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Aug. 1st, 2011

[alternate universe]

Sagramore has been messing around all day, probably busily engaged in the project of trying to get himself killed -- it seems to be one of his hobbies, as Mordred often points out -- and when he gets back to his quarters in the castle, he's dirty and a little bruised, humming a Hungarian marching song under his breath, one he vaguely, vaguely remembers the soldiers singing back home when he was a child.

Gwytha has left him whitbeer and bread by his fireplace, and he crouches down to take his boots off, drinking eagerly. He knows he should probably have mentioned to Mordred that he was going out and wouldn't be back until very late, but he forgot, as he sometimes does, and so he figures he won't see Mordred until some time to-morrow night. They won't have time to steal a quick encounter before then.

He mostly finishes his supper, and starts to get ready for bed, undoing the laces on his tunic.