Difference between revisions of "4450/In Out of the Cold"

Latest revision as of 00:14, 23 August 2016

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Autumn has come roaring into Dun Realtai in full force. The weather has turned from pleasant summer into days of fierce rain, cold nights, and biting wind. If not for the more pleasant aspects of the harvest, it might otherwise be a dreary time.

  The sudden onset of rain meant that the horses had been unprotected in their paddock, though, and he had braved the cold rain to help corral them and put them into the stable. Since the Black One remains intractable, Bedivere had drafted several villagers into helping him raise a temporary shelter for the violent-minded horse. The animal had even let him and his men work in peace.

  Of course, he'd been feverish the next day, but there was no way he could leave the prize stallion to the elements. Violent as the animal may be, he had suffered enough under his previous masters, and Bedivere had no mind to neglect him further.

  Days later, and the former marshal is still feeling markedly unwell, having most probably weathered a lecture or three from his exasperated king. Today finds him wrapped in a blanket before one side of the great hall's expansive hearths, basking in the warmth and cradling a cup of tea in his hands, still issuing a wisp or two of steam. An old harp lies close at hand -- the same one he had presented Arturia with, and is now 'borrowing.' Every so often, when he sets his tea down, he runs through a few soft notes or a snatch of melody.

  The enormous fey-hound and guardian spirit of the place, Kepas, also dozes in front of the fire, for all the world like a wolfhound of old Albion. Though the size of a horse himself, bone-white, his head is more like to a skull, short fur giving way to bone just before his folded ears. Instead of eyes, there are twin points of yellow lights in his empty eye sockets. Right now, they're winked out; he probably really is napping.

  Bedivere is still watching the hall, though, because he is a very poor patient, and does not handle well idle time to himself.

  Also, there is a non-zero chance he may end up getting another lecture. Someone has to watch the watcher, and Arturia's taken to that duty with gusto.

Saber (346) has posed:
Centuries ago, Camelot's marshal would have endured it all on his own aside from delegating certain responsibilities to his subordinates. His health had never been ideal even in the best of times, but the strength of youth had been sufficient to fend off the occasional illness.

     Yet, even if this had not been the case, the King of Britain could not have afforded to show favour, nor could she deviate from tending to her own rule. She had never been idle even with her delegation of duties to those most suited to their tasks. The king oversaw the process in addition to making the necessary appearances before demanding nobles. As much as she wished to tend personally to the knights she could not help but cherish even as her position demanded her impartial hand, she could not.

     Now, however?

     Even as Bedivere had insisted on venturing out into the cold rain, Arturia did not simply remain inside to oversee everything. If anyone really should have been doing so, it should have been the lord of Dun Realtai himself...but that had never been his way. And she couldn't really complain about it, regardless of her lectures and fussing. It was who he was, why she had appointed him as her marshal and then the lord of these lands. Instead, she appointed the head maid to prepare for their return -- as well as that of any of the villagers who would need tending to -- and ventured out with him. After all, as a Servant impervious to cold and possessing impossible strength, she was better-suited to the task.

     Afterwords, her position was likewise ideal for fussing over the inevitable illness. The lectures were held off until the knight was properly tended to, saved for those times when he was out of bed and straining himself yet again. Though silent, Bedivere would doubtless pick up on the suggestion of a sigh as she brought medicinal tea. They were well-matched in stubbornness, knight and king.

     "Perhaps I was too hasty in the open invitation to the recent additions of knights in the multiverse," she mildly chastised without much bite. It wasn't as if he could have simply left the horses out in the deluge, not even the ill-tempered Black One. "Had I known you would be unwell, I would have delayed such."

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    Let it not be said Reinhardt's age has affected his memory in any way. While the aging knight is oft known to pursue flights of fancy, he's always been one to honor an agreement, and when he met with Sir Bedivere weeks before, they had decided on meeting at some point to discuss things further. Admittedly, this was out of the sheer starstruck awe Reinhardt felt upon meeting one of the Knights of the Round Table.

    His truck stopped just outside village limits, a tarp laid out over it to protect from the unpleasant weather, and the knight and his squire have sought shelter from the HORRIBLE TORRENT that greeted them upon arriving to the village.

