Honor's Demand - Aftermath

Taran sets a glass of red wine at Lyddmull's bedside. "It is a painkiller, my lord," he says. "Should you wish it. I will see to what wounds are left after Lady Celeste is finished." He then steps back, to watch the room as a whole. Lyddmull smiles as the Mikin comes nearer, the expression looking a bit ludicrous beneath his slightly bulbous nose. He glances at the woman's hand in confusion for a moment before realization thunders into his sleep-addled head.

With an embarassed grimace he nods briefly. "Why should I mind?" he asks in amusement, before turning to offer Voreyn the most respectful gesture he can currently manage, that being a deep nod. "Good evening, Your Grace," he says, "I believe I have something of yours, by the way." He nods gratefully to Taran before returning his attention to the Mikin.

Voreyn nods, walking forward slowly to stop at the foot of Lyddmull's bed, glancing between him and Celeste. "It is good to hear, Lady Mikin, that they are thriving under watch here. I might advise the removal of more from East Leg to here if all is still well. Riverhold is fit for entertainment, but is hardly equipped as an infirmary, yes? It is just as well that the Lomasas donated their food, too, to assist while filling up the beds." Only now does the Duchess smile, quite faintly, and one that does not reach her eyes or look quite genuine. "Exceedingly gracious, indeed. Is it alright if I see the kitchens? I wanted to observe such generosity with my own eyes. Do you mind, Lady Mikin? Ah, and good evening, Lord Seamel. It is good to see you are being so well taken care of. And something of mine? We shall see it taken care of here shortly. I would wait until you have been doted upon to the full extent."

One of the doors of the infirmary is pushed open, Duhnen shrugging his way through, entering the infirmary with a slightly miffed expression on his face. He spins a circlet of silver around the finger of his free hand as he scans over the interior.

Celeste blushes at hearing the duchess's words. "Yes, your grace. You are welcome to see the kitchens, and I believe the wine to be quite tasty." Bowing her head, whispered words begin to slip away beneath the Mikin's breath. White, ethereal light slowly glows between her fingertips and the ungloved hand is placed to the bridge of Lyddmull's nose. Mottled bruises slowly fading to a whisper of shadows. Only when the prayer is completed does the blonde look up again... re-orienting on those still in the room. The face of another patriarch bringing a wince to her already tired features. "Good evening, your grace," she calls out with forced joviality.

Taran offers Duhnen a fair bow. "Good evening your grace," he says. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Duhnen's eyes fix on Celeste briefly as she calls to him, the Seamel offering the Mikin a nod. Likewise, a nod is given to Taran, the man already making his way towards where the small gathering is centered, footsteps slow and deliberate. "Nothing for me, Master Songbird. I wonder if my good Cousin is well enough to speak with me for a few moments, however?" Brown eyes dart to Voreyn, and she is greeted with a bow of his head. "Duchess Zahir. Good to see you on your feed. I, of course, heard the terrible news." His voice is diplomatic, though distracted.

The prone Seamel blinks a few times, wrinkling his nose as he brings a hand up to it. He chuckles quietly, looking at Celeste with a bright smile. "Thank you once again, Celeste," he says with a grateful nod. The incoming Duke gains his attention as well as the Mikin's. His smile fades somewhat as he looks up at his Patriarch's approach. He takes a deep breath as he offers Duhnen a nod. "Good evening Your Grace," he says quietly, "I would be more than glad to speak with you."

Meian's gaze is caught by Celeste's soft light, the girl staring for a long moment before a soft, rather wistful sigh escapes her and she glances down at her own fingers. Softly, she answers Kael- her voice perhaps a touch saddened- "I'm g-glad too. A bit sick of b-bed, but still glad and grateful I made it."

Voreyn glances away from Celeste and Lyddmull to spy the entrance of the Duke Seamel, and she offers him a faint smile and a respectful nod of her head. "Good evening, Your Grace. I recommend you take up any offers extended your way. Though it is selective, the hospitality found here is superb. And thank you, Your Grace; it is good to be returned to my feet." Her hands come around from behind her back and she clasps them before her serenely. "If you will excuse me, I am to take a private tour of the kitchen. I will return in a moment." With that, she marches away, disappearing into the aforementioned kitchen.

Kael nods to Meian - "Y' are nae allowed t' die, remember?" He grins, then. "So, nae any wanderin' tonight - " He looks up at the nobles, keeping his voice low and letting them all talk. "Do y' feel up t' playin'?"

