Difference between revisions of "3897/A Meeting with the Wisewoman"

Latest revision as of 20:56, 29 March 2016

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Spring has come to Dun Realtai, although one might expect it's still winter by how dreary the environs are. The weald is still grey, although snow has largely given way to rainwater and mud.

Out by the cottage claimed by the Wisewoman of Uppsala, one might hear the patient sound of hoofbeats, broken occasionally by soft muttering. Further investigation would reveal that someone is patrolling through the trees on horseback -- namely, the steward of Dun Realtai himself, clad in his plate armour of station, fur-trimmed coat clasped firmly at his throat. The horse is a patient farm nag, plodding along with the unhurried pace and oblivious tread of the untrained beast of burden; ears sideways and breath steaming.

Bedivere himself is balanced neatly in the saddle, a modern-looking clipboard deftly clutched in one hand (a feat he had to teach himself to do) and a pen in the other (such /wonderful/ inventions, those). Every so often he uses his feet to bring the horse to a halt, pausing to jot something down before continuing on. It isn't long before his path brings him to the cottage, and he draws his horse to a halt again, looking up and squinting towards its clearing.

"Wisewoman," he calls, but not /too/ loudly. He wouldn't want to disturb her if she's busy.

Inga has posed:
As it seemed winter was ready to release it's grip on the land, Inga would have much work to do outside. Naturally, she couldn't do all this on her own. Luckily, others will be by who would be willing to help her with the hard physical labor. As it is, Inga is planting in her garden when Bedivere arrives, down on her knees in the dirt, hands sweeping the soil back into the holes to cover the seeds.

She looks up as Bedivere approaches, smiling to him in greeting. "Sir Bedivere, be welcome. Heh, the lord would decide to visit while I'm filthy," she says, reaching for her staff. With this in hand, she pulls herself to her feet. It isn't a graceful movement, be she manages it.

She moves to a bucket of water to at least rinse her hands, raising an eyebrow at his clipboard and pen. An incongruous sight the likes of which she's becoming more and more accustomed. "On business it seems? Anything I can help you with?" she asks. "Of course, you're welcome to bide here a while. I made meat pie this morning and I've got ale--ah, or tea," she adds with a small grin.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Just as he himself is visible through the trees, so too is the wisewoman. Bedivere's head tilts slightly in the direction of the seer, half a smile quirking the corner of his mouth when she comments on her own state of affairs. Dirt is better than many other things that might come to mind, and despite his own fastidious nature, he's no stranger to things like mud.

Campaigns in Britain come to mind, slogging through fields of the stuff, pelted by rain; sometimes, he had wondered if he or the king's armies would ever dry out. It also definitely beats being covered in blood. He's been in that situation, too, and predictably, those always turned out to be terrible.

"Wisewoman." He inclines his head, even as she tries to make some token effort at cleaning up, hiding his faint amusement. Despite the odd colour of his eyes, his regard is rather like a bird of prey, intense and missing nothing. It was his favourite means of survival in Camelot, and it serves him and the people well here in this place. "I should not like to disturb you if you are busy, but if oyu are ready for a break..."

One shoulder rolls, very slightly, steel armour clattering quietly. "Not in particular towards you or yours. I was merely passing by." The clipboard is held up enough for her to get a look at it; whether or not she can read the writing on it, it seems to be columns of coordinates or sums. It's hard to say which. "Nothing in particular, although I should like to know if you have had any problems with flooding, or if you suspect there may be flooding near your cottage. I am cataloguing areas that may be a problem, to forestall the possibility of damage."

In other words, he's pre-emptively running checks on the best place to start dumping sandbags. If the last winter was anything to go by, Dun Realtai is going to be in for a very wet spring. That much snow melting means the water all has to go somewhere, right?

He settles more comfortably in the saddle, absently patting the tired old nag's neck. "No, I will not be drinking ale today." His smile is steely and a little sour. Bedivere's relationship with alcohol is pretty well known in the territory. Even his own guests know his preferences in that regard.

"Perhaps tea," he muses, in response to Inga's offer. "It is cold and wet today, although I suppose Lady Arturia is not bothered by it." Servants wouldn't be. "I suppose she will be looking for me, soon. I have been at this since sunrise." In other words, she's probably going to come howling after him to eat something and stop working himself so hard! Honestly, he just lost track of time, and he feels fine. Really.

Inga has posed:
Inga waves him off. "Just a bit of planting. I cannot quite get used to buying all my food from a supermarket. It is just...odd to me. I like to know I can still grown my own food as I am used to," she replies. "I could indeed use a break however, and I do believe this is the first time you have visited me here," she says, a gentle admonishment.

At his question, Inga looks around thoughtfully, then pointedly stares off into the middle-distance, silent for a time before she answers. "No, flooding will not be a problem. The mud will however, and the path will become quite difficult. I think I will be needing a bit of help in that regard," she answers, as if she's sure of it. She is, obviously.