    It was all the excuse Reinhardt needed to break out one of his old military coats, sturdy and warm. Brigitte has opted for a trendier and more flattering jacket herself, but even so, the two are drenched horribly as they wait in the courtyard.

    "I really think we should have postponed this, Reiny." Brigitte comments, grouching as she tries to keep mud off of her fur-trimmed boots. Unlike Reinhardt, she's not as accustomed to rough weather, which makes it a pain when they travel during autumn and winter.

    "If we did I'd never forgive myself, a promise is a promise after all, and I've pushed this meeting back long enough as it is." Reinhardt says, approaching the front door and giving it a hearty knock. They're polite guests if nothing else, and so they'll wait before being let inside, rain be damned.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  A brief spate of harp notes precedes the King of Knights, light as thistle-down. While the harp is borrowed, he still plays it well, long fingers seeming more suited to plucking strings than handling a sword. This, in truth, is what he had been born to do. Regardless of the legends that surround him, becoming a knight had been against his very nature.

  He looks up and over his shoulder at her approach, wincing slightly. The left arm, where a scar paints a white stripe across his shoulder, had almost been lost when Caliburn had been broken; although he had healed and rehabilitated, bulling his way through injury and pain alike from what should have been a nearly mortal wound, it had never been quite the same, prone to aches and complaint after any kind of work. Subtle though the tell is as he flinches, he knows she won't miss it. She has an uncanny knack for noticing... well, just about everything, as relentlessly observant as he is.

  Sometimes that works against him.

  "Stay by the fire with me?" It's a request, not an order; the lilt of a question is clear in his voice. There are a few couch-like seats by the fire, possibly an acquisition from more modern worlds, but the upholstery on them doesn't seem out of place in Dun Realtai's great hall. He huddles a little further into his blanket. "Nonsense," he adds, to her considerations. "I have handled far worse in Camelot, under far less friendly circumstance. I am tired, and I am cold--" And he must be, to openly say anything about it, "--but it will be no trouble at all."

  Fortunately, aside from a steep uphill jaunt, Reinhardt's arrival was not particularly stopped by anything. People let them pass, well accustomed to visitors and Elites alike. They'll not be made to wait long out in the elements before a guard opens the door to let them in -- gesturing hastily for them to get in quick, lest the storm follow them in.

  Bedivere looks up at the sound of the door, though he has to twist to look over his shoulder.

  The enormous hound by the fire also raises his head, lights winking into focus in the empty eye sockets. He's silent as a ghost despite the prick of those folded ears.

  "Ah," the silver-haired knight adds, with a half-smile. "Speaking of our guests, here they are. Sir Reinhardt. Lady Brigitte. Come, warm yourselves before the fir. Be welcome in our hall." 'Our?' "Something hot for you to drink? Tea? Mulled wine or cider?"

Saber (346) has posed:
Perhaps another might not have observed that telltale flinch, but Arturia had been observing him for too long for it to have gone unnoticed. It would seem her call on the medicated tea had been none too soon. The same herbs to help with his latest illness should help with the aches of old injuries, as well.

     The petite swordswoman set the teatray down on the low table positioned between the seats before dropping another blanket over the tall knight. Some of the cold he was feeling was most likely psychological, but it was better to have more layers than not enough. She wasn't the kind to take chances.

     Regardless of the request, Arturia was going to impose on him anyway, if for no other reason than to make sure he drank all the tea. Still, she smiled faintly before her expression became a slight frown. "Yes, when you were ten years younger," she scolded lightly, pausing to scratch Kepas on his skull-ridges before seating herself next to him. "It is only because you have remained true to Militia that you only came away with an illness and nothing worse."

     Like Bedivere, she looked up at the sound of the great oak door opening. The townspeople had returned to the village, where most had taken refuge in the warm and lively tavern. "Greetings," she hailed the newcomers politely, standing and bowing in proper regal form. "And welcome."

     Arturia flagged down one of the castle's servants to bring them whatever refreshments the visitors preferred. "Scones or bread can also be brought," she offered. "And I believe there is also hot soup, as well." In fact, that was something Bedivere would probably need for his cold.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    Somewhere in Dun Realtai, someone is cooking up trouble.

    Eithne has, of course, heard of Bedivere's illness by now. She'd resolved to let him rest a bit, thinking that it was just a matter of time and taking a break from things before he'd be feeling better, but as the days continue to go by nobody's told her about any timely recoveries.

