanchefleur nods and dismisses your cousin with her hand. "Go, now. $name has enough cousins to stay with $them. "Gawain, I entrust you with our Bearer," throws your first sword over your shoulder. Gawain's hazel eyes glow and his chest puffs out. "You can count on me. Good luck guys!" he calls out as Cara, Tristan, and Isolde join Lancelot in one of the family's black SUVs. Tires screech on the gravel as six cars race toward the lower court. Out of the corner of your eye, your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction and the hooves soon get lost in the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations. Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to hum. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. Everyone can see it, not as well as you, but they can. <div class="choice">''//[["Be careful, guys!" You implore.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Give them hell!" You call out.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently, your cousins know what they're getting into.]]//''</div>

The sight of your cousins leaving like that to welcome danger churns your stomach. So much can happen on a battlefield. It's all decided in a matter of seconds. What if you saw them there for the last time? "Please, please, be careful! Come back to me healthy, I'll blame you if you come back to me wounded!" Your voice trembles. They have to come back! Alive, not hurt, not... Alive, period! "That's an order!" you complete your sight blurring with emotion. Isolde pauses just before climbing into one of the vehicles. She smiles at you, nods softly, and places her hand over her heart before pushing it back towards you. She leaves her heart here so that nothing and no one can harm it. Therefore, she is obliged to come back to you. At least that's what you say at home and you hope with all your being that it's true. ''//[[Next|grouphuge1]]//''

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. As Tristan, Laudanne and Lancelot finish loading the SUVs, your eyes meet and you nod. They nod in return. Soon, they will be back. ''//[[Next|grouphuge1]]//''

The oldest of the Sword Bearers tightens her shawl over her shoulders and sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes, dismissing you with a shake of her head. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." She blows out an amused and tired breath. "Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's lips when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, and you hand her the leash. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you whisper as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. ''//[[She barely smiles, but winks at you.]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. $dogname's paws echo against the marble floor as he gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. "Easy," he cries as Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that his blue eyes are shining with tears. He's only seven and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" exclaims Gawain a little hesitantly, glancing at you. Bo nods vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." That's an understatement. Their screams are still bouncing around underneath your cranium. You're not sure you're going to forget all those words for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. '//[[Next|GawainKey]]''//

Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he stammers. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just nods and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders and smiles for both of you. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." "So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaims Bo in his little voice. "Adults are silly!" confirms Leo. He is already on the floor above and is forced to shout to be heard, leaning over the railing. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" you answer anxiously, looking at him. "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" You hope so, at least. Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though Bo seems a little brighter. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours. <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.]]//''</div>

The young king was only fourteen at the time, and Merlin had smiled tenderly assuring him that no one would let him down. Lancelot and the King's half-brother nodded in agreement. "Take your time, one step at a time," the half-demon had replied, moved by the boy's innocence. Uther had never fallen, never even stumbled. He always swallowed those damn steps with the look of a man ready to devour the world. And where Arthur always had so much trouble sitting down, Uther let himself fall into a smug attitude, one leg over the other over the wooden armrests carved to look like your dragon scales. Supposed to tear your skin with every brusque movement, yet leaving him untouched. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Merlin bent slightly, enough to fool Uther into feeling a false sense of dominance over them, but also making sure they could scan the room for Arhen. The garnet dragon never left his Master for long. But there was no sign of him, another factor that distressed Merlin. Finally, the tyrant spoke: "Merlin! My dearest friend! How happy I am to see you," he said as he rose from his seat of power before spreading his arms wide. A gesture that would have seemed almost friendly if Merlin didn't fear Uther so much. "What did you think of the wedding?" he continued as he descended the stairs, Excalibur hanging menacingly from his belt. ''//[["Don't you think it went better than the other times?" he asked finally, placing one of his rough hands on their shoulder.]]''//

Merlin's lips parted. What wedding? Igraine had never been given one, even if she wanted to. The union of Uther and the Lady of Tintal had been made on the road between the two castles, by a priest who had been too afraid to oppose the King, as many were. //"Like you,"// Cael added casually, making Merlin want to vomit. Yes, just like them. But not this time. They had to try. "If you'll forgive me, Your Majesty. Lady Igraine has had a long journey, perhaps it would be better to wait a few days so that..." "And allow some fools to gossip about my marriage. No, Merlin, I don't think so. You know that although a marriage is not considered complete until it is consummated. I've already done Igraine a great favor by waiting until now." Another carnivorous smile. "You know how much I burn for her, right?" The half-demon closed their jaws sharply. Struggling to keep a mask of politeness as disgust, anger, and regret made their way down their throats. Igraine would certainly rather be burned in the first sense of the word than what lay ahead. That was a certainty. A thunderous laugh shook Uther and echoed loudly in the room. "Unless you want to stop me of course." He cocked his head to the side. "Well?" Merlin almost laughed at this absurdity, at this lack of courage, at this cowardice of themself. Oh how they hated themself. Did they have any choice but to let this filth unfold? They needed Arthur. Against all odds, despite the pain and empathy they had for Igraine, they needed Arthur. And the boy was not born of immaculate conception. He was the blood of the dragon. Of a dragon that stood before him. ''//[[Defeated, Merlin bent their neck.]]//''

//"Really?"// Mouth dry, Merlin digressed to another topic. "And the girl, what do you intend to do with Lady Anna?" After a hesitation, they added. "She's only a child. She's barely ten years old." "What about her? Do you take me for a Tyrant, my friend? She's a child, as you just pointed out, and am I not her father now?" By force, following the murder of her real father. A murder she had witnessed. "Don't worry, my friend. I intend to teach Anna everything I know." A terrifying prospect. Again the sorcerer's lips parted, only to close again without words. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Try not to do anything stupid, Merlin." As he walked past them, he glanced over his shoulder. "You know what happens to the person who betrays me, right?" They knew it //"But we're going to do it anyway, right?"// Cael's question was rhetorical, so Merlin did not answer. //"Emerys...you did understand that he knew, right?"// the soul eater continued as they both followed the tyrant with their eyes. "I do." //"It was just to make sure. Oh how fun it will be."// ''//[[As Caël's laughter echoed in their eardrums, Uther disappeared behind the throne room doors.]]//''

"I love you too, Mom!" he smiles over his shoulder before spreading his arms to receive his brother in them. "Hi big brother, I missed you," he adds as your dad rests his forehead against his shoulder. The two men stand there for a few minutes and you catch your mother wiping away a tear before giving your uncle a big smile as he moves to hug her. "Hi, Ana," he whispers. "It's good to see you." She kisses him on the cheek before he turns to you, a grin on his lips. You take a moment to detail him with your eyes. Surprisingly, it has been a year since you last saw each other. It's been a mild year, attack-wise. He looks so much like your father. Your eyes linger for a few seconds on his left cheek on which a scar proudly stands, just above his cheekbone. A dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.]]//''</div>

<<set $name to "Susan">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Edmund">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Lucy">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Peter">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Eustache">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Polly">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

<<set $name to "Jill">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

"Your first name is Arthur, it's up to you to choose which surname you want to take. The Fay or Pendragon or whatever you like better, it doesn't matter because it's not the name that makes the person. Remember that as you grow," the young mother whispered as she brushed her nose against her newborn's skin. "And know that I love you, and it doesn't matter what the circumstances of your birth are, you had nothing to do with it, so don't go feeling guilty, little man." "I'll make sure he knows that, your majesty," Ector assured. "You have a son, right?" "Yes." Igraine's eyes found Merlin, her lips puckering somewhat, freezing the tenderness she'd shown minutes before to move into a stoicism befitting the rank she'd been forced into. With a wave of her hand, the Queen begged Lot to come forward and as he sheepishly stepped forward, she repeated for her daughter the same words she had spoken to her son. Planting a kiss on her forehead as a parting gift, she murmured a weak "I love you" and let her children go with trembling lips. "Here," Merlin indicated as the three of them left the Queen's chamber. "Crush it and it will transport you to the place of your desire," the half-demon explained as he handed them a small pearl. Ector considered the gift carefully. "Be careful though, it's only for one use and the item will wear out your energy to function so beware," Merlin added, holding up a finger. Lot grimaced, "The famous price of magic..." ''//[[Next|Price]]//''

"Understood, my lord." The young Ector slipped the pearl into his pocket. "Albion is a vast land, but Uther has a dragon and many spies, as much as possible we will avoid the cities and villages, as previously planned." "The situation has changed, you will not be traveling together either," Merlin confirmed as they glanced over to Morgana who was fidgeting in Lot's arms. "Uther must not get his hands on the two plausible heirs to the throne." Lot's eyes scanned the deserted hallway as if Arhen's shadow would fly over it at any moment. "That might not be very comfortable for small children," he muttered with a concern that reminded Merlin that in this life, the young adult he was had seen his family decimated. Even the youngest children. The sorcerer nodded without being able to provide a solution. "Be careful, normally I would have put a protection spell on you, but..." the sentence hung in the air, and Merlin's eyes could not sustain the inquisitive looks of their allies. "I can only offer you a simple prayer. Then may the spirits keep you, I do not bid you farewell for we will meet again." "You will find us? Ector argued. "Not you, them," Merlin corrected. ''They always found them.'' ''//[[Next|Queenroom]]//''

As they entered the Queen's room again, Merlin caught her wiping her nose with the sleeve of her nightgown. They hid a smile and cleared their throat. "Merlin!" gasped the young Queen. "What are you doing here?" To regain her composure, she worked to arrange her bedspread. "You seemed so frantic earlier that I was sure you'd already abandoned me." "And yet, here I am," they said as they slowly walked over to take their seats beside Igraine. "Didn't I already tell you that things had shifted? Lot for example..." they tried to argue before being rudely interrupted. "Don't try to make me feel any pity or sympathy for Lot, what little of that I had left went with my daughter earlier." In a gesture of appeasement, they raised their hands before pulling from under their long cloak a silver flask. This one was cold, but its contents froze them even more. They pursed their lips as they stared at the container. "Yes," they murmured slightly absently. "I guess some things are just hard to change." Their eyes moved from the object to Igraine's, catching her staring at the flask as well. They took her hand in theirs, and without a shadow of a doubt, they distinguished the weak swallow of the young woman. "That's why..." they gulped as well. "Your majesty, I regret to inform you that you cannot leave this room alive..." ''//[[That night, under cover of a starless sky, plunged into darkness, Merlin, Ector, and Lot took different paths, all three driven by fear, but all equally driven by hope, waiting for a door to open.]]//''

//"You really don't like her."// Did love even have anything to do with it? They and she had been in separate camps too many times to count. Friendships turn to betrayal when allowed to spring up in place of hatred. Morgana had always seen them as the bad guys, and in a way, she wasn't wrong. Everyone was the bad guy in someone else's story. But maybe things would be different this time. //"Or, we can make sure that no trouble comes at the wrong time right now. Nip the snake in the bud, if you know what I mean."// //"Tempting,"// Merlin mused for half a second before he felt a taste of bile invade their mouth. "No! Stop poisoning my mind. I'm not going down that road." //"Oh please, Emerys! You went down that road a long time ago. It's dark, sure, but it doesn't have to be lonely and that's where I come in. Trust me, I only want the best for you. I only want to see you reach your full potential."// Merlin tore themself away from the overly burdensome connection that bound them together. Cael's voice drifted back into the depths of their being in a frustrated growl, leaving them alone. At least for now. The sorcerer was not so naive as to believe that this was over or that they would not need the soul eater's help soon. He was, nevertheless, an asset that only a fool would part with. Giving themself a few minutes to regain their composure, the sorcerer exhaled sharply. ''//[[They didn't want to dwell on how they might or might not feel about Morgana.]]//''

His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. "See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." [[Next|steps]]

Although numerous, the human defenses that Uther had raised against them offered only futile resistance. The magical energy flowing through their veins was too strong for these people to pose any danger to themselves. Even without that, could one really think that a demon's offspring were defenseless? It would be almost comical. Nimble and with a swiftness far beyond that of an ordinary man, Merlin avoided a crossbow bolt before stopping a sword coming at them with their bare hands. No scales for them, though they had had horns as children. The steel cut into the flesh, drawing blood, and the half-demon snarled in pain. Their guard was wide open, making them easy prey, at least that's what the other guard thought. Seeing his chance, he began to lower his sword, too slowly though as an arrow came to rest between his eyes. He fell backward and the sound of the blade hitting the ground could not cover the scream of his comrade. Only another blade silenced the screamer. Right in the chest. The scream became a chirp, lips open to let a ruddy liquid flow out in abundance. The second guard joined his comrade on the ground as soon as the deadly blade withdrew from his body, revealing Sir Ector. The blade in the knight's right hand glistened with blood and his shoulders jerked as he caught his breath. A tender smile stretched the sorcerer's lips, how good it was to see an ally. "Lord Merlin," the young man greeted, breathless. Merlin's reply was muffled by an impressed whistle. "Well, you've wreaked havoc, Lord Merlin!" The half-demon's 🧙‍''//<<cycle "$Merlineyescolor" autoselect>> <<option "red">> <<option "brown">> <<option "blue">> <<option "black">> <<option "green">> <<option "gray">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "pink">> <<option "purple">> <<option "amber">> <</cycle>>//'' eyes deviated to the right where Sir Lot stood, bow in hand and nearly empty quiver at his belt. Their smiles immediately faded. The sight of him always had the effect of making them raise their guard. With suspicion, they watched as the young man went to retrieve his arrow stuck in the forehead of the first guard. ''//[["You left us with almost nothing to do!" the young Lothian exclaimed over his shoulder.]]//''

The nonchalance of the young man, further chilled the wizard's heart and inflamed the blood in his veins. "Try to dampen your enthusiasm in my presence, Sir. Spilling blood is not a joyous thing. And it won't make you any more honorable either, even if they are opponents," he replied bitingly. Lot flinched and Ector winced. "And yet you're the one who left a trail of blood behind you in the corridors," the young man grumbled. Merlin glowered at him. "And I hate every moment of it!" ''//[["Forgive him, Lord Merlin. He is young, and youth is not the best quality sometimes. It tends to make us open our mouths more than we should," Sir Ector apologized, sheepishly to his comrade.]]//''

Uther had always been brutal and vicious, but his evil nature had only grown with each version of his life. A fact for which the King had thanked Merlin during their last meeting. All smile. A cold and carnivorous smile. The wizard had shuddered before retorting vehemently. They were nothing like him. At this point, Uther had burst out laughing madly. //We are two sides of the same coin, my old friend. You made me what I am, and I made you what you are. This is all your doing.// A taste of bile had invaded Merlin's mouth, disgust suddenly too strong. For there was some truth in the Mad King's speech. The idealism they had so cherished had pushed them down paths they should never have taken. Especially knowing how capricious magic can be, but their ego had gotten the better of their discernment and in the end, each of them had suffered and continued to suffer. And in trying to break this crazy cycle, Merlin had drowned their hands in blood. Sometimes literally. //And it was great, wasn't it?// Merlin suddenly froze, as if frozen in ice. "My lord? Are you all right?" questioned Ector, a hand raised over the enchanter's shoulder. "Don't even think about it," they replied coldly, glaring at the impudent hand. They hated physical contact. They had become a more and more dirty, hateful being with each of their different lives. They would not pass on the evils that plagued their being to others a second time. ''//[[Never again.]]//''

//You're a demon, being hateful is in our nature, Emerys!"// the voice in the hollow of their ear spoke in exasperation. //Lie// Merlin thought firmly, clenching their jaw. That's what they would have liked to say, but after all this time, all the things they had done, it would have sounded like an excuse. And they were inexcusable. "Let's continue." As the young Lot peered at them, Sir Ector gently lowered his hand back against his thigh. The half-demon didn't care about the behavior of the former, nor did he bother to give an explanation to the latter. After almost a year, they felt that the two young men had gotten used to their character. Soon the stone under the trio's feet turned into tiles and the guards into servants. Anxious whispers replaced the sound of blades. The place was, however, quite outdated. No portraits or tapestries adorned the walls, and a mildew smell hung in the air. Less than a castle, it was a prison. A clear indication of what Uther thought of Igraine. Not a queen, perhaps not even a woman anymore, only a means. The voice beneath their skull snickered //Is it not the same for you, Emerys?// Again, Merlin did not answer. Igraine had fallen silent, and a dozen meters away from them, the door on the left opened, the air moving with the motion made the torch flame flicker near the hinges. The sight of the Enchanter and the two armed men made the maid stop. The half-demon ignored the basin of ruddy water in his hands. "Thank you for your services, I'm sure the Queen greatly appreciated it." "It was only for the twins," the woman stammered as she took a step back towards the Queen's chamber. Merlin's eyelid muscles jumped at the mention of "Twins," betraying his surprise but he didn't let it show more than that. "Twins? Lord Merlin, didn't you say the Queen would give birth to a son? Only a son?" Ector questioned incredulously. ''//[[Next]]//''

At the door, Merlin hesitated for a moment. They hadn't seen Igraine since...since her first night at Camelot Castle, a little over nine months ago. They pressed their lips together to hold back the horrible taste of bile that rose in their throat, shaken by a wave of memories of that night. They breathed in deeply. "Stay here and stand guard, please. You'll come in when I tell you to." Alone, they entered the Queen's chamber. A large fire was burning in the fireplace that warmed the room. This one was, to Merlin's great relief, more comfortable than they would have thought at first. Uther had to have descendants, after all. He might as well have kept the mother comfortable until then... Three other midwives quickly withdrew as they entered and they were left alone with the smell of incense wafting through the room, the sounds of labored breathing and the lighter sounds of two infants. They didn't dare approach the crib against the wall but were happy to see that it had been moved away from the window. An "accident" could happen so quickly, Uther changed his mind so easily. With a hesitant, almost clumsy gait, he walked to the bed and gently pulled back the deep green velvet curtain that protected the Queen from the cold. ''//[[Two determined eyes stared at them, but it was the sarcasm that froze them in place. "You're late, Merlin! You'll excuse me, I couldn't wait for you!"]]''//

They jolted, Igraine's voice bringing them back to their present preoccupations. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I was lost in thought." It was always the same thing. Uther's conquest was coming down like a flood on Albion, a scarlet tidal wave that was destroying everything in its path and Merlin was unable to stop it. Worse still, they had to let it wash away these lands so that another, more worthy, would not sit on the throne of Camelot. Igraine raised an eyebrow. "Your Grace?" <div class="choice">''//[[Merlin's cheeks took on a scarlet hue.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Merlin felt their cheeks heat up.]]//''</div>

"He is not, Igraine!" abruptly replied Merlin, promptly forgetting title and etiquette before the archer could continue this futile argument. The Queen wrinkles her nose "Oh, my deepest apologies! That must have been in another lifetime then!" "Exactly," the sorcerer confirmed seriously as he lodged little Arthur in Ector's arms. "Here, and be careful with his head." then they added for the Queen "I bey you, your Majesty. There is no more time. Uther's breath is constantly on my neck, as you know. Soon he will be here. I appeal to your love for these children. Trust me." "And for that, I should give them to this...this..." The disgust Lot inspired prevented him from finishing her sentence. "Not him, your majesty. The object of your anger is not in this room." "I am totally lost," Lot muttered. "I confess I am too," Ector declared hesitantly before taking a step forward, cradling the boy in his arms. "But your majesty, I can assure you that if we are loyal to someone, it is only to you, the lord Merlin and...and these children," the young knight added as he looked down at his precious bundle. "It's strange, I've never seen him, but I have the feeling I already know him, I've already loved him..." "That must be because you have a weakness for anything cute," Lot whispered, glancing at his companion and the child. "You're like that with little Kay, too." Rolling his eyes, Ector elbowed him. "As I tell you, your Majesty, we are not loyal to the Tyrant Uther, in fact quite the opposite and if we have done anything to offend you, we apologize!" "But we have done nothing!" Lot exclaimed, shaking his head. "You really must learn when to shut up, Lot," Merlin chided him. The exchange was interrupted by a weary sigh. All anger had left Igraine's features, only sadness and deep weariness remained. It devoured her still young face and pinched Merlin's heart. As she stared at her only son in the knight's arms she asked, "So, they remember nothing?" ''//[[The two men gave the half-demon a quizzical look.]]//''

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. You look at your linked hands for a moment, Gawain's hand is all warm and soft, still lacking the knight's calluses. He would be offended if you told him, but you don't care. It's so comforting. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons his exploration of the area and comes to press his nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." <<type 60ms>>\ ''//[[The next morning|morning1]]//'' \<</type>>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons his exploration of the area and comes to press his nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." <<type 60ms>>\ ''//[[The next morning|morning1]]//'' \<</type>>

You're used to this kind of behavior. Leaving at any moment, that's why there are always bags of groceries in your trunk, and money hidden here and there. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've moved, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't get away unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several wads of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your father's preferred answer. "Not yet, but we will be soon, my love," your mother assures you as you hear her fingers tapping vigorously on the wheel. Your lips pinch. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds. His tone is firm, and determined. ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

You are used to this kind of behavior. It is a real habit, a way of life. It is not the first time and it is certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand...You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod your head firmly. "I'm fine, Mom." Her tone of voice changes, the tension giving way to a vibrant softness. "So much like your father." A jeering laugh escapes your father's lips. "Too much like me, you mean." The bitterness in his tone of voice makes your lips purse. "Percy!" your mother exclaims, and you distinctly hear the muffled sound of a blow against some clothes. A pause follows and you tilt your head to the side, straining your ear (it always impresses those around you how your other senses have developed). Soon your eardrums are flooded with the erratic pulses of your parents' heartbeat, an admission of anxiety, anger or fear that they can't hide from you. "It's not!" your father assures you as you sit up straight in your seat. He turns to you, tugging on the seatbelt. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he hesitates and places a hand on your lap gently and carefully. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[[You're not an idiot dad.|Blindmc4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"|Blindmc5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I get it dad, don't worry."|Blindmc6]]//''</div>

A long silence greets your question and two pulses begin to beat more frantically in unison. Your own heartbeat adds to the cacophony in your eardrums and you breathe in to keep from drowning in the commotion. A silent discussion takes place between your parents, you know them too well to overlook just as it is easy to guess their thoughts. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother says softly, the hesitation palpable in her voice. "We'll be going home to London soon," your father adds. He sounds so definite. <div class="choice">''//[["But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"|Blindmc7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.|Blindmc8]]//''</div>

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood has him terrified and he's already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, being like him is dangerous, but even so. "I love you too dad." His heart rate slows and an amused breath escapes him. "I love you until the end of time." ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

You should be sure these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the likeness you share, against that blood that runs through your veins that this disdain is directed and terrifies him and he has told you many times before. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you ask weakly. "Of course it is! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I..." He swallows his pulse still racing, unable to finish his sentence. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you Dad." ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

You smile. You know that these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, that your father feels so much disdain what runs in both your blood, it terrifies him and he has already told you several times that he would have preferred that you were different because according to your father, resembling him is dangerous. "Don't worry dad, I get it." What he's expressing here is a plea to fate, a curse on your heritage, but it has nothing to do with you. He loves you and you are perfectly aware of that. ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the mansion? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this. So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he asks, turning his head, his voice closer to you. It's not a question that expects an answer and you remain silent. "Well, we can have two houses, right?" your mother says too cherfully. "I guess so," your father murmurs. "But there's only one that I like...," he adds even lower. "Percy..." You hear this, and your heart pinches painfully. ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

You already miss your home in London, and the few friends you've managed to make. The Manor has always seemed stifling, making you feel tiny in its size and insignificant in its allure. Your family's land has always been intimidating to you, and you always feel like you can't be yourself there, as if more is expected of you than you can give. "I hope so," you make a wish, your stomach growing uncomfortably heavy. Your father smiles weakly. "Hold out your hand, please." he says. You obey and his hand closes over yours, warm and calloused. "I promise." ''//[[Next|Soontheroad1]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up to the sound of a car door slamming. You wake up groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. A sad whine makes you turn your head. The sound squeezes your heart and you can only imagine your dog in the back making eyes at you. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggenderm1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggenderf1]]//''</div>

<<set $doggender = "male">> <<set $doghe = "he">> <<set $doghim = "him">> <<set $doghis = "his">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. At the word walk, $dogname barks happily. "Sweetheart,It's pitch black outside. Even with the moon, we can only partially see what surrounds us. " she begins anxiously before you cut her off. "Since when are you afraid of the dark? Please mom, listen to $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please! And I'm not afraid of the dark!" you pout. You have learned to live with it, to dominate it. "I don't think this is a good idea." "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds somberly. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers.. "Sorry $dogname, I tried..." Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat. Flipping down the blinker, your dad doesn't start the car immediately. You smile "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep her tone neutral. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues. So much laughter in her intonations. ''//[[You giggle.]]//''