She snickers a little at his response to her offer of ale. That time at least, she wasn't actually trying to tease him. "Well, come in then, we shall get a head start so that when the lady does arrive she will see you are well fed and have much less scolding to do," she says, motioning for him to dismount and follow her inside. "You can tie up your horse just over there. Keep the goats company," she adds. The goats in their little barn peek their head's out as if they know they're being talked about.

Inga moves inside to put water on for tea and warm up a healthy portion of the meat pie, motioning for Bediver to take a seat wherever he is comfortable.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Like the lord she had appointed over the land, the Once and Future King of Britain had the habit of rising early, just before the first rays of dawn coloured the skies. Yet today, it would seem he rose before she had; the Servant indeed needed rest to conserve precious mana, especially after her contract had transferred over to Bedivere. Still, she disliked it since the former Marshal of Camelot overworked himself almost by habit. True, he /was/ improving -- with some judicious prodding on her part -- but Arturia felt she could not afford to become too lax in her duties in spite of the comforts of their new home.

     And it was just as well she maintained such vigilance; once again, Bedivere had gone out on his rounds on his own. She couldn't turn her back on him for a moment, could she?

     The diminutive knight-king sighed, shaking her head. He was never going to learn, but that too was a new part of her duties, to look after the lord. It was a luxury she had never been able to indulge in as the King of Britain, and now it seemed she was making up for lost time.

     Once she had dressed, she gathered up some provisions in a saddlebag and headed out to follow. If he had dared to skip breakfast, the pale-haired knight had better be prepared for an earful.

     Fortunately -- though perhaps unfortunately for her betrothed -- she had followed his rounds to arrive at Inga's cottage, where the nag was indication that he had not yet moved on. Lifting the saddlebacks from her own mount -- a bay stallion built more for plowing than riding, which made her short stature stand out all the more -- she dismounted and went to the door before knocking lightly. After all, she was certainly mindful of her manners, even if her purpose was hunting down the lord of the land.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Fortunately, supermarkets are a rarity out here in the sticks of Dun Realtai. One of the founding tenets of this place is to allow its people to live as close to their customary way of life as possible; a policy that the stewards have taken to as well. The way of life of Dun Realtai's average people is close enough to their own.

No great sacrifice, there. If anything, it's a comfort to the war-weary knight not to have to go learn how to live in a more modern territory. Cities, with all their crowding and noise, make him acutely uncomfortable.

"Most people here grow their own food," Bedivere confirms, folding his arms as he regards the herb plots with a critical eye. "It is highly unusual for any but the most involved craftsmen to buy their food from the weekly market. I do not mind that, and now that the croplands are viable once more, there are a great many things to be found in Dun Realtai's own market."

When she admonishes him on his scarcity, he looks properly admonished, grimacing and ducking his head slightly. "Aye, I've been busy. For that I apologise. I was taken with seeing to the winter preparations, and ensuring that there was enough food in reserve to last the winter. Supplementing our own harvest took a bit of pulling strings, and a bit of clever negotiations in trade. I was also ill for a portion of the winter, and regrettably, my lady did not allow me out of the keep."

Killjoy.

He blinks somewhat owlishly when Inga stares into the middle distance, tilting his head faintly in curiosity. Is she experiencing a vision of some sort? Ah, no, just consulting her friendly local freaky wuju to confirm something. Bedivere can't help but feel the hair on the back of his neck rise, suppressing a faint shiver. He may be intimately connected with the otherworldly, but that doesn't make it any less foreign to him.

"Perhaps I will, at least for a few moments." It takes him only a moment to slide from the saddle, landing in a squishy patch of mud with a faint sound of distaste. Leading the horse over, he ties the reins neatly to whatever's closest at hand, be it fence or broken tree, and gives the animal a friendly pat before filing after Inga.

He at least has the consideration to wipe his feet as best he can before heading inside, lingering near the doorway and folding his arms. He shakes his head when invited to sit, frowning faintly and glancing to one side.

What was that? A twinge... Arturia? Surely she wouldn't chase him down... but no, he knows that sensation. Closing one eye, he activates his magic circuits, briefly flushing energy through them. The swirling magic circuits come alive in cyan light, forming elegant whorls and Celtic-style marks pattenered over any bit of exposed skin. They loop over the left side of his face, up and over one eye; knotwork so intricate that it would be an exercise in patience to recreate by hand.

The marks fade as soon as they appear.

"It would appear my lady is already on her way," he announces, with a brief glance to Inga; equal parts faint amusement and mystery. Standing half in the shadow, in the aspect of the otherworldly filidh, there seems a little bit of mystery about him despite his armour.

Inga has posed:
Inga looks up, blinking. Apparently, Bedivere's Arturia senses are tingling. Inga chuckles. "Well, you'd best meet her then. Invite her inside while I warm the water for tea," she says. "It will give me a moment to change as well," she adds, turning and heading further back into the cottage, ducking into a bedroom presumably to change into something that isn't covered in mud from the knees down.

