He had often, very often, thought about battles and how amazingly well he would one day acquit himself in one. But now that he had an actual battle forming right in front of him—for Camelot!—the idea of involving himself in it, submerging himself in that swirling human maelstrom, was less appealing than he’d imagined. All else being equal he would’ve preferred to wait a little longer, and gone off somewhere and lain down and had a sleep first. Too much had happened, he needed the sorting angel of dreams to come down and sift it all into piles for him, make it into stories and tell him what it
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