<<set $doggender = "female">> <<set $doghe = "she">> <<set $doghim = "her">> <<set $doghis = "her">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. At the word walk, $dogname barks happily. "Sweetheart,It's pitch black outside. Even with the moon, we can only partially see what surrounds us. " she begins anxiously before you cut her off. "Since when are you afraid of the dark? Please mom, listen to $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please! And I'm not afraid of the dark!" you pout. You have learned to live with it, to dominate it. "I don't think this is a good idea." "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds somberly. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers.. "Sorry $dogname, I tried..." Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat. Flipping down the blinker, your dad doesn't start the car immediately. You smile "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep her tone neutral. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues. So much laughter in her intonations. ''//[[You giggle.]]//''

If you are ever asked, you will answer without hesitation that yes. Yes, setting foot in Key Manor is an ordeal in itself. How can you believe that assailants could ride in on their horses while you feel yourself wasting away in the back of your own car in that long wait (or agony)! In a movement of despair as much as frustration, you slam your forehead against the backrest in front of you. Please, $dogname is no longer the only one who wants to fulfill a natural need. You are about to ask, "Are we there yet?" When the car stops again. Permanently you hope. You, your dog and your respective bladders will accept nothing else. You let out a sigh, and hurry to get out of the car. Using the car's bodywork as a guide, you walk to the trunk and search for a few moments before finally managing to open it. $dogname comes out with as much impatience as you do, $doghis barking echoing happily in the night that will soon be over. "Freedom!" you exclaim! How good it is to be able to stretch your legs. Your mother's shoes crunch against the gravel as she walks up to you and puts an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," you hear her smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" "Don't say that!" "I was speaking metaphorically. $dogname, get back over here!" Your recall has no effect. "Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[["I can ''see'' that!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Why doesn't my own dog listen to me?!"]]//''</div>

You roll your lips together to stop yourself from laughing and fail miserably as your father and mother each punch you in the arms. "That was a good one," you laugh, dodging your parents' fragile assaults as best you can. "Your humor is terrible, another thing you inherited from your father," your mother teases. "You like my sense of humor, you always have!" your father mockingly takes offense. "You misunderstand, it's not your humor I've always liked, it's you." your mother's voice turned honeyed. "Yuck, that's disgusting. I can't see, but I can hear, you know! Do that somewhere else!" The two giggle like middle schoolers. ''//[[Next|effect]]//''

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. Grey stones, many towers, and a walkway, your mother describes it to you multiple times. it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. You can tell by the number of feet hitting the ground, your family's land always seems to push your other senses to the max, making them stronger. Uncles, aunts, and cousins certainly flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center without a doubt. And yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. You know it's there, even if its water is calm. Its reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.|Blindmc9]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?|Blindmc10]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.|Blindmc11]]//'' </div>

Clarent will never be yours, not really. The sword belongs to someone else, but one day you will have the honor of freeing it from its rocky grip. To you the honor of girding it the time to find Arthur. What could be more exciting? "Mom?" you ask in a whisper. "Yes?" "Is she here, the nymph of the fountain?" You dare not ask your father, knowing only too well how he will answer. A pause "Yes, she is, she greets you," your mother answers. You form her image in your mind, her body undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad tilting her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother will probably greet her with a shy smile but your father won't give her a glance, you know that. Sad to say, he's long since lost any sense of wonder at them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stands guard. You wave your hand discreetly in the fountain's direction, hoping that the spirit will see you. ''//[[Next|fontain]]//''

What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap? More than once you have been told that this is your task, as well as finding Arthur and making him the true king of Camelot, but this is not an adventure you think about with any joy. What would be the consequences if you failed in your quest? "Mom?" you ask in a whisper. "Yes?" "Is she here, the nymph of the fountain?" You dare not ask your father, knowing only too well how he will answer. A pause "Yes, she is, she greets you," your mother answers. You form her image in your mind, her body undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad tilting her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother will probably greet her with a shy smile but your father won't give her a glance, you know that. Sad to say, he's long since lost any sense of wonder at them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stands guard. You wave your hand discreetly in the fountain's direction, hoping that the spirit will see you. ''//[[Next|fontain]]//''

Your eyebrows furrow slightly at the sight of the blade. You have never really shared the enthusiasm of your family members. No strong feelings about your quest. It is a duty that you will try to accomplish as best you can. The possibility of failure has never plunged you into a lake of doubt or fear, that's how life goes. Someone will certainly take over, your child or their child after them, but you refuse to let this duty weigh on your back more than it should. "Mom?" you ask in a whisper. "Yes?" "Is she here, the nymph of the fountain?" You dare not ask your father, knowing only too well how he will answer. A pause "Yes, she is, she greets you," your mother answers. You form her image in your mind, her body undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad tilting her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother will probably greet her with a shy smile but your father won't give her a glance, you know that. Sad to say, he's long since lost any sense of wonder at them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stands guard. You wave your hand discreetly in the fountain's direction, hoping that the spirit will see you. ''//[[Next|fontain]]//''

"That dog better stay away from mom's irises." You recognize that voice. Younger than your father's, it shares some similarities with his, although it lacks the sharpness of your father's. He and your uncle have not been through the same thing. Behind him come two other people, whose steps are light but not timid on the gravel. Together they start the long and arduous process of saying hello to everyone (for that alone, you wish your family was smaller). "She treats them like her children, I'd even say she loves her flowers more than her children!" your uncle continues, an affable smile on his ton as he trots in your direction. "Erec!" "I love you too, Mom!" His steps stop and your father takes a quiet intake of breath. "Hi big bro, I missed you," your uncle adds. The two men stand there for a few minutes before your uncle moves to greet your mother. "Hi, Ana," he whispers. "It's good to see you." She kisses him, voice wavering before he turns to you. With careful steps, you move forward with your hands forward. Out of habit, he kneels down and you move your fingers along his features taking a moment to detail him. Surprisingly, it has been a year since you last saw each other. It's been a mild year, attack-wise. His skin is smooth except for the scar on his right cheekbone. You measure her with your fingers, your head spinning a little as you feel her stretch out. It's dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. Your fingers return to the bottom of his face and you feel the skin around his lips stretch into a smile. You can't help but smile too. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.|chin]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"|chin1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.|chin2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.|chin3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.|chin4]]//''</div>

"Greetings uncle," you begin, lifting your chin. Manner and appearance are important things, your grandmother told you. There will come a time when you will have to address people of high rank and even though your uncle is only a great fighter and not a king, you owe him respect. "My apologies, I am still training $dogname. I dare to hope that $doghis behavior will not affect our good relationship." Erec coughs and you suspect a cover-up on his part. Is he holding back from laughing? "Greetings, sword bearer!" Your father tenses at the term, you can feel it, "It is an honor and a pleasure to receive you home, be reassured our relations are not marred by the behavior of your dog." You wonder if he respected etiquette and placed his left hand against his heart before answering you. You'll ask your mom about that later. ''//[[Next|Later]]//''

"If the greetings are over, can I have the spot now?" Your uncle steps aside and you smile as you assemble the voice to a person. "Aunt Elaine!" "Sup kid!" She steps forward and you can hear the sound of arrows clanging in a quiver. You jump as something crashes to the ground, another clink and you frown. The sound of weapons rises to your ears. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks. Your aunt pass from your mother to your father "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," That's sarcasm or you don't know anything. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." Definitely sarcasm. You bite your lip hard not to laugh, it wouldn't be right. Your father winces but soon whispers to his little sister "I missed you." $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $doghe licks your fingers and you gasp before scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired. you nod. <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">>""And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" "Yes" Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise and he whistles. "Well, that's a surprise." He adds behind his hand, "I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." The goal was probably to be discreet, but your father heard and his response is cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," "Play nice, you two." There is some tension in your aunt's words and you fidget. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Erec say on the defensive. Your dad snort. <<else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature...$doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> ''//[[Next|LancelotKey1]]//''

"I think it's a beautiful name." add another voice "Lancelot, how you have grown!" your mother gushed. "Hello aunt, hello uncle, it's a pleasure to see you again." You tilt your head to the side. You didn't hear him arrive, Lancelot is always so quiet. Silent as a shadow. There are many who congratulate him on that. Just like with his father, his voice is as sweet as honey. If your mother says so, it's probably true. He's likely grown, not that you're surprised. He was always taller than you. Six years your senior, just as his father is your father's first sword, Lancelot is yours. Your cousin swore protection and service to you the year he turned 14. That was two years ago and you still remember it well. Even before that, he was always kind to you, loyal, and helpful. The ceremony only enhanced qualities that were already present in him. You are not mistaken, however. For as gentle as he can be with you, he can be harsh and unyielding with those who displease him or wish you ill. The tone of his voice changed from warm and honey to cold and minty. Your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and a movement of air tells you that Lancelot has approached you, the breeze bringing to your nostrils the smell of jasmine that characterizes him. Your heart tightens as you sense him drop to one knee in front of you. He takes your hand and places a kiss on your fingers before resting them against his forehead. The greeting saved for the bearer by their blades and shields. A rule that your aunt and uncle did not respect when they greeted your father, but Lancelot was always very serious. ''//[[Like the one whose name he takes.|blindmc12]]//''

"Your fingers are icy," he notes. "Huh?" "And your lips are blue," he adds. A certain annoyance is perceptible in his tone and you shift from one foot to the other. "Sorry," you mumble. "Why are you apologizing? You are in no way responsible, my father should not have made you stay in this cold." "So serious..." If a sentence could kill, Lancelot would be accused of patricide. "As I must be!" he snaps. Your cousin sits up. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." The sound of a zipper is heard and Lancelot's voice resumes more gently. "Don't be afraid, I'll put my coat on your shoulders." You are about to refuse when the weight of the garment lands on your shoulders, blocking out the cold. A traitorous sigh escapes you and your fingers close on the edges of the jacket. It's leather, but its smell is largely eclipsed by your cousin's, who remains nearby. You suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. "Your cousin needs a Blade, not a second mother," your uncle retorts. He's never been particularly thrilled with the fact that everyone's looking out for you so carefully. You remember hearing him say once that it wasn't helping you, quite the opposite. A sentiment your parents share, although they can't help but worry too much. And by your grandfather, who takes it even harder than your uncle. As if you were not subject to anything, really. Which is not a good thing either. Your first blade bristles. ''//[[Next|13]]//''

"I have taken vows of protection //and// service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, one word in particular. Your name. "My charge," he mumbles. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." "And it's not a curse either," your father agrees. Lancelot walks a little away from you, jasmine leaves you while remaining in the air to become more present again a few seconds later. Lancelots' feet trample the gravel. He swallows, once, twice, stops and walks again, sigh. Your throat tightens and you struggle against the pressure behind your eyes, threatening to break like a dam. Your family has a long tradition with names. They all have to remember the characters - no, the people - that run through Arthurian stories. Is stories even the right word? Erec, Elainne, Lancelot, Ana, Gareth and Percival. The names of the members of your family might sound like a strange whim of a myth-lover, but you know it's not. It is not a whim, but an obligation, a necessity started by one of your ancestors and continues to this day. Until the end. Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you. ''//[[Next|14]]//''

However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the voices rose between them, how the angry silences were long- But they are still there, and so are you. "Lancelot," you beg. "please." You've already had your sight taken away, if your cousin denies you your name, then what? Tentatively, you take a step forward, seeking to reach him. The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear tainted his voice as your name falls from his lips in a low voice. <div class="choice">''//[[Susan|15]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund|16]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy|17]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter|18]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill|19]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache|20]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly|21]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|mcname1]]//''

<<set $name to "Susan">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

<<set $name to "Edmund">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

<<set $name to "Lucy">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

<<set $name to "Jill">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

<<set $name to "Eustache">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

<<set $name to "Polly">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

You walk in silence and you get a little annoyed to appear so hesitant in your steps. It's been a long time since you set foot on your family's land, perhaps the layout has changed. Have they added new paths? New bushes that might get in the way? You press your lips together. In the park, the birds come to life, but their chirping does not help you shake the lethargy that embraces you. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you. "You have something to ask me, Lancelot?" "How did you?" He sounds so surprised. "You keep swallowing and I can feel your gaze piercing the back of my neck." you smile. "Yes well...forgive me, but I was wondering if you needed help?" "With what? The dog or walking?" "Not with the dog..." "Lancelot, it's my eyes I miss, not my legs! I can walk by myself, thank you. But since you mention it." ''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.|22]]''//</div> ''//[[You straighten up., showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.|23]]//'' </div> ''//[["Next time you imply something like that, I'll punch you in the nuts Dardevil style," you quip.|24]]//'' </div>

"Lancelot?" "Yes?" "Walk with me, please." "Isn't that what I do?" "I mean by my side," you clarify with a smile. He hesitates. "Should I order you to do it?" you ask, pained. "You are my first Sword, but you are first and foremost my cousin, please Lancelot," you add, reaching out to him in the dark. "Walk beside me." He quickens his steps to stand beside you. "Giving me this order will not be necessary," he confirms before adding voice soft. "Thank you." "You're welcome!" "We're coming up the stairs," Lancelot finally whispers to you. "Yes, I know," you whisper back. The conversations you could hear up front have been quiet for several minutes. "And they're all looking at us, aren't they? Including Grandfather." "Including Grandfather." What does he see when he looks at you? His flesh and blood? Nothing but a symbol? Both at the same time? You always wonder. ''//[[Next|25]]//''

Your etiquette lessons come back to you once again. You are not just anyone, you are the future Sword Bearer and as such you must show as much dedication in your behavior and actions as Lancelot does. You lift your chin, push your shoulders back, adjust your steps. You don't walk, you glide gracefully. Well, as elegantly as you can, while trying to maintain the pace of $dogname for whom pace is a completely unknown thing. "We're coming up the stairs," Lancelot finally whispers to you. "Yes, I know," you whisper back. The conversations you could hear up front have been quiet for several minutes. "And they're all looking at us, aren't they? Including Grandfather." "Including Grandfather." What does he see when he looks at you? His flesh and blood? Nothing but a symbol? Both at the same time? You always wonder. ''//[[Next|25]]//''

Lancelot laughs, "Got it, $name! I won't say anything else. But if you need anything..." "You're right there. I know, yes." "We're coming up the stairs," Lancelot finally whispers to you. "Yes, I know," you whisper back. The conversations you could hear up front have been quiet for several minutes. "And they're all looking at us, aren't they? Including Grandfather." "Including Grandfather." What does he see when he looks at you? His flesh and blood? Nothing but a symbol? Both at the same time? You always wonder. ''//[[Next|25]]//''

Lancelot gives way to the four adults who have caught up with you and your father puts a protective arm around your shoulders, his right hand gripping your bicep with strength. A squeeze on your hand is the last encouragement your mother gives you before you climb the stairs together. Peoples stand aside as you pass, welcoming the last Sword Bearer who cross the bridge to Albion and the future one finally return home. Your steps stop in front of who you know is Gareth Key, your grandfather, the man who for nearly three decades has been the leader of your family. The man your father has had so much trouble interacting with and vice versa. You can already feel the uneasiness twisting your stomach and making your palms sweat. The man's features at this moment are unknown to you, but you can hear his heartbeat. Steady. Your father swallows hard and his heart starts to race. "It's a joy to see you again, Ana. Your beauty only grows with the years, but I regret to see it tainted by the fatigue of a nomadic and selfish life," Your Grandfather sighs casually. Your muscles tense and you hold your breath. Oh by Merlin...Here it begin. ''//[[Next|26]]//''

The tone employed for your mother is affectionate, almost tender, but the subtext is clearly for your father. The verbal spike doesn't miss anyone and it plunges directly into the previous Sword Bearer's chest. An awkward silence descends on the assembly and the hairs on your arms stand on as your father tightens his grip on your arm. An unconscious gesture that makes you let out a small gasp of pain. Your mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and feel his gaze on your face. His pupils are grey, you know. Like the steel of a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Your father always advised you to beware of that stare. You inhale, throat dry. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." An amused, barely audible breath escapes from his lips, but there is no trace of humor when he answers you. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"|27]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"|28]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They have one, use it, damn it!"|29]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>"Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father remains silent, and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." ''//[[A pause, more than a hesitation.]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>"Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father remains silent, and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." ''//[[A pause, more than a hesitation.]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>"Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father remains silent, and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." ''//[[A pause, more than a hesitation.]]//''

You pale. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and a dull roar goes up along his throat, a feral and furious noise that freezes your blood. He inhales, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your hearing is impeded, but this bond is not strong enough to prevent everything and you hear. You hear those words that no child should throw in the face of their parents; that no parent should hurl in the face of their child. ''//[[bursts into tears.|30]]//'' </div> ''//[["Please, stop!" you beg them.|31]]//''</div> ''//[[Try to break up the fight.|32]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes you and scorches your soul. Your body is too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, who presses you harder against her and buries your face in her chest. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You give in, exhausted, and leave her to support you. You worry briefly about whether your tears will make her feel even colder, but only briefly your brain can't continue to feed such futile reflections. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice and sobs didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You sniffle and rub your eyes with your sleeve, trying to keep your sobs to a minimum. In the silence now returned, two pairs of feet stepped forward, accompanied by the familiar sound of Lady Blanchefleur's wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference, you remember, so they are probably the ones accompanying her. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|Blanchefleur1]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. "Stop, please stop!" you plead. The words seem to scrape your dry throat. You're not even sure they can hear you as they continue their face-to-face. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump and immediately close your mouth. In the silence now returned, two pairs of feet stepped forward, accompanied by the familiar sound of Lady Blanchefleur's wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference, you remember, so they are probably the ones accompanying her. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|Blanchefleur1]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you cry out, arms spread wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" "The $youngPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. In the silence now returned, two pairs of feet stepped forward, accompanied by the familiar sound of Lady Blanchefleur's wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference, you remember, so they are probably the ones accompanying her. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|Blanchefleur1]]//''

In the silence now returned, two pairs of feet stepped forward, accompanied by the familiar sound of Lady Blanchefleur's wheelchair. "Well, now that you're done acting like a bunch of hysterical baboons, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on here?" she asks quietly She is ready, she is the true Mistress of the House, the oldest Sword Bearer. And she didn't come to hand out candy. Nobody dares to say a word, before your uncle Erec finds the courage to answer her. "Lady Grandmother," he begins. "Have I spoken to you?" The ton is firm. "No, but..." "Then why are you talking to me? You will open your mouth when I allow you to, until then, keep it shut." Your uncle's jaw snaps shut and your aunt has a suspicious coughing fit. "Well, I'm waiting. Can't any of you three give me any answers?" Since she rebuked your uncle, you think that her words are only addressed to your grandfather, your father, or you. once again, only silence is heard and your great-grandmother quip. "I see. Well, then it must not have been important." You could bet your grandfather fidgeting, like a child caught in the act, and Lancelot's lips turn up for a mini-second. Your great-grandmother has this effect on people. "Well, now that that's settled, let me remind you all of what's important," Now she encompasses everyone. "Three members of our family, hunted like animals and enemies soon to be on our doorstep, have you nothing better to do than to stand here like a herd of cows ready for the slaughter?" ''//[[Next|33]]//''

The response is immediate, and as your grandfather bows and whispers "Very well, mother." the members of your family get to work as if defrosted by a flame. Your father pulls you and your mother out of the way. Somewhere before you, your Grandfather sighs and go. "The barrier," you hesitate for a moment. "It's going to stop the Trepassers, right?" "It will," your great-grandmother confirms. "And we're going to eradicate them, so that you, your father, your grandfather and our entire family will be safe." You sigh with relief and your mother gives your shoulder a fond squeeze. You smile. "But it's only temporary, you understand," Lady Blanchefleur adds, right before you rest. You nod as Lancelot's hand rests on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll keep you safe." Lady Blanchefleur hums and dismisses your cousin. "Go, now. $name has enough cousins to stay with $them. "Gawain, I entrust you with our Bearer," says your First Sword over your shoulder. There is pride in Gawain's voice as he answers. "You can count on me. Good luck guys!" he calls out as your older cousins depart. Tires screech on the gravel as six cars race toward the lower court. Your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction and the hooves soon get lost in the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations, with a well-honed strategy. Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to hum. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. <div class="choice">''//[["Be careful, guys!" You implore.|34]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Give them hell!" You call out.|35]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You turn towards the gates, silent. Your cousins know what they're getting into.|36]]//''</div>

Your cousins leaving like that to welcome danger churns your stomach. So much can happen on a battlefield. It's all decided in a matter of seconds. What if you "saw" them there for the last time, what if you hear and smell them there for the last time? "Please, please, be careful! Come back to me healthy, I'll blame you if you come back to me wounded!" Your voice trembles. They have to come back! Alive, not hurt, not... Alive, period! "That's an order!" you complete your eyes filling with tears. "Then in that case, I leave my heart here!" This is Iseult's voice, the sweet Iseult who will certainly end up on a roof, shooting arrows. "I'll keep it safe, eagerly awaiting the time to give it back to you," you reply as is customary before wiping your nose against your sleeve. She leaves her heart here so that nothing and no one can harm it. Therefore, she is obliged to come back to you. At least that's what you say at home and you hope with all your being that it's true. Your Great-grandmother sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation that you recognize either by their voice or by their smell, remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. He smells like candy. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." She blows out an amused and tired breath. ''//[[Next|37]]//''

You are overcome with a powerful rush of ego knowing your cousins running into danger. Maybe Lady Blanchefleur's words had something to do with it, but you feel stronger, invigorated. You're not afraid anymore, you're even angry. How dare the trespassers think they have the right to hunt you down, to set foot in this place? "Give them hell," you shout to your cousins. The tone of Cara's voice is almost carnivorous as she answers you in a shout. "I'll give them worse than that!" It's a good thing...or so you think. Your Great-grandmother sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation that you recognize either by their voice or by their smell, remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. He smells like candy. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." She blows out an amused and tired breath. ''//[[Next|37]]//''

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. Soon, they will be back. Your Great-grandmother sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation that you recognize either by their voice or by their smell, remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. He smells like candy. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." She blows out an amused and tired breath. ''//[[Next|37]]//''

"Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's lips when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, and you hand her the leash with somewhat clumsy fingers. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you whisper as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. ''//[["Don't mention it little one."]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. You will have to be more careful than usual, fatigue and narrow steps do not mix well. $dogname's paws echo against the marble floor as he gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. "Easy," he cries as Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that the beating of his heart, although calmer, still beats very fast. He is only seven years old and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" exclaims Gawain a little hesitantly. Bo agreed vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." That's an understatement. Their screams are still bouncing around underneath your cranium. You're not sure you're going to forget all those words for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he stammers. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just hums and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders, her perfume composed of flowers behind which hides a praline note moves on your left. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." ''//[[Next|38]]//''

"So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaims Bo in his little voice. "Adults are silly!" confirms Leo. Judging by the resonance and the way he screams to be heard, he has already reached the floor above you. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" you answer anxiously. He has a bad habit of doing that. "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" You hope so, at least. Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours, his skin shyly seeking yours. . <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.|39]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.|40]]//''</div>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. You look at your linked hands for a moment, Gawain's hand is all warm and soft, still lacking the knight's calluses. He would be offended if you told him, but you don't care. It's so comforting. "If you want we could watch a movie! You can nibble and I'll describe everything I see to you in detail!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and he jumps voicing his excitement before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousin' voice is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Silence followed before it got smothered by the warmth your cousins gave you as they got closer to you. Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." he said. ''//[[The next morning|morning2]]//''

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he just pats your shoulder. "If you want we could watch a movie! You can nibble and I'll describe everything I see to you in detail!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and he jumps voicing his excitement before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousin' voice is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Silence followed before it got smothered by the warmth your cousins gave you as they got closer to you. Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." he said. ''//[[The next morning|morning2]]//''

You are used to this kind of behavior. It is a real habit, a way of life. It is not the first time and it is certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand... You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod your head firmly. "I'm fine, Mom." you sign, holding up your hands so she can see you in the rearview mirror. Her focused expression relaxes and those eyes soften. "So much like your dad." A mocking laugh escapes your father's lips. "Too much like me, you mean." The bitterness in his tone of voice makes your lips pursed. "Percy!" your mother exclaims, elbowing him in the arm. With a discreet shake of her head, she points you to your father, but you've seen it, the same way you see your father's face turn as white as his knuckles. "That's not!" he grimaces and turns to you, pulling on the seatbelt making himself. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he hesitates and places a hand on your lap. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[[You're not an idiot dad.|mutemc4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"|mutemc5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I get it dad, don't worry."|mutemc6]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. Leaving at any moment, which is why there are always bags of groceries in your trunk, and money stashed here and there. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've moved, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't get away unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several bundles of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school, and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your father's preferred answer. Not yet, but we will soon, my love," your mother assures you. Your lips tighten. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds, clenching his fists. ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