Saber (346) has posed:
     As she neared the cottage, Arturia could feel the preternatural link between Servant and Master, and likewise knew Bedivere could feel the same pull. Such a thing was necessary in the Holy Grail War, but it had its uses even after Saber had abdicated. Now, she could use it to simply home in on where that Master was.

     "Thank you," she greeted Inga with a slight smile as she entered. "It would seem this is where my wayward lord had wandered off to."

     It wasn't doom which settled upon him, though she did affix the knight with a meaningful look. "Though I hope that you did not skip breakfast this morning, I took the liberty of preparing for such."

     The petite blonde held up the bag packed with bread, cheeses, and of course the knight's personal favourite apples. Her mother hen tendencies had not lessened over the years, it seemed.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
There is no keeping a secret location with a bond like that. Bedivere absently sets his jaw at the odd sensation. Even after so long, some part of it still makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It's an eerie sensation. Otherworldly.

A quick step takes him to the door, and so he's already holding the door for her as she enters, making certain to close it graciously behind her. He's the perfect picture of the unobtrusive, if armour-clad, gentleman.

"I would hardly consider it wayward, my lady, when one must see to the flood risks." Bedivere sniffs, disdainfully. "It is a necessary duty, and I have some knowledge of such things from my days in Camelot." If Sir Kay were here, he would be putting the castellan to the task, but as Arturia's adoptive brother is not, he has taken it upon himself. "Besides which, the areas I deem of highest risk have already been catalogued. I am nearly finished."

His eyes slide sideways, regarding her blandly at that meaningful look of hers. His expression gives nothing away; opaque as a stone, another talent that he had mastered from his days in Camelot.

He looks at her for anohter few seconds, just to make sure he gets his point across.

"Of course I did," he says at length, with great dignity... but he allows himself to look interested at the sight and smell of the apples. Poor Bedivere, so predictable. It takes him only a moment to unclasp his cloak, tossing it over the back of a chair before folding himself into it (they are, unfortunately, carved for someone not quite as tall as he).

Inga has posed:
Inga smiles and bows to Arturia as she comes inside, now changed into clean clothes. She now wears a clean linen underdress and the usual apron style over dress, this one is a soft blue, a bit of embroidery at the hem. Clothes a bit more fitting for entertaining the lord and lady of Dun Realtai.

They have their choice of seating. There's benches draped with soft furs set around the hearth, or there is a distinctly more modern looking table near the even more obviously modern ice box. "Make yourselves comfortable. Will you have tea as well my lady?" she asks Arturia, fetching cups for them all.

"I was about to see Sir Bedivere fed as well, I made a meat pie this morning," she adds, cutting some slices of aforementioned pie. It smells delicious. Inga is quite a decent cook.

Soon enough tea is brought as well, and Inga will settle down once she is sure Bedivere and Arturia have been properly seen to.

Inga shakes her head slightly, thinking the way Bedivere looks at those apples was the same way his horse might. "I see I should have made an apple pie," she comments with a smile.

Inga looks to Arturia. "I have assured Sir Bedivere that my cottage shall be quite safe from flooding, but that mud will soon become a problem. Do have those bags of sand ready for the other areas. It will be wet, as you predict," Inga advises. These are things the wisewoman has often been asked to predict. It hasn't all been doom and tragedy all through her life. That is more common in the multiverse.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
If this was an official visit, the steward himself might have brought a change of clothing himself. The hems of his surcoat are muddy, and his boots are also muddy, though he'd kicked off what he could before entering the cottage. At least it wasn't actively raining outside; just sodden and muddy.

Bedivere, for his part, has chosen the less modern seating. That may or may not be because it's near the hearth, which is inherently warmer. Although not the type to eat meat very often, there are occasions where the silver-haired knight will indulge; as a matter of courtesy, he'll do so today.

It might be the same way Bedivere's horse looks at apples. Or maybe a deer. He seems almost reminiscent of one -- shy, wary, and hyper-observant; tense even at rest, as though to spring into action at a moment's notice.

"I have a certain fondness for apples," Bedivere states, with a faint half-smile that seems almost shy. "They are sweet, and it was rare to come by sweet things in Camelot that were not of exorbitant cost. Apple trees were also well-suited to Camelot's climate, so they could be found there, rather than among the goods brought in from the far east by the spice traders."

Saber (346) has posed:
     It was, perhaps, because knight and king had been forced by duty to maintain a careful distance for many years that the violet-eyed knight was still unused to the idea of the once aloof, distant king actually teasing him. Her subtle smile, in days long past, would have been something he would never have seen, so careful had she been. But no longer. And were she anyone else, she would have chided him for missing the joke and being too serious. But he was cut from the same proverbial cloth: businesslike to a fault.

     "I had been teasing you, my lord," was her simple reply as she lifted her left hand to unfasten her cloak.

