Sea Lion Shores some farcical aquatic ceremony

When she stopped and adjusted her position, he blinked and raised his head because she'd stopped grooming at his face. It had been a pleasant reprieve from the strange cold of the rain and the brinewater that was soaking the rest of him. But now that she was situated in front of him, the man could fix his golden eyes upon her. He could trace the contours of her face — young, he thought, but well formed. It struck suddenly how odd the situation was; here they were, two strangers on a beach, and he was mesmerized by the happiness imbibed within her features. It felt like eons since he'd seen a smile.

I am, the man answered. His voice was rough, crackling a bit with the effort of speech. He paused to swallow the salt in his throat and the sand on his tongue, working some grains against the roof of his mouth, and then with a sigh the man tried to glean some information out of her. Perhaps she wasn't just a pretty face? She seemed kind too, and maybe that would be enough to enlighten him to the sitatuon.

Where... am I? He asked next, and while there were many thoughts and many questions swarming in his addled mind, that seemed tantamount. It smelled too strongly foreign to be the Vale; this girl, she wasn't one of the maidens there that he could remember (and, he would think later, she would've been memorable); there was no scent of the druids either, and they were everywhere, protecting everything.

Again, he frowned. Even when filled with the longing ache for home and a whirlwind of confusion, he held a regal bearing — but this was nearly too much. The kingdom of his birth, his sister, his duties — it was all gone?