[h3]Gullian - Great Hall, Late Morning

[color=7ea7d8]Lucien Beaumont-Dubois[/color] [/h3]

The bright sunlight that streamed in through the great arched windows was reflected from the mirror polished tiled flooring and into the eyes of Lucien Beaumont-Dubois as he was unceremoniously thrust from his cell and into the world above. The light hurt his eyes after the dank darkness of the Royal dungeons and his head still throbbed painfully from where it has been struck prior to his interment there. The cudgel had left a bloody gash at his left temple and that whole side of his face was discoloured black and blue. Not that anyone looking at him would likely be able to tell. Lucien also still bore the stain of his escape attempt upon him as well, and hence was still encrusted with all the filth of a full privy.

He couldn't remember anything of his journey to the dungeon, he wasn't even sure how long he had been there. It might have been hours, it might have been days, much of it spent slipping in and out of consciousness. Half formed dreams and hallucinations of people he had once known and places he had once been. All ghosts now, brought back to haunt him in his most desperate and debased state. 

As soon as he had properly regained some of his senses he had realised he wasn't in a debtors prison. Debtors weren't kept in solitary cells (unless they could pay a gaoler for the luxury) and they weren't guarded with royal guardsmen. Why was he here? Oh Gods why was he here? Just who had he angered or swindled to earn the enmity of the monarch? After that he jumped and switched at every sound and movement, convinced it was sound of men taking him to the hangman's noose. 

But instead of a noose, Lucien found himself here, in a sunlit, sweet smelling hall, with breakfast laid out before him. Maybe his luck had turned again? Sure there even more heavily armed men surrounding them no doubt ready to kill them all at a moment's notice, but if they wanted him dead they could have easily done that by now - and they didn't have to feed him to boot. A smile began to creep over Lucien's bloodied and dirtied features.

As his chains were undone and the grand looking fellow Lucien could only assume to be sovereign himself turned to them and began to address them his mood soured as he thought through the implications of why they were being treated so well. Something was going on here, and Lucien had the feeling he was about to be co-opted into doing something not in his best interests. As he looked to the left and the right, at the wall of armoured guardsmen and their withdrawing gaolers, Lucien saw that there was no way of out this. Certainly not here at least. He was trapped like a rat in a cage. He sighed, better to just make the most of it until they killed him or he weaselled his way somewhere far, far away. 

Two of the louses that had been dragged in with Lucien, one a loutish woman and the other some northern barbarian already seemed to be arguing over something. He grimaced with distaste and made an effort to sit as far away as possible from the pair. Most of the other prisoners were already shovelling food into their mouths with great voracity, and Lucien was inclined to the same were it not the presence of the High King. [i]Remember your manners, prove yourself a man of different class to the rest of these guttersnipes, there could be profit from this yet...[/i] 

He wiped his face and hands down with a napkin and poured himself a glass of wine. He swilled and sniffed it before taking a sip. It was very good, light and fruity, with notes of summer berries and cherry. He used a spoon to crack one of the boiled quails egg and ate it as dainty as possible. Lucien could get used to living like this again.