Neither your mother nor your father meets your gaze, but a long silent discussion takes place between them, the features of their faces morphing to reveal a multitude of emotions that you have no trouble putting into words. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother says softly, her eyes sliding slowly to your father. With his face turned to the window, he replies, "We'll be going home to London soon." He sounds so final. <div class="choice">''//[[But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"|mutemc7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.|mutemc8]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. It is a real habit, a way of life. It is not the first time and it is certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand...You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod your head firmly. "I'm fine, Mom." you write, holding up your magic board so she can read in the rearview mirror. Her focused expression relaxes and those eyes soften and smiles. "So much like your dad." A mocking laugh escapes your father's lips. "Too much like me, you mean." The bitterness in his tone of voice makes your lips pursed. "Percy!" your mother exclaims, elbowing him in the arm. With a discreet shake of her head, she points you to your father, but you've seen it, the same way you see your father's face turn as white as his knuckles. "That's not!" he grimaces and turns to you, pulling on the seatbelt making himself. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he hesitates and places a hand on your lap. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[["You're not an idiot dad."|penmcdad]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"|penmcdad1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I got it dad, don't worry."|penmcdad2]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. Leaving at any moment, which is why there are always bags of groceries in your trunk, and money stashed here and there.You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've moved, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't get away unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several bundles of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school, and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your father's preferred answer. Not yet, but we will soon, my love," your mother assures you. You shift in your seat. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds, clenching his fists. ''//[[Next|it]]//''

Neither your mother nor your father meets your gaze, but a long silent discussion takes place between them, the features of their faces morphing to reveal a multitude of emotions that you have no trouble putting into words. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother says softly, her eyes sliding slowly to your father. With his face turned to the window, he replies, "We'll be going home to London soon." He sounds so final. <div class="choice">''//[["But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"|silenty]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.|silenty1]]//''</div>

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." you hasten to sign. You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood, it terrifies him. He's already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, being like him is dangerous, but still. "I love you too dad." you add, pointing at yourself before crossing your fists in front of your heart and pointing back at him. Reassured, he smiles weakly at you, blows you a kiss and turns back to the road. ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

You should be sure that these words are not addressed to you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, against this blood that runs in your veins that this disdain is directed. That terrifies him and he has already told you several times. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you sign weakly, with hesitant gestures. "Of course it is! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I." He signs, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you dad." ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

You smile. You know that these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, that your father feels so much disdain. What runs in both your blood is frightening to him and he has already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, to resemble him is dangerous. "Don't worry dad, I get it." you sign quickly. What he is expressing here is a plea to fate, a curse against your heritage, but it has nothing to do with you. He loves you and you know it. ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up to the sound of a car door slamming. You wake up groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. A sad whine makes you turn your head. Sitting gently, your dog makes eyes at you from the trunk. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggogenderm1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggogenderf1]]//''</div>

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the mansion? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this. So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he signs, turning his head in your direction. Your mother rests her hand on his lap. "Well, we can have two homes, right?" "I guess so," your father murmurs. "But there's only one I like...," he adds even lower. "Percy..." ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

You already miss your home in London, and the few friends you've managed to make. The Manor has always seemed stifling, making you feel tiny in its size and insignificant in its allure. Your family's land has always been intimidating to you, and you always feel like you can't be yourself there, as if more is expected of you than you can give. "I hope so," you make a wish, your stomach growing uncomfortably heavy. Your father smiles weakly. ''//[[Next|idiotdad]]//''

<<set $doggender = "male">> <<set $doghe = "he">> <<set $doghim = "him">> <<set $doghis = "his">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. $dogname barks happily, full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins signing before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." She glances at your father whose eyes quickly follows your movements while you re-sign your request once again, after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. Flipping down the blinker, your dad looks out the window before starting the car again and you and your mom exchange a look. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|issues]]//''

<<set $doggender = "female">> <<set $doghe = "she">> <<set $doghim = "her">> <<set $doghis = "her">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. $dogname barks happily, full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins signing before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." She glances at your father whose eyes quickly follows your movements while you re-sign your request once again, after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. Flipping down the blinker, your dad looks out the window before starting the car again and you and your mom exchange a look. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk ''//[[Next|issues]]//''

Your mother's shoes crunch against the gravel as she walks up to you and puts an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," you hear her smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" you sign theatrically. "Don't say that!" "I didn't say it, I signed it," you retort mischievously. Your mother slaps your arm playfully and you duck, your eyes following $dogname as it scurries further and further away from you. With some trepidation about the outcome, you reach into your pocket for the clicker your father bought you when he brought your new family member from the shelter. You push the button twice. But your recall has no effect. "Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[[Harasses the clicker, overwhelmed with negatives emotion.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[It's time to pull out your secret weapon.]]//''</div>

''Come back, come back, for Merlin's sake!'' you think as you furiously press the clicker again and again. That's all we needed after everything else. Your escape, the anguish, and the tiredness make boil in you an explosive cocktail which ends up in big tears. ''Come back!''.Why, why do you never have control over anything? Kneeling in front of you, your father signs with a slight smile on his lips: "I assure you that the clicker works very well, no need to get restless on it. With his thumb, he pushes away the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. "Then why doesn't $doghe come back!" "Give $doghim time, everyone learns at their own pace." "Or maybe not! Maybe $doghe doesn't want to obey me because I'm inadequate!" Your father's face darkens. "There's nothing inadequate about you." "Where did you hear that kind of thing?!" your mother quickly signs before hugging you. "You are capable of so much!" Enough! Can't they see that? You take a step back and slam the edge of your left hand against your right palm. Stop! Your parents share a look and your father opens his lips again but you repeat the sign one more time. The force of your movement hurts a little, but not as much as their stubbornness. "Stop saying that! I'm not like you, I can't do everything!" You take a step back, shutting down and your parents share a pained look. ''//[[Next|welcome]]//''

You squint, at this lack of cooperation. Since it's like that, it's time to pull out your secret weapon. Sophie the Giraffe is about to enter the scene. You rummage around in the trunk a bit before pulling out the squeaky toy. Surely $dogname won't resist her, it's $doghis favorite! Your father raises an eyebrow as you swing Sophie like a sword. You squeeze her spotted body and immediately $dogname's head turns with you. You shake the toy, already feeling the taste of victory on your tongue before you feel it fly away just as fast. Instead of coming back to you, your four-legged friend lifts $doghis butt and starts running like crazy, raising a wave of gravel in $doghis path. You turn to your father whose lips are struggling to stay flat. "He was the last of the litter," he tells you. As if that explains everything. You shake your head. ''//[[Next|welcome]]//''

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. With its grey stones, its many towers, and its walkway, it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. Uncles, aunts, and cousins flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center. It's a sight to behold, and yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. Its calm water reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.|mutepathmcsword1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?|mutepathmcsword2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.|mutepathmcsword3]]//'' </div>

Undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad inclines her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother greets her with a shy smile but your father doesn't give her a glance, his face turned towards the double doors. Sad to say, your father has long since lost any sense of wonder about them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stand guard. You wave quietly and the spirit beams at you. "That dog better stay away from mom's irises." Three people broke away from the group, leading the way and starting the long and arduous process of saying hello to everyone (for that alone, you wish your family was smaller). "She treats them like her children, I'd even say she loves her flowers more than her children!" your uncle continues, an affable smile on his face as he trots in your direction. "Erec!" "I love you too, Mom!" he smiles over his shoulder before spreading his arms to receive his brother in them. "Hi big brother, I missed you," he adds as your dad rests his forehead against his shoulder. The two men stand there for a few minutes and you catch your mother wiping away a tear before giving your uncle a big smile as he moves to hug her. "Hi, Ana," he whispers. "It's good to see you." She kisses him on the cheek before he turns to you, a grin on his lips. You take a moment to detail him with your eyes. Surprisingly, it has been a year since you last saw each other. It's been a mild year, attack-wise. ''//[[Next|Uncle]]//''

He looks so much like your father. Your eyes linger for a few seconds on his left cheek on which a scar proudly stands, just above his cheekbone. A dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.|hi]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"|hi1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.|hi2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.|hi3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.|hi4]]//''</div>

"Greetings uncle," you begin signing, lifting your chin. Manner and appearance are important things, your grandmother told you. There will come a time when you will have to address people of high rank and even though your uncle is only a great fighter and not a king, you owe him respect. "My apologies, I am still training $dogname. I dare to hope that $doghis behavior will not affect our good relationship." Erec bites the inside of his cheeks before quickly meeting your parents' eyes. "Greetings, sword bearer!" Your father tenses at the term, but your uncle pays no attention to it and places his left hand over his heart before tilting his head in your direction. "It is an honor and a pleasure to receive you home, be reassured our relations are not marred by the behavior of your dog." ''//[[Next|aunt]]//''

"Hello uncle. It's been too long!" you sign and offer him your hand. Your uncle's eyes sparkle and he brings your hand to his lips, leaving the board. Your pulse quickens, but you concentrate on keeping a calm expression. You shouldn't be so flustered by this gesture, it will be the norm in Albion. "Too long indeed," the man agrees. "I'm glad to have you here, we all are." "My apologies for $dogname's behavior it doesn't excuse anything, but I am still honing $doghis education." Your uncle graciously tilts his head. ''//[[Next|aunt]]//''

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away? struggling to sign as he holds you to roam your face. You beams, then add with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|aunt]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" you sign, your movements fast and imprecise. "Gently with your fingers! I missed every other word!!" he laughs as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|aunt]]//''

"Hello uncle," you sign. "How are you doing?" "Hello," he lowers himself in front of you and you breathe easier, he immediately looks less impressive, His movements are slow and focused. "How are you holding up?" You tug on your fingers "Sorry about $dogname $doghe is still young and learning." "That's okay." "I'll do my best to get $doghim to learn." "Take all the time you need." ''//[[Next|aunt]]//''

"If the greetings are over, can I have the spot now?" Your uncle steps aside to let appear. You jump up and down. "Aunt Elaine!" you sign. "Sup kid!" Dressed in cargo pants and combat boots, she gives you a smirk. At her belt is a quiver full of arrows and in her hand, she holds a black duffel bag that tints as she drops it to the ground. The sound of weapons rises to your ears. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks, raising an eyebrow. Your aunt hugs your mother before turning to him. "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," Elaine rolls her eyes. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." Your father winces and she puts an arm around his waist. "I missed you," he whispers. $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $doghe licks your fingers and you scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired as he detailed your four-legged friend. you nod. <<nobr>> <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">>""And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" you nod. Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise and he whistles. "Well, that's a surprise." He adds behind his hand, "I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." The goal was probably to be discreet, but your father heard and his response is cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," "Play nice, you two." Your aunt looks at them in turn and Erec raises his arms, dismissing himself. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Your dad snort. <<else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature...$doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> <</nobr>> ''//[[Next|cousin]]//''

"And your lips are blue," he adds after running his eyes over your face. A certain annoyance is perceptible in his tone and you shift from one foot to the other. "Sorry," you sign pressing your lips together. His eyebrows furrow. "Why are you apologizing? You are in no way responsible, my father should not have made you stay in this cold." "So serious..." If a look could kill, Lancelot would be accused of patricide. "As I must be!" Your cousin sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." with a movement of his shoulder, he gets rid of his jacket and places it on your shoulders. He stays there, close to you and you suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. Your uncle raises an eyebrow. "Your cousin needs a Blade, not a second mother," he lets out as he sees Lancelot fussing around you. Your first blade stops and bristles. "I have taken vows of protection ''and'' service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, one word in particular. Your name. "My charge," he mumbles, unable to meet your gaze. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow and tug at your cousin's sleeve. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." you sign. "And it's not a curse either," your father agrees, pressing your shoulder one more time as to reassure you. ''//[[Next|reassure]]//''

Lancelot straightens up and walks a little away from you without even being aware of it before coming back. He moistens his lips, looks for help everywhere, without finding any, then his eyes fall on you again. Your throat tightens and you struggle against the pressure behind your eyes, threatening to break like a dam. Is it so hard to pronounce your name? Does it taste that bitter? Your family has a long tradition with names. They all have to remember the characters - no, the people - that run through Arthurian stories. Is stories even the right word? Erec, Elainne, Lancelot, Ana, Gareth and Percival. The names of the members of your family might sound like a strange whim of a myth-lover, but you know it's not. It is not a whim, but an obligation, a necessity started by one of your ancestors and continues to this day. Until the end. Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you. ''//[[Next|break]]//''

However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the voices rose between them, how the angry silences were long- But they are still there, and so are you. "Lancelot," you take a step toward him, signing. "please." You don't have a voice, you'll never have one, but Lancelot does, so how can he hesitate to use it? The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear shines in his eyes as your name falls from his lips in a low voice. <div class="choice">''//[[Susan|s]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund|e]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy|l]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter|p]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill|j]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache|eu]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly|po]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|mcp]]//''

<<set $name to "Susan">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Edmund">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Lucy">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Peter">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Jill">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Eustache">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Polly">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|warm]]//''

<<set $name to "Peter">> One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

You smile and sign. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" he sign back. You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. The sky is slowly turning pink as you and your cousin approach the stone steps. With each step, the shadow of the Manor expands and lengthens above you, as it is gently rocked by the light of the emerging day. In the park, the birds come to life, but their chirping does not help you shake the lethargy that embraces you. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you, -straight and proud posture, his chest is not bulging, but it's just the same- and as usual <div class="choice">''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.|duty]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You straighten up., showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.|duty1]]//''</div>

"Lancelot?" "Yes?" "Walk with me, please." you sign. "Isn't that what I do?" "I mean by my side," you clarify with a smile. He hesitates, his mouth opening slightly and his eyebrows furrowing. "Should I order you to do it?" you ask, pained. "You are my first Sword, but you are first and foremost my cousin, please Lancelot," you add, reaching out to him. "Walk beside me." A soft smile stretches his lips and he quickens his steps to stand beside you. "Giving me this order will not be necessary," he confirms before adding with tender eyes. "Thank you." "You're welcome!" ''//[[Next|sign]]//''

Your mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and meet the steel gray of the patriarch's pupils. He raises an eyebrow and you inhale, fingers icy. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." You could swear you see his lips begin to lift, but there is no trace of humor when he answers you. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"|bearer]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"|bearer1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They have one, use it, damn it!"|bearer2]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm]]//''

You pale as much as your father turns red. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and his features distorted by a deeply buried wrath freezes your blood. His mouth opens, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your sight is blocked, and your hearing is impeded, but these bonds are not strong enough to prevent everything and you hear. You hear those words that no child should throw in the face of their parents; that no parent should hurl in the face of their child. <div class="choice">''//[[bursts into tears.|crybaby]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please, stop!" you beg them.|crybaby1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Try to break up the fight.|crybaby2]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You bring your whistle to your lips and blow with all your strength. "Stop, please stop!" you plead, signing as everyone except them turn to you. You're not even sure they can hear you as they continue their face-to-face. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump and immediately close your mouth. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|soul]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you sign, arms spread wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" "The $youngPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" If your words didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|soul]]//''

The response is immediate, and as your grandfather bows and whispers "Very well, mother." the members of your family get to work as if defrosted by a flame. You watch as some of them rush to the barn while others rush to the cars, bags full of weapons under their arms. Your father pulls you and your mother out of the way as your grandfather takes one last look at his older son before sighing. "The barrier," you hesitate for a moment, fingers not moving. "It's going to stop the Trepassers, right?" "It will," your great-grandmother confirms. "And we're going to eradicate them, so that you, your father, your grandfather and our entire family will be safe." You glance at your mother, who returns a relieved smile. "But it's only temporary, you understand," Lady Blanchefleur adds, pointing at you. You nod as Lancelot's hand rests on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll keep you safe." Only now do you realize that his civilian clothes are mixed with his armor. Lady Blanchefleur nods and dismisses your cousin with her hand. "Go, now. $name has enough cousins to stay with $them. "Gawain, I entrust you with our Bearer," throws your first sword over your shoulder. Gawain's hazel eyes glow and his chest puffs out. "You can count on me. Good luck guys!" he calls out as Cara, Tristan, and Isolde join Lancelot in one of the family's black SUVs. Tires screech on the gravel as six cars race toward the lower court. Out of the corner of your eye, your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction and the hooves soon get lost in the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations. ''//[[Next|sweet]]//''

Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to hum. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. Everyone can see it, not as well as you, but they can. Gawain come to stand at your side, sweet and proud. <div class="choice">''//[["Tell them to be careful for me, please." You ask him.|implore]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You grab Gawain's sleeve and sign. "Tell them to give them hell!"|implore1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You turn towards the gates, silent. Your cousins know what they're getting into.|implore2]]//''</div>

He nods and becomes your voice. "$name orders you guys to be careful!". The sight of your cousins leaving like that to welcome danger churns your stomach. So much can happen on a battlefield. It's all decided in a matter of seconds. What if you saw them there for the last time? "Please, please, be careful! Come back to me healthy, I'll blame you if you come back to me wounded!" You sign and Gawain translates. They have to come back! Alive, not hurt, not... Alive, period! "That's an order!" you complete your sight blurring with emotion. Isolde pauses just before climbing into one of the vehicles. She smiles at you, nods softly, and places her hand over her heart before pushing it back towards you. She leaves her heart here so that nothing and no one can harm it. Therefore, she is obliged to come back to you. At least that's what you say at home and you hope with all your being that it's true. "Thank you, Gawain." "You're welcome!" "You've really improved in sign language!" He blushes, sputters, and smiles. [[Next|sputter]]//''

You are overcome with a powerful rush of ego at the sight of your cousins running into danger. Maybe Lady Snowflower's words had something to do with it, but you feel stronger, invigorated. You're not afraid anymore, you're even angry. How dare the trespassers think they have the right to hunt you down, to set foot in this place? "Give them hell," Gawain shout to your cousins. "That's $name who say it!" Cara sticks her head out the window and gives you a thumbs up, an almost predatory smile on her lips. It's a good thing...or so you think. "Thank you, Gawain." "You're welcome!" "You've really improved in sign language!" He blushes, sputters, and smiles. [[Next|sputter]]//''

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. As Tristan, Laudanne and Lancelot finish loading the SUVs, your eyes meet and you nod. They nod in return. Soon, they will be back. [[Next|sputter]]//''

The oldest of the Sword Bearers tightens her shawl over her shoulders and sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes, dismissing you with a shake of her head. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." She blows out an amused and tired breath. "Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's lips when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, and you hand her the leash. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you sign carefully as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. She barely smiles, but winks at you. ''//[[Next|leash]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. $dogname's paws echo against the marble floor as he gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. "Easy," he cries as Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that his blue eyes are shining with tears. He is only seven years old and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" exclaims Gawain a little hesitantly, glancing at you. Bo nods vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." That's an understatement. Their screams are still bouncing around underneath your cranium. You're not sure you're going to forget all those words for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. ''//[[Next|moroseair]]//''

Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he stammers. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just nods and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders and smiles for both of you. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." "So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaims Bo in his little voice. "Adults are silly!" confirms Leo. He is already on the floor above and is forced to shout to be heard, leaning over the railing. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" you sign anxiously, looking at him. "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" you add for them both. You hope so, at least. ''//[[Next|hopeso]]//''

Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though Bo seems a little brighter. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours. <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.|hand]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.|hand1]]//''</div>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. ''//[[Next|conforting]]//''

"If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons his exploration of the area and comes to press his nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you sign. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning3]]//''

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." you hasten to write. You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood, it terrifies him and he's already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different. Because according to your father, looking like him is dangerous, but still. "I love you too dad." you add, pointing at yourself before crossing your fists in front of your heart and pointing back at him. Reassured, he smiles weakly at you, and draw a heart on your board before turns back to the road. ''//[[Next|it]]//''

You should be sure that these words are not addressed to you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, against this blood that runs in your veins that this disdain is directed and that terrifies him and he has already told you several times. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you write adding a sad face besides your words. "Of course it is! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I." He says, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you dad." ''//[[Next|it]]//''

You smile. You know that these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, that your father feels so much disdain. What runs in both your blood is frightening to him and he has already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, to resemble him is dangerous. "Don't worry dad, I get it." you write quickly, gripping your magic board firmly. What he is expressing here is a plea to fate, a curse against your heritage, but it has nothing to do with you. He loves you and you know it. ''//[[Next|it]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up to the sound of a car door slamming. You wake up groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. A sad whine makes you turn your head. Sitting gently, your dog makes eyes at you from the trunk. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggogenderm2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggogenderf2]]//''</div>

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the mansion? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this. So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he asks, turning his head in your direction. Your mother rests her hand on his lap. "Well, we can have two homes, right?" "I guess so," your father murmurs. "But there's only one I like...," he adds even lower. "Percy..." ''//[[Next|it]]//''

You already miss your home in London, and the few friends you've managed to make. The Manor has always seemed stifling, making you feel tiny in its size and insignificant in its allure. Your family's land has always been intimidating to you, and you always feel like you can't be yourself there, as if more is expected of you than you can give. "I hope so," you make a wish, your stomach growing uncomfortably heavy. Your father smiles weakly and reaches out to you. By reflex, you give him your pencil and he writes carefully. "I promise." ''//[[Next|it]]//''

<<set $doggender = "male">> <<set $doghe = "he">> <<set $doghim = "him">> <<set $doghis = "his">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case, holding your magic board. $dogname barks happily, full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers after reading your plea. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly slide over your words after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. Flipping down the blinker, your dad looks out the window before starting the car again and you and your mom exchange a look. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|smirk]]//''

<<set $doggender = "female">> <<set $doghe = "she">> <<set $doghim = "her">> <<set $doghis = "her">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case, holding your magic board. $dogname barks happily, full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers after reading your plea. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly slide over your words after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. Flipping down the blinker, your dad looks out the window before starting the car again and you and your mom exchange a look. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you really just put your blinker on?" she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|smirk]]//''

Your father has an acidic laugh that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Several dozen yards away multiple figures are waving frantically. "More like monitoring, the old man's control freak...," he replies, his face flushed with anger. Your eyebrows furrow with worry and you seek a new position, trying to chase away a different kind of anxiety. It would be foolish to think that this time things will be different. If you are ever asked, you will answer without hesitation that yes. Yes, setting foot in Key Manor is an ordeal in itself. How can you believe that assailants could ride in on their horses while you feel yourself wasting away in the back of your own car in that long wait (or agony)! In a movement of despair as much as frustration, you slam your forehead against the backrest in front of you. Please, $dogname is no longer the only one who wants to fulfill a natural need. You are about to ask, "Are we there yet?" When the car stops again. Permanently you hope. You, your dog and your respective bladders will accept nothing else. You let out a sigh, and hurry to get out of the car. You rush to the trunk, which you open with force, a flattened smile on your face. $dogname comes out with as much impatience as you do, $doghis barking echoing happily in the night that will soon be over. How good it is to be able to stretch your legs. Your mother's shoes crunch against the gravel as she walks up to you and puts an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," you hear her smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" you write turning your magic board toward her. "Don't say that!" "I didn't say it, I write it," you retort mischievously. "It's here for eternity now, crave on stone." Your mother slaps your arm playfully and you duck, as she tries to erase your words from the board, your eyes following $dogname as it scurries further and further away from you. With some trepidation about the outcome, you reach into your pocket for the clicker your father bought you when he brought your new family member from the shelter. You push the button twice. But your recall has no effect. ''//[[Next|recall]]//''

"Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[["Oh come on, we've been at this for weeks!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Frustration makes a lump in your throat swell.]]//''</div>

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. With its grey stones, its many towers, and its walkway, it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. Uncles, aunts, and cousins flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center. It's a sight to behold, and yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. Its calm water reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.|mutepathmcspen1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?|mutepathmcpen2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.|mutepathmcpen3]]//'' </div>

He looks so much like your father. Your eyes linger for a few seconds on his left cheek on which a scar proudly stands, just above his cheekbone. A dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.|hi5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"|hi6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.|hi7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.|hi8]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.|hi9]]//''</div>

"Greetings uncle," you begin writing, lifting your chin. Manner and appearance are important things, your grandmother told you. There will come a time when you will have to address people of high rank and even though your uncle is only a great fighter and not a king, you owe him respect. "My apologies, I am still training $dogname. I dare to hope that $doghis behavior will not affect our good relationship." Erec bites the inside of his cheeks before quickly meeting your parents' eyes. "Greetings, sword bearer!" Your father tenses at the term, but your uncle pays no attention to it and places his left hand over his heart before tilting his head in your direction. "It is an honor and a pleasure to receive you home, be reassured our relations are not marred by the behavior of your dog." ''//[[Next|doing]]//''

"Hello uncle. It's been too long!" you write and offer him your hand and your board. Your uncle's eyes sparkle and he brings your hand to his lips, leaving the board. Your pulse quickens, but you concentrate on keeping a calm expression. You shouldn't be so flustered by this gesture, it will be the norm in Albion. "Too long indeed," the man agrees. "I'm glad to have you here, we all are." "My apologies for $dogname's behavior it doesn't excuse anything, but I am still honing $doghis education." Your uncle graciously tilts his head. ''//[[Next|doing]]//''

