Edmund grins, and dips his head in a gesture that is not exactly an abbreviated bow, and is not quite a simple nod, but rather has a certain slight deliberation to it, marking it perhaps as the sort of farewell one king should give another.

Even if, perhaps, Mordred never quite became king. Hardly his fault.

"I look forward to it," Edmund says, standing again. He glances to Bar, about to ask her for a fresh cup of tea, and perhaps unsurprisingly is anticipated; he chuckles, quietly, taking the cup, raising it in a somewhat ironic salute.

"To our continued and precarious existence, I think," he says, taking a small sip before wandering off.