Celeste slips away from the side of the bed, her hands quick to return to her own waist. "I'm not if he can actually *walk*," mummers the noblewoman with a quick glance towards the bard. "Master Songbird would know far better than myself, as I only present what little comfort the Light will allow." Yep, the Mikin not only steps away from the bed, but she seems linger at the foot of another prone figure. This bed belonging to that of a resting ranger as the noblewoman looks back to the mage duo. "I would agree with Master Firelight, Mistress Skygleam."

Duhnen comes to a halt before Lyddmull's cot, his eyes tracing over his cousin thoughtfully. He still spins that circlet, the metal ceaselessly twirling about his hooked index finger. A faint expression of disapproval sits on his face.

Lyddmull Seamel's eyes follow Celeste as she moves away before he returns his gaze to his Patriarch, shifting uncomfortably in his cot. He maintains his silence though, simply waiting for the House leader to speak.

"Playing.." Meian murmurs, glancing over to her shoulder. "Ah, Taran?" she raises her voice enough to call to him, shyly, across the room. "Am I in g-good enough shape to p-play yet, do you think? With -both- arms?"

"Your grace," Celeste inquires softly, in the tentative tone of one not wishing to interrupt. She seems on the verge of saying more, but words fail the Mikin only to fall silent once more. Her hands twitching the velvet skirts nervously.

Taran studies Meian and Kael very thoughtfully. "Privacy is an issue," he notes. "As you are not strong enough to leave your bed. But assuming you are both careful, I would personally see no harm in it. It does wonders for pain, I have always found, and should help you sleep." Angry Duke? Really? There's one of those around here?

"That is enough food to feed a small army," Voreyn observes loudly as she exits the kitchen, hands clasped behind her back once more as she proceeds in a stately manner between beds. "I shall visit the Duke later to bring him tidings of the use to which his generosity is being placed; it shall be very good news indeed. Shall I bring him any messages while I'm at it? Perhaps gratitude on behalf of those who work here and who are housed here. Lady Mikin, might I have a word with you?" She lingers near the kitchen door as if without the desire to interrupt the somewhat private affair between the two Seamels.

Duhnen still choses not to speak, the man beginning to make his way round Lyddmull's cot. His boots thud softly on the flooring, melding into a muffled woosh when he finally reaches the rug running down the center, but sson his steps are heard again as he wanders up the other side. His eyes continue lazily traversing along Lyddmull's covered form, fixing for a moment on his cousin's face, before he finally pauses again. The circlet stops spinning, caught firmly by his hand.

A deep blush rises to Meian's cheeks as she stares, blankly, at Taran. Her expression might suggest she doesn't know what he means, but the way she sinks into the bed as if she wishes to be swallowed by her sheets indicates she definitely does. "Music," she mumbles by way of weak agreement.

Lyddmull's fingers seem to twitch of their own accord, but aside from that, he shows little in the way of further nervousness. He keeps his eyes and face forward as Duhnen begins to circle him, his head tilted downward slightly as he waits patiently for the storm. As the prowling Duke stops, he looks up at him again, his face an impassive mask.

Celeste steps away from the ranger's bed, dipping into a quick bow to the duchess. "I believe we can speak in the kitchen, your grace," she offers in an embarrassed whisper. She gives the two Seamel's another quick glance and slowly strides towards the offered doorway.

Taran just chuckles at that. "You won't know until you try," he offers lightly. "But the other form of playing would do you both a lot of good, I think." Innocent. The blue eyes cry innocence. Madly laughing innocence, but still.

Voreyn nods graciously and steps aside, gesturing through the open door into the kitchen for Celeste to go first. "After you, Lady Mikin. I shan't keep you too long from your charges."

The Seamel Duke takes another leisurely moment to think, before finally beginning to speak. "Curious, the things one can hear in Silkfield. It's sometimes hard to seperate the rumors from the real news, as all of it seems to be so unbelievable. Mysterious wildlings attacking, once again. Dukes and Duchesses injured. Cities a fire. Seamels hurt in brawls." He lets that hang, waiting.

Taran blinks. "Duels are brawls to nobles?" he notes curiously. "Hn. I shall remember that, then, your grace. Useful to know."