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away? struggling to sign as he holds you to roam your face. You beams, then add on your magic board with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|doing]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" you write, your movements fast and imprecise. "What's with the piggy writing! I missed every other word!!" he laughs as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|doing]]//''

"Hello uncle," you write. "How are you doing?" "Hello," he lowers himself in front of you and you breathe easier, he immediately looks less impressive, His movements are slow and focused and you wonder if he would prefer the magic board. "How are you holding up?" You tug on your fingers "Sorry about $dogname $doghe is still young and learning." "That's okay." "I'll do my best to get $doghim to learn." "Take all the time you need." ''//[[Next|doing]]//''

"If the greetings are over, can I have the spot now?" Your uncle steps aside to let appear. You jump up and down. "Aunt Elaine!" you write. "Sup kid!" Dressed in cargo pants and combat boots, she gives you a smirk. At her belt is a quiver full of arrows and in her hand, she holds a black duffel bag that tints as she drops it to the ground. The sound of weapons rises to your ears. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks, raising an eyebrow. Your aunt hugs your mother before turning to him. "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," Elaine rolls her eyes. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." Your father winces and she puts an arm around his waist. "I missed you," he whispers. $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $doghe licks your fingers and you scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired as he detailed your four-legged friend. you nod. <<nobr>> <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">>""And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" You nod. Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise and he whistles. "Well, that's a surprise." He adds behind his hand, "I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." The goal was probably to be discreet, but your father heard and his response is cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," "Play nice, you two." Your aunt looks at them in turn and Erec raises his arms, dismissing himself. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Your dad snort. <else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature...$doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> <</nobr>> ''//[[Next|canines]]//''

"Your fingers are icy," he notes. You blink "And your lips are blue," he adds after running his eyes over your face. A certain annoyance is perceptible in his tone and you shift from one foot to the other. "Sorry," you write and squeeze your magic board against you. His eyebrows furrow. "Why are you apologizing? You are in no way responsible, my father should not have made you stay in this cold." "So serious..." If a look could kill, Lancelot would be accused of patricide. "As I must be!" Your cousin sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." with a movement of his shoulder, he gets rid of his jacket and places it on your shoulders. He stays there, close to you and you suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. Your uncle raises an eyebrow. "Your cousin needs a Blade, not a second mother," he lets out as he sees Lancelot fussing around you. Your first blade stops and bristles. "I have taken vows of protection ''and'' service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, one word in particular. Your name. "My charge," he mumbles, unable to meet your gaze. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow and tug at your cousin's sleeve. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." you write on your board and show him. "And it's not a curse either," your father agrees, pressing your shoulder one more time as to reassure you. ''//[[Next|charge]]//''

Lancelot straightens up and walks a little away from you without even being aware of it before coming back. He moistens his lips, looks for help everywhere, without finding any, then his eyes fall on you again. Your throat tightens and you struggle against the pressure behind your eyes, threatening to break like a dam. Is it so hard to pronounce your name? Does it taste that bitter? Your family has a long tradition with names. They all have to remember the characters - no, the people - that run through Arthurian stories. Is stories even the right word? Erec, Elainne, Lancelot, Ana, Gareth and Percival. The names of the members of your family might sound like a strange whim of a myth-lover, but you know it's not. It is not a whim, but an obligation, a necessity started by one of your ancestors and continues to this day. Until the end. Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you. ''//[[Next|wheel]]//''

However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the voices rose between them, how the angry silences were long- But they are still there, and so are you. "Lancelot?" You raise your board towards him. "please, this will not take long." You don't have a voice, you'll never have one, but Lancelot does, so how can he hesitate to use it? The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear shines in his eyes as your name falls from his lips in a low voice. <div class="choice">''//[[Susan|s1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund|e1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy|l1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter|p1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill|j1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache|eu1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly|po1]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|texbox]]//''

You smile and shake your head. "Nope," you write. "Good, should we go, then?" he sign back. You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. The sky is slowly turning pink as you and your cousin approach the stone steps. With each step, the shadow of the Manor expands and lengthens above you, as it is gently rocked by the light of the emerging day.In the park, the birds come to life, but their chirping does not help you shake the lethargy that embraces you. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you, -straight and proud posture, his chest is not bulging, but it's just the same- and as usual <div class="choice">''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.|duty2]]'//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You straighten up., showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.|duty3]]//''</div>

You turn on your heels to face him. "Lancelot?" you write "Yes?" "Walk with me, please." "Isn't that what I do?" "I mean by my side," you clarify with a smile. He hesitates, his mouth opening slightly and his eyebrows furrowing. "Should I order you to do it?" you ask, pained as you lower your magic board. "You are my first Sword, but you are first and foremost my cousin, please Lancelot," you add, reaching out to him. "Walk beside me." A soft smile stretches his lips and he quickens his steps to stand beside you. "Giving me this order will not be necessary," he confirms before adding with tender eyes. "Thank you." "You're welcome!" ''//[[Next|pee]]//''

The tone employed for your mother is affectionate, almost tender, but the subtext is clearly for your father. The verbal spike doesn't miss anyone and it plunges directly into the previous Sword Bearer's chest. An awkward silence descends on the assembly and the hairs on your arms stand on as your father tightens his grip on your arm. An unconscious gesture that makes you let out a small gasp of pain. Your mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and meet the steel gray of the patriarch's pupils. He raises an eyebrow and you inhale, fingers icy. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." you write, making sure that your writing is as readable and neat as possible. You could swear you see his lips begin to lift, but there is no trace of humor when he answers you. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"|bearer3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"|bearer4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please..." Your father raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They have one, use it, damn it!"|bearer5]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm1]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm1]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>Only your grandfather's eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. A murmur of disapproval shakes the assembly and a strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather with a calmness that foretells a storm to come. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens and a haughty breath comes out of your grandfather's nose. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|storm1]]//''

You pale as much as your father turns red. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and his features distorted by a deeply buried wrath freezes your blood. His mouth opens, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your sight is blocked, and your hearing is impeded, but these bonds are not strong enough to prevent everything and you hear. You hear those words that no child should throw in the face of their parents; that no parent should hurl in the face of their child. <div class="choice">''//[[bursts into tears.|crybaby3]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please, stop them!" you beg Lancelot.|crybaby4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Try to break up the fight.|crybaby5]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You bring your whistle to your lips and blow with all your strength. "Stop, please stop!" you plead almost pushing your magic board on his face. "Lancelot do something!" You're not even sure they can hear you as they continue their face-to-face. "Will you all keep it down!" If your voice didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump and immediately close your mouth. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|fleur]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you write before spreading your arms wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" You show them your magic board in turn, desperate. Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" "The $youngPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" If your words didn't get through, this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|fleur]]//''

Tires screech on the gravel as six cars race toward the lower court. Out of the corner of your eye, your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction and the hooves soon get lost in the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations. Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to hum. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. Everyone can see it, not as well as you, but they can. Gawain come to stand at your side, sweet and proud. <div class="choice">''//[["Tell them to be careful for me, please." You ask him.|implore3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You grab Gawain's sleeve and sign. "Tell them to give them hell!"|implore4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You turn towards the gates, silent. Your cousins know what they're getting into.|implore5]]//''</div>

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. As Tristan, Laudanne and Lancelot finish loading the SUVs, your eyes meet and you nod. They nod in return. Soon, they will be back. ''//[[Next|familiarity]]//''

The oldest of the Sword Bearers tightens her shawl over her shoulders and sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes, dismissing you with a shake of her head. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though," you write. She blows out an amused and tired breath. "Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's lips when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, and you hand her the leash. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you write carefully as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. She barely smiles, but winks at you. ''//[[Next|barely]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. $dogname's paws echo against the marble floor as he gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. "Easy," he cries as Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that his blue eyes are shining with tears. He is only seven years old and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" Gawain exclaims a little hesitantly, glancing at you. Bo nods vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." That's an understatement. Their screams are still bouncing around underneath your cranium. You're not sure you're going to forget all those words for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. ''//[[Next|moresteps]]//''

Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he stammers. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just nods and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders and smiles for both of you. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." "So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaims Bo in his little voice. "Adults are silly!" confirms Leo. He is already on the floor above and is forced to shout to be heard, leaning over the railing. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" you write anxiously, looking at him. You then add for your others cousins "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" You hope so, at least. Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though Bo seems a little brighter. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours. <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.|hand2]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.|hand3]]//''</div>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. You look at your linked hands for a moment, Gawain's hand is all warm and soft, still lacking the knight's calluses. He would be offended if you told him, but you don't care. It's so comforting. Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons his exploration of the area and comes to press his nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you write slowly. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning4]]//''

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons his exploration of the area and comes to press his nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne calls to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you write slowly. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning4]]//''

You are used to this kind of behavior. It is a real habit, a way of life. It is not the first time and it is certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand...You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod your head firmly. "I'm fine, Mom." you write, holding up your board so she can see you in the rearview mirror. Her focused expression relaxes, her eyes soften, and she nods, mouthing in the rearview mirror "So much like your dad." Your eyes slide over to him, and your smile freezes before fading away. He wears an expression close to disgust, nose upturned and lips folded in a grimace. "Too much like me, you mean." It's hard to hide the emotions on a face, and you're a master at deciphering them. Your mother elbows him in the arm. With a discreet shake of her head, she points you to your father, but you've seen it, the same way you see your father's face turn as white as his knuckles. "That's not!" he grimaces as turns to you, pulling on the seatbelt. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he signs then hesitates and places a hand on your lap. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[["You're not an idiot dad."|penmcdad3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"|penmcdad4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I got it dad, don't worry."|penmcdad5]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. Leaving at any moment, which is why there are always bags of groceries in your trunk, and money stashed here and there. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've moved, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't get away unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several bundles of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school, and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your father's preferred answer. "Not yet, but we will soon, my love," your mother assures you, which you father signs in her place. Your lips tighten. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds, clenching his fists. ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

Neither your mother nor your father meets your gaze, but a long silent discussion takes place between them, the features of their faces morphing to reveal a multitude of emotions that you have no trouble putting into words. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother signs softly letting go of the wheel, her eyes sliding slowly to your father. He turns his head towards the window and your mother signs his answer for you while you frown (you hate it when he leaves you in silence, it's unpleasant not to see his face) "We'll be going home to London soon." He sounds so final. <div class="choice">''//[["But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"|silenty2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.|silenty3]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. It is a real habit, a way of life. It is not the first time and it is certainly not the last. Your mother is always the calm one in these situations, the thinking head of your little trio, your father on the other hand...You know how this affects him and want to be strong for him. You nod your head firmly. "I'm fine, Mom." you sign, holding up your hands so she can see you in the rearview mirror. Her focused expression relaxes and those eyes soften and she nods, mouthing in the rearview mirror "So much like your dad." Your eyes slide over to him, and your smile freezes before fading away. He wears an expression close to disgust, nose upturned and lips folded in a grimace. "Too much like me, you mean." It's hard to hide the emotions on a face, and you're a master at deciphering them. Your mother elbows him in the arm. With a discreet shake of her head, she points you to your father, but you've seen it, the same way you see your father's face turn as white as his knuckles. "That's not!" he grimaces as turns to you, pulling on the seatbelt. "That's not what I meant, not in the sense that it could be understood." he signs then hesitates and places a hand on your lap. "I love you you know, you're the most important thing I have, I'm just an idiot." <div class="choice">''//[[You're not an idiot dad.|deafmc4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Are you sure?"|deafmc5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["I get it dad, don't worry."|deafmc6]]//''</div>

You are used to this kind of behavior. Leaving at any moment, which is why there are always bags of groceries in your trunk, and money stashed here and there. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you've moved, and how many times you've rushed back to Key Manor. Your family lives a nomadic life, always on the road, always on the run, which makes any relationship difficult. You're not criminals, but you can't deny that when trouble comes your way, the people and property around you don't get away unscathed. The residence you lived in eight months ago? A fire broke out in the middle of the night and you took advantage of the panic and the arrival of the firemen to flee. The attack on your elementary school when you were younger? Your family silenced the few witnesses with several bundles of cash, before they could claim that the attacker was in armor and was looking for you. Of course you never went back to that school, and never set foot in that town again either. And the list goes on and on... Strange things are happening to your family and running away is your father's preferred answer. "Not yet, but we will soon, my love," your mother assures you, which you father signs in her place. Your lips tighten. This is not the answer you were expecting. "Don't worry, I would never let anything happen to you," your father adds, clenching his fists. ''//[[Next|weakly]]//''

Neither your mother nor your father meets your gaze, but a long silent discussion takes place between them, the features of their faces morphing to reveal a multitude of emotions that you have no trouble putting into words. They don't know. It worries your mother and annoys your father. "Things have to settle down first, but I guess we won't stay long?" your mother signs softly letting go of the wheel, her eyes sliding slowly to your father. He turns his head towards the window and your mother signs his answer for you while you frown (you hate it when he leaves you in silence, it's unpleasant not to see his face) "We'll be going home to London soon." He sounds so final. <div class="choice">''//[[But, the Manor is our home too, isn't it?"|deafmc7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You nod silently.|deafmc8]]//''</div>

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." you hasten to sign. You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood, it terrifies him and he's already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, looking like him is dangerous, but still. "I love you too dad." you add, pointing at yourself before crossing your fists in front of your heart and pointing back at him. Reassured, he smiles weakly at you, blows you a kiss and turns back to the road. ''//[[Next|weakly]]//''

You should be sure that these words are not addressed to you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, against this blood that runs in your veins that this disdain is directed and that terrifies him and he has already told you several times. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you sign weakly, with hesitant gestures. "Of course it is! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I." He signs then pauses, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you dad." ''//[[Next|weakly]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up when the car slow down. Groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. Something cold against your ears make your turn your head. Sitting gently, your dog makes eyes at you from the trunk. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggogenderm3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggogenderf3]]//''</div>

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the mansion? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this. So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he signs, turning his head in your direction, defeated. Your mother rests her hand on his lap. ''//[[Next|weakly]]//''

You shake your head. "You're not an idiot dad." you hasten to write. You know these words aren't directed at you, it's not against you, but the similarity you share, what runs in both your blood, it terrifies him and he's already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, looking like him is dangerous, but still. "I love you too dad." you add, pointing at yourself before crossing your fists in front of your heart and pointing back at him. Reassured, he smiles weakly at you, blows you a kiss and turns back to the road. ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

You should be sure that these words are not addressed to you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, against this blood that runs in your veins that this disdain is directed and that terrifies him and he has already told you several times. Yet uncertainty grips your heart. "Is it true?" you write. "Of course it is! A million times yes! I love you so much, that's why I...I." He signs then pauses, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. You feel your throat tighten. "I love you dad." ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

You smile. You know that these words are not directed at you, it is not against you, but against the resemblance that you share, that your father feels so much disdain. What runs in both your blood is frightening to him and he has already told you several times that he would have preferred you to be different because according to your father, to resemble him is dangerous. "Don't worry dad, I get it." you write quickly adding a little heart on the board. What he is expressing here is a plea to fate, a curse against your heritage, but it has nothing to do with you. He loves you and you know it. ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

Your mother and grandmother always told you that home is not an address or the walls that house you. Home is the place where you feel safe and secure, surrounded by the people who love you and your family. You share this view of the definition. What safer place than the mansion? For as long as you can remember, you always run away when you're outside its walls and away from the rest of your family, whose love you can't deny, so why? Why is your father so vehement against all this. So closed and full of anger. "Is that really what you think?" he signs, turning his head in your direction, defeated. Your mother rests her hand on his lap. ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

You already miss your home in London, and the few friends you've managed to make. The Manor has always seemed stifling, making you feel tiny in its size and insignificant in its allure. Your family's land has always been intimidating to you, and you always feel like you can't be yourself there, as if more is expected of you than you can give. "I hope so," you make a wish, your stomach growing uncomfortably heavy. Your father smiles weakly. ''//[[Next|weakly1]]//''

<<set $doggender = "male">> <<set $doghe = "he">> <<set $doghim = "him">> <<set $doghis = "his">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. $dogname barks full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers signing back to you. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly follows your movements while you re-sign your request once again, after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door and signs to you. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. You get slightly impatient when you see your father not deciding to move the vehicle and you frown. You kick your mother's seat to get her attention. "Don't hit the seat!" "What is dad waiting for?" you sign. "Did he put his blinker on again?" A smile returns to your mother's lips. "He did," she signs, rolling her eyes in amusement. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Can we go now? I think you've checked enough to make sure there's no one there." she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|lips]]//''

<<set $doggender = "female">> <<set $doghe = "she">> <<set $doghim = "her">> <<set $doghis = "her">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case. $dogname barks full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers signing back to you. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly follows your movements while you re-sign your request once again, after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door and signs to you. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. You get slightly impatient when you see your father not deciding to move the vehicle and you frown. You kick your mother's seat to get her attention. "Don't hit the seat!" "What is dad waiting for?" you sign. "Did he put his blinker on again?" A smile returns to your mother's lips. "He did," she signs, rolling her eyes in amusement. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Can we go now? I think you've checked enough to make sure there's no one there." she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|lips]]//''

Soon the road and the stress caused by anxiety get the better of you and a sweet lethargy seizes you. Your sleep is deep and you only wake up when the car slow down. Groggy, with a pasty mouth and a feeling of heaviness in your whole body. You pull over to the side of the road. You stretch, your neck cracks, and seems to lighten you for a moment. "Your mother is tired, I'll take the wheel," your father indicates as they both leave the vehicle. Something cold against your ears make your turn your head. Sitting gently, your dog makes eyes at you from the trunk. Determined to have your full attention, your fur baby stirs again and scratches the safety net. <div class="choice">''//[[The poor boy, must have to pee|doggogenderm4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The poor girl must have to pee|doggogenderf4]]//''</div>

<<set $doggender = "male">> <<set $doghe = "he">> <<set $doghim = "him">> <<set $doghis = "his">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I thin 🐶k<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> Mom, I think $dogname has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case, holding your magic board. $dogname barks full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers after reading your plea. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly slide over your words after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. You get slightly impatient when you see your father not deciding to move the vehicle and you frown. You kick your mother's seat to get her attention. "Don't hit the seat!" "What is dad waiting for?" you sign. "Did he put his blinker on again?" A smile returns to your mother's lips. "He did," she signs, rolling her eyes in amusement. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Can we go now? I think you've checked enough to make sure there's no one there." she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|struggle]]//''

<<set $doggender = "female">> <<set $doghe = "she">> <<set $doghim = "her">> <<set $doghis = "her">> <<set $doghers = "hers">> You can't let this go, you have to be your pet's savior! You unbuckle your belt, it's time to be a hero! "Mom, I think 🐶<<cycle "$dogname" autoselect>> <<option "Cider">> <<option "Lineo">> <<option "Cavaal">> <<option "Aslan">> <<option "Snoopy">> <</cycle>> Mom, I think $dogname has to pee. Maybe we could take a little walk. Just for a few minutes," you argue your case, holding your magic board. $dogname barks full of hope when your mother looks at $doghim. It's pitch black outside and even the silver moon can only partially illuminate the road from where it's perched in the inky sky. Your mother's eyes scan the surroundings anxiously. "Sweetheart," she begins before you cut her off, bouncing on your seat. "Oh please mom, look at $doghim, $doghe really wants to! The bad guys are probably still very far away, just a little bit, please!" "I don't think this is a good idea." she answers after reading your plea. She glances at your father whose eyes quickly slide over your words after he gets into the driver's seat. "Your mom is right." Your father slams his car door. "Hang on, both of you, we'll be there soon," he adds with a frown. You sigh and turn your head to your four-legged friend, searching for $doghis fur with your fingers. A caress is the only comfort you can offer. Disappointed, $doghe lies back down, admitting defeat, and buries $doghis muzzle between $doghis paws. You get slightly impatient when you see your father not deciding to move the vehicle and you frown. You kick your mother's seat to get her attention. "Don't hit the seat!" "What is dad waiting for?" you sign. "Did he put his blinker on again?" A smile returns to your mother's lips. "He did," she signs, rolling her eyes in amusement. "My love...?" Your mother struggles to keep a straight face. "Can we go now? I think you've checked enough to make sure there's no one there." she continues, biting the inside of her cheeks. You smirk. ''//[[Next|struggle]]//''

After some time, the Manor finally emerges on the horizon, you guess its shape thanks to the many flickering lights in the windows, like so many people being sheltered inside these walls or outside, in the houses around. The King's road takes you straight to the barrier and you slide into the middle seat with anticipation, your fingers gripping the seats of your parents fiercely. The difference is noticeable instantly, it's like going through a mirror, a door. All the tension in your shoulders loosens up, the muscles in your back relax, and above all, the pressure on your chest evaporates. It's as if something had been extracted from a rock. The discomfort vanishes and you feel whole. You and your father breathe a sigh of relief "Feeling better?" your mother signs, turning to you. Two different answers came to him. "Yes!" and "Why would I feel better!" your father snaps in bad faith and pouts. You continue at this same pace for another twenty minutes, the black sky taking on an industrial orange hue through the window as the streetlights become more present on the path. You have just entered the lower courtyard. More and more houses appear too, some made of wood, others of stone but all placed so that the roof of the next one is always higher than the one of the previous one. A military architecture put in place by your ancestors in order to allow the archers of your family to aim and shoot from their roofs without fear of injuring the archers in front of them, as Bedivère, one of your father's cousins, explained to you one day while you were walking on the estate with your family. As you cross the bridge separating the lower courtyard from the large black iron gate leading to the Manor, the car slows down. and your mother leans toward the windshield. "It seems we were expected, here comes the welcoming committee." You turn your head to be able to read your father's answer, while in the periphery of your gaze, you can see multiple silhouettes coming to life. "More like monitoring, the old man's obsession with controlling...," he replies, his face flushed with anger. Your eyebrows furrow with worry and you seek a new position, trying to chase away a different kind of anxiety. It would be foolish to think that this time things will be different. ''//[[Next|foolish1]]//''

After some time, the Manor finally emerges on the horizon, you guess its shape thanks to the many flickering lights in the windows, like so many people being sheltered inside these walls or outside, in the houses around. The King's road takes you straight to the barrier and you slide into the middle seat with anticipation, your fingers gripping the seats of your parents fiercely. The difference is noticeable instantly, it's like going through a mirror, a door. All the tension in your shoulders loosens up, the muscles in your back relax, and above all, the pressure on your chest evaporates. It's as if something had been extracted from a rock. The discomfort vanishes and you feel whole. You and your father breathe a sigh of relief "Feeling better?" your mother signs, turning to you. Two different answers came to him. "Yes!" and "Why would I feel better!" your father snaps in bad faith and pouts. You continue at this same pace for another twenty minutes, the black sky taking on an industrial orange hue through the window as the streetlights become more present on the path. You have just entered the lower courtyard. More and more houses appear too, some made of wood, others of stone but all placed so that the roof of the next one is always higher than the one of the previous one. A military architecture put in place by your ancestors in order to allow the archers of your family to aim and shoot from their roofs without fear of injuring the archers in front of them, as Bedivère, one of your father's cousins, explained to you one day while you were walking on the estate with your family. As you cross the bridge separating the lower courtyard from the large black iron gate leading to the Manor, the car slows down. and your mother leans toward the windshield. "It seems we were expected, here comes the welcoming committee." You turn your head to be able to read your father's answer, while in the periphery of your gaze, you can see multiple silhouettes coming to life. "More like monitoring, the old man's obsession with controlling...," he replies, his face flushed with anger. Your eyebrows furrow with worry and you seek a new position, trying to chase away a different kind of anxiety. It would be foolish to think that this time things will be different. ''//[[Next|foolish]]//''

If you are ever asked, you will answer without hesitation that yes. Yes, setting foot in Key Manor is an ordeal in itself. How can you believe that assailants could ride in on their horses while you feel yourself wasting away in the back of your own car in that long wait (or agony)! In a movement of despair as much as frustration, you slam your forehead against the backrest in front of you. Please, $dogname is no longer the only one who wants to fulfill a natural need. You are about to ask, "Are we there yet?" When the car stops again. Permanently you hope. You, your dog and your respective bladders will accept nothing else. You let out a sigh, and hurry to get out of the car. You rush to the trunk, which you open with force, a flattened smile on your face. $dogname comes out with as much impatience as you do, $doghishis jaws opening and closing with excitement. Your mother taps on your arm before putting an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," she signs with a smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" you write turning your magic board toward her. "I could say the same thing, between your snoring and the whining of $dogname" "I didn't snore!," you retort slapping her arm playfully. She ducks. "You do!" "Well, I didn't hear anything!" You retort amused, sticking your tongue out at her as $dogname scurries further and further away from you. With some trepidation about the outcome, you reach into your pocket for the clicker your father bought you when he brought your new family member from the shelter. You push the button twice. But your recall has no effect. ''//[[Next|outcome]]//''

