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Horace had poked his nose in nearly every corner of the castle, taking notes, memorizing. He had, of course, gone out questing - as was his knightly duty. But aside from that, he had stayed to himself, preferring to absorb rather than interact.

And so, he'd already been out on the ramparts when the sky had split, the blue cracking, spider-webbing like fragile glass. And then it was darkness, roiling across the sky like rotten thunderclouds. Hadn't it always been dark - had the sky been blue once? Horace froze, fists curling at his sides as a sudden wind caused his tabard to flap. Something else had been that blue color, pale and cloudless and very, very important. Something.... he blinked as one of the Great Knights shouted. The hollow in his gut ached. There was... it was important, but he didn't know. Horace shook his head; now was not the time for fanciful thoughts and an odd, aching loss that arced out into his fingers.

They had enough people there, passing torches, securing the gates. Horace would be unneeded if he stayed. Instead, he found himself more concerned with the aftermath. If the seige broke the walls, or if they used ladders, towers to scale the walls... War meant wounded. His mind raced as he ducked back inside. Rooms, rooms - he needed to gather supplies, make sure they had a place. He poked his head into the banquet room, glossy hair swinging around his face. People milled about, most of them busy, or rushing out, or making plans. Except for a few. A pale man simply sat at a table, no tankard, no food in front of him. It was like he was just waiting for something to happen to him.

Well, Horace was about to happen to him.

"Hey, if you're not busy-" He obviously wasn't, but it was only polite. He grinned, trying to look particularly charming. "-would you mind lending me a hand? I'm gonna try to gather up medical supplies before all hell breaks loose." He stood next to the other man, a hand loosely draped on the back of the adjacent chair.

There was something strange about this knight-apprentice, and Horace couldn't quite pinpoint it. He waited patiently for a reply, but when it came, it seemed measured out by careful syllables and not at all what he expected.

He even laughed a little before realizing the blond man was, in fact, quite serious. Horace paused, frowned and swung out a chair. He sat down in it backwards, the bits and bobs of metal on his person clanking slightly, and peered curiously at Lawr. Maybe the man was foreign, born somewhere in the distanct north (Horace had no basis for these fantasties beyond the simple fact that he liked to speculate wildly about people).

"I don't require a, uh, lopped off hand, but your help. It's a figure of speech." He waggled his own hand at Lawr. "I'm not entirely sure what I would do with your hand alone; I prefer you whole. Most of the other knights are off fortifying the gates, but I could use assistance in other areas - if you're willing." He paused and hmmed, running his tongue along his teeth. "My name is Horace. Yours?" With a creak of wood, he leaned forward in the chair, rocking it on two legs. And then he stood up, smiled, and dropped a hand carelessly on Lawr's thin shoulder.

"Let's go." He hoped by assuming Lawr's acceptance, the man would just... go along with it. Horace chewed his lip nervously as he waited. He could, of course, find a way to do this alone, and he wasn't entirely sure why he wanted this straight-forward man to help him, but it was important.

He felt the other man's jerk and lifted his hand up hurriedly, concern briefly creasing his face. "Ah, I'm sorry, did I startle you?" He rubbed his fingertips along his tabard before deliberately relaxing his hands and stood, too. The chair was pushed back into the table with a shrill squeak.

"Yes, I would appreciate your help, Lawrence. And I'm sure you'll be helpful; it's what knights are good at, after all. Never underestimate your own worth." Horace smiled widely, feeling strangely accomplished that he'd roped Lawrence into helping him. "Now, we have to find bandages, and possibly bedsheets to shred into bandages and any sort of medicinal thinsgs we can get our hands on."

Horace had a plan, he always had a plan, if only because he was lost without it. Pulling out his notebook, he strode towards the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder to Lawr. "We need king's weed, queen anne's lace, and murtwort at least. I know I saw it in the pantry - can you get it?" Horace's nose was buried in his notebook, the pages filled with scribbles that could be words but weren't quite. As they walked, Horace chattered. Something about the other man made him just talk and talk and talk. A small part of him felt a little sorry for Lawr's ears. He talked about his horse, Shoebox, and how useless he was and did Lawr have a nice horse and had Lawr quested, because it really was the knightly thing to do. Horace had, at least, the brains to pause in appropriate spaces to let Lawr answer.

He'd smiled, a bit confused, at Lawr's question about worth. Instead, he continued to prattle on as they tucked away herbs - both dry and fresh into his bag. "What do you want answers to? Your worth or who you were?" He hummed and sniffed a bundle of dried herbs. Yes, that would do. "Well, you were certainly worth something, or you would not be here - we are to be knights, after all. That counts, doesn't it? And you're helping me, so that is worth quite a lot. I wonder if I can get a new horse... Shoebox is awful." Horace flipped a page in his notebook distractedly, making a small check. He looked over at Lawr and thought there was something different about the knight-apprentice, but he also thought that it didn't really matter, in the end.

"Hmm, so-" Horace had thought very hard about Lawr's statement. His bluntness had been startling, but refreshing; there was no artifice in it at least. "The tingle. Are you just not used to it? Touching, I mean. If you want, I could, uh, help you get used to it... uh..." Horace trailed off, looking as though he wished the floor could swallow him up. He had no idea what had possessed him to say that - although he certainly couldn't deny that the idea of helping Lawr was appealing. The tips of his ears burned and he coughed uncomfortably. Abruptly, he busied himself grabbing the last of the medicinal herbs they needed. Next, they needed linen to make bandages, maybe basins for water and washing wounds, sewing supplies. The linen, Horace at least knew, they could get in the bedrooms of the castle.

"Uh, we... we need bandages, well, bed linens, and thread."

"yes," he sighed. "I suspect you're right about the bedrooms." He shoved a hand through his hair before letting it fall. There was alarge bedroom just down the hall; he remembered poking his head in briefly as he looked around - he had not snooped more, despite the urge. Snooping was not a knightly thing, maybe. Horace felt strangely jittery, like a strange energy skipped through his veins or like he'd eaten something strange.

He paused in the hallway, counting doors - the fifth door down. "I don't know if I want to remember who I am, after all." It was something he'd vaguely thought, but not put into a coherent sentence.Horace was almost surprised by it, but he shook his head. "I do think getting used to touch will help you - it's such a commonplace thing. Here." He turned to face the man, standing at the entrance of the room. With a shrug and a slightly goofy smile. he held out his hand.