"Looking about though, it would seem that some of what I had heard holds weight," Duhnen notes, his attention turning over to fix upon Meian for a moment, before fixing a flat stare upon Taran, continuing along as if he hadn't heard. "Wildling attacks. Who'd have thought? I can't help but wonder what else is true, from what I've heard." Kael watches Duhnen and Lyddmull - after flashing a wry grin at Taran, and still keeping hold of Meian's hand - that's somewhat intent, the Patriarch and his family member a tableaux that intrigues him, indeed.

"Having seen all of these things for myself, Your Grace," Lyddmull says, his eyes still resting on Duhnen's, "I can assure you that your information is correct."

Meian does her best to make herself invisible, though she holds onto Kael's hand tightly. Perhaps sensing a greater tension has supplanted her own embarrassment, she sinks lower under the sheets until little more can be seen but a pale arm and wide eyes peeking out.

Taran however is entirely at ease - not oblivious, but not concerned. "Ask and be answered, your grace," he says. "There are answers here to be had."

"Do I have your permission, then?" Duhnen cocks an eyebrow at Taran, his voice laced with irritation. "I'd be quite shamed if I did not." He finally nods back down to Lyddmull. "I trust you're decent underneath the sheet you wear. Were I to pull it off, I'd not embarrass you, nor the young woman over yonder?"

Taran shakes his head. "There is no speaking to fire," he muses, and makes his way over to a chair where a book has been set. "Meian, try the lute?"

The prone nobleman stiffens just slightly but nods. "Yes, Your Grace," he says quietly, biting his lip.

Duhnen's hand reaches down, grasping that covering, and unceremonously yanking it towards the foot of the cot to reveal the rest of Lyddmull's form.

The cotton cloth of Lyddmull's trousers has been cut away about the knees to allow the bandages that have been wrapped there. The Seamel seems quite confused at this point, but continues to hold his tongue and remain still.

Meian shakes her head slightly at Taran, where it peeks out from under the sheets, and otherwise offers no verbal reply- gaze focused, obliquely, on the conversation between the Seamels.

Lyddmull takes a deep breath before replying. "His Grace, the Duke Lomasa, having apparently found my manner with him damaging to his and his House' honor, saw fit to present a challenge to a duel," he says, his voice unnaturally calm, "Negotiations broke down over the following days due to the withdrawal of his second and the injury of my own. When approached by the Duke early yesterday morning, I accepted and the duel was fought outside Light's Reach."

"...outside Light's Reach?" Duhnen arches an eyebrow sharply at Lyddmull. He stares at his cousin for a moment, before forcing himself to swallow heavily, folding his hands behind his back to grip at the silver ring of metal. "And, who observed and witnessed this duel?" he asks, voice flat, sounding like he already suspects the answer.

"Mistress Adrianna Waterstone, Your Grace," Lyddmull replies quietly, "At my request. It was she also that bandaged my wounds afterward."

"A freelander. And not even an Imperial Watchman at that, then," Duhnen replies with a blink, his voice growing tighter by the moment. "And, then, explain more of your injuries. Why so many? Was it not concluded once blood was drawn?"

The wounded Seamel seems to consider that question carefully. "His Grace wished a duel 'to the pain'," Lyddmull replies, "As the matter seemed to have no other possible conclusion, I agreed."

"Just a little," whispers Meian to Kael, her voice anxious and faintly upset. "Oh, K-kael, he o-offered him a chance to a-apologize, and I t-totally ignored his t-title, I -told- him to d-do it, it was totally i-improper, and I s-still wish he had d-done ti anyway." The girl clutches the mage's hand more tightly.

"'To the pain'? What does that mean?" Duhnen asks with a frown, his eyes widening slightly. "And why are your wounds focused around your legs? And the marring by your nose? What is that? Did he strike at your face?" Control balanced on a blade's edge.

Taran settles with his book, shaking his head. "There is no dealing with them," he says quietly. "Not right now. Play, Meian. Don't fret - just play. The knot will untangle and move forward from there."

Lyddmull seems quite unaware of the conversation going on nearby, but frowns slightly as he considers his answers. "By the definition presented by Duke Lomasa, 'to the pain' means that the loser is he who can no longer continue," he says, "As to the location of my wounds, as far as I can tell, they were the places left the most open to attack. And yes, he did, though it was far less painful than it appears."

Duhnen steps down along the cot again, moving closer to his cousin's legs, leaning down a bit to take a closer look at the bandages, despite being unable to see anything underneath. "You were cut on the knees then. How many times? And by what, seeing as this was an unofficial duel."

