[Re-Introduction: Sir Dinadan]

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

Dinadan awakens, which is already several positive steps ahead of where he thought he'd be this morning (viz. in the void from which there is no awakening, or in the hereafter that he has done nothing particularly to avoid). A giddy thrill of relief washes through him. He cautiously cracks one eye open, and then the other. For a moment, the sunlight's brightness overwhelms him--an aching reminder that he is, somehow, alive.

But as the sunlight becomes bearable, he realizes that he is somehow, impossibly, once again, in Sagramore's cabbages.


"Christ, do you really only have one joke?" he calls to the sky--but he's grinning all the same. A life condemned to cabbages is better than a death condemned to Hell or the void, and given those are the only two options, he'll gladly take the cabbages.

Friends and strangers may find a tall, blond knight minstrel wandering around in Sagramore's borrowed clothes, occasionally strumming his rebec, definitely not touching anything he shouldn't.

Comments

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"To the eventual fall of England," says Dinadan, toasting with an imaginary glass. "May it be as ignoble as my own."

[futaille]

He mirrors the ephemeral toast. "Hear hear. Although I suppose as a Frenchman, my agreement would probably be assumed anyway."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"To the downfall of France, too, then!"

[futaille]

Grantaire laughs. "To the next several!"