If you are ever asked, you will answer without hesitation that yes. Yes, setting foot in Key Manor is an ordeal in itself. How can you believe that assailants could ride in on their horses while you feel yourself wasting away in the back of your own car in that long wait (or agony)! In a movement of despair as much as frustration, you slam your forehead against the backrest in front of you. Please, $dogname is no longer the only one who wants to fulfill a natural need. You are about to ask, "Are we there yet?" When the car stops again. Permanently you hope. You, your dog and your respective bladders will accept nothing else. You let out a sigh, and hurry to get out of the car. You rush to the trunk, which you open with force, a flattened smile on your face. $dogname comes out with as much impatience as you do, $doghis his jaws opening and closing with excitement. Your mother taps on your arm before putting an arm around your shoulders. "End of the line, everyone get off," she signs with a smiles as she kisses your temple. "About time! I thought I'd die before I got there!" you sign theatrically. "I could say the same thing, between your snoring and the whining of $dogname" "I didn't snore!," you retort slapping her arm playfully. She ducks. "You do!" "Well, I didn't hear anything!" You retort amused, sticking your tongue out at her as $dogname scurries further and further away from you. With some trepidation about the outcome, you reach into your pocket for the clicker your father bought you when he brought your new family member from the shelter. You push the button twice. But your recall has no effect. ''//[[Next|trunk]]//''

"Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[[Harasses the clicker, overwhelmed with negatives emotion.|d1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[It's time to pull out your secret weapon.|d2]]//''</div>

"Looks like you still have some training to do," your father points out as he settles next to you and your mother. <div class="choice">''//[[Oh come on, we've been at this for weeks!|d3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Frustration makes a lump in your throat swell, why doesn't your dog come back!|d4]]//''</div>

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. With its grey stones, its many towers, and its walkway, it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. Uncles, aunts, and cousins flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center. It's a sight to behold, and yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. Its calm water reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.|deafpathmcsign1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?|deafpathmcsign2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.|deafpathmcsign13]]//''</div>

You frown determined not to give up! Maybe $doghe just didn't hear the click. You press the button again, but instead of seeing your dog come back to you and fill you with pride, $doghe continues to show you $doghis butt. Dejected, you turn to your father for help. "Please do something!" "$doghe's not my dog." he signs amused. "$doghe kind of is, though," you write. Your mother taps your shoulder. "Remember, $doghe has to obey you, not me, not your father. It won't happen right away, but you'll get there." she encourages you. You turn your gaze to your four-legged friend. It is true that you have managed to do a lot, despite your "handicap" (your parents hate this word.) And yet. "I don't doubt myself, I doubt $doghim." ''//[[Next|butt4]]//''

''Come back, come back, for Merlin's sake!'' you think as you furiously press the clicker again and again. Kneeling in front of you, your father signs with a slight smile on his lips: "I assure you that the clicker works very well, no need to get restless on it. You sneer and show him your board. "Really, then why $doghe not at my feet?" Do you have to wiggle in front of $dogname; like you have to wave your magic board in front of people to get them to pay attention to you and understand you? Like a walking curiosity? Offended, you throw your means of communication to the ground, cutting short any future conversation. Your mother is startled and your father stares at you for a moment before picking up your magic board, removing the gravel stuck inside. "I know it's not easy, and being tired doesn't help, but you'll be fine. I'm here, your mom is here, you're not alone." He signs rather than writes and despite your efforts not to meet his eyes, his movements still draw your attention. You inhale, and abruptly pull your tablet from his hands. ""I am, you are not like me! I'm different." And that makes it so much harder. Your father watches you thoughtfully for a few minutes before signing back, "You're right." At these words, your heart sinks and your eyes burn. "You are different from us, you are stronger!" You bite your lip and he adds, "Shall I list all the things you've managed to do so far?" You fidget, uncomfortable. "But..." you start to write before your father squeezes your wrist and shakes his head. He takes your pen. "No buts." He kiss your temple and you sigh. ''//[[Next|butt4]]//''

As your parents slide your bags onto their shoulders, you take a step aside to stand before the building in front of you. With its grey stones, its many towers, and its walkway, it stood ready. It is a fortress with an army inside. Waiting for a king. A single king, King Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. And you, you're the key to making it happen. Many have gathered on the steps leading to the double doors of the estate. Uncles, aunts, and cousins flank the elders of your family. Your grandfather Gareth stands tall in the center. It's a sight to behold, and yet nothing is more impressive to you than the fountain in the middle of the yard. Its calm water reached your thigh the last time. It is not uncommon for you and your cousins to play in it, but you have never yet had the courage to climb the rock in the center let alone pull out the sword trapped in it. Clarent is the name of the weapon whose blade reflects the light of the dawn and the glow of the moon. Arthur's blade, often mistaken for Exalibur. The blade that you are supposed to pass on to him in order to make him a true king. The bearer of the sword, that's what you are. Like all the first born of your family before you. <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes your heart beat faster and sends a thrill coursing through you.|deafpathmcwrite1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[The sight of the sword, makes a shiver of fear run down your skin. What if you are not worthy? What if you could not extricate the sword from its rock trap?|deafpathmcwrite2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Clarent leaves you unmoved.|deafpathmcwrite13]]//''</div>

Undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad inclines her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother greets her with a shy smile but your father doesn't give her a glance, his face turned towards the double doors. Sad to say, your father has long since lost any sense of wonder about them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stand guard. You wave quietly and the spirit beams at you. Three people broke away from the group, leading the way and starting the long and arduous process of saying hello to everyone (for that alone, you wish your family was smaller). You hardly need to squint to read your uncle's lips. "That dog better stay away from mom's irises." your uncle continues, an affable smile on his face as he trots in your direction. "She treats them like her children, I'd even say she loves her flowers more than her children!" He stops next to you and his lips turn up a little more, as if he heard something funny. He stops next to you and his lips turn up a little more, as if he heard something funny. He spreads his arms, his eyes shining. "Hey big bro, I missed you." You look at your father, whose adam's apple is stirring with difficulty. He hesitates for a moment, love, longing, and sadness sliding across his face in turn before he rushes into his little brother's arms. The two men stand there for a few minutes and you catch your mother wiping away a tear before giving your uncle a big smile as he moves to hug her. "Hi, Ana." "It's good to see you." She kisses him on the cheek before he turns to you, a grin on his lips. ''//[[Next|kisses]]//''

Undulating, like the veil of water forming a dress covering her transparent skin, a naiad inclines her head in your direction as you and your parents walk around the fountain. Your mother greets her with a shy smile but your father doesn't give her a glance, his face turned towards the double doors. Sad to say, your father has long since lost any sense of wonder about them. It's not a common sight though, the nature spirits' presence is so tenuous in the city, so rare in the countryside, only visible to a few. But here, their numbers soar. Driads and Hamadryads, Undines, Naiads, Sylphs. Alongside your family, an army of elementals stand guard. You wave quietly and the spirit beams at you. Three people broke away from the group, leading the way and starting the long and arduous process of saying hello to everyone (for that alone, you wish your family was smaller). You hardly need to squint to read your uncle's lips. "That dog better stay away from mom's irises." your uncle continues, an affable smile on his face as he trots in your direction. "She treats them like her children, I'd even say she loves her flowers more than her children!" He stops next to you and his lips turn up a little more, as if he heard something funny. He spreads his arms, his eyes shining. "Hey big bro, I missed you." You look at your father, whose adam's apple is stirring with difficulty. He hesitates for a moment, love, longing, and sadness sliding across his face in turn before he rushes into his little brother's arms. ''//[[Next|brotherly]]//''

The two men stand there for a few minutes and you catch your mother wiping away a tear before giving your uncle a big smile as he moves to hug her. "Hi, Ana," he says. "It's good to see you." She kisses him on the cheek before he turns to you, a grin on his lips. You take a moment to detail him with your eyes. Surprisingly, it has been a year since you last saw each other. It's been a mild year, attack-wise. He looks so much like your father. Your eyes linger for a few seconds on his left cheek on which a scar proudly stands, just above his cheekbone. A dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.|posture]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"|posture1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.|posture2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.|posture3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.|posture4]]//''</div>

"Hello uncle. It's been too long!" you sign and offer him your hand. Your uncle's eyes sparkle and he brings your hand to his lips. Your pulse quickens, but you concentrate on keeping a calm expression. You shouldn't be so flustered by this gesture, it will be the norm in Albion. "Too long indeed," the man agrees. "I'm glad to have you here, we all are." "My apologies for $dogname's behavior it doesn't excuse anything, but I am still honing $doghis education." Your uncle graciously tilts his head. ''//[[Next|relations]]//''

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away? struggling to sign as he holds you to roam your face. You beams, then add with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|relations]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" you sign, your movements fast and imprecise. "gently with your fingers, I missed every other word!!" he laughs as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|relations]]//''

"Hello uncle," you sign. "How are you doing?" "Hello," he lowers himself in front of you and you breathe easier, he immediately looks less impressive, his movements are slow and focus. "How are you holding up?" You tug on your fingers "Sorry about $dogname $doghe is still young and learning." "That's okay." "I'll do my best to get $doghim to learn." "Take all the time you need." ''//[[Next|relations]]//''

Your uncle steps aside to let appear. "Aunt Elaine!" you sign with a smile. "Sup kid!" she respond in kind. Dressed in cargo pants and combat boots, she gives you a smirk. At her belt is a quiver full of arrows and in her hand, she holds a black duffel bag that she drops it to the ground. You catch the silver of the steel inside. Weapons. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks, raising an eyebrow. Your aunt hugs your mother before turning to him. "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," Elaine rolls her eyes. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." she sign and wink in your direction. Your father's shoulders slags and she puts an arm around his waist. $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $doghe licks your fingers and you scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired as he detailed your four-legged friend. You nod <<nobr>> <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">> "And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" "Yes" Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise. "Well, that's a surprise.I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." Your father heard and his response seems cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," he signs. "Play nice, you two." Your aunt looks at them in turn and Erec raises his arms, dismissing himself. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Your dad shrugs. <<else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature...$!doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> <</nobr>> ''//[[Next|musculatures]]//''

"Hello uncle. It's been too long!" Your uncle blows out an amused breath before bringing your hand to his lips. Your pulse quickens, but you concentrate on keeping a calm expression. You shouldn't be so flustered by this gesture, it will be the norm in Albion. "Too long indeed," the man agrees. "I'm glad to have you here, we all are." "My apologies for $dogname's behavior it doesn't excuse anything, but I am still honing $doghis education." Your uncle laughs softly. ''//[[Next|Later]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. Well, in a manner of speaking. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" You gasp, out of breath. "Breathe, my joy at seeing you again won't last long otherwise!" he laughs as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|Later]]//''

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away. You beams, then add with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|Later]]//''

"Hello uncle," you mumble. "How are you doing?" "Hello," The gravel crunches under his shoes. "How are you holding up?" You tug on your fingers "Sorry about $dogname $doghe is still young and learning." "That's okay." "I'll do my best to get $doghim to learn." "Take all the time you need." ''//[[Next|Later]]//''

One could believe that death follows this name as Lancelot's tone is filled with fear. "Yes," you confirm as Lancelot's hands, shake in yours. His fingers, too, are icy. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" you try to persuade him, as his pulse gallops under his skin and is felt under your fingers as they slide to hold his wrist. You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you know he was holding. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." You smile, pressing his hands. "I'm ok!" "Good, should we go, then?" You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. ''//[[Next|gates]]//''

"I think it's a beautiful name." sign your cousin who finally makes his way towards you all. "Lancelot, how you have grown!" your mother gushed cupping his face. "Hello aunt, hello uncle, it's a pleasure to see you again." he signs for you to see. You tilt your head to the side. Just like with his father, you take the time to observe him. As your mother said, he has grown, but you couldn't tell by how much. He was always taller than you. Six years your senior, just as his father is your father's first sword, Lancelot is yours. Your cousin swore protection and service to you the year he turned 14. That was two years ago and you still remember it well. Even before that, he was always kind to you, loyal, and helpful. The ceremony only enhanced qualities that were already present in him. You are not mistaken, however. For as gentle as he can be with you, he can be harsh and unyielding with those who displease him or wish you ill. His eyes find yours and a tender smile stretches his lips. Your heart tightens as he drops to one knee in front of you. He takes your hand and places a kiss on your fingers before resting them against his forehead. The greeting saved for the bearer by their blades and shields. A rule that your aunt and uncle did not respect when they greeted your father, but Lancelot was always very serious. Like the one whose name he takes. ''//[[Next|namesake]]//''

"Your fingers are icy," he notes, signing quickly. You blink. "And your lips are blue," he adds after running his eyes over your face. A certain annoyance is perceptible in his features and you shift from one foot to the other. "Sorry," you sign. His eyebrows furrow. "Why are you apologizing? You are in no way responsible, my father should not have made you stay in this cold." "So serious..." your uncle mock as he tap your shoulder. If a look could kill, Lancelot would be accused of patricide. "As I must be!" Your cousin sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." with a movement of his shoulder, he gets rid of his jacket and places it on your shoulders. He stays there, close to you and you suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. You don't know what is said next, but Lancelot's features hardened a little more. His jaw tightens, his eyes crinkle and darken and you turn your head to find the object of his anger. Your uncle. You fidget on the spot, ignorance making you uncomfortable. "I have taken vows of protection ''and'' service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, and you too struggle to read his words, before you understand. The word that escapes you and that Lancelot can't seem to get out of his mouth is your name. "My charge," he says unable to meet your gaze. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." you sign and turn your head toward your father. "Right?" "Yes, it's not a curse either," your father agrees. ''//[[Next|curse]]//''

Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you. However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the features of their faces were hard, how the eyes burned with anger.- But they are still there, and so are you. "Maybe you can sign it, if you don't want to say it?" you try to help him. Your cousin loses his color, his face twists, as if you had just punched him in the stomach! "No, I can say it!" he signs hurriedly. "I can sign it too, it's not a problem!" The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear shines in his eyes as your name falls from his lips. and true to his word, he signs it too. <div class="choice">''//[[Susan|s2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund|e2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy|l2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter|p2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill|j2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache|eu2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly|po2]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|texbox1]]//''

<<set $name to "Susan">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Edmund">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Lucy">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Peter">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Jill">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Eustache">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

<<set $name to "Polly">> His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

His lips tremble as he drops your name and one could believe that death follows this one as fear makes Lancelot's pupils dilate and raise his eyebrows. "Yes," you confirm as your cousin's eyes roam the space. It's as if he expects you to be jumped on by a Trepassers or for you to disappear at any minute. " See, my name is $name and I'm still here. There's nothing to worry about!" You can almost feel your father nodding vigorously at your back. Lancelot releases a breath you didn't know he was holding and his lips straighten just a bit. "It's true," his voice sounds uncertain, but he shakes himself, yet he can't help but add. "Are you okay? Do you need anything else, my jacket isn't very warm." ''//[[Next|terriblename]]//''

You smile and shake your head. You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. The sky is slowly turning pink as you and your cousin approach the stone steps. With each step, the shadow of the Manor expands and lengthens above you, as it is gently rocked by the light of the emerging day. In the park, the birds come to life, already hunting for food, jumping on the ground with the beak at a low level in search of some insects. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you, -straight and proud posture, his chest is not bulging, but it's just the same- and as usual <div class="choice">''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.|duty4]]''//</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You straighten up., showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.|duty5]]//'' </div>

He seems almost tender with your mother, but the subtext is clearly for your father. The verbal spike doesn't miss anyone and it plunges directly into the previous Sword Bearer's chest. The assembly is frozen in place and the faces show only embarrassment and pain. The hairs on your arms stand on as your father tightens his grip on your arm. An unconscious gesture that makes you let out a small gasp of pain. Your mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." you read on her lips. She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and meet the steel gray of the patriarch's pupils. He raises an eyebrow and you inhale, fingers icy. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." You could swear you see his lips begin to lift. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." he signs. <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They has one, use it, damn it!"]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause]]//''

You pale as much as your father turns red. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice as your look up to her. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and his features distorted by a deeply buried wrath freezes your blood. His mouth opens, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your sight is blocked. However this bond is not strong enough to prevent everything and you feel. You feel the ground vibrate under your soles as furious footsteps move in front of you. Back and forth, again and again. Are they fighting? Of course, they are fighting. Everything about their features says so just a few moments ago. <div class="choice">''//[[bursts into tears.|cry]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please, stop them!" you beg Lancelot.|cry1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Try to break up the fight.|cry2]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes you and scorches your soul. Your body is too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, who presses you harder against her and buries your face in her chest. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You give in, exhausted, and leave her to support you. You worry briefly about whether your tears will make her feel even colder, but only briefly your brain can't continue to feed such futile reflections. You don't know how many minutes go by like this. But then your mother's body stops shaking and you find yourself perplexed. Shyly you look up at her, your eyelashes glued by your tears. "Your great-grandmother is here," she articulates quietly as she wipes your cheeks. You frown and turn your head. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You sniffle and rub your eyes with your sleeve, trying to keep your sobs to a minimum. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|price]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. "Stop, please stop!" you plead. "Lancelot do something!" you sign with eyes bulging. Their face-to-face can not continue, they will hurt each other! You don't immediately understand what is happening as everyone seems to stop and you have to search for a moment before realizing that this sudden stop is due to the arrival of Lady Blanchefleur. Your voice didn't get through, it never will, but this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump up and stop fidgeting. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|price]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you sign before spreading your arms wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" you add firmly before your attention is caught by a particular silhouette on your right. "The $youngPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" If your words didn't get through, maybe those one will. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|price]]//''

Now that all eyes are on her, Lady Blanchefleur carefully arranges the white woolen shawl draping her shoulders before placing her hands flat on her lap. Caelia doesn't miss a beat and Iseult slides her chair over to you after your great-grandmother bows her head slightly. She is ready, she is the true Mistress of the House, the oldest Sword Bearer. "Well, now that you're done acting like a bunch of hysterical baboons, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on here?" she asks quietly. Her steel gray eyes move from your grandfather to your father to you before your uncle Erec on your left finds the courage to answer her. "Lady Grandmother," he begins. She raises a hand. "Have I spoken to you?" "No, but..." "Then why are you talking to me? You will open your mouth when I allow you to, until then, keep it shut." How embarrassing that must be. Your uncle's jaw snaps shut and your aunt has a suspicious coughing fit. Again the leader of the first generation scans the other Swordbearers with her eyes. "Well, I'm waiting. Can't any of you three give me any answers?" she sign. You glance at the two men who seem to have lost all desire to talk. Your great-grandmother raises an eyebrow. "I see. Well, then it must not have been important." You could have sworn you saw your grandfather fidgeting, like a child caught in the act, and Lancelot's lips turn up for a mini-second. "Well, now that that's settled, let me remind you all of what's important," She encompasses everyone with her gaze, stopping on none in particular. "Three members of our family, hunted like animals and enemies soon to be on our doorstep, have you nothing better to do than to stand here like a herd of cows ready for the slaughter?" ''//[[Next|roast]]//''

The response is immediate, and as your grandfather bows and whispers "Very well, mother." the members of your family get to work as if defrosted by a flame. You watch as some of them rush to the barn while others rush to the cars, bags full of weapons under their arms. Your father pulls you and your mother out of the way as your grandfather takes one last look at his older son before sighing. "The barrier," you hesitate for a moment. "It's going to stop the Trepassers, right?" "It will," your great-grandmother confirms. "And we're going to eradicate them, so that you, your father, your grandfather and our entire family will be safe." You glance at your mother, who returns a relieved smile. "But it's only temporary, you understand," Lady Blanchefleur adds, pointing at you. You nod as Lancelot's hand rests on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll keep you safe." Only now do you realize that his civilian clothes are mixed with his armor. Lady Blanchefleur nods and dismisses your cousin with her hand. "Go, now. $name has enough cousins to stay with $them. "Gawain, I entrust you with our Bearer," throws your first sword over your shoulder. Gawain's hazel eyes glow and his chest puffs out. "You can count on me. Good luck guys!" he calls out as Cara, Tristan, and Isolde join Lancelot in one of the family's black SUVs. Six cars race toward the lower court. Out of the corner of your eye, your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction to the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations. Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to stir. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. Everyone can see it, not as well as you, but they can. Gawain come to stand at your side, sweet and proud. <div class="choice">''//[["Tell them to be careful for me, please." You ask him.|please]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You grab Gawain's sleeve and sign. "Tell them to give them hell!"|please1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You turn towards the gates, silent. Your cousins know what they're getting into.|please2]]//''</div>

You are overcome with a powerful rush of ego at the sight of your cousins running into danger. Maybe Lady Blanchefleur's words had something to do with it, but you feel stronger, invigorated. You're not afraid anymore, you're even angry. How dare the trespassers think they have the right to hunt you down, to set foot in this place? "Give them hell," Gawain shout to your cousins. "That's $name who say it!" Cara sticks her head out the window and gives you a thumbs up, an almost predatory smile on her lips. It's a good thing...or so you think. "Thank you, Gawain." "You're welcome!" "You've really improved in sign language!" He blushes, sputters, and smiles. ''//[[Next|back]]//''

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. As Tristan, Laudanne and Lancelot finish loading the SUVs, your eyes meet and you nod. They nod in return. Soon, they will be back. ''//[[Next|back]]//''

The oldest of the Sword Bearers tightens her shawl over her shoulders and sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes, dismissing you with a shake of her head. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." you sign. She shakes her head fondly. "Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's face when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, tapping you on the shoulder, and you hand her the leash. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you sign as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. She barely smiles, but winks at you. ''//[[Next|finallyhome]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. $dogname gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that his blue eyes are shining with tears. He is only seven years old and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" exclaims Gawain a little hesitantly, glancing at you. Bo nods vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." you read on his lips. He still learning sign language. That's an understatement. You didn't hear, but the atmosphere was enough to give you a perfect understanding. You bite your lips. You're not sure you're going to be able to shake all that for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. ''//[[Next|understanding]]//''

Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he sign. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just nods and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders and smiles for both of you. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." "So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaim Bo, eyebrows jumping high on his forehead. Your cousins look up and you follow their movements until you spot Leo. He is already on the floor above, leaning over the railing. You frown, annoyed that you didn't catch what he seemed to say. Fortunately, Vivi comes to your aid. "Adults are silly, he says." You nod and sign for him, cracking your neck to look at him. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" You turn back to Caelia "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" Caelia hastens to translate your signs to Bohort whose face lights up. You hope so, at least. Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours. <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.|hand4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.|hand5]]//''</div>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. You look at your linked hands for a moment, Gawain's hand is all warm and soft, still lacking the knight's calluses. He would be offended if you told him, but you don't care. It's so comforting. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne signs to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning5]]//''

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne signs to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you croak. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too. ''//[[The next morning|morning5]]//''

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open, and you sit up sharply, waking up $dogname whose ears perk up in surprise. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, and heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you,lungs burning.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.]]//''</div>

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open and you sit up sharply. Darkness welcomes you as always, but it has lost its familiarity, replaced by a feeling of vertigo. On your bed, $dogname stirs and barks. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you,lungs burning.|power1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.|power2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.|power3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.|power4]]//''</div>

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open and you sit up sharply, waking up $dogname whose ears perk up in surprise. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you,lungs burning.|power5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.|power6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.|power7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.|power8]]//''</div>

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open and you sit up sharply, waking up $dogname whose ears perk up in surprise. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you,lungs burning.|penpower5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.|penpower6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.|penpower7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.|penpower8]]//''</div>

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open and you sit up sharply, waking up $dogname whose ears perk up in surprise. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you, lungs burning.|deafpower1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.|deafpower2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.|deafpower3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.|deafpower4]]//''</div>

You take a moment to detail him with your eyes. Surprisingly, it has been a year since you last saw each other. It's been a mild year, attack-wise. He looks so much like your father. Your eyes linger for a few seconds on his left cheek on which a scar proudly stands, just above his cheekbone. A dagger wound, if you remember correctly, intended for your father when he was 16. Your uncle was then only 14. He is one of your biggest supporters, best confidant and occasional partner in crime. He is, for example, one of the only adults who understands the importance of the little sweet things in the middle of the night and doesn't hesitate to slip cookies under your door as evidence. <div class="choice">''//[[Take a step back, and cross your arms behind your back, gathering as much elegance as possible in your posture.|posture5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Composedly, you offer a hand to your uncle, a smile on your face. "Hello uncle. It's been too long!"|posture6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You throw your arms around his waist.|posture7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jump into his arms, bursting with joy.|posture8]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Shyness crept in and you avoided his gaze.|posture9]]//''</div>

