"Honored dead of Britain!" You advance on the ghosts like a wave upon the shore, bearing Cath like a royal orb in one arm, chin held high as you squeeze the cat close, your way of letting Cath know that you will not let her fall. "I am this woman's arbitrator. Whatever your quarrel with her, [i]I[/i] will guarantee restitution." There. You know that not even the dead would dare strike you (not without provocation, at least), and you know that this is the only way to protect Robena from the anger of the dead. "Share with me her failure, and we may agree on how it may be made right."

How that twists your heart! To speak as if Robena was not here, as if she was some fool vassal and not a brave and clever knight. As if [i]you[/i] had the right to speak for her in such fashion. If Robena takes offense and complains, she might bring the wrath of the unquiet dead on you both, and you just have to hope as hard as you can that she's better than that. That she can trust you. That you've been trustworthy, a pillar of strength that has awed her into compliance, despite the best efforts of donkeys and horses.

[Constance does her best to Win Them Over and rolls an [b]8[/b]. She wants the ghosts to agree to be appeased if their grudge is made right. [i]How could I assure you that I can appease your grudge?[/i]]