Taran's words seem to strike home, this time, for some reason. Meian sits up slowly, the blankets and sheets falling away, and with a momentary caress takes her hand back from Kael's. Then she reaches for the lute which hasn't gone far from her bedside, cradling it in both arms, and taking a deep breath.

Sighing quietly as he looks down at his legs. "Once on each," Lyddmull replies, "With a saber." He seems disinclined to argue with the Patriarch at this point, biting his lip as he looks up at the man.

Kael murmers softly - "Wi' ne'er understand this sort o' thing." He looks up to Meian, then back.

Duhnen nods his head slowly, inhaling deeply, before fixing Lyddmull with another look. "Will you walk again?"

"Mistress Waterstone has assured me of that, Your Grace," Lyddmull replies with a slight nod, studying the Patriarch's face cautiously.

"You'd best walk again," Duhnen replies at that, nearly grinding his teeth for a moment as he settles himself. "Was his attempt to fight 'to the pain' to simply cause you as much injury and hurt as possible? Or to settle an issue of honor? What was the point of this duel, unsupervised and unofficial, aside to maul and maim you to the best of his ability?"

The Duchess Zahir emerges from the kitchen, looking refreshed and in great spirits. She paces past the beds and out into the main aisle once more, where she pauses to extract her gloves from her pocket. With seeming deliberation, she pulls the lace garments onto her slender white fingers, once more obscuring her signet ring from view. She glances about the infirmary as she does so, smiling on all with something akin to pleasure, not often seen on Voreyn's face. "Good evening to all," she calls out in a polite tone as she finishes donning her gloves. "And Light keep all." On that note, she turns and paces out of the infirmary without so much as a backward glance.

Lyddmull's attention is only briefly distracted by the entering and retreating Duchess. Inclining his head towards her in silence, he turns back towards his own Patriarch. "His Grace believed himself and his House insulted by me," he says, "When I would not make public apology without your consent, he presented his challenge. I do wish that I had had an opportunity to consult with you on the matter, but times have been rather busy of late."

"Who suggested that this be done outside of Light's Reach? Away from supervision?" Duhnen adds, jaw tightening as he squeezes the silver metal tightly for a moment. Voreyn recieves the briefest hint of a glance.

Following a few paces behind the duchess is that of the Mikin, whereas she looks rested, the blonde looks haunted. She brushes absently at her hair, and upon hearing the words of not only the Duke but that of Lyddmull... she freezes there in the doorway of the kitchen.

At first absently, Meian begins to pluck the strings of the lute she carries, the sound little more than a few experimental notes. Slowly, stiffly, she lifts her left arm, and places the fingers of that hand on the neck of the instrument, letting them simply rest there a moment before she begins to play a soft, gently pleasant tune in earnest. The performance is a little slower than it should be, her left arm unable to keep pace with the right perfectly, but the surpassingly sweet tones of the lute go a long way towards remedying any faults in the girl's playing. Head bowed, eyes closed, she seems to withdraw into herself as she continues the song quietly enough that others can still talk.

The injured nobleman's eyes track towards the kitchen and he bites his lip before offering the Mikin a reassuring nod. Turning back to Duhnen, he frowns slightly. "It was Duke Lomasa's request, and I agreed to it," Lyddmull replies quietly.

Kael simply listens, resting his head on the edge of that cot, on folded arms, watching Meian play and - for a moment - forgetting the world outside these infirmary walls.

"Duke Lomasa's request," Duhnen repeats, stifling an incredulous and tense laugh as he lifts a hand from his back to rub at his face. "Duke Lomasa...Shadow swallow me. This...this has to be some type of joke. You agreed to this? Agreed to following a man who, by your own words dislikes you rather fiercly, somewhere to fight unsupervised?"

Taran settles back with his tome, nodding in approval as Meian plays. Listening, just listening and reading.

Celeste looks from Duke to Baron, and slowly begins to make her way back to the bedridden lord. She holds her tongue while the two continue to speak, but the muscles about her sea green eyes tighten at hearing the duke's words.

Meian just keeps playing. In complete disregard of the conversation, she plays on, the worried lines in her face smoothing and softening to a quiet, content look of joy as her hands dance along the strings, left arm beginning to slowly warm up to the performance. The occasional melancholy note or chord is all the more poignant for the overall sound of the music, which brightens and broadens to be as happy as the girl's own face.

"I had thought that the Duke Lomasa would not risk his Knighthood or his title by dishonorable action, Your Grace," Lyddmull replies shifting slightly so as to better see his Patriarch's face, "In retrospect, I can see that this may have been foolish of me, but I whatever I may think of His Grace, I would not yet think him untrustworthy."