    So that's why she spent the morning in Inga's kitchen, working over the stove. Chicken diced into cubes, root vegetables, spinach and kale cut up into half-inch pieces, round 'shell' noodles, all in the chicken's own broth. A little ginger to help clear his chest, a spoonful of garlic to promote good health. Three drops of chili oil to clear his head (because she doesn't know how well the knight can handle spicy things and she's been wrong before).

    She cleans up the mess she's made, and mops the kitchen floor while she's at it - not that Inga's floor needed it really - to show her appreciation of being allowed to use the stove for such a project. Then Eithne puts the lid on the five-gallon stock pot, arms herself with pot holders and a coat, and trudges out into the super gross rain and wind to take her friend some medicine.

    The figure that just walks right into the hall is dripping rainwater and tracking it in on her soggy boots, but the pot she's carrying smells delicious so maybe she'll be forgiven! "Sir Bedivere!" Eithne calls, as though he weren't right there in the room. "I made yeh some get-well soup! --Oh, hullo!" she beams at Saber, Reinhardt and Brigitte. "Sorry, am I interruptin'? I'll leave just as soon as I've gotten this served up--"

    She is a well-intentioned force of nature.

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    As the doors open, Reinhardt and Brigitte hurriedly thank the guards for permitting them entry. The travelers peel their outer coats off, scraping mud from their footwear to avoid tracking through the nice hall floors.

    My oh my is that dog a sight to behold. Kepas makes Reinhardt seem more than a bit undersized, the knight wagers, and the visage of a skull makes him think 'yeah, definitely a spirit.' Regardless, the hound seems friendly enough to not worry about, even if Brigitte is content to hang behind her travel buddy just in case.

    "My thanks for forwarding this invitation, Sir Bedivere!" Reinhardt says cheerfully, a grin going ear to ear as he bows his head. "Mulled wine will be just fine, thank you." Brigitte, not so used to the unforgiving cold, also pipes up "Yeah, just some cider please. And bread. Bread's good."

    The two will join with Saber and Bedivere, and Reinhardt bows his head to both King and Knight. "It is good to see you once again, Bedivere, and I trust this is the lord of the keep as well?" He nods his head to Saber, still giddy like a child meeting one of their personal heroes. "I admit I was not expecting Servants to differ so much from their legends in looks, but all the same, it is a great honor to meet you at last." He's somewhat aware as to why Arthur Pendragon is in actuality an Arturia, at least this world's incarnation is anyways, but hey a King Arthur's a King Arthur right?

    Brigitte gives a sheepish wave as she takes her cider from a servant, murmuring a hushed "Danke" before she huddles up within a blanket. "Brr, the weather's pretty rough out here huh? It usually this bad around autumn?"

    Reinhardt, more or less comfortable with the weather himself, gives a cursory nod to Eithne as she arrives, "I have no complaint, young miss. I'll not say no to a hot bowl of soup, if you're offering!"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  There is, quite suddenly, another blanket dropped over him. Despite the suddenness of it, Bedivere seems to have noticed enough from his peripheral vision not to jump, instead letting it settle.

  "I think it was because I had no choice but to do that," the knight offers, shrugging faintly and flinching again. "Can you imagine what the aristocracy would have done if I had shown them any weakness?" The nobility made the sea-wolves look like tame hounds brought to heel; their violence was much more insidious. "Truly, it was not even Militia; it was mind over matter. I could not show vulnerability, or I would no longer have their command. Irrelevant, now, I suppose."

  And--

  There's a soaking wet Eithne, lugging a five gallon cookpot into the hall as though it's nothing at all. He stares a little blankly as she bursts in through the door, because for a fleeting instant all he can see is a walking pot of soup before she turns. Then she does turn, and he can see her proprely. That's better. It also smells pretty good.

  "Miss O'Suilebhain..." He even manages a smile for Eithne, one that isn't about half-measures or reservations. It really is touching that she'd go to that length for him. "I am hardly worth the effort, but I am touched. My thanks." Half the kitchen staff already has instructions to keep medicated tea and other remedies at the ready. "No, stay; you are not interrupting anything. Have a seat before the fire, and warm yourself."

