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Arrakis was not feeling up to climbing up to the tower. His leg still hurt from before, among other things. So he went out to the courtyard to see if he could be any use helping with the cleanup. He could at least pick things off the ground, that was for sure. Limping out of the room, Arrakis wasn't too terribly perturbed by Galahad's quietness. He wasn't in the mood for talking either, really. His mind was still buzzing about the nomination from the girl in the great hall, and he honestly mostly wanted to be left alone to regather himself. He looked about for any of the others he'd been standing near earlier, but did not see them. Time to get to work, then. Maybe it would be a welcome distraction, cleaning the courtyard.

After a bit, trying to clear debris uncovered a chicken. Arrakis stared at it with a fair bit if incredulity, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. It was still alive and, as far as he could tell, without any serious injury. Taking a moment to ease his aching side, Arrakis picked up the chicken and checked it over, confirming that the chicken seemed to be in surprisingly good shape, all things considered. It also seemed pretty mild-mannered, not getting temperamental with his handling. He set the chicken down and couldn't help a small bemused whuff of air through his nose when the chicken didn't go anywhere and instead stayed very close to him.

Well, alright. So he had a chicken, it seemed.

The events of the treasure room left Riley in a state of complete and total disarray. She'd been gifted temporary asylum from her guilt through the unconsciousness that Percival's staff had blessed her with, but even that was not complete peace. Morgana's curse turned her dreams into nightmares, forcing her to writhe and suffer even when she could not surface from the exhaustion of having her energy sapped away. She faced devastating nightmare after nightmare, until finally she woke up screaming, alone in a healing tent. There was no one there to comfort her, or tell her what was happening, and she was grateful for the solitude. She could have chosen to live all of her days having never seen another face again, if it was an option.

But it was not. She pushed herself up onto her feet slowly, and felt the overwhelming dizziness cripple her mind. It took several long minutes before she could think of anything, but those thoughtless minutes were bliss compared to all that came next.

She moved out of the healing tent, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and guilt, and joined the quiet grouping of cleaners in the courtyard. It was the least interaction, and for that, she was grateful. Even when a bird landed on her head to nest in the dreadlocks of her now bare hair, she wished for nothing more than for it to find a new home. Every inch of her, including her hair, and her heart, were cursed.

The bird did not take heed of the danger it was in, and made itself at home. She couldn't blame it; the dreadlocks were quite helpful for tiny claws to hold on to. She simply worried that it would share the same fate any of her friends had come to. She, so weak of mind, would eventually turn on the poor helpless animal. Just as she had Yuki. Jason. And everyone who could have, perhaps at one time, considered her worthy of friendship.

But no longer. Now it was her, and a careless, reckless bird. That was all.

Amy didn't think she would be much good in the great hall with Lancelot, considering what she did in the treasure room. She started worrying her lip, unconsciously covering the mark that rested on her neck. What was she thinking?! How could she fall for such a stupid mind trick?! Now she was sure that most of the knights would be weary of those that were marked, thinking they've secretly turned traitor. Instead of being crowed in the great hall with everyone, she decided to go help puck up the court yard with Galahad.

At least everyone here would be too busy to pay attention to anything. Besides, cleaning could be therapeutic in a way since you're able to focus on your task and ignore those around you. Amy continued picking up random bits and nick naks here and there, trying to ignore most of the blood and gore littered around the area, since it reminded her of the things she did while under Morgana's spell. Continue to be loyal to your queen? ******** that.

Amy was so busy picking up things that she almost stepped onto a piece of glass. She jumped before picking it up, thinking she saw something in it. Upon further examination. she frowned, then almost dropped the piece when she thought she saw Morgana, laughing at her.

She wouldn't be surprised one bit if what she saw was really there. However, the knight shuddered, placing her hand on her neck before throwing the glass across the courtyard. It seemed like she was doomed to remember her traitorous decisions no matter where she went.