     Arturia nodded her agreement to Inga. "Indeed, we ensured that this year we would have enough. Moreover, the village has expanded over the past year, so we have procured much more than the previous year. Work crews will have to be organised, of course...but that will be a simple enough task."

     She awarded the wisewoman with another slight smile. "If it would not trouble you, I should very much like some." Her glance towards Bedivere and his protestations earned...did her smile now have the faintest hint of slyness? "I, too, take my duties with the utmost gravity when it comes to ensuring that the lord is taken care of."

     The apples were a good indicator of that...or perhaps simply that she had learned how to pacify him effectively.

Inga has posed:
Inga smiles, nodding to Bedivere. "True enough, apples have always been a treat. In our time, the only way to sweeten things was with fruit or honey. I still prefer to cook with honey than sugar, though I am experimenting. I do enjoy the sheer variety of foods available to us now. Such fruits I couldn't have imagined. Oranges, bananas, pineapple? Quite amazing," she comments. Just a couple of back country multiversals, sounding like bumpkins here...

Speaking of honey, Inga stirs a bit into her tea.

Of course, Saber is provided with a cup as well. Its a nice tea, earl grey, very fragrant and rich.

Inga looks between the two for a moment as if considering something, her lips pursing slightly....then, she smiles. "So, I have heard that congratulations are in order?" she says, smile turning to a grin. She won't tease, but she'd like to know if what Merlin told her had any grain of truth.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
At the chiding that she'd been teasing him, Bedivere merely raises his brows, eyes hooded, as though to imply through his expression that he had known that fact all along. The way he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair only reinforces that impression.

His eyes turn to Inga as the King of Knights confirms their work. He dips his head, eyes hooding. "Indeed. Organising a work crew would not be difficult, and there are plenty of volunteers within Dun Realtai itself. I do not foresee flooding to be a particular problem; with the village itself built upon the spire, the croplands are in more danger."

And then Arturia undermines his seriousness; when she makes that pointed comment, his expression twitches into one of mild annoyance. Hey, that's not fair.

His eyes flick back to Inga. "Fruit, for the most part. Even honey was a luxury restricted to the monks, for it was they who had the more stable apiaries. At that, even fruit was oft rare and expensive... but apples were readily available." He manages a faint shrug. "Aye. Strange fruits. Strange vegetables, too."

And then he blinks, very slowly and owlishly, at Inga. He throws a brief look at Arturia, one that appears to be genuinely confused.

"Congratulations for what, pray tell...?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     It was a testament to her impressive willpower that Arturia merely smiled in response rather than chuckling at Bedivere's wry expression. He understood well this was an indulgence, a part of their new lives she could have never had in Camelot. Even during the Fourth War, she had kept her vision focused on her goal: win the Grail and undo her rule. It was only in the multiverse she had been able to begin to enjoy life a little.

     "Quite so, she agreed with Inga. "There are, to be fair, a great many things to appreciate about this future era. While we had wished not to upset the livelihood of Dun Realtai, there have been certain advantages to what is now available." The lack of the bland food of her own era first among them in her mind.

     Alas, her previous reserve crumbled at last in the face of Bedivere's mind annoyance, and she was unable to hold back the light chuckle...almost a girlish giggle, really. In truth, she would never take for granted the freedom to, as she saw it, treat him properly and look after him. Even when it had not been a duty, she had indulged herself even when they lived with her former Master and her elder sister.

     When he turned a puzzled expression at her, however, it was mirrored perfectly before sea-green eyes turned back to Inga. "I...am afraid that I do not understand, as well."

Inga has posed:
"We had bees, ourselves. We kept a little hive, my mentor and I. There was a man nearby that looked after the bees while we were on the road," Inga says, her eyes growing distant with memory. It seems not as far away here, surrounded by familiar things. Seems much further when she's in the city somehow, as if she can feel the actual distance of time on earth.

Inga blinks then, raising a brow. "I met Merlin in the village not long ago. He ah...well, I inferred from his comments that you two must be engaged," Inga answers plainly. "Am I in error? I know Merlin is mischievious, but I have seen--well, nevermind that," she says, lifting her cup of tea to her lips to cover her expression.

Odin's bones, by their expressions...maybe Merlin /had/ made it all up!

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight absently taps one armoured sabaton on the ground, frowning faintly as his dignity is subjected to another onslaught from the King of Knights. That's not really fair, is it? Of course he treats things with the utmost gravity. How could he do any less? She knows his reasons; that he had had even more deadly impetus for it than Arturia had.

While she had been a champion at keeping secrets, her lieutenant had been even more skilled. His life had hung in the balance, and by extension, the secrets he'd harboured would have meant hers, too.

"Merlin. I should have known." Something of Bedivere's good cheer dissolves at mention of the king's tutor. The knight heaves a sigh. "I would be cautious about what you are told by him, Wisewoman, for he has a habit of stretching the truth beyond all reason when he believes it may benefit or amuse himself." He shakes his head, stony-faced. "No. I am afraid Master Merlin is mistaken."