"Things tend to become heated once two men begin swinging swords at each other," Duhnen replies with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh. "Hence the need for supervision. And seconds. Some sort of control to be put over a fight in which two men are attempting to do each other harm, despite the matter they seek to resolve." Meian and her playing draws the Duke's attention for a moment, watching, before the man's gaze drops back down to his cousin. "Norran Lomasa is a Duke, Lyddmull. This is paramount. Respect must be given, above all else. Respect for the title, even if you dislike the man. Because of this...'altercation' between you two..." He waves a hand and sighs again, falling quite as he considers something.

"I understand, Your Grace," Lyddmull replies, gently inclining his head towards the man, "And in the future, I will do my upmost to refrain from acting in any way that His Grace may take as 'disrespectful'. And I fully apologize for any hardship this may have caused you. I for one, hardly felt myself worth the trouble His Grace is going to."

Taran looks over at this. "Your Grace, you will find it difficult to seek redress for this matter," he says calmly. "His Grace was, more or less, within his rights and Lord Lyddmull was given repeated opportunities to make redress without resorting to a duel. His Grace Lomasa was quite clever about that."

Celeste sighs heavily, stopping to stand at the duke's side. "What defines disrespectful, your grace," questions the Mikin softly. "Does it define more than addressing a man by his title? Or must one agree to all that he says, without fear of redress?" Curious, that is the woman's tone, curious and tired.

Duhnen's jaw tightens somewhat and he glances to Taran. "It was not a duel, Master Songbird. As I said earlier, it was a brawl. It was unsupervised, and, as my cousin stated, a sabre was used. Hardly a conventional dueling weapon. It was not official in the slightest. The presence of a random woman does nothing to support it, as well." His expression softens somewhat after a moment as he regards the mage, before puffing a sigh and fixing his attention back upon his cousin. "Give no one any reason to doubt you, or find fault with your actions. Your smallest movements can easily cause reactions larger than you could ever expect."

Celeste is looked to, next, the Duke's eyebrows lifting. "Disagreement is not a sign of disrespect, if done politely. I disagree with people all the time. Especially my children. But I won't get into that." Finally, a small smile.

Taran nods. "Your grace, your kinsman was...cornered. He could not do other than he did without the matter escalating further. The Duke Lomasa acted specifically to prevent Lord Lyddmull from seeking counsel from you. And now the matter is, in his eyes, settled. I was here when he came to draw lord Lyddmull out - t'was right after the black wildling attack that felled lord Varal."

"I have attempted to do so, Your Grace," Lyddmull replies, inclining his head once again, "But I shall redouble my efforts. I have no wish to bring harm upon our House, and shall walk with more circumspection about the Duke Lomasa from this moment on."

And all around this conversation flows the sweet and pleasant music of the lute in Meian's hands, the beautiful strains of the instrument interweaving together to form that hopeful, happy melody. But the bard begins to falter, the left hand a shade too slow, the music stopping altogether after a moment in the wake of a particularly discordant chord. After a moment of silence, Meian says softly, "That isn't true."

Adrianna enters the infirmary, her cloak over her arm already as she stops short and looks around at everybody gathered, she doesn't say anything yet as she listens to everybody talking, but does try to get Taran's attention, a questioning look on her face.

"Well if I may be so bold, your grace," prompts Celeste gently. "I've tried to politely do so and have only suffered repeated insults to my station and House," replies the Mikin calmly. "What then must one do? Even the other night, when I had one of my kinsmen possibly dying in my arms, he chose to make... light, of it." She blushes at the confession, dipping into a quick curtsy. "Forgive me, your grace, but I felt it wise to speak honestly."

"I suggest you ignore him. He can speak all he wishes, and he can goad and taunt if he decides it's how he wants to represent his House, but you do not need to follow his commands unless he acts under the authority of a Knight at the time in a matter of law," Duhnen replies to Celeste at that, nodding his head. "That said, he can not force you to speak your thoughts, if you only choose to reply with such things as 'Yes, your Grace', and the like." He shrugs his shoulders slightly, glancing to Lyddmull and giving him a small, encouraging smile. "Speak, Mistress, please," he nods his head, looking at Meian.

Confusion spreads across Lyddmull's face as he turns to regard Meian curiously. He does not speak, waiting for some kind of elaboration.

