[ Finally Arthur's gaze shifts to Mordred, if only because there's literally no other choice now. Gray would have expected King Arthur to have a good (and justified) amount of resentment for the knight that caused Britain's fall, but to Gray's surprise, the king may as well be looking at a brick wall. That unchanging expression, as beautiful as it is, makes her wonder if Arthur heard Mordred at all. By the latter's muttered words, maybe this is just how things are between them. Mordred is being her typical self, but considering whom they're facing off against, Gray has a newfound appreciation for just how brave (reckless) Mordred actually is. Arthur, on the other hand, seems unconcerned. ]
There is no merit in answering the barking of a ghost. You are already dead. But if you so beg to be laid to rest, then so be it.
[ Gray watches with cold, heart-stopping dread as Arthur draws something from within the depths of her old shawl: a small cube with an eerie face on it...
The cube falls apart. Readily, much more readily than it ever has for Gray, the Holy Lance emerges from its depths. Lacking the limitations of Gray's mortal body, Arthur handles the lance in its entirety without fear of strain or loss of control; Rhongomyniad rests easily in the hand of its true owner.
Knowing even a fraction of Rhongomyniad's power, Gray ought to be running at full speed. But despite everything, she's hypnotized by the sight of that lance and its ethereal weaving pattern. ]
no subject
There is no merit in answering the barking of a ghost. You are already dead. But if you so beg to be laid to rest, then so be it.
[ Gray watches with cold, heart-stopping dread as Arthur draws something from within the depths of her old shawl: a small cube with an eerie face on it...
The cube falls apart. Readily, much more readily than it ever has for Gray, the Holy Lance emerges from its depths. Lacking the limitations of Gray's mortal body, Arthur handles the lance in its entirety without fear of strain or loss of control; Rhongomyniad rests easily in the hand of its true owner.
Knowing even a fraction of Rhongomyniad's power, Gray ought to be running at full speed. But despite everything, she's hypnotized by the sight of that lance and its ethereal weaving pattern. ]