Kitty found it difficult to continue on with her old mindset after she'd seen terrible visions in the mirror. Visions of people not being what they seemed. Visions of everything in this world simply being a large illusions. That there was no shining Camelot. Just darkness and monsters. What was a true Knight, really? It would not give her the status and glory she coveted.

But mostly?

It was too much work.

Why could she not just be herself and allow destiny to walk into her hands? However, she was what she was, and there was no stopping in the river of life. Kitty endured the scolding and the harsh looks from superiors, assuring herself she'd not done anything wrong. Because, in fact, she did little to nothing to help; aside from toss chickens at a bridge some time ago.

So now it was time to clean up. Kitty stared at the ruined court yard, scorning those who must have destroyed it so horribly. Bodies lay everywhere. It was sickening, almost worst than suffering from Dysentery. But not quite as bad, as she was not the one without a head or organs here. Even if Dysentery often made her pray for death.

She sighed mournfully, piking through wreckage to begin the gruesome task of cleaning up. Honestly, making the lower peasants like her do such dirty work; just because she wasn't titled.

Something caught on something she'd lifted. She picked it away to reveal a pair of lady "leggings". An undergarment men must never see outside of wedlock. She gaped at the garment, letting it fall amongst the other discarded rubbish she was throwing away. Honestly, this job was too much. What honour lay in handling soiled undies? Despite the heartbreak of seeing the things she'd seen, she still held close to her heart a dream of glory and gold.

And, perhaps, a chicken army to go along with it.

Where were those dumb chickens when a girl needed them...

Riley wanted to scream when a face appeared, disinterested and yet caring enough to hold out a crust of bread, in the hopes that she would feed the bird that rested on her head. Riley couldn't look at Johan, so she focused on the crust instead, and tried her damndest not to cry. She was failing, and she took the crust quickly, making sure not to touch his actual hand as she did so. She shyly nodded her head once in a small, sharp gesture of gratitude, before moving away and placing the crust on the ground. She knelt down, and dipped her head low to the floor, in the hopes of using the bread to free the bird from her presence.

It worked. After several careful claws to get it out of her dreads, the bird hopped off of her head and waddled away to eat the bread. For this, she was thankful to the man. But she could never show her gratitude - or, perhaps, if she could manage it, never say a word to anyone ever again. It was for the best.

After Lancelot was done glaring at them and grilling them, Ignatius decided to move to the Courtyard, choosing to help Galahad out with the cleanup. If they were trapped in Camelot due to their prior actions, they might-as-well have a Camelot that did not smell of death, hopefully.

He instinctively winced as he stepped over one dead body, and then another. It was a shame how many of them had fallen. They had done what they could, but Ignatius had to wonder if they could have done better. Perhaps if Morgan had not gotten distracted with that obsession with that damn gate and mirror... though, perhaps he never cared about protecting any of them in the first place. That was the more likely story.

Bending down, Ignatius started to move things around into piles to sort them. Some items were recoverable, others were not. Others ... made noises? Curiously, Ignatius reached into a pile of wood, lifting out a ... chicken?

He glanced in the direction of the former draw bridge and then glanced back down at the chicken in his hands. And here he had thought all of those chickens had just rested in Chickenpoof's hair!

Perhaps he should keep this little chicken. Placing it on his shoulder, Ignatius bent down and went back to work on his attempts to sort things, occasionally getting distracted by the chicken instead and attempting to play with it like it was an intelligent pet. Maybe he should see if chickens could learn tricks...

[ Julian ENTER ]

Julian didn't walk in so much as he slunk in: a slow, creeping pace, head mostly down, to keep anyone important from taking note of him. In his mind, the mirror had been it, had been the perfect solution to their problems, because white it might not have been a good plan, it had at least been a plan. It had been action, and they had taken it, moving one to the other and bringing about change, instead of standing idly by and waiting for something to happen to them.

