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Making his way to the castle, Duncan could well have gotten there on time if he'd sprinted. But for one thing, the whole endeavour wasn't much more than seeking sanctuary on his part, and for another... Well, in a place like this, sprinting along as a horse didn't make you much more than target practice. Moving along with some sort of steady purpose at least made him look like he was somewhat important, and the sheer strangeness of a seemingly normal animal unbothered by the dark magic that purveyed the area was novelty enough for him to pass unmolested.

That being said, while it had saved him a spear through the gut, it had also made him painfully late to arrive at the bridge. His main concern was that his lateness would somehow irritate Lancelot, lords often being a little touchy about anything they deemed disrespectful. Duncan was keenly aware that he was not the most powerful creature, and the idea of being swatted like a fly was even less appealing than returning to his village and facing an army of godly men brandishing gleaming weapons and holy water. The idea of them blessing his river in the name of their god was enough to make the kelpie's skin crawl.

In all honesty, he was rather grateful to Lancelot. The chaos such a man caused drove people to travel and flee from it, and those who took refuge in the town were a steady food source. Before that, he'd had to resort to eating [i]deer[/i] once or twice. It was disgusting. Barbaric. Humans were just so much more tender, as far as he was concerned. Satisfying. Not quite satisfying enough for him to want any part in this war, though. Snapping out of his thoughts, he found himself trotting up to the entrance.

As the doors stood shut in front of him, Duncan winced at what was to come. While it made sense to assume a human form, considering he was dealing with people, the concept was always a little uncomfortable to him. Perhaps because the only humans he'd ever met seemed to fawn over him to a slightly pathetic degree, he wasn't quite sure how to deal with ones who were meant to be on an equal footing, never mind more powerful.

So it was with a sense of slight discomfort that Duncan, now a man, walked into the room as Lancelot's speech concluded. And it couldn't have been more obvious that he was anything but a noble, considering he didn't seem to understand the concepts of say, 'closing his shirt', or 'wearing shoes'. Only adding to that impression was the fact that it looked very much as though he'd decided to swim across the lake rather than taking the bridge, seemingly soaked to the bone. 

Some of them already appeared to be discouraging violence between the attendees, which, though he agreed with the sentiment, left him more than a little concerned as to what exactly the speech had been about. Deciding it would be best not to draw too much attention to himself, he quietly made his way over to the table. None of the food looked particularly appetising to him, but he filled his plate nonetheless.

Finally taking the time to look around the grand hall, it was clear that the man was more than a little confused. He briefly entertained the thought of speaking up, but it came out as a slight whinny - quickly covered up by a coughing fit. He wasn't quite used to talking in this form yet, and as spirits went he wasn't particularly old or experienced. While he was almost certain that it wouldn't happen again, he decided against making any announcements for the time being. Better that he composed himself and stuck with normal conversation. With any luck, he wouldn't have caught anyone's attention, and could go about figuring things out without being accosted by any of the more frightening and bizarre guests.