Aidan’s coarse hand rested on his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed deeply as he scanned the pages of the parchments in front of him. It was that time of year again. The Spring seemed to be the time when every man alive wanted to join Camelot’s army – after the relative silence of the winter, where people kept themselves to themselves and hid away in their country estates where the fires were kept burning all day, the Spring was the re-awakening of the glorified noble. Aidan had enough recruits (should he accept them all), to solidly house a small mountain. But as always, there would be those of them that proved weak on paper and would be sorted into the chaff. Of course, there were also those that appeared strong on paper and pathetic in the flesh, but that was for the later rounds to distinguish.
In front of him, crests of countless houses waited to be inspected by the scribes – though, knowing Monmouth, he would probably check them all himself again anyway. Ever since the Lancelot incident the Castle had constricted itself against faked crests and posing nobility. A sigh ripped from his throat and he lent back in the chair he occupied. The breath he took in after tasted stale and dusty, but he had been in here for several hours and had grown accustomed to the hall’s distinctive pallet. He was sitting by the only window in the hall. It was clean, but still managed to look like it was stifling the light from outside. Still, it was preferable to candlelight at this time of day when natural light was still available.
Arthur would join him soon – and Uther too, if he could find a gap in his morning councils. They needed to plan the next intake of recruits but no doubt the conversation would filter around to the haunting as it always had a havit of doing these days. His eyes narrowed and then relaxed, a hand coming up to rub once over his face. Somewhere at the far end of the hall of records, the door juddered open. Aidan watched quietly, waiting for a figure to appear from the stacked shelves that surrounded him.
- There were days when Arthur still thought of the man that had called himself Lancelot. Thought about the addition he would've made to his knights, noble born or not. Pulling a red tunic over his head, Arthur ventured over to the window in his chamber and looking out over Camelot gave him both a sense of pride and worry at the same time. There never seemed to be calm times for anyone and with spring at the door the duties and issues to address just seemed to pile up in an alarming speed that could get anyone on the fritz. The maid behind him stood with the tray held out, something he thought Gaius had sent him for the sleep he couldn't get. The young prince ran a hand through his hair and dismissed the girl with a wave and once she was gone, he leaned into the window heavily and tried to find the inspiration he'd always found in gazing out.
Even though he stood there for a considerable amount of time, lost in his own thoughts, it didn't seem to change how he felt about everything at the moment so he knew the only way was to actually man up. Stepping into his boots he made his way out from his chambers and down the first flight of stone stairs. If he had been able to he would've escaped the meeting but he was pretty sure considering it was about knights of Camelot, his father might as well have his testicles for it. He shrugged into a brown leather jacket as he made his way down the hall, moving his hand to tighten the straps to keep the garment in place. A voice called for him and Arthur raised his hand, shaking his head. "Not a chance. I'm busy. I'll see you tonight," he told the man that had called for him and took a left turn and then pushed the door open to the archives.
Chin raised he strolled down between the shelves in a brisk pace. "Can we make this quick please. I have business to attend to," he said firmly as he made a reach for a chair, but didn't sit down just yet. "Lord Vastel," he said and nodded towards the man. "Any word of my Father; will he be here or should we get started?"</li>