He had always been good at wearing a mask, and so he does now... probably to spare himself any sort of embarrassment. Maybe he's genuinely annoyed, too. Something in those violet eyes suggests he's going to have a Stern Talking-To with the wizard, sooner or later.

Bedivere shrugs, faintly. "A word of advice. I would not believe everything that you hear from him, Wisewoman."

Inga has posed:
Inga sips her tea, hiding a smile. Once she lowers it, she's schooled her expression. "Oh, I do not take everything Merlin says seriously. Indeed my thoughts were already a leap from what he /actually/ told me. I apologize for my assumption," she says, in all politeness.

But to the keenly observant? She is clearly not buying it. If nothing else, Merlin will have an unpleasant conversation with Bedivere to plague him in the future!

Unless he enjoys being yelled at and cursed which, honestly, would explain far too much.

Huh.

Saber (346) has posed:
     It takes a moment for the suggestion to completely register. The conclusion hardly bothered her, particularly since it was somewhat true, if not entirely official. No, what disturbed her were two things in particular: the suspicion that Merlin had implied something else -- something entirely improper -- and how he had discovered that fact in the first place. True, the wizard had his ways of finding out a great number of things, but the idea that her tutor-turned-advisor was spying on her was unsettling to say the least. And, of course, there were certain assumptions of impropriety.

     Arturia couldn't help but blush slightly. Really, did he truly think so little of her sense of honour?

     The blush was soon replaced with a heavy sigh. "No, I fear that my advisor assumes too much," she explained. "Perhaps deliberately for the purpose of his pranks. Many times, I have been in the position of tending to the results of his amusement."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Master Merlin has an unfortunate habit of exaggerating the truth, sometimes to truly outrageous proportions. I suppose he must indulge himself somehow, given that his usual avenues are closed to him." In other words, the village maidens have been warned about the wily wizard. Bedivere tilts his head, very slightly. "I would consider anything you are told by him with a grain of salt... at the very least."

Whether Inga buys it or not, the knight-marshal gives no outward sign. He is the perfect picture of a mask; the portcullis that has been slammed shut. It was a guise he wore well in Camelot, and a skill he still remembers how to wield perfectly.

One can bet he's probably thinking about what he'll say to Merlin, too. No yelling or fiery temper from the marshal, either. He's always been more like ice than fire. His anger and annoyance are chilly; when he makes plain that he has been set out of sorts, he is very slow and deliberate about it.

Well, unless Merlin inadvertantly insults Arturia's honour. Then he actually gets angry.

"Once again," Bedivere sighs wearily, in agreement to Arturia's assessment. "I begin to wonder if I must needs speak with him about this 'amusement' of his. Perhaps it was amusing to him, in the beginning, but it has been naught but tiresome to me. I have a certain degree of reputation that must be considered, as well, and his 'amusement' does me no favours."

Inga has posed:
Inga sighs, shaking her head. She fetches the teapot to refill everyone's tea, wondering if she should add whiskey to her own. While Saber and Bedivere are more along the lines of the sort of people she was used to, their behavior is often still puzzling. Why do they not just admit it? Why do they not just marry and have it down with? But it is not her business, in the end.

"Oh, I doubt this particular amusement has gone beyond me. While Merlin likes his pranks, I do not think he would maliciously try to harm your reputation with the people," she replies. "He does not strike me as a bad person, nor do I think he usually means ill. But I suppose you know him better than I. Touched by Loki, he is," Inga adds. "So long as he does not take it over the line, as Loki did," she sighs.

Time for a subject change! "What else has been happening as of late? I fear I have been out of touch. What is in store for Dun Realtai in the spring?" she asks. Inga is hoping there will be a spring celebration of some kind. That she might organize a ritual to celebrate the upcoming equinox...if some of the villagers asked her to lead such a thing, would Bedivere disapprove she wonders?

Saber (346) has posed:
     The many difficult years in Camelot had honed the masks of knight and king to near-perfection. It served them well in such circumstances when there was a fact that demanded concealment...at least for the moment. It would only be a matter of time, naturally...but first they needed to decide the best approach to take. The villagers still believed that the two were already a noble couple. And as Arturia well-knew, revealing the truth after a long period of deception -- albeit accidental in this case -- presented numerous challenges and difficulties. Would the people even trust them after the truth was revealed?

     The jade-eyed knight suppressed a sigh. She couldn't decide whether Merlin was a master at plotting or a complete idiot. Most likely, he simply did whatever amused him the most regardless of the consequences. What worried her more than embarrassment or even an insult of her honour -- which admittedly he refrained from, it was only the results of some orchestrations which ended in humiliating situations -- were potentially harmful situations for Dun Realtai. She would do what was necessary to protect their adopted home, as would her former Marshal.