Meian swallows slightly, but does as she's bade. "Lord L-lyddmull.. L-lord Lyddmull w-was offered the c-chance to apologize, m-many times, and h-have that stand in the s-stead of the duel. W-with all due r-respect, he had the c-choice to tender that a-apology instead of lying in t-this bed. It's not true t-there was nothing he c-could have done." She explains this all without ever truly -looking- at Lyddmull or even Duhnen, her gaze lingering somewhere in the general vicinity of the floor.

"To apologize for an unspecified insult, and make unspecified redress for same, in a public, written apology," says Taran calmly. "Which lord Lyddmull wished to consult with you about before doing, your grace. And which Duke Lomasa acted to prevent." He tilts his head. "Would you find that the wiser choice?"

Kael murmers, softly - "S' all too much fer me." He pauses, and looks up to Duhnen - "'t happenin' as fast 's it did may b' my fault. I ... were Norran's second. Wi' how 'e were actin' when Varal were shot, I tol' him t' stuff 't."

Celeste bites her lower lip, slowly crossing her arms. "Master Songbird speaks truth, your grace. Apology or not, last night was not the time for a duel. Not in the wake of the Wildlings and what they've asked of us," explains the Mikin calmly. "We need men able to fight this menace, and instead he placed another in this very infirmary."

Adrianna heads further into the room, curtsies to the nobles, "Your grace, m'Lady Mikin," she says before looking to Taran again with confusion on her face.

Lyddmull Seamel sighs as Meian speaks and nods. "A private apology, I would have given, deserved or not, if it meant appeasing His Grace," he says, "A public letter of apology is a matter of far greater import." He turns to Celeste with a frown. "My Lady," he says gently, "In that, I am just as much at fault as he is. He did not force me to duel him at that very moment. It was my choice because I felt it might cause him to put the conflict behind him."

"He could not have forced my cousin to draw blade against him," replies Duhnen with a small shake of his head, glancing to Lyddmull and pausing as the other Seamel speaks the same. He nods. "That you did, regardless of the reason..." He shrugs at that and sighs. "How I plan to act on this I won't say, as it is my choice and not something I feel the need to share. There is much that can be lost, however. And not so much that can be gained."

Meian sinks back into her bed, a faint smile breaking through her quiet tension at Lyddmull's words. Whatever she feels about the argument, she seems to choose to subside after her single contribution, cradling the lute carefully in her still left arm and reaching for Kael's hand once more with the right.

Taran nods to Duhnen rather solemnly. "I find it...troubling that Lomasa has come into so much power, so quickly. I have faith you will slip the net, your grace." Celeste shakes her head, sighing softly. "Your Grace, may I speak with you privately a moment?" She waves a hand towards the kitchen doorway, the sweltering alcove seeming to have become an office of the Mikin lately.

Lyddmull looks up at Duhnen worriedly as the Duke speaks. "Your Grace," he says, protest in his voice. He thinks better of it, though, apparently having caused enough trouble for the Ducal mage for the moment. His concerned gaze towards Celeste now, fixing her with a questioning look as he bites his lip in consternation. Kael just falls silent, laying his head back down on his arms, there, at Meian's side.

Taran returns to his book. "Do not worry," he advises Lyddmull. "These things have a way of rebalancing; you are safe enough here while it happens."

Adrianna continues on into the room, setting her things beside the chair between Meian's and Griedan' cots. She says nothing, just listening as she moves things and sits in said chair.

Meian's smile flickers slightly as she bends to lean into Kael, as much as positioning allows. At Duhnen's nod, the girl does manage to flash the smile again- albeit anxiously- and bow her head deeply in respect.

"Thank you, your grace," mummers Celeste. She smiles down at Lyddmull. "You need your rest, my lord. I've only been able to lessen the bruising. I'm sure that Lady Adrianna will be able to do far better," she states, smiling to the woman in question before heading off to the kitchen.

Lyddmull fixes Taran with a wry grin, flicking a pointed glance at his injured legs before turning towards Duhnen with a nod. "I always have, Your Grace," he replies with a faint smile. His worried look returns, however, as Celeste speaks to him. He nods, however, watching her retreat with a furrowed brow.

"Yes, and then I need to depart," Duhnen nods to Celeste, looking down to his cousin. "Trust in me, at least somewhat, cousin. Recover, if you would." He reaches down to pat at his shoulder, tugging the sheet upwards to it's original position before moving away, nodding to the quartet of freelanders.