To hell with etiquette, Grandma won't be happy, but you missed him too much. "Hi Uncle, I missed you!" He hugs you tight, his nose in your neck. "I missed you too! How you've grown!" he adds as he pulls away? struggling to sign as he holds you to roam your face. You beams, then add on your magic board with a pout "Sorry about $dogname, $doghe doesn't listen to me yet, but I'm working on it!" "I'm sure of it!" ''//[[Next|behavior]]//''

You've certainly broken a dozen rules of etiquette, but who cares, you're so happy to see him. "Hi, Uncle! How are you doing? I missed you, sorry about $dogname $doghe's misbehaving right now, but $doghe's sweet!" you write, your movements fast and imprecise. "What's with the piggy writing! I missed every other word!!" he sign as he spins you around. ''//[[Next|behavior]]//''

Your uncle steps aside to let appear. "Aunt Elaine!" you sign with a smile. "Sup kid!" she respond in kind. Dressed in cargo pants and combat boots, she gives you a smirk. At her belt is a quiver full of arrows and in her hand, she holds a black duffel bag that she drops it to the ground. You catch the silver of the steel inside. Weapons. "Going somewhere, maybe?" your father asks, raising an eyebrow. Your aunt hugs your mother before turning to him. "Oh, you know. I'm just going to look around, don't worry brother." "I'll go with her," Erec adds. "To my great delight," Elaine rolls her eyes. "You're my brothers, not my babysitters." she sign and wink in your direction. Your father's shoulders slags and she puts an arm around his waist. $dogname chooses this moment to remember you. $!doghe licks your fingers and you scratch $doghim behind the ears. "So this beast is your protector?" your uncle inquired as he detailed your four-legged friend. you nod. <<nobr>> <<if $dogname is "Cavaal">> "And you named it $dogname, your father let you?" "Yes" Your uncle's eyebrows go up in surprise. "Well, that's a surprise.I never thought he'd agree to such a thing, he who has such a hard time with court names." Your father heard and his response seems cutting and harsh. "It's a dog's name, it's different." "What's different? Cavall was the king's favorite dog. This beast is marked," he signs. "Play nice, you two." Your aunt looks at them in turn and Erec raises his arms, dismissing himself. "I'm just getting him ready for Dad." Your dad shrugs. <<else>> "Sharp canines, good musculature...$!doghe will defend you well." He says your dog's name several times, thinking. "I like that name.""<</if>> <</nobr>> ''//[[Next|musculatures1]]//''

"As I must be!" Your cousin sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have waited until they were settled inside for the greetings." with a movement of his shoulder, he gets rid of his jacket and places it on your shoulders. He stays there, close to you and you suspect that it is an attempt to share his body heat. You don't know what is said next, but Lancelot's features hardened a little more. His jaw tightens, his eyes crinkle and darken and you turn your head to find the object of his anger. Your uncle. You fidget on the spot, ignorance making you uncomfortable. "I have taken vows of protection ''and'' service, to..." He pauses, stumbling over his words, and you too struggle to read his words, before you understand. The word that escapes you and that Lancelot can't seem to get out of his mouth is your name. "My charge," he says unable to meet your gaze. Your father stands behind you and presses your shoulders. You swallow. "You know, you can say my name. It's not a swear word." you show him your magic board and turn your head toward your father for confirmation. "Yes, it's not a curse either," your father agrees. Lancelot straightens up and walks a little away from you without even being aware of it before coming back. He moistens his lips, looks for help everywhere, without finding any, then his eyes fall on you again. Your throat tightens and you struggle against the pressure behind your eyes, threatening to break like a dam. Is it so hard to pronounce your name? Is its echo so terrible? Your family has a long tradition with names. They all have to remember the characters - no, the people - that run through Arthurian stories. Is stories even the right word? Erec, Elainne, Lancelot, Ana, Gareth and Percival. The names of the members of your family might sound like a strange whim of a myth-lover, but you know it's not. It is not a whim, but an obligation, a necessity started by one of your ancestors and continues to this day. ''//[[Until the end.|1]]//''

Names have power, They allow the clairvoyants to tear the veil a little more, they stabilize the magic that runs through all your veins. Seal it in you and place a protective barrier over your beings. But it is double-edged, the names mark you. They also put a mark on you, one that the Trepassers are only too happy to follow to reach you. That's why your family lives in seclusion, as if on its own. That's why your father didn't give you a name related to his family. An attempt to stop the circle, the task of breaking it falls to you. However, your mother overrode your father's wishes and your middle name is taken from Arthur's court. She was careful, however, respecting the laws of your family. You were not named Arthur, for there can only be one King. Not even Morgana or any other diminutive that could remind you of the half-sister of the ruler of Camelot, too much bad blood exists between your family and the one that is sometimes taken for a fairy. Mordred is also taboo, it's a ghost, a whisper rarely evoked in the corridors of the Manor. She was worried, terrified that the magic in your body could break you without this safeguard. - Oh how the features of their faces were hard, how the eyes burned with anger.- But they are still there, and so are you. "Maybe you can write it on my board, if you don't want to say it?" you try to help him. Your cousin loses his color, his face twists, as if you had just punched him in the stomach! "No, I can say it!" he signs hurriedly. "I can sign it too and write, it's not a problem!" The young man takes a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, to give himself strength and courage. Yet fear shines in his eyes as your name falls from his lips. True to his word, he signs it too and write it with his beautiful handwriting, curb soft and elegant. Your heart soars. <div class="choice">''//[[Susan|s3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Edmund|e3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lucy|l3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Peter|p3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Jill|j3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Eustache|eu3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Polly|po3]]//''</div> <div class="choice"><<textbox "$name" "Enter your name">></div> ''//[[Next|texbox2]]//''

You smile and shake your head. "Nope," you write. You take a deep breath, roll your shoulders and you and Lancelot head to the Manor gates. The sky is slowly turning pink as you and your cousin approach the stone steps. With each step, the shadow of the Manor expands and lengthens above you, as it is gently rocked by the light of the emerging day. In the park, the birds come to life, already hunting for food, jumping on the ground with the beak at a low level in search of some insects. You are exhausted and can only hope that you will be allowed to sleep a little. After going to the bathroom, of course. Only $dogname has had this privilege so far, you think as you tighten your numb fingers on $doghis leash. Twice you fight a yawn, a losing battle, as your mouth opens wide and your eyes slide to your right. As usual, Lancelot, walks two steps behind you, -straight and proud posture, his chest is not bulging, but it's just the same- and as usual <div class="choice">''//[[You ask him to walk beside you. Lancelot is not your subordinate, but your equal.|duty6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You straighten up., showing everyone that you know exactly what your duty is.|duty7]]//''</div>

He seems almost tender with your mother, but the subtext is clearly for your father. The verbal spike doesn't miss anyone and it plunges directly into the previous Sword Bearer's chest. The assembly is frozen in place and the faces show only embarrassment and pain. The hairs on your arms stand on as your father tightens his grip on your arm. An unconscious gesture that makes you let out a small gasp of pain. Your mother struggles to find her words, "I...thank you Lord Gareth." you read on her lips. She doesn't expand any further and your grandfather's soles turn towards you. You lift your head and meet the steel gray of the patriarch's pupils. He raises an eyebrow and you inhale, fingers icy. "Greetings, Lord Grandfather." you write, making sure that your writing is as readable and neat as possible. You could swear you see his lips begin to lift. "Greetings, Sword Bearer." he signs <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not her name! She has one, use it, damn it!"|2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not his name! He has one, use it, damn it!"|3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Your father walks up to stand beside you and you raise your face to him. He raises his eyes to the sky. "That's not their name! They has one, use it, damn it!"|4]]//''</div>

<<nobr>> <<set $gender = "f">> <<set $they = "she">> <<set $them = "her">> <<set $themself = "herself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "her">> <<set $theirs = "hers">> <<set $theyre = "she's">> <<set $youngPerson = "girl">> <<set $youngPeople = "girls">> <<set $adultPerson = "woman">> <<set $adultPeople = "women">> <<set $generalPerson = "girl">> <<set $generalPeople = "girls">> <<set $pal = "chick">> <<set $pals = "chicks">> <<set $They = "She">> <<set $Them = "Her">> <<set $Themself = "Herself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Her">> <<set $Theirs = "Hers">> <<set $Theyre = "She's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Girl">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Girls">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Woman">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Women">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Girl">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Girls">> <<set $Pal = "Chick">> <<set $Pals = "Chicks">> <<set $Offspring = "Daugther">> <<set $offspring = "daugther">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause1]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "he">> <<set $them = "him">> <<set $themself = "himself">><<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "his">> <<set $theirs = "his">> <<set $theyre = "he's">> <<set $youngPerson = "boy">> <<set $youngPeople = "boys">> <<set $adultPerson = "man">> <<set $adultPeople = "men">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">><<set $pal = "dude">> <<set $pals = "dudes">> <<set $They = "He">> <<set $Them = "Him">> <<set $Themself = "Himself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "His">> <<set $Theirs = "His">> <<set $Theyre = "He's">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Boy">> <<set $YoungPeople = "Boys">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Man">> <<set $AdultPeople = "Men">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Dude">> <<set $Pals = "Dudes">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause1]]//''

<<nobr>> <<set $they = "they">> <<set $them = "them">> <<set $themself = "themself">> <<set $themselves = "themselves">> <<set $their = "their">><<set $theirs = "theirs">> <<set $theyre = "they're">> <<set $youngPerson = "person">> <<set $youngPeople = "people">> <<set $adultPerson = "person">> <<set $adultPeople = "people">> <<set $generalPerson = "guy">> <<set $generalPeople = "guys">> <<set $pal = "pal">> <<set $pals = "pals">> <<set $They = "They">> <<set $Them = "Them">> <<set $Themself = "Themself">> <<set $Themselves = "Themselves">> <<set $Their = "Their">> <<set $Theirs = "Theirs">> <<set $Theyre = "They're">> <<set $YoungPerson = "Person">> <<set $YoungPeople = "People">> <<set $AdultPerson = "Person">> <<set $AdultPeople = "People">> <<set $GeneralPerson = "Guy">> <<set $GeneralPeople = "Guys">> <<set $Pal = "Pal">> <<set $Pals = "Pals">> <<set $Offspring = "Son">> <<set $offspring = "son">> <<set $were = "was">> <<set $werent = "wasn't">> <<set $are = "is">> <<set $arent = "isn't">> <</nobr>>You quickly turn your head to your grandfather. Only his eyes turn to your father. His lips curl up. "Isn't that what $they $are though?" With a slightly too abrupt gesture, your father pulls you against him, as if to extricate you from the status he refuses to let you wear. "My $offspring, this is what $name $are. And that before anything else, but I don't expect you to understand, you never did. None of you ever did." he adds louder for all to hear. Disapproval shakes the assembly, Lips pucker, eyebrows furrow. A strange feeling of guilt that you cannot explain rattles your insides. You pursed your lips before returning to your observation your gaze shifting from one man to another like in a tennis match. Your grandfather doesn't move an inch, face stoic, absolutely not concerned by the swear word, nor by the undertone sent back at him. A rock in the middle of a sea that is beginning to stir. As quietly as possible, your mother pulls you out of your position. A very good idea, because you do not want to be between the two men when the tension between them is so thick that you can feel it in your mouth. "$They $are, yes, but $theyre not just that, no?" concedes your grandfather. "If $they $werent, you wouldn't be here, but surely you have a reason to give me for your coming, please enlighten me?" Your father's jaw tightens he does not respond to your grandfather whose lips curl up in an almost disdained smile. "Right, your $offspring is the Sword Bearer. And that's why you're here!" He turns to the gathering as your heart seems to have taken up residence in your mouth. "For together we are stronger," he proclaims before turning back to your father. "For no matter how much you are repelled by our presence you need our weapons, you need our arms and our logistics, because..." A pause, more than a hesitation. ''//[[Next|pause1]]//''

You pale as much as your father turns red. Your mother's arms crossed over your chest, tighten. She shivers. "Go ahead, continue," your father says, his voice vibrating with cold white anger. "Please, we've come a long way, this discussion can certainly wait," Pleads your mother in a frail voice as your look up to her. Discussion is a big word, your mother can wrap it in a nice piece of paper, but the exchange between the two men is not cordial, you don't feel any love. Her tone is so desperate when she adds: "Please Lord Gareth." But the two men are on their own battlefield, and soldiers don't care about civilians. They are blind to everything else. The words cross your grandfather's mouth and their purpose is to hurt. "Because you are weak, always weak and I will not lose another person because of your weakness." The last threads of your father's restraint break and his features distorted by a deeply buried wrath freezes your blood. His mouth opens, time stops and Lancelot acts first. Your mother seconds later. Your sight is blocked. However this bond is not strong enough to prevent everything and you feel. You feel the ground vibrate under your soles as furious footsteps move in front of you. Back and forth, again and again. Are they fighting? Of course, they are fighting. Everything about their features says so just a few moments ago. <div class="choice">''//[[bursts into tears.|cry3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Please, stop them!" you beg Lancelot.|cry4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Try to break up the fight.|cry5]]//''</div>

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes you and scorches your soul. Your body is too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, who presses you harder against her and buries your face in her chest. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. You give in, exhausted, and leave her to support you. You worry briefly about whether your tears will make her feel even colder, but only briefly your brain can't continue to feed such futile reflections. You don't know how many minutes go by like this. But then your mother's body stops shaking and you find yourself perplexed. Shyly you look up at her, your eyelashes glued by your tears. "Your great-grandmother is here," she articulates quietly as she wipes your cheeks. You frown and turn your head. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You sniffle and rub your eyes with your sleeve, trying to keep your sobs to a minimum. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|thorn]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you, your body too small and weak to bear it, even with Lancelot as your shield, even with your mother as your guardian, pressing you harder against her. Her arms snake around you, trying to protect you as best she can, making a barricade of her body. "Stop, please stop!" you plead almost pushing your magic board on his face. "Lancelot do something!" Their face-to-face can not continue, they will hurt each other! You don't immediately understand what is happening as everyone seems to stop and you have to search for a moment before realizing that this sudden stop is due to the arrival of Lady Blanchefleur. Your voice didn't get through, it never will, but this one did. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. You jump up and stop fidgeting. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|thorn]]//''

It's too much! Their anger is too great, too burning, it crushes and burns you. You can't stay like this, you have to do something! Anything! Skillfully, you escape from your mother's arms and pass the barrier set up by Lancelot. Before you know it, you are between the two men, and the last syllable of your name hasn't even left your cousin's throat. "Stop it!" you write before spreading your arms wide in an attempt to separate the two adults. "Lord Grandfather, that is my father you are talking to like that, your own son," you scold before turning to your father. "Dad! Please!" You show them your magic board in turn, desperate. Your heart pounds, its powerful rhythm rattling your eardrums. "We're a family, a family shouldn't say this kind of thing to each other!" you add firmly before your attention is caught by a particular silhouette on your right. "The $younPerson is right! This is not what unity looks like!" You drop your board against your thigh. If your words didn't get through, maybe those one will. Carrying elegance and authority with her, your great-grandmother makes her entrance. Caelia and Iseult are by her side, the first one to be exact, while your second cousin quietly pushes her wheelchair. No doubt she has been notified. Diplomacy has always been Caelia and Iseult's preference. She is a little woman, your great-grandmother. Some would say that time has taken its toll on her, rendering her unable to walk, but you know that is not the case. If it wasn't for magic... ''//[[Next|thorn]]//''

Now that all eyes are on her, Lady Blanchefleur carefully arranges the white woolen shawl draping her shoulders before placing her hands flat on her lap. Caelia doesn't miss a beat and Iseult slides her chair over to you after your great-grandmother bows her head slightly. She is ready, she is the true Mistress of the House, the oldest Sword Bearer. "Well, now that you're done acting like a bunch of hysterical baboons, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on here?" she asks quietly. Her steel gray eyes move from your grandfather to your father to you before your uncle Erec on your left finds the courage to answer her. "Lady Grandmother," he begins. She raises a hand. "Have I spoken to you?" "No, but..." "Then why are you talking to me? You will open your mouth when I allow you to, until then, keep it shut." How embarrassing that must be. Your uncle's jaw snaps shut and your aunt has a suspicious coughing fit. Again the leader of the first generation scans the other Swordbearers with her eyes. "Well, I'm waiting. Can't any of you three give me any answers?" she sign. You glance at the two men who seem to have lost all desire to talk. Your great-grandmother raises an eyebrow. "I see. Well, then it must not have been important." You could have sworn you saw your grandfather fidgeting, like a child caught in the act, and Lancelot's lips turn up for a mini-second. "Well, now that that's settled, let me remind you all of what's important," She encompasses everyone with her gaze, stopping on none in particular. "Three members of our family, hunted like animals and enemies soon to be on our doorstep, have you nothing better to do than to stand here like a herd of cows ready for the slaughter?" ''//[[Next|settled]]//''

The response is immediate, and as your grandfather bows and whispers "Very well, mother." the members of your family get to work as if defrosted by a flame. You watch as some of them rush to the barn while others rush to the cars, bags full of weapons under their arms. Your father pulls you and your mother out of the way as your grandfather takes one last look at his older son before sighing. "The barrier," you hesitate for a moment, your pen still in the air. "It's going to stop the Trepassers, right?" "It will," your great-grandmother confirms, writing on your board. "And we're going to eradicate them, so that you, your father, your grandfather and our entire family will be safe." You glance at your mother, who returns a relieved smile. "But it's only temporary, you understand," Lady Blanchefleur adds, pointing at you. You nod as Lancelot's hand rests on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll keep you safe." Only now do you realize that his civilian clothes are mixed with his armor. Lady Blanchefleur nods and dismisses your cousin with her hand. "Go, now. ${name} has enough cousins to stay with ${them}. "Gawain, I entrust you with our Bearer," throws your first sword over your shoulder. Gawain's hazel eyes glow and his chest puffs out. "You can count on me. Good luck guys!" he calls out as Cara, Tristan, and Isolde join Lancelot in one of the family's black SUVs. Six cars race toward the lower court. Out of the corner of your eye, your family's riders turn their horses in the other direction to the forest surrounding the manor. It's a big place to protect, but your family has been doing it perfectly for generations. Your great-grandmother was right, the enemy is at your doorstep and you find yourself jumping only slightly as the energy of the barrier begins to stir. Someone or something has made contact with it. And it's a big one, judging by the multitudes of waves sliding against the bluish surface of the magic shield. Everyone can see it, not as well as you, but they can. Gawain come to stand at your side, sweet and proud <div class="choice">''//[["Tell them to be careful for me, please." You ask him.|please3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You grab Gawain's sleeve and sign. "Tell them to give them hell!"|please4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You turn towards the gates, silent. Your cousins know what they're getting into.|please5]]//''</div>

It's not the first time you've seen this scene and a kind of lethargic familiarity holds you in place, static. There is no excitement, no fear, why should there be. Your family members are doing their duty, just like you. And you are all well aware of the risks. As Tristan, Laudanne and Lancelot finish loading the SUVs, your eyes meet and you nod. They nod in return. Soon, they will be back. ''//[[Next|static]]//''

The oldest of the Sword Bearers tightens her shawl over her shoulders and sighs. The courtyard of the Manor is considerably emptied, only the youngest of your generation, some members of your father's and grandfather's generation remain. Those of Lady Blanchefleur's generation rarely go on the field, preferring to bring to the cause their brains instead of their muscles. "You should go inside now," your great-grandmother tells you as Bohort presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around you. "You're going to need your strength for the next few days," she concludes, dismissing you with a shake of her head. You turn your head towards your parents. "Go ahead," your father advises you. "A few hours of sleep is better than no sleep at all. He places a kiss on your forehead and your mother buries her nose in your hair before taking your face in her hands. "Don't let $dogname sleep on your bed." "You know $doghe doesn't listen to me, though." you write. She shakes her head fondly. "Don't worry aunt and uncle, we'll take good care of $name!" "I don't doubt it, Gawain." Your father has always been very fond of the ease with which your cousin manages to pronounce your name, he holds none of the fear that can cross Lancelot's face when he does so. "Can I take the dog's leash?" Vivianne questions, tapping you on the shoulder, and you hand her the leash. "I wanted to take it," Leo sulks. "Thank you for stepping in, Lady Great-Grandmother," you write on your board as you round the matriarch to enter the grounds of the mansion. ''//[[She barely smiles, but winks at you.|1.1]]//''

The large hall is as cold as the outside, despite the presence of carpets and candles hanging on the walls. With your grandfather came the heaters, but your family still tries to respect the medieval way of life. You have to be ready to support the way of life on the other side. In front of you, the central staircase appears as the umpteenth obstacle that you have to fight tonight, your room is located three floors above. $dogname gallops past you towards the central staircase covered with a red carpet edged in gold, the color of the Pendragon. You smile. Leodagand has finally won his case, struggling to keep himself from falling and restrain your four-legged companion. Vivianne laughs. Bo is still close to you, his hand firmly gripping the bottom of Lancelot's jacket as if he didn't want to lose you, and you notice that his blue eyes are shining with tears. He is only seven years old and must have been terribly scared earlier. "Well, that was scary!" exclaims Gawain a little hesitantly, glancing at you. Bo nods vigorously. "Grandpa screamed really loud." you read on his lips. He still learning sign language and does not dare to use your board. That's an understatement. You didn't hear, but the atmosphere was enough to give you a perfect understanding. You bite your lips. You're not sure you're going to be able to shake all that for a while and it must be the same for your little cousin. ''//[[Next|perfect]]//''

Taking note of your morose air, Gawain panics slightly. "Don't worry," he sign. "I'm sure they didn't mean a word of what they said earlier! Right guys?" Vivianne just nods and Caelia puts an arm around Bo's shoulders and smiles for both of you. "That's right! If they didn't love each other, they wouldn't fight. Lady Blanchefleur always says that." "So they get mad because they love each other? They're silly!" exclaim Bo, eyebrows jumping high on his forehead. Your cousins look up and you follow their movements until you spot Leo. He is already on the floor above, leaning over the railing. You frown, annoyed that you didn't catch what he seemed to say. Fortunately, Vivi comes to your aid. "Adults are silly, he says." You nod and sign for him, cracking your neck to look at him. "Don't lean over, it's dangerous!" You turn back to Caelia "Thank you for going to get Lady Blanchefleur, Caelia. It was well thought out. And don't worry Bo, tomorrow everything will be better!" Caelia hastens to translate your writing to Leo and Bohort's face lights up as he reads what's on your board. You hope so, at least. Your sudden optimism didn't seem to convince Gawain though. "Are you sure you're okay?" Gawain insists, moving his hand to yours. <div class="choice">''//[[You give him your hand.|hand6]]//'' </div> <div class="choice">''//[[You don't take his hand.|hand7]]//''</div>

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. You look at your linked hands for a moment, Gawain's hand is all warm and soft, still lacking the knight's calluses. He would be offended if you told him, but you don't care. It's so comforting. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne signs to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you write slowly. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning6]]//''

Just like Bo, he was always a little touchy-feely. He always accompanies his playful tirades with hugs and other things. Holding your hand is his second language, a way for him to assure you that he is there. Yet, Gawain still takes your needs into consideration and as you bring your hand against you and gently shake your head, he nods and his smile gets even bigger. As if to warm you up. "If you want we could watch a movie!" the boy enthuses before adding in a tone of confidence. "I hid some popcorn." You laugh and his face lights up before Bo steps in. "Grandma said $name had to sleep! And I'm tired too!" "Why don't you go to sleep and we'll watch the movie?" suggests Vivianne as you finally reach the third floor. There are 18 rooms here, most of which contain the bedrooms of members of your generation, but there is also your office, a music room and a library. "But I want to watch the movie with you!" shouts Bo. "Please $name don't go watch the movie without me!" "No one is going to watch a movie," you firmly state. "We all need to sleep!" the adrenaline has finally left your body and you wonder how you even walk. Luckily you're not the one carrying your bag. As you stop in front of your quarters, $dogname abandons $doghis exploration of the area and comes to press $doghis nose against your hand. You don't even have the strength to open the door and worse, you just realized something. "$name?" Vivianne signs to you softly. The question in your cousins' eyes is obvious, recurring. "I'm fine," you write slowly. "It's just...I think I peed a little," you confess on the verge of tears. Their faces twist in pain and Bo throws his arms around your waist once again. "Don't worry, you know, I think I peed a little too." ''//[[The next morning|morning6]]//''

//"$name?"// //"$name, please..."// //"$name, I need you!"// //"So, wake up!"// //$name, awake!"// Your eyes snap open and you sit up sharply, waking up $dogname whose ears perk up in surprise. Your heart tries to escape from its cage of flesh, your pajamas stick to your skin, and you feel bad, filthy, heavy as if something was pressed on your head. <div class="choice">''//[[A violent coughing fit jolts you, lungs burning.|deafpenpower1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You struggle, gasping for air.|deafpenpower2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You sputter, trying to expel what's drowning you.|deafpenpower3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You inhale with difficulty, an earthy sensation in your mouth.|deafpenpower4]]//''</div>

That's the end of the demo. For now! I hope you enjoyed the journey and that it wasn't plagued by bugs. As a reminder, English is not my mother tongue, so I welcome constructive criticism on just about anything. You can also find me on Tumblr: ''//Heavy-is-the-crown-if''// Thank you again for taking the time to read, because a story is nothing if no one is here to bring it to life.