     "He is not," Arturia explained. "But he has a habit of causing situations which can spiral out of control. I believe that it is his belief that 'All is well that ends well', and that ultimately everything will somehow 'work out for the best'." She sighed. "However, that would depend upon one's definition of 'best', and those it might affect."

     The most glaring example that came to mind was Britain: after Camelot's fall, the people at the time suffered even though the kingdom eventually became closer to the utopia she had envisioned. The wizard's view could be a little /too/ long, it seemed.

     Fortunately -- or unfortunately, considering the necessary calculations -- Inga provided something of a distraction from worrying over what havoc Merlin might or might not cause. "It's the equinox already?" she asked with surprise, her eyes widening briefly before squinting slightly in concentration. She and Bedivere continued to observe time as they traditionally had, with the calendar the Romans had brought with them when they controlled Britain. Nearly a thousand years after their own time, the calendar had been reformed to the one many in the current era used, but that was cause for much confusion for the residents of Dun Realtai. She performed a swift calculation in her head -- admittedly, something Bedivere was better at -- and came to the conclusion Easter would not be until the first of May in the new calendar.

     "That would depend on the villagers, I would imagine," she answered distractedly. "The feast of Easter will not occur until the first Sunday in May..."

     She sighed. When it came to agricultural and pastoral planning, a fixed calendar might not have been terribly important, but it would certainly make things easier. "Perhaps we should look into reforming our calendar, as well."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Although he never moves his head, the knight's violet eyes slide sidelong to watch as Inga refills the teacups, steam curling up from the cups. It's a good sort of tea, neither too strong nor too mild. He had never particularly had a great appreciation for it before joining the multiverse; often it was more of a medicinal affair, and often bitter. This is different. It's... pleasant. Enjoyable.

It's particularly enjoyable with company, although it would be more enjoyable if that wretched wizard hadn't been indulging in his cock-eyed sense of humour... and if Bedivere's opinion were solicited, he would probably decide that Merlin is not a master plotter but a complete idiot, because he always seemed to choose the path that created more work for Camelot's soft-spoken marshal. Always. It happened so often he had often wondered if it was intentional.

"There is much he will do to amuse himself, and many lines he will cross that are best left alone." Bedivere sips at his tea, eyes closing for a moment as he savours the warmth. Spring may be here, but there is still a touch of chill to the air. "Generally, he does not think much beyond himself, and when he engineers things for a particular outcome, it is an outcome whose consequences he does not consider much beyond their impact upon himself. He is also one to play the long game, for the count of mortal years means little to him."

He tilts his head, likewise looking up in what seems to be surprise. "The equinox? Already...?" His mouth slants into a frown, and he's already run those calendar calculations before Arturia. Although he struggles still with learning English, numbers are almost instinctive for him. "Yes, perhaps. It would be a welcome reward for the villagers, I think." The knight shrugs, leaning back in his chair and studying his cup of tea for a few seconds. "A joust, or a melee, perhaps. It would be an excellent opportunity to begin teaching these people how best to defend themselves."

Lifting his gaze, he regards Inga thoughtfully. "What sorts of things did you do to observe the equinox, in Uppsala...?"

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to Bedivere, looking away. "The long game," she muses, shaking her head. Merlin is old, is he not? Far older than he appears. As Bediver said, the count of mortal years means little. Perhaps that's something which she can understand. The long game. The future stretching out before them in myriad possibility, so tempting to try to shape when you know what is to come.

Inga is now more than happy to change to subject to less heavy thoughts. She gets enough of those. "It is indeed. I have been keeping track of when the sun sets and rises. Soon the day and the night will be equal," she confirms. After all, it was part of her training to keep track of such things. Mention of easter is met with a carefully neutral expression and a nod. What would easter mean to the people here?

When Bedivere asks how they would have celebrated in Uppsala, Inga looks to him, her eyes inquiring if he really wants the answer to this question. "It would be a time to celebrate fertility, of the coming summer...though it does not come so fast in Uppsala. There would be sacrifices of course, and a feast. Not as big of a celebration as Yule...but still worth mentioning. We would typically honor the Vanir, as gods of the land, and the land spirits," she informs. She doesn't go into any detail about the sacrifices. That's not a part they will want to hear.

"While we are on the subject, I wonder if I might have your permission to lead certain rituals for the villagers here that would be interested," Inga asks. She's already playing a role in the community as wisewoman, would they be comfortable letting her serve the people who wanted it in this way?

Saber (346) has posed:
Arturia had cultivated a taste for tea not long following her summoning, becoming one of her favourites. Irisviel had been fond of blends with a slight floral aroma and served it often while they lived in the Einzbern's ancestral castle and awaited the start of the Fourth Holy Grail War, though the Servant had long since been exposed to many different types. For someone who had lived when such things were largely medicinal, it had been an entirely new world to explore. Her pleasure is evident even on her normally stoic face.