Not that he'd actually put his hand in, of course. He was in the awkward position of having fully supported everything that had gone on while not actually helping in any way. If questioned, he could either argue that inaction was the death of them all, or that he had not taken any action.

Either way was embarrassing, in his own mind.

So he'd help with the clean up now, certain, not so much as looking up at the people around him as he sets to clean up, picking up fallen rubble [the smaller pieces, at least] and moving it to the pile out of the way, clearing space and checking on fallen compatriots. If he found someone injured, he would know what to do them, how to patch them up and get them on their feet again. If he found something useful, he could get it into the right hands, and maybe that would be a start toward setting things right.

His eye settled on something bright, instead, reflecting the sky above and thoroughly capturing his attention. Slowly, he reached down, fingertips just brushing against it to tuck it into his palm, turning it this way and that to see what it was.

He realized it was a piece of the mirror as, in its surface, he caught sight of a shadowy eye -- and promptly dropped it again, shard shattering at his toes. For a moment, Julian was left breathless and still, staring down at the broken silvered bits as if they might jump up and bite him...or, maybe as if an army of Sidhe fighters would come pouring out here and now to surround and attack them.

But nothing happened.

Slowly, he licked his lips and eased into a crouch, instead, setting down the rest of the odds and ends he'd gathered to nudge one of the larger broken pieces in closer, so that he could stare down into it and catch his breath.

His own eye was reflected back at him, dark in a pale face smudged with dirt and smoke, and now he felt silly: head lifted to take in the crowd around him and make sure no one had caught him at his foolishness. The magic was gone, the spell broken, and it just left them to pick up what they still had and mend their fortifications before the oncoming storm. If he was caught sitting on the job it might mean someone noticed him, someone started asking him questions, and Julian didn't want that -- that was why he was here, instead of speaking up to Lancelot.

He picked up his gatherings again, tucking them in awkwardly against his stomach as he stood. Now he was flushed pink, eyes settling on Galahad for a very long moment before kicking back into motion, hopeful he'd gone unremarked, cleaning up those small bits of rubble and tucking everything else into the pile. Julian was more than happy to just be a cog in the wheel and do as he was told.

After witnessing the demise of three great knights, Jake had to clear his mind a bit. There was so much going through his head, but he didn't know just what to believe. Was... was Sir Morgan really a traitor? Sure he was a bit... strange, for lack of a better word, but he had assisted in ridding the courtyard of the shadowlings, had he not? Of course, it could have been all a ruse. Perhaps he was trying to dwindle their numbers by leading them into the onslaught, and those that remained, well...

Then there was Sir Gawain and Percival. The green knight's words had irked him, and undoubtedly rubbed others the wrong way, but was it not as the knight Percival said? Perhaps he was under the Sidhe's control and was driven mad. After all, a great knight must always pledge to uphold their oath to the great king. To speak against him or, god forbid, attempt to usurp the throne was unspeakable. It was outright treasonous. He had held back from attacking because he himself was but a lone knight. Even if he disagreed with Gawain, the man was still technically considered his superior, even if he didn't directly serve under him. Should he have stopped the other knights from attacking? Would it have even made a difference? He tried to keep his distance from the others because he just... didn't want to interact with others, but as a knight, and as a GREAT knight, one could not just avoid others because they wished to. It was something he would have to learn, and learn to fix... eventually.

Well, it didn't matter anymore. Gawain was slain by Percival. There was no choice, for he had apparently already succumbed to the curse, and well, Morgan and Percival... there was no use dwelling on it anymore.
For now, he could be consoled by the fact that the remaining knights were possibly still very much alive, as one of them had instructed them to clean the remains of the courtyard. So many fallen soldiers and... why was that snake still there?

Jake reached down to pick something up, confused when he touched something smooth... like leather. Someone's clothing? He didn't want to-
He looked down to see what exactly it was he was holding.
Those nearby might have heard a shout of horror as he dropped the "leggings", flinging his hand as if he could forget he ever touched it.