With a flick of his arm, Lancelot interrupts Iseult and Bo's course, holding out his arm as a barrier. "Wait," he orders. His voice is not devoid of kindness, but firm and unyielding. "Are you stable? Can we approach?" he asks, without taking his eyes off you. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.]]//''</div>

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. The shock makes you jump and a jet of flame goes blindly in the direction of the intruders. "Watch out!" Two silhouettes throw themselves to the ground, a few shouts ring out, and when the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain raise their heads from the ground. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and croak. "What about you?" Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, and your sheets have turned to gray ash. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the mirror on the wall opposite your bed shatters. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes flinging themselves to the side, narrowly avoiding having the doors to your room slam into their faces. And the wind dies down to a breeze. Gawain and Lancelot step cautiously inside, taking in the state of the room. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You croak. "What about you?" Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state, as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. The wooden floor is covered in broken glass, and turning your head to follow Gawain's gaze, you stare in confusion at your cracked windows. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out it wins and the dam collapses! The water in the carafe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, and the drainpipes graze dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes being pushed back by the water. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, soaked to the bone. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You croak and cough. "What about you?" Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water and the parquet on the floor is starting to buckle piteously. In the bathroom, the powerful spray you'd heard has become a ridiculous drip. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat.You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouetted figures jump back as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks with a final scream, creating a gaping mouth in the center of your room, and calm returns. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their eyes riveted to the floor. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You croak. "What about you?" Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders]]//''

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and mumur, gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and murmur, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!" In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!" Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge." In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire." In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> "It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control," you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" Gawain rolls his eyes: "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" He turns to you. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds, his eyes shining. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. You avoid his burning gaze and close your eyes. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and mumur, gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and murmur, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!" In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!" Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge." In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire." In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> "It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control," you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" Gawain rolls his eyes: "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" He turns to you. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds, his eyes shining. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat]]//''

"Wait!" Lancelot's order slams down violently, and for a split second, you stop moving before realizing that he's not talking to you. Bo and Iseult's hurried race has come to a halt. His voice is not devoid of kindness, but firm and unyielding. "Are you stable? Can we approach?" he asks. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.a]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.a1]]//''</div>

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and mumur.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and murmur, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!" In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!" Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge." In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire." In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> "It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control," you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds to you, a smile in his voice. "Good," says Lancelot. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." The sound of his footsteps fades away before coming to a halt, and you put your ear to the ground. "I'm glad you're all right." These words are for you, and they make the anxiety you feel disappear. "Me too," you reply. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as the sound of your first Sword disappears down the hall. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat1]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. His gaze burns your skin and you close your eyes as if you could detach yourself from it. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and mumur.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and murmur, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!" In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!" Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge." In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire." In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> "It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control," you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds to you, a smile in his voice. "Good," says Lancelot. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." The sound of his footsteps fades away before coming to a halt, and you put your ear to the ground. "I'm glad you're all right." These words are for you, and they make the anxiety you feel disappear. "Me too," you reply. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as the sound of your first Sword disappears down the hall. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat1]]//''

"Sorry about that," you apologize, looking away. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds, observing the damage. "Still," you murmur, shaking your head. "Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?" <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia roll their eyes, carbon copies of each other."As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..." continues Iseult after glaring at Laudanne. "He wants to see me?" "He wants to eat," Bo replies, opening his arms in your direction. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him before looking for your alarm clock. It's indeed time to eat, but for your grandfather to ask that you eat face-to-face...it must be serious. "Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together," adds Caelia, looking straight into your eyes. All together? "Oh." So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn to the twins and Gawains while the others are busy trying to clean up your room. "Let's not keep him waiting, then." <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh " I liked my outfit..." "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't you talk normally! You smile and follow the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway]]//''</div>

An interactive story

You and your father breathe a sigh of relief. "Feeling better?" It's so easy to feel the smile in your mom's words. Two different answers come to her. "Yes!" and "Why would I feel better!" your father snaps in bad faith and pouts. You continue at this same pace for another twenty minutes You press the button to roll down the window and the cool night air caresses your face. The smells are more charged here, less natural and more...industrial, you have just entered the lower courtyard. In fact, you know that more and more houses defile under your parents' eyes has default of yours. Some are made of wood, others of stone, but all are placed in such a way that the roof of the next one is always higher than the one of the previous one. A military architecture put in place by your ancestors in order to allow the archers of your family to aim and shoot from their roofs without fear of hurting the archers in front of them, as Bedivère, one of your father's cousins, explained to you one day while you were walking on the estate with your family. As you cross the bridge separating the lower courtyard from the large black iron gate leading to the Manor, the car slows down. and your mother leans toward the windshield. "It seems we were expected, here comes the welcoming committee." Your father has an acidic laugh that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. "More like monitoring, the old man and his obsession with controlling...," he replies with his face flushed with anger. Your eyebrows furrow with worry and you search for a new position, trying to chase away a different kind of anxiety. It would be foolish to think that this time things will be different ''//[[Next|different]]//''

You make quick work of getting ready and head for the stairs, your cousins following almost religiously. $dogname trots by your side this morning, her head banging against your thigh every-time you dare to refuse her a caress. In the daylight, the Manoir loses its ghostly halo, and you can appreciate the colors of the wood, now warm under the light. Numerous frames adorn the stone walls, family paintings revealing members of the family who died earlier or later. Others affirm the presence of the living. You posed with your mother and father for one of them when you were still just chirping. It would be a shame to have destroyed all this heritage through lack of control. "You must be famished," Isolde's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you. "Magic is so energy-hungry," she adds with a worried frown. "That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before." you mused. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. "What's that?" "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles as she takes hold of her little sheet of cardboard. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. Your cousin's handwriting is long, soft and elongated. Easy to read. You stare at your schedule for a moment. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face. .]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. "You sound like Lancelot," you note, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. "I can't wait to get started," you smile. Bo looks at you with round eyes. "You're not normal. <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. Your combined footsteps echo down the immense corridor, at the end of which Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously at the foot of the metal soldiers, ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword rolls his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that," asks Gawain, detailing him from head to toe. "I feel so underdressed now," he accuses him. Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. "Maybe I should have made an effort..." "I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time, the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. " You inhale, believing Lancelot's words. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

Isolde nods: "You are." "Which means rigor and training," adds Laudanne, stretching. Her back creaks and Tristan wrinkles his nose. Indeed. You're the Sword Bearer and you need training. These are two facts that are hard to dispute, as evidenced by the state of your room. You press on, thinking about all that your status implies. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest]]//''</div>

A blow is dealt to the top of your head and you turn to Laudanne. "Ouch! Why did you do that?" She shrugs her shoulders, "You were being smug." "Wrong, I was stating a truth!" "By being smug," Caelia retorts, backing up Laudanne's words. Isolde nods: "You were, you still have that smile on your face." "It's better than sulking!" "Try to find the balance before you're in the presence of Lord Gareth and Lady Blanchefleur. Ah, now you're pouting." notes Tristan. "I'm not sulking, I'm thinking! "While pouting," Vivi points out. "Okay, I'm not talking to you all anymore," you decide before pressing on. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest]]//''</div>

"Sorry about that," you apologize. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds. "Still," you murmur, shaking your head. "Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?" <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, Don't move a muscle. There's glass everywhere! Are you trying to hurt yourself!? You're making yourself very small. Tristan has always been sensitive, and his anxiety often turns to anger when he's not prepared for a situation. \ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia sighs in unison. carbon copies of each other."As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..." continues Iseult after a pause. "He wants to see me?" "He wants to eat," Bo replies, He grabs your arm and slips underneath, hugging your waist. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him. "Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together," adds Caelia. All together? "Oh." So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn toward the scent of the twins and Gawain. "Let's not keep him waiting, then." <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"|borrow1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"|borrow2]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh " I liked my outfit..." "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia. "Couldn't you talk normally! You smile and follow carefully the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway1]]//''</div>

It must be a tiresome exercise, yet they've always taken care to be your eyes. And you couldn't be more grateful, on that black page that is your vision, Caelia and Gawain bring color, they keep your imagination alive. "You must be famished," Isolde's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you. "Magic is so energy-hungry," she adds with a worried frown. "That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before." you mused. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. You smile and shake your head. "What's that?" "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. "I've got one for you too," Iseult teaches you, and you place your hand so that she slips your timetable into it. your fingers immediately run over raised surfaces. Braille. "Thank you," you reply, your voice full of emotion. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|truth1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|truth2]]//''</div>

As far as you know, you don't have Alzheimer's yet, so why do they always do that! With that tone, that slow pronunciation. Do they really think you're that incapable of seeing beyond your handicap? What use are your memory and imagination, your other senses, then? "I've got it," you reply abruptly. "I still remember what the Manor looks like, I've got ears and a memory that still works just fine!" This has the effect of making them stop their tirade and you feel your cousins stir behind you. "You must be famished," Isolde's voice pulls you out of your redhot thoughts, and you turn your head to locate her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you. "Magic is so energy-hungry," she adds with a worried voice. "That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before." you mused. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head. "What's that?" "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. "I've got one for you too," Iseult teaches you, and you place your hand so that she slips your timetable into it. your fingers immediately run over raised surfaces. Braille. "Thank you," you reply, your voice full of emotion. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|truth1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|truth2]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. As thoughtful as she is to let you read it in Braille, Iseult has just handed you a list of chores. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. "You sound like Lancelot," you note, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest1]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. "I can't wait to get started," you smile. "You're not normal." The disbelief in Bo's voice is so powerful. <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."|indeed1]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."|indeed2]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. Your combined footsteps echo down the immense corridor, at the end of which Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. even in the midst of the sweet and savory, the scent of Jasmine finds its way in. You ask for confirmation: "Lancelot?" "Down the hall," Gawain sulkily confirms. "Why are you sulking?" "He's all dressed up, I feel shabby." Your eyebrows raise: "Oh, what's he wearing." From the description your cousin paints for you, Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. "Maybe I should have made an effort..." "I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time...,uh, no pun intended." "Don't apologize, that was well //seen//," you reply and Gawain nearly swallows his saliva wrong, coughing and wheezing. You grin. "Please, stop that, also the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. " You nods. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You keep your ear open, on the lookout, waiting. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously strong of your left ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. The "Piertotum locomotor," he murmurs, doesn't escape you, but you doubt the effectiveness of the enchantment. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword huffs. "Ready?" he asks, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. You inhale, <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

Isolde reply: "You are." "Which means rigor and training," adds Laudanne, she lets out the same kind of groan you do when you stretch. . Her back creaks. Indeed. You're the Sword Bearer and you need training. These are two facts that are hard to dispute, as evidenced by the state of your room. You press on, thinking about all that your status implies. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest1]]//''</div>

A blow is dealt to the top of your head and you searching for the culprit. "Ouch! Why did you do that?" Laudanne cackles, "You were being smug. and that wasn't me, it was Tristan." "Liar!" the concerned cousin objects. You ignore this and exclaim : "Wrong, I was stating a truth!" "By being smug," Caelia retorts, backing up Laudanne's words. Isolde adds "You were, you still have that smile on your face." "It's better than sulking!" "Try to find the balance before you're in the presence of Lord Gareth and Lady Blanchefleur. Ah, now you're pouting." notes Tristan. "I'm not pouting, I'm thinking! "While sulking," Vivi points out. "Okay, I'm not talking to you all anymore," you decide before pressing on. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest1]]//''</div>

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks lourder. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. The shock makes you jump. "Watch out!" A few shouts ring out, and when the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain calls to you. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken and let their familiar scent comfort you. Iseult rushes into the room, the bracelets on her wrists clicked together. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, you'd know the sound of his sneakers anywhere. You cough and croak. "What about you?" You angle your head towards the sound of their voices. Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, heavy and acrid. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders1]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the sound of breaking glass fills your ears. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. "Watch out!" You can't quite make out what's going on, but you can tell your cousins' fear. Then the wind dies down to a breeze, it dissipates as quickly as it rose. The mixed scents of Gawain and Lancelots are the first to reach you. Your first sword beckons cautiously. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken and let their familiar scent comfort you. Iseult rushes into the room, the bracelets on her wrists clicked together. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, you'd know the sound of his sneakers anywhere. You cough and croak. "What about you?" You angle your head towards the sound of their voices. Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Your fingers run through sliced fabric as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders1]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks lourder. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out ! It wins and the dam collapses. The water in the caraffe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, soaking you from head to toes and the drainpipes graze dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. "Watch out!" Using your other senses as a guide, over the din of the water you hear the sudden splashing of your cousins in the torrent. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, Literally. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken and let their familiar scent comfort you. Iseult rushes into the room, the bracelets on her wrists clicked together. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, you'd know the sound of his sneakers anywhere. You croak and cough. "What about you?" You angle your head towards the sound of their voices. Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water. In the bathroom, the powerful spray you'd heard has become a ridiculous drip. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders1]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks louder. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. You want to speak but are unable to, only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. "Watch out!" You hear your cousins jumping and scurrying away as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks with a final scream, and calm returns to your room. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their their warm, comforting scents gliding through the room. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken and let their familiar scent comfort you. Iseult rushes into the room, the bracelets on her wrists clicked together. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, you'd know the sound of his sneakers anywhere. You croak and cough. "What about you?" You angle your head towards the sound of their voices. Beneath you, your sheets seems to be in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier beneath your head still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders1]]//''

You clench your fists, your body shaking. "It just needs a little time, remember when you learned to ride a bike...that took time too." Your dad squeezes your shoulder and you remember all the tears you shed, the jitters in your stomach. The endless lessons to remember the path perfectly. Your parents have always made sure that your eyes are not a hindrance, even without them, they want you to be able to do as much as possible. Like riding a bike for example. Normal things, they want you to be able to enjoy them too. You sigh, resigned to intensify the training of your faithful canine companion. ''//[[Next|effect]]//''

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. You couldn't give $doghim any caresses as your hands pressed against your throat, seeking deliverance, anything. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. Your world is silently on fire. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. The shock makes you jump and a jet of flame goes blindly in the direction of the intruders. "Watch out!" Two silhouettes throw themselves to the ground, a few shouts ring out, and when the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain raise their heads from the ground. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and sign with clammy hands. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, and your sheets have turned to gray ash. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders2]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. Only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the mirror on the wall opposite your bed shatters. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes flinging themselves to the side, narrowly avoiding having the doors to your room slam into their faces. And the wind dies down to a breeze. Gawain and Lancelot step cautiously inside, taking in the state of the room. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. you sign, gasping ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state, as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. The wooden floor is covered in broken glass, and turning your head to follow Gawain's gaze, you stare in confusion at your cracked windows. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders2]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. You're too busy trying to stay afloat. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you, like a bottle in the sea.... It tears your throat. It wants to go out it wins and the dam collapses! The water in the carafe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, and the drainpipes graze dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes being pushed back by the water. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, soaked to the bone. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You croak and sign. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water and the parquet on the floor is starting to buckle piteously. In the bathroom, the powerful spray you'd heard has become a ridiculous drip. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders2]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouetted figures jump back as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks with a final scream, creating a gaping mouth in the center of your room, and calm returns. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their eyes riveted to the floor. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You sign. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders2]]//''

With a flick of his arm, Lancelot interrupts Iseult and Bo's course, holding out his arm as a barrier. "Wait," he orders. His voice is not devoid of kindness, but firm and unyielding. "Are you stable? Can we approach?" he asks, without taking his eyes off you. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.|protect]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.|protect1]]//''</div>

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and think palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds grinning. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat2]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. You avoid his burning gaze and close your eyes. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and think palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>''"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"'' In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>''"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"'' Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>''"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."'' In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>''"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."'' In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> ''"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"'' you muse to yourself. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds grinning. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat2]]//''

''"Sorry about that,"'' you apologize, looking away. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds, observing the damage. "Still," you sign, shaking your head. "Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?" <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia roll their eyes, carbon copies of each other."As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..." signs Iseult to you after glaring at Laudanne. ''"He wants to see me?"'' "He wants to eat," Bo replies, opening his arms in your direction. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him before looking for your alarm clock. It's indeed time to eat, but for your grandfather to ask that you eat face-to-face...it must be serious. "Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together," adds Caelia, looking straight into your eyes. All together? Your mouth opens into a silent O So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn to the twins and Gawains while the others are busy trying to clean up your room. ''"Let's not keep him waiting, then."'' <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"|spare]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"|spare1]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh ''"I liked my outfit..."'' "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't you talk normally! "Technically, I'm signing," replies her twin, sarcastically. You smile and follow the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway2]]//''</div>

You make quick work of getting ready and head for the stairs, your cousins following almost religiously. $dogname trots by your side this morning, $doghis head banging against your thigh every-time you dare to refuse $doghim a caress. In the daylight, the Manoir loses its ghostly halo, and you can appreciate the colors of the wood, now warm under the light. Numerous frames adorn the stone walls, family paintings revealing members of the family who died earlier or later. Others affirm the presence of the living. You posed with your mother and father for one of them when you were still just a baby. It would be a shame to have destroyed all this heritage through lack of control. "You must be famished," Isolde's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you. "Magic is so energy-hungry," she adds with a worried frown. ''"That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before."'' you mused. Your belly rumbles and you press your hands against it. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. ''"What's that?"'' you sign pointing toward her chest. "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles as she takes hold of her little sheet of cardboard. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. Your cousin's handwriting is long, soft and elongated. Easy to read. You stare at your schedule for a moment. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|notraining]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|notraining1]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. ''"You sound like Lancelot,"'' you note signing while turning his way, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest2]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. ''"I can't wait to get started,"'' you sign with a smile catching your cousins gazes. Bo looks at you with round eyes. "You're not normal. <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."|indeed3]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."|indeed4]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. Your combined footsteps echo down the immense corridor, at the end of which Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously at the foot of the metal soldiers, ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword rolls his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that," asks Gawain, detailing him from head to toe. "I feel so underdressed now," he accuses him. Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. ''"Maybe I should have made an effort..."'' you sign your fingers turning cold. "I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time, the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. " You inhale, believing Lancelot's words. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

A blow is dealt to the top of your head and you turn to Laudanne. ''"Ouch! Why did you do that?"'' you sign. She shrugs her shoulders signing, "You were being smug." ''"Wrong, I was stating a truth!"'' "By being smug," Caelia retorts, backing up Laudanne's words. Isolde nods: "You were, you still have that smile on your face." ''"It's better than sulking!"'' "Try to find the balance before you're in the presence of Lord Gareth and Lady Blanchefleur. Ah, now you're pouting." notes Tristan. ''"I'm not pouting, I'm thinking!"'' "While pouting," Vivi points out. ''"Okay, I'm not talking to you all anymore,"'' you decide before pressing on. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest2]]//''</div>

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. You jump and a jet of flame goes blindly in the direction of the intruders. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Two silhouettes throw themselves to the ground. When the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain raise their heads from the ground. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and sign with clammy hand. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, and your sheets have turned to gray ash. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders4]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the mirror on the wall opposite your bed shatters. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes flinging themselves to the side, narrowly avoiding having the doors to your room slam into their faces. And the wind dies down to a breeze. Gawain and Lancelot step cautiously inside, taking in the state of the room. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and sign with clammy hand. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state, as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. The wooden floor is covered in broken glass, and turning your head to follow Gawain's gaze, you stare in confusion at your cracked windows. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders4]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out it wins and the dam collapses! The water in the carafe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, and the drainpipes vibrate dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes being pushed back by the water. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, soaked to the bone. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and sign with clammy hand. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water and the parquet on the floor is starting to buckle piteously. Fortunately, you'll notice that the current seems weaker. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders4]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouetted figures jump back as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks open with a final scream, creating a gaping mouth in the center of your room, and calm returns. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their eyes riveted to the floor. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. You cough and sign with clammy hand. ''"What about you?"'' Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders4]]//''

With a flick of his arm, Lancelot interrupts Iseult and Bo's course, holding out his arm as a barrier. "Wait," he orders. It's a word that's easy to read on the lips, "wait." it makes the mouth of the person pronouncing it open wide, almost cuttingly. ''"Are you stable? Can we approach?"'' he sign, without taking his eyes off you. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.|deafprotect]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.|deafprotect1]]//''</div>

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room. Leo and the others only appear a few seconds later, and Gawain is quick to report what he's said. ''"Leo asked if you were going to explode,"'' he explains, rolling his eyes. ''"But you didn't explode, you awakened your power! That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!"'' he adds signing, his eyes shining. Lancelot nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. You smile, tired, and rest your hand against your heart. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," You read on Tristant lips as he hails your first Sword who disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat5]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. You avoid his burning gaze and close your eyes. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room. Leo and the others only appear a few seconds later, and Gawain is quick to report what he's said. ''"Leo asked if you were going to explode,"'' he explains, rolling his eyes. ''"But you didn't explode, you awakened your power! That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!"'' he adds signing, his eyes shining. Lancelot nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. You smile, tired, and rest your hand against your heart. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," You read on Tristant lips as he hails your first Sword who disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat5]]//''

''"Sorry about that,"'' you apologize, looking away. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds, observing the damage. ''"Still,"'' you sign, shaking your head. ''"Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?"'' <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. ''"Careful!"'' Tristan made a step toward you with a frown.\ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. ''"Careful!"'' Tristan made a step toward you with a frown.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia roll their eyes, carbon copies of each other.''"As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..."'' signs Iseult to you after glaring at Laudanne. ''"He wants to see me?"'' "He wants to eat," Bo replies. Gawain translate, and your little cousin open his arms in your direction. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him before looking for your alarm clock. It's indeed time to eat, but for your grandfather to ask that you eat face-to-face...it must be serious. ''"Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together,"'' adds Caelia, looking straight into your eyes. All together? Your mouth opens into a silent O So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn to the twins and Gawains while the others are busy trying to clean up your room. ''"Let's not keep him waiting, then."'' <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"|SPARE]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"|SPARE1]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh ''"I liked my outfit..."'' "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't you talk normally! "Technically, I'm signing," replies her twin, sarcastically. You smile and follow the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway3]]//''</div>

You make quick work of getting ready and head for the stairs, your cousins following almost religiously. $dogname trots by your side this morning, $doghis head banging against your thigh every-time you dare to refuse $doghim a caress. In the daylight, the Manoir loses its ghostly halo, and you can appreciate the colors of the wood, now warm under the light. Numerous frames adorn the stone walls, family paintings revealing members of the family who died earlier or later. Others affirm the presence of the living. You posed with your mother and father for one of them when you were still just a baby. It would be a shame to have destroyed all this heritage through lack of control. Iseult taps you on the shoulder and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you.. ''"You must be famished,"'' she adds with a worried frown. ''"Magic is so energy-hungry,"'' ''"That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before."'' you sign back. Your belly rumbles and you press your hands against it. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." Iseult stops, and with a shake of her head, indicates that you should do the same. You obey and follow her gaze. "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. ''"What's that?"'' you sign pointing toward her chest. "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles as she takes hold of her little sheet of cardboard. "It's not //that// bad," replies Iseult with a tender smile. Your cousin's handwriting is long, soft and elongated. Easy to read. You stare at your schedule for a moment. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|notraining2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|notraining3]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. ''"You sound like Lancelot,"'' you note signing while turning his way, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." you add. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest3]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. ''"I can't wait to get started,"'' you sign with a smile catching your cousins gazes. Bo looks at you with round eyes. "You're not normal." <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."|indeed5]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."|indeed6]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. At the end of corridor Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously at the foot of the metal soldiers, ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword rolls his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that," asks Gawain, detailing him from head to toe. "I feel so underdressed now," he accuses him. Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. ''"Maybe I should have made an effort..."'' you sign your fingers turning cold. ''"I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time, the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. "'' You inhale, believing Lancelot's words. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

''Come back, come back, for Merlin's sake!'' you think as you furiously press the clicker again and again. Kneeling in front of you, your father signs with a slight smile on his lips: "I assure you that the clicker works very well, no need to get restless on it. You sneer. "Really, then why $doghe not at my feet?" Do you have to wiggle in front of $dogname; like you have to wave your magic board in front of people to get them to pay attention to you and understand you? Like a walking curiosity? Offended, you throw your means of communication to the ground, cutting short any future conversation. Your mother is startled and your father stares at you for a moment before picking up your magic board, removing the gravel stuck inside. "I know it's not easy, and being tired doesn't help, but you'll be fine. I'm here, your mom is here, you're not alone." He signs rather than writes and despite your efforts not to meet his eyes, his movements still draw your attention. You gasp, and abruptly pull your tablet from his hands. ""I am, you are not like me! I'm different." And that makes it so much harder. Your father watches you thoughtfully for a few minutes before signing back, "You're right." At these words, your heart sinks and your eyes burn. "You are different from us, you are stronger!" You bite your lip and he adds, "Shall I list all the things you've managed to do so far?" You fidget, uncomfortable. "But..." you start to write before your father squeezes your wrist and shakes his head. He takes your pen. "No buts." He kiss your temple and you sigh. ''//[[Next|butt]]//''