     Thoughts about her tutor-turned advisor tended to sour things, unfortunately. Already well-aware of Bedivere's thoughts on the matter, the petite blonde held her counsel. Merlin's advice was generally good...and she couldn't be rid of him anyway. The wizard had an uncanny penchant for meddling whether wanted or not. It was only made worse with his sense of humour; few other than Merlin himself found amusement in his many pranks. "In truth, he means well...that is, I believe that his intentions are what we would consider 'good'. It is simply that...his execution leaves something to be desired."

     Quite a lot to be desired, if she were completely honest. "His 'Sight' as it were, is somewhat incomplete, and his perception is not 'lost to time' as some fili could become. Yet, it would seem that he is capable of physically travelling through time, else I've little idea how he managed to arrive in the current era neither as a Servant nor how Bedivere found himself here."

     Tracking time in an agrarian society was vital, but timekeeping in the current era centred around the needs of a more industrial culture. "The reforms to our calendar are indeed more efficient, but nonetheless a cause for confusion when transitioning to what we observed in Britain. It had been something the Romans had brought with them when they colonised our lands. Observing when the equinox occurs would appear to be much easier using this more modern calendar."

     The knight-king would be a little less uncomfortable about the sacrifice bit; they consumed the meat afterwards so that it didn't go to waste. But her marshal was completely soft-hearted when it came to the animal kingdom, and in general tended to swear off food which had come from slaughter. To support him, Arturia had adapted her own habits to his, even if her appetite itself remained the same due to her need for mana. Their diets were not strictly vegetarian, but close to it, something which had no doubt puzzled the villagers.

     "I had intended to inquire about the local customs," Arturia mused. "Their system and beliefs are somewhat similar in ways, but it is not precisely the same. I do not believe they coincide with any of the observations of our own respective worlds. It would stand to reason that our ways are equally foreign to them." Her head tilted slightly to one side, her version of a shrug. "Still, some might be more comfortable with a particular ritual than another one. If there are villagers who desire it, we should have little difficulty setting aside land for such a purpose, particularly should their observations coincide with the equinox."

     That was the big headache for her; the astronomical phases were not entirely dissimilar but different nonetheless. Translating that into their own varied observances was going to be a challenge in itself unless they decided to reform the calendar. It was going to be a great deal of work even with Bedivere's expert calculations. As it was now, she needed to track Jeanne down and ask about Easter preparations. Though it was a ways off -- she observed the same calendar as the Britons as far as Arturia knew -- it was probably best to prepare now.

     On the other hand, the Servant was quite enthusiastic about the prospect of a joust or melee. That would be far easier to plan for. "Indeed," she responded with a broad smile. "Perhaps in the coming month, once the rains have tapered off and the ground is more solid."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight takes up his teacup, carefully balancing it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into them. Although winter has given way to spring, it's still a very wet sort of spring, and not always temperate. "The long game," Bedivere agrees.

"Master Merlin does not measure years as you or I do. He has changed not at all since the beginning of my king's reign." In other words, he's probably some variety of ageless. "It is only natural that he view such things differently, being different himself."

He shrugs faintly. "As have I. I try to make it a habit to monitor such things, myself." The sunrise and sunset, that is. "I am no farmer, but there are those under my protection who are, and so I make it my business."

"I see." This, about how things get done in Uppsala. "I had suspected it would be something as such, but I did not know; I had not been so far north, myself. West and south, in defense against the sea-wolves, but never north." She asks permission, then. He tilts his head the other way, as though considering; gaze intense as a hawk's. "Oh?"

He looks to Arturia, then, but eventually shakes his head -- a potential stomach flop for the Wisewoman, but when he shrugs again, it doesn't seem a gesture of refusal. "I see no reason why you should not. Already you devote a great deal of time toward the people of Dun Realtai. It would be sensible for you to lead the rituals, then. I am no priest, and neither is my king; truthfully, we do not even have a resident priest for the church, since Lady Jeanne spends much of her time at her Master's side."

He says nothing about sacrifices, though. If that's what Inga wants to do, that's her business; he simply won't participate himself -- although his swearing off a diet of meat was as much a necessity as a preference. One could hardly expect a diet of fresh beef while on campaign. Grains, vegetables, and fruit were far easier to come by, particularly when travelling through farmland, although he had become somewhat famous for not taking his army's share by force -- and for ruthlessly punishing any man who did.

"Yes, it would be good for morale." Bedivere closes one eye, half-closing the other and eyeing Arturia from the corner of that eye. She's entirely too eager to jump on the topic of a joust, and that's a little concerning. Maybe she wants him to participate. "It would also be an excellent opportunity to begin teaching the people how to defend themselves, and to begin making the first steps toward an organised standing army. I do not have any visions of conquest, but I believe that Dun Realtai was built as it is for a reason. It is a defensive fort, a dun, and I must question against what." That problem has been weighing on his mind for quite some time, and likely will for some time yet, until he has a satisfactory answer.

