[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@VitaVitaAR]

Two shrieked, one sighed, and the last subtly suppressed a wince as the excitement reached his ears, and shredded his moment of commoner's wonder at the upper crust. As grating as the noise could have been, he did in part have reason to thank the pair— would have been rude to gawk. His mother had taught him that much, at least.

Given that her summons was all but forthright beneath the subtle veneer of welcoming, Gerard found himself unable to begrudge Sergio's swift departure as much as he otherwise might've— if anything, not answering the call may have been the greater faux pas. Fionn was already floating up to greet them, though, and Gerard caught his acknowledging nod. Any more than three would be crowding. 

As the Veltic man knelt low and extended his palm to greet the younger of the Royal pair, the rapid burst of questions pulled Gerard's gaze free from the arrivals, and back to the three that were already crowding [i]him[/i]. His reply came quick, too quick, caught in the deluge of occurrences and information that washed over his careful attempt at a formal mask.

[color=goldenrod]"[i]Whoever[/i] did it probably earned enough to buy my hometown on the commission."[/color]

What peeked through beneath the cracks in that facade was a blunt, unassuming candor— his fellow knights would have found it familiar, provided they'd taken the time to speak at length. His fellow mercenaries, though they'd doubtless have been every bit as out of place here as he, wouldn't have spared a second thought.

[color=goldenrod]"And, no, not yet. It's only been four months for me, knighthood. Even the griffin was on the other side of the field from where I'd ended up—"[/color]

For all he wanted to maintain appearances, to look like someone [i]ready[/i] for the occasion, he wasn't ever going to tell them a lie.

He blinked, gaze dancing between the pair of eager questioners. He would have been wise to stop there, offer them an apology for his inexperience, and maybe send them on their way to Paladin Tyaethe, who had an undoubtably endless well of fantasy to have lived through, a legend in pale flesh.

But, just as he did when cloaked in steel, the linen clad knight kept going, come what may.

[color=goldenrod]"All I've seen are the cruelties people inflict on eachother. Those are far worse. Slavery, conquest... A dragon would be a... [i]nice[/i] change, thinking about it."[/color]

Amber furnaces burned, but he kept his timbre in check, and held his face somewhere neutral, if not a little serious.

The sword, leaned against the table since he'd first plucked a glass of wine, found a hand rest, consciously and gently, upon the pommel after it returned the empty crystal.