Arthur rested the needle and flexed his hand. “My age, I feel it sometimes now.”   Looking at me, he smiled, a weary flash of friendliness without happiness. “You like to listen to the rantings of a worn old man?” He rubbed his palm and his fingers in turn, as though one gnarled hand could soothe the other. Sighing, he started working again. “Memory’s ran my tongue to tales you’d have been better off not knowing. I’d be wrong not to tell you this, though. Something of LeMerle lives yet, my lady. Take care not to stir him.”