[color=silver][center][h2][color=#915027]𝔏𝔢𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔯 𝔊𝔲ð𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔫[/color][/h2]
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Leifur had yet to get too far from the argument when he heard it wind down. He picked up footsteps; one set, then two. Heavy. Glancing over his shoulder, he found exactly who he'd expected to; Arton and Galahad. Out of everyone present, they were the ones he expected to focus on the mission the most. The viera was about to give the two an acknowledging nod, when he caught Arton murmur something under his breath. It had likely not been meant for him to hear, but few things escaped the sensitive ears of a viera, especially this close by. Furi? A name, most likely. He would commit it to memory, whatever it meant.

Galahad caught up with Arton, and from somewhere behind him, Leifur could hear more footsteps, and then a shout. Butterboy. At least there was no longer a danger of him alerting potential enemies to their presence; the arguing from earlier had already done a fine job at that. 

There seemed to be no danger of such anyway; everyone they met on the corridors was long gone, a victim to a senseless battle. Corpses clad in armour, some with anger or surprise frozen on their faces, some with no discernible faces left at all. They'd been caught in heavy gunfire.

... Gunfire that Leifur could hear once more. He picked up his pace eagerly - not because he'd be excited to spill more blood, or to save someone from having theirs spilled, but because he was curious. He needed to understand how this happened, how so many soldiers made it so far into the castle, especially on a day like this, when security should have been particularly tight. It was inconceivable. 

They arrived to the scene of a battle, catching a glimpse of the king, fighting, when they found themselves at the more unfortunate end of a rifle. Leifur was preparing for a dash, leg muscles tensed, when the members of another team cut down the gunmen - then proceeded to start barking orders and level a weapon at Neve's face, clearly blind to the very visible proof that their team had been fighting as well.

Had the others not been faster, Leifur would've attempted to cleave the man's gunblade in half, maybe an arm to go with it, out of sheer reflex. Thankfully, the urge was quelled by a stalemate, the subsequent breaking of it and then, as usual, Galahad.

Leifur glanced at the Skaelan who'd joined the fray, entirely sure he recognized her. Not from a personal account, but by reputation. It mattered little right now, though; he'd let the others resolve this matter, and move on to another. To the king, unharmed, and his troupe, equally so. 

[color=#915027]"A shame to find you without injury,"[/color] Leifur raised his voice upon approach, but not his weapon. He was angry, not a threat looking to be cut down.[color=#915027] "Considering the sorry state of so many of your men - and [i]guests[/i]. Slaughtered in your own castle, on the day you threw a feast. Either you're a conspirator, or entirely undeserving of a crown. Explain yourself, and perhaps we'll know which."[/color][/color]