Draining his cup, he pushes himself to his feet, setting it aside. "In any case, I have finished my surveys, and I must return this information to my quarters; it will be necessary to form a tally of materials that will be needed for reinforcement. There is much the badgermoles that Lady Toph has provided us can do, but there are also things that they cannot."

"Good eve, Wisewoman." With that, he offers a bow, turning to take his leave -- Arturia he leaves free to go or stay at her preference, but he's going to go get some work done. And then maybe he's going to go dig around the kitchen until he finds something that either has apples in it or is apples.

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to Saber, smiling softly. "Indeed, I have ased some about their customs and their gods. I aim to learn more. I already honor the local spirits. There would be no conflict for me if they wanted my aid in worshipping their gods," she explains. Inga's religion is not like Christianity. Even when Chistians came, many people simply started worshipping their god along with the ancient gods of their people. He was just another god, and other god's favor wasn't a bad thing. They had a difficult time grasping the christians would not allow the worship of their old gods. That's where the conflict really came from.

"A joust? I've heard of this, though we did not play this game. I would certainly like to see a joust," Inga says, a hint of excitement in her eyes. "I've always enjoyed watching a bout of melee as well."

The Seer looks back to Bedivere, her smile slipping. "Yes...I see," she replies. Perhaps she might pin down Merlin to ask him a bit about the nature of his existence. It might help her deal with her own. Troubling thoughts she often tries to avoid, but it is always there in the back of her mind. Ageless. Undying. Or, at least, not dying permanently.

"I think that would be wise Sir Bedivere. This is a peaceful place, true...but where there is peace and bounty there are people looking to take it for themselves. It would not be a bad idea to have your own forces here in case such a thing were to happen," she replies. Besides, Bedivere was a warrior. She has the feeling a role such as that would truly make him shine. Put a spring in his step so to speak. A man needed to do what he was good at. And Arturia was no less a warrior. Training others would be good for them, she's sure of it.

The wisewoman smiles and nods to Bedivere. He'll forgive if she doesn't stand, she's sure. "Very well. I'm glad you had the chance to visit. Take care," she says, then looking to Saber. She expects Arturia will likely excuse herself as well, but Inga certainly isn't going to kick her out. She'd be more than happy to have her stay.

Saber (346) has posed:
Of course, for Saber, having met and even fought against the children of those some considered 'gods', it was difficult to see them as deities. Heroic Spirits themselves were, after all, artificial 'gods' of a sort, many of whom were the ancestors of the various Celtic tribes of Britain whom they had elevated through their lore to godhood. It was difficult for the practical and proper king to take many of them seriously, particularly when a certain two-thirds demigod arrogantly demanded her hand in marriage...though the insufferable fifth king of Uruk disdained gods and seemed to only respect royalty. At least Thor was a nice person....she still felt somewhat guilty about snapping at him over her frustrations with Gilgamesh.

     Really, his ability to completely sour her mood was nothing short of /amazing/.

     "Perhaps he believes that revealing too much concerning future events will influence them in unfavourable ways," she mused, and strangely thinking about Merlin was preferable to gold-clad Archers. But she was not so certain, herself. Of all the wizard's habits, she found the policy of 'need-to-know basis' to be the most frustrating, even taking into account his penchant for mischief. "Given the proclivities of many magi of the current era, such precautions, to be fair, are most prudent. As it is, only recently was the ritual to find the Root dismantled when wiser heads prevailed. If the greedier ones could steal his secrets, they would not hesitate to resort to underhanded or violent means."

     That might earn some curiosity, but it was a topic for another time.

     The knight-king's smile was as bright as it ever was; subtle by the standards of most people, but those who had spent enough time around her would understand she was positively giddy. "I look forward to watching the competition," she replied, thinking especially of a certain silver-haired knight who had expressed joining the lists this time. "As well as testing my own skills...naturally, there will need to be divisions for those of special strength and abilities. Though I imagine Gawain will wish to make use of...unusual mounts." Her nephew, the Derp Knight.

     Her thoughts sobered somewhat at the thought over the fortress town's possible purpose; she had been equally concerned over what mysterious threat its defences were built to repel. "It is possible that its original purpose was no longer necessary following the land's Unification...but it would be best not to leave such things to chance. Perhaps that threat will return, and we shall need to be ready."

     The wisewoman was correct, as Arturia stood not long after Bedivere did, likewise draining her cup before following suit. While she didn't needle the violet-eyed knight on his habit of trying to do everything on his own, her silent presence and aid was usually more than enough to convey what she thought of that. It was her own way of reminding him that her new duty was to support him rather than their traditional king-and-knight relationship....though there were the occasional moments when her mother hen tendencies made her revert back to form. "Indeed, the task of stewardship are never done," she quipped before turning to Inga with a warm smile and a bow. "We are most grateful for your hospitality. We shall have to return the favour sometime."

     With that, she followed her appointed lord back to their home and the work which awaited them. But somehow, that work was hardly drudgery at all.