Fionn shook his head at Tyaethe.
"Why not something more masculine, though? Like...oh, how do they say it out west, over in Demet..." He looked down, unfocused eyes gazing at Echaid's mane as his brow furrowed deep in thought.
"No, wait, Blodwyn is a girls' name too...ah, Linden, that would work! They have nice white flowers, too!"
Upon witnessing the duke's madness in person, Fionn quickly turned aside from the rest of the group, pulling one of the servants over.
"Aye, could you go grab me another baguette and a large pot lid? The sort that's got a handle, not a knob. Need to look right, like." The bewildered servant nodded once, quickly leaving the duke's bedroom. Fionn quickly returned to contemplating the duke himself.
The man was acting madder than a serious suggestion that Tyaethe rename her fully-grown horse would be, but like Sir Aglan had said, it nearly seemed like an
act. Like a game being played by a child that didn't understand how humans would actually be as they lost their minds to age, disease, or the like. Still, a man of Thedric's age engaging in such an act was mad in and of itself, so the worry remained fitting.
In order to solve it the quickest and easiest, they'd likely need to hunt down the source of whatever had gone wrong in the duke's head, but asking him
normally wasn't likely to result in any useful information...
"S-sir?"Fionn turned back with a small jolt of surprise. The servant girl had returned quite a bit faster than he'd been expecting...though the manor
was smaller than Candaeln, and likely she didn't want to remain in the vicinity any longer than absolutely necessary. He took the offered loaf of bread and lid with a nod, stepping past the rest of the knights with a very clear aim.
Sorry, captain, but this might get something useful.Right for the mad duke himself.
"Your highness!" he called sharply, coming to a stop a couple feet away from the bed that Thedric stood so proudly upon.
"You're getting ahead of yourself! How can we march to war when our forces seem to have scattered to the four winds?" Nobody could ever accuse Fionn of being a good actor with a straight face, although in the face of such a childish play good acting was hardly necessary. His voice wavered slightly, hoping that he could manage to sound distressed for a moment, and not break out laughing at the absurdity of it all.
But, ever the dutiful soldier, he still held his lid-shield smartly at his side, giving a measured—if shaky—salute with his bread-sword to his sworn prince.
"And in your court dress, for the Goddesses' sake! Where's your marching uniform? Has the jester stolen it from you again?"