  Meanwhile, Kepas is staring Reinhardt down, still as a statue. For a few seconds there seems almost a glimmer of intelligence behind those yellow eye-lights, but quick as it comes, it's gone. Brigitte gets the same sort of scrutiny -- for that's exactly what it seems like, as though they were being sized up.

  Apparently the newcomers pass whatever test the fae hound had put them up to, for the creature yawns widely, showing gleaming fangs and spilling icy mist from its open maw, before laying its head down on its paws just like a mortal hound would.

  "Aye, although I am the steward, it is milady that I at times defer to." The silver-haired knight bows his head faintly; a gesture of both respect and acquiesce. "I must apologise for your confusion. There is a reason for that, but that is milady's reason to explain, not mine." He spent too many years keeping that secret; revealing it is not his business, and also still somewhat awkward.

  He shrugs, faintly, to Brigitte's question. "Usually. This autumn is mild, by my measure, and the mountain's bones have been reinforced, so there will be no flooding or erosion." Sure, whatever that means. "And such does it become clear why the village was built on the spire, and not the plain below." Bedivere's mouth quirks in a faint, crooked half-smile. "Because it is a floodplain as much as a plain. It simply lacks a river."

Saber (346) has posed:
Once the blanket was properly positioned, the flaxen-haired knight moved to the hearth to stoke the fire and fuel it with another log before returning to her seat and taking up her own teacup of a floral vanilla blend flavoured with lavender honey. It would have been much too expensive in her own era; royalty would have had little issue with affording it, but Arturia had eschewed extravagance. Now, however...now that the lowest of Dun Realtai's villagers could easily drink the same brew, there was little need to hold back.

     Although at the moment, those villagers were much more likely to be drinking ale and cider.

     "No, there is not...and that had come at a cost. I must insist that you not push yourself as you once did, and remember that the people need a healthy lord."

     She was mildly surprised at the arrival of another visitor, given the dreadful seasonal weather. It was certainly true that Dun Realtai was widely recognised as a haven and neutral ground where food and comfort awaited any who braved the climate and could behave themselves...but first one had to brave that weather. "Greetings and welsome," she added after Bedivere. "It is as Sir Bedivere says, you are not interrupting. Likewise, if you would like tea, mulled wine, cider, or perhaps bread or scones, such can be brought."

     "In truth, it is Sir Bedivere whom I have appointed as lord of Dun Realtai," she admitted to the German knights as a servant brought out the mulled wine and cider for them. "As is our custom, a worthy lord is entrusted with lands to manage...though with regards to this place, it was merely the most prudent choice. As the marshal of Camelot managed its armies with excellence, it was only fitting that he oversee the healing of this village."

     It would seem that Arturia's humility only seemed to extend to herself; she was more than happy to boast about her knights's accomplishments all day.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    The soup pot is set down on the table long enough for Eithne to doff her coat and step out of her boots, find an out-of-the-way place to put them, and find another servant to ask about having bowls and spoons and such brought in. She's technically a servant here (but not a Servant) so things get a bit strange sometimes...? Maybe she'll just call herself an 'outside contractor' like that book suggested to avoid confusion.

    A trivet is brought out along with bowls and things, and Eithne lifts the soup pot onto that to prevent heat-scarring the wooden table. "I'm glad to share it!" she grins at Reinhardt, rolling up her damp sleeves to ladle it out. The first bowl is, of course, for Bedivere because he's the sick one; she wraps the hot bowl in a cloth napkin to protect his hands from the heat and brings it to him along with a spoon. It's not until she's setting it down next to him that she realizes what Saber has said.

    'In truth, it is Sir Bedivere whom I have appointed as lord of Dun Realtai.'

    "Ah," she blinks, turning her head to blink a bit owlishly at the smaller knight. "I should've served yeh first, shouldn't I? I mean... Yer the King, then?" She has no idea what to do about kings! Eithne realizes she should have read more about this sort of thing, because it was inevitable that one day she'd run into Arturia.

    A pink blush spreads across her face, but Eithne straightens up and goes to serve more soup. Reinhardt and Brigitte are guests, so... she thinks they technically get served first, and Arturia didn't ask for soup, and...!

    She's handing him his own bowl and spoon and napkin when she remembers something. "Oh! Sorry everybody. I'm Enya