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. You couldn't give $doghim any caresses as your hands pressed against your throat, seeking deliverance, anything. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. Your world is silently on fire. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. The shock makes you jump and a jet of flame goes blindly in the direction of the intruders. "Watch out!" Two silhouettes throw themselves to the ground, a few shouts ring out, and when the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain raise their heads from the ground. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. "look for $their magic board!" your cousin orders in a voice sharpened by your despair, as she begins her search. Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, and your sheets have turned to gray ash. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders3]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. Only a grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the mirror on the wall opposite your bed shatters. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes flinging themselves to the side, narrowly avoiding having the doors to your room slam into their faces. And the wind dies down to a breeze. Gawain and Lancelot step cautiously inside, taking in the state of the room. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. "look for $their magic board!" your cousin orders in a voice sharpened by your despair, as she begins her search. Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state, as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. The wooden floor is covered in broken glass, and turning your head to follow Gawain's gaze, you stare in confusion at your cracked windows. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders3]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. You're too busy trying to stay afloat. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you, like a bottle in the sea.... It tears your throat. It wants to go out it wins and the dam collapses! The water in the carafe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, and the drainpipes graze dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes being pushed back by the water. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, soaked to the bone. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. "look for $their magic board!" your cousin orders in a voice sharpened by your despair, as she begins her search. Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water and the parquet on the floor is starting to buckle piteously. In the bathroom, the powerful spray you'd heard has become a ridiculous drip. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders3]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend barks. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. "$name? What's wrong?" Hearing Isolde's voice, $dogname rushes to the door, taking the bed throw and the pillows with $doghim. As $doghis paws flap against the door, your cousins' voices are nothing more than indistinct hums in your ears and you clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. "Watch out!" Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouetted figures jump back as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks with a final scream, creating a gaping mouth in the center of your room, and calm returns. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their eyes riveted to the floor. "$name, are you all right?" You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. "look for $their magic board!" your cousin orders in a voice sharpened by your despair, as she begins her search. Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders3]]//''

With a flick of his arm, Lancelot interrupts Iseult and Bo's course, holding out his arm as a barrier. "Wait," he orders. His voice is not devoid of kindness, but firm and unyielding. "What do you mean, wait!" retorts Isolde dryly. "You don't see the state $theyre in!" The look Lancelot gives her back is as icy as the tone of Isolde's voice had been. "Of course I do, but it's not safe, not for you, not for $them!" Beside your First Sword, Gawain raises his hands in front of him and pretends to advance toward you. Slowly, as if not to frighten you. "$name, breathe, you've got to try and calm down." Calm down! Calm down? You throw your arms in the air and sign having totally forgotten how to sign. Your gestures are erratic, incomprehensible, you've lost your only means of communication, your link to the world. A second abyss seems to have opened beneath you. Suddenly, a rope, a lifeline, a bark. $dogname! $doghe walks towards you and in its maw, a familiar object. You whimper again and hug your furry companion. $doghe has found it. You have a voice again. "Are you stable? Can we approach?" Lancelot question again without taking his eyes off you. You wipe away the last of your tears. Iseult frees herself from his grip and gives him an angry look. Erec's son sighs. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.|PROTECT]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.|PROTECT1]]//''</div>

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and think palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself eyes still wet. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds grinning. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat3]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. You avoid his burning gaze and close your eyes. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to cope with the sensation of your cousins' stares on your skin, and think palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $beta is "fire">>''"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"'' In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. you feel its warmth that doesn't burn you flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>''"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"'' Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. you feel it push towards you, a breeze caressing your cheeks. its waver as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>''"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."'' In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You feel it cold on your skin. It sway as if in a trance before you close your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>''"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."'' In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You hear this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> ''"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"'' you muse to yourself eyes still wet. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head, sensing your cousins' presence close to you. Or at least, the cousins in your room, as you hear Leo's voice in the background. "Is it all right? Can we come, or will $name blow up again?" "$They didn't explode, $they awakened $their power!" retorts Gawain with a touch of annoyance. "That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!" he adds grinning. "Good," says Lancelot. He nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," Tristan hails him as your first Sword disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls at Lancelot's lack of response. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin laughed.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat3]]//''

''"Sorry about that,"'' you write on your board, before looking away. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds, observing the damage. "Still," you write, shaking your head. "Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?" <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia roll their eyes, carbon copies of each other."As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..." signs Iseult to you after glaring at Laudanne. You point at yourself, before writing : ''"He wants to see me?"'' "He wants to eat," Bo replies, opening his arms in your direction. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him, your magic board holding loosely in your hand. Your eyes find your alarm clock. It's indeed time to eat, but for your grandfather to ask that you eat face-to-face...it must be serious. "Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together," adds Caelia, looking straight into your eyes. All together? Your mouth opens into a silent O So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn to the twins and Gawains while the others are busy trying to clean up your room. ''"Let's not keep him waiting, then."'' <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"|CLOTHES]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"|CLOTHES1]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh ''"I liked my outfit..."'' you write and turn the board to show your cousins. "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't you talk normally! "Technically, I'm signing," replies her twin, sarcastically. You smile and follow the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway4]]//''</div>

You make quick work of getting ready and head for the stairs your magic board under your arm. your cousins following almost religiously. $dogname trots by your side this morning, $doghis head banging against your thigh every-time you dare to refuse $doghim a caress. In the daylight, the Manoir loses its ghostly halo, and you can appreciate the colors of the wood, now warm under the light. Numerous frames adorn the stone walls, family paintings revealing members of the family who died earlier or later. Others affirm the presence of the living. You posed with your mother and father for one of them when you were still just a baby. It would be a shame to have destroyed all this heritage through lack of control. "You must be famished," Isolde's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you. "Magic is so energy-hungry," she adds with a worried frown. ''"That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before."'' you mused tapping your pencil against your lips. Your belly rumbles and you press your hands against it. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. ''"What's that?"'' you write; pointing toward her chest. "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles as she takes hold of her little sheet of cardboard. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. Your cousin's handwriting is long, soft and elongated. Easy to read. You stare at your schedule for a moment. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|notraining4]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|notraining5]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. ''"You sound like Lancelot,"'' you note showing your board to him, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest4]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. ''"I can't wait to get started,"'' you write with a smile catching your cousins gazes. Bo looks at you with round eyes. "You're not normal. <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."|indeed7]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."|indeed8]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. Your combined footsteps echo down the immense corridor, at the end of which Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously at the foot of the metal soldiers, ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword rolls his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that," asks Gawain, detailing him from head to toe. "I feel so underdressed now," he accuses him. Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. ''"Maybe I should have made an effort..."'' you write your fingers turning cold. "I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time, the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. " You inhale, believing Lancelot's words. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

A blow is dealt to the top of your head and you turn to Laudanne. ''"Ouch! Why did you do that?"'' you write and then attempting to return the favor with your board. She shrugs her shoulders signing and quickly avoiding the attack, "You were being smug." ''"Wrong, I was stating a truth!"'' "By being smug," Caelia retorts, backing up Laudanne's words. Isolde nods: "You were, you still have that smile on your face." ''"It's better than sulking!"'' "Try to find the balance before you're in the presence of Lord Gareth and Lady Blanchefleur. Ah, now you're pouting." notes Tristan. ''"I'm not pouting, I'm thinking!"'' "While pouting," Vivi points out. ''"Okay, I'm not talking to you all anymore,"'' you decide before pressing on. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest4]]//''</div>

<<set $beta to "fire">> It's as if the smoke from a fire has spread to your lungs. It burns, it hurts. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, you are burning. You are burning your sheets! you realize as the door of your room is pushed down brutally. You jump and a jet of flame goes blindly in the direction of the intruders. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Two silhouettes throw themselves to the ground. When the fire finally subsides, Lancelot and Gawain raise their heads from the ground. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. Beneath you, the smell of combustion continues, and your sheets have turned to gray ash. With the fire gone, your body no longer flares, but your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders5]]//''

<<set $beta to "wind">> You struggle, gasping for air. It's like being caught in the middle of a storm. The wind howls in your ears and the breeze muffles your breathing, pressing down on your chest and holding you in place. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out, It wants to be free. So you give in, the wind stirs furiously and the mirror on the wall opposite your bed shatters. Multiple cracking noises are heard and your door is violently pushed open. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes flinging themselves to the side, narrowly avoiding having the doors to your room slam into their faces. And the wind dies down to a breeze. Gawain and Lancelot step cautiously inside, taking in the state of the room. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state, as if a monster had clawed them to shreds. The wooden floor is covered in broken glass, and turning your head, still seaching for your board, you end up following Gawain's gaze, and you stare in confusion at your cracked windows. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders5]]//''

<<set $beta to "water">> You're sinking inside your own body! Drowning under the waves. You're not sweating, you're submerged. The torrent rushes from your feet to your head, cold and furious. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. It wants to go out it wins and the dam collapses! The water in the carafe on your bedside table bursts out of its container, and the drainpipes vibrate dangerously until they explode, sending water from your bathroom tumbling across your room. Throwing your doors open. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouettes being pushed back by the water. When the flow slows, Lancelot and Gawain crawl into your room, soaked to the bone. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. Beneath you, your mattress is soaked with water and the parquet on the floor is starting to buckle piteously. Fortunately, you'll notice that the current seems weaker. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders5]]//''

<<set $beta to "earth">> It's everywhere, in your mouth a bitter taste, in your nostrils a strong smell. It's as if the ground is devouring you, dragging you deep into its entrails. A giant hand seeking to imprison you. Sensing that something is wrong, your four-legged friend opens its maw in a bark you can't hear. You can't reassure $doghim. Not now. Someone's got to come, right? They'll hear, right? They've got to hear! The leap $dogname makes to get to the door soothes you. $doghis paws flap against the door,This will attract attention if it hasn't already. You clutch your sheets a little more tightly. A grunt escapes you. It tears your throat. You've got to do something, anything before you lose yourself. So you crack, and with that, the earth rumbles, quakes, and rages. The internal scream you let out twists your eardrums. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two silhouetted figures jump back as the doors to your room come off their hinges. The knot in your stomach loosen, the floor cracks open with a final scream, creating a gaping mouth in the center of your room, and calm returns. Gawain and Lancelot are the first to enter your room, their eyes riveted to the floor. ''"$name, are you all right?"'' Lancelot signs. You nod, relieved of the pressure on your body, but still shaken, and frenetically search for your magic board. Seeing it nowhere, a whine escapes you and your eyes widen in panic: //no, no, no, no!// Your breathing becomes labored and tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes as you cast a terrified look at your cousins. Iseult rushes into the room as the two boys rise to their feet. Bo, brave, follows your cousin closely, but the others are more cautious, staying behind the door. Beneath you, your sheets are in a disastrous state. Dust and rubble compete for space, the chandelier still sways menacingly, holding on somehow. Your little trick leaves you sweating. Your dream still plays in your head, the haunting call. Was it Merlin? Clarent? ''//[[Next|intruders5]]//''

With a flick of his arm, Lancelot interrupts Iseult and Bo's course, holding out his arm as a barrier. "Wait," he orders. It's a word that's easy to read on the lips, "wait." it makes the mouth of the person pronouncing it open wide, almost cuttingly. "What do you mean, wait!" retorts Isolde dryly. "You don't see the state $theyre in!" The look Lancelot gives her back is as icy as the tone of Isolde's voice had been. "Of course I do, but it's not safe, not for you, not for $them!" Beside your First Sword, Gawain raises his hands in front of him and pretends to advance toward you. Slowly, as if not to frighten you. "$name, breathe, you've got to try and calm down." Calm down! Calm down? You throw your arms in the air and sign having totally forgotten how to sign. Your gestures are erratic, incomprehensible, you've lost your only means of communication, your link to the world. A second abyss seems to have opened beneath you. Suddenly, a rope, a lifeline,. $dogname! $doghe walks towards you and in its maw, a familiar object. You whimper again and hug your furry companion. $doghe has found it. You have a voice again. "Are you stable? Can we approach?" Lancelot question again without taking his eyes off you. You wipe away the last of your tears. Iseult frees herself from his grip and gives him an angry look. Erec's son sighs. You understand his intention, it's in his blood. It's been instilled in him since childhood. Lancelot is a sword and a shield, a fact etched in ink on his skin. He protects. And enemies can take so many forms. Here, you're the enemy. And your cousin won't let you hurt anyone. You close your eyes and exhale deeply, unable to answer him just yet. Your hands are clammy. Your body stiff. You're drained, just as you were when you arrived in the early hours of yesterday morning. <div class="choice">''//[[You understand Lancelot, you also refuse to hurt anyone.|DEAFPROTECT]]//'''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[Lancelot's gesture hurts you, it's not as if you intentionally wanted to hurt your cousins.|DEAFPROTECT1]]//''</div>

For now, it's best they stay away from you. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think, gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself eyes still wet. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room. Leo and the others only appear a few seconds later, and Gawain is quick to report what he's said. ''"Leo asked if you were going to explode,"'' he explains, rolling his eyes. ''"But you didn't explode, you awakened your power! That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!"'' he adds signing, his eyes shining. Lancelot nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. You smile, tired, and rest your hand against your heart. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," You read on Tristant lips as he hails your first Sword who has disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat6]]//''

It's hard to accept this gesture, even if you understand it. You never asked for these abilities, and you would never hurt your family! That Lancelot should show such a lack of confidence in you here is heartbreaking, even if it's only for a moment. You avoid his burning gaze and close your eyes. There are more pressing things to do than confront him right now. You need to tame your magic, make it your own rather than the other way around. You breathe in and out at regular intervals, relax your muscles and let that formidable magical energy flow back into you. As Lord Gareth has already explained. "It's up to you to make it flow, you're its master, not its slave." <<nobr>> <<if $beta is "earth">>You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think gaze fixed on the ground.\ <<else>> You open your closed eyes, trying to ignore your cousins' stares, and think, palm raised.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">>//"O ignis invicte, sustine me, exardesce!"// In seconds, a flame awakens in the palm of your hand. You watch it flicker as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>//"O ventus, qui dominum non habes, adiuva me. Scalpere!"// Within seconds, a sphere of wind stirs in your palm. You watch it waver as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>//"O aqua, quae non potest contineri, praebe vires tuas, exurge."// In a few seconds, water appears in the hollow of your palm. You watch it sway as if in a trance before closing your fist.\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>//"Terra inpotens, exaudi vocem meam, deglutire."// In a matter of seconds, gravel and dust on the ground begin to tumble. You watch this strange dance as if in a trance, before stopping your call by closing your fist.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> //"It's okay, I'm stable, I'm in control,"// you muse to yourself eyes still wet. Lady Blanchefleur once told you that your muteness was an advantage. Unlike her, Lord Gareth or your father, who have to utter an incantation, you only have to think it. A thought is fleeting, quick and therefore perfect for catching your opponents off guard. You raise your head and meet your cousins' amazed gaze. Or at least, the cousins in your room. Leo and the others only appear a few seconds later, and Gawain is quick to report what he's said. ''"Leo asked if you were going to explode,"'' he explains, rolling his eyes. ''"But you didn't explode, you awakened your power! That was fantastic, I'm so jealous!"'' he adds signing, his eyes shining. Lancelot nods and lowers his arm, clearing the way for Isolde and Bo. "I'll let Lord Gareth know what's happened. Stay with $them and join us when $theyre ready." He turns on his heel and stops on the threshold of your room. "I'm glad you're all right." he adds with a tender smile in your direction. You smile, tired, and rest your hand against your heart. "You know, I think everyone's figured it out by now," You read on Tristant lips as he hails your first Sword who has disappears down the hall. He holds $dogname by the collar and shakes his brown curls. "It makes you wonder why Uncle Percival and Aunt Ana aren't here already..." Yes, indeed. <<nobr>><<if $beta is "fire">> "Anyway, fire, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "wind">>"Anyway, wind, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "earth">>"Anyway, earth, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <<elseif $beta is "water">>"Anyway, water, right? Impressive, you made quite a mess," your cousin said, his lips curling upwards and his shoulders rising and falling with a laugh.".\ <</if>><</nobr>> Iseult swats him away as Leo and Vivi cautiously enter the bedroom. "Don't make $them feel guilty!" "It's not what I do, it's really impressive!" "You think so?" inquired Vivi, looking left and right. "I think it's more like a normal day at the Key household." ''//[[Next|sorryaboutthat6]]//''

''"Sorry about that,"'' you write on your board, before looking away. "Don't be, you're bound to develop more abilities than Uncle Percival, Grandpa or Lady Blanchefleur, and magic can be unstable, everyone here knows that," Laudanne reassures you as she steps into the room. "Papa will be happy to fix everything," she adds, observing the damage. "Still," you write, shaking your head. "Anyway, why are you all here? What time is it? And how did it go yesterday, is everyone okay?" <<nobr>><<if $beta is "wind">>Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass strewn across the floor. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <<else>> Your stomach plunges and you jump from what's left of your bed. "Careful!" exclaims Tristan, raising his voice with a frown.\ <</if>> <</nobr>> Iseult smiles reassuringly. "Everyone's fine, $name." "Or maybe you're talking to ghosts!" Laudanne teases. Vivi and Caelia roll their eyes, carbon copies of each other."As for why we're here, well, Lord Gareth asked us to come and get you..." signs Iseult to you after glaring at Laudanne. You point at yourself, before writing : ''"He wants to see me?"'' "He wants to eat," Bo replies. Gawain translate, and your little cousin open his arms in your direction. You understand the message and wrap your arms around him, holding your magic board loosely in your hand. Your eyes find your alarm clock. It's indeed time to eat, but for your grandfather to ask that you eat face-to-face...it must be serious. "Now that you and your father are back, I suppose Grandpa thought it would be a good idea for us all to eat together," adds Caelia, looking straight into your eyes. All together? Your mouth opens into a silent O So this is serious. You gently push Bo away and turn to the twins and Gawains while the others are busy trying to clean up your room. ''"Let's not keep him waiting, then."'' <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, Gawain?"|CLOTHES2]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Can I borrow some clothes from you, girls?"|CLOTHES3]]//''</div>

Lord Gareth is a patient man, but you'd rather not test his limits. Better hurry up. Plus, you don't even know if you can still wear anything of yours after the elemental storm you unleashed. "Good idea," Tristan confirms. "I doubt you could use this, plus you and the girls are about the same size." You thought so, but come on. You sigh ''"I liked my outfit..."'' you write and turn the board to show your cousins. "Sure, you can borrow anything. Don't worry, $name, I've got just what you need," Caelia reassures you with a smile. "You mean //I've// got what $they need." retorts Vivi as she hurries to your side. "Oh, please, we all know here that you're sorely lacking in any kind of sartorial taste," retorts Caelia, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't you talk normally! "Technically, I'm signing," replies her twin, sarcastically. You smile and follow the twins out of your room. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|onourway5]]//''</div>

You make quick work of getting ready and head for the stairs your magic board under your arm. your cousins following almost religiously. $dogname trots by your side this morning, $doghis head banging against your thigh every-time you dare to refuse $doghim a caress. In the daylight, the Manoir loses its ghostly halo, and you can appreciate the colors of the wood, now warm under the light. Numerous frames adorn the stone walls, family paintings revealing members of the family who died earlier or later. Others affirm the presence of the living. You posed with your mother and father for one of them when you were still just a baby. It would be a shame to have destroyed all this heritage through lack of control. Iseult taps you on the shoulder and you turn your head to look at her as she quickens her steps to come alongside you.. ''"You must be famished,"'' she adds with a worried frown. ''"Magic is so energy-hungry,"'' ''"That's true, especially as I haven't eaten anything since the day before."'' you mused tapping your pencil against your lips. Your belly rumbles and you press your hands against it. "I'm hungry too," Bo declares. "Not because of the magic, I'm just hungry because I'm hungry." Iseult stops, and with a shake of her head, indicates that you should do the same. You obey and follow her gaze. "You ate for two this morning," his brother replies. "Makes you wonder how such a little guy can fit so much in his stomach," teases Laudanne. "I'm growing!" "So am I, but I eat sensibly," continues Léo, adding to his little brother's pout. "You eat in a boring way..." retorts the youngest in a whisper. You smile and shake your head before your gaze lingers on what Isolde has in her hands. ''"What's that?"'' you write, pointing toward her chest. "This? Oh, these are our schedules for the day," she explains with a smile. With that, she begins the handout, which is more or less successful among your cousins. "O joy," Vivi grumbles as she takes hold of her little sheet of cardboard. "It's not //that// bad," purrs Iseult tenderly. Your cousin's handwriting is long, soft and elongated. Easy to read. You stare at your schedule for a moment. <div class="choice">''//[[In truth, you're in no hurry to get started.|notraining6]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[[You can't wait to get started, learning something new always puts a smile on your face.|notraining7]]//''</div>

A pout finds its way to your lips. You bet that when the other kids go to their families, they play, picnic and have fun. Unlike them, going to your family means work and training. "I guess having fun isn't part of the program," sighs Bo, as if he's reading your mind. "Training can be fun," Tristan tries to soften him up. ''"You sound like Lancelot,"'' you note showing your board to him, unable to restrain a grimace. "Training is never fun." <div class="choice">''//[[Next|aileouest6]]//''</div>

A smile makes its way to your lips. Others might find it distressing, off-putting or even annoying, but you love training. Having a challenge to meet, surpassing it and becoming stronger, wiser, that's a feeling you crave. ''"I can't wait to get started,"'' you write with a smile catching your cousins gazes. Bo looks at you with round eyes. "You're not normal." <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply simply."|indeed9]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["Indeed, I'm the Swordbearer, you reply with a smile bordering on arrogance."|indeed10]]//''</div>

The west wing is filled with tantalizing smells, wafting up from the basement kitchen where some of your aunts and uncles are no doubt hard at work. Everything here is a family affair, and no stranger is allowed in. At the end of the corridor, Lancelot stands by the doors to the banquet hall. On either side of the corridor, immense suits of armor stand motionless, gleaming. At least, they're immobile for the moment; Bo has assured you more than once that he's seen them move. You've never been able to observe the phenomenon, but moving armor would hardly be the strangest thing at the Manor. You stop twice before you reach Lancelot, first to scold $dogname, who is sniffing suspiciously at the foot of the metal soldiers, ready to fire, and then to wait for Bo, who is hanging around, greeting your metal companions one by one. "There you are," Lancelot rejoices as you finally join him outside the heavy doors. "At last, I hear you mean it so loudly, my dear Lancelot," Tristan teases. Your First Sword rolls his eyes. "Why are you dressed like that," asks Gawain, detailing him from head to toe. "I feel so underdressed now," he accuses him. Lancelot stands out among you all, dressed in simple modern clothes. He's donned a long-sleeved shirt in your family's color and embroidered with silver thread, over which he's attached a cape revealing your blazon. ''"Maybe I should have made an effort..."'' you write your fingers turning cold. ''"I'm sure the elders will turn a blind eye this time, the request was made at the last minute, don't worry. "'' You inhale, believing Lancelot's words. <div class="choice">''//[[Next|ending1]]//''</div>

After a few seconds' hesitation, you order Lancelot to push open the door and let you in. His hand moves to the wooden handle and Caëlia's voice brings him to a halt. "Wait a moment! We've lost Cara!" You blink and turn to her, your other cousins reflecting your own astonishment. "What?" "What do you mean we've lost Cara?" exhales Lancelot, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wasn't she with us?" says Tristan, puzzled. "I thought she was!" replies Vivi on the defensive. "Obviously not," concurs Leo. "I'm hungry," cries Bo. "Unbelievable," you mutter, massaging your temples as your cousins start to accuse each other. "All right, then. Has anyone seen Cara this morning?" Laudanne shrugs, "Nope, how about you?" "I was a little busy, remember!" you retort, crossing your arms. "Cara's a human, not a dog! How could we have lost her!?" questions Iseult. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose," counters Tristan. "Whatever!" "She did come back with us in the morning, so she can't be far," Lancelot tells you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Your eyebrows furrow. "But we don't have time to go looking for her, we can't keep Lord Gareth waiting any longer." You pace before the door. "Does she know we're summoned here?" "She knows, yes." <div class="choice">''//[["Then we'll go in. Cara will join us later,"]]//''</div> <div class="choice">''//[["So we go in, right? She'll join us soon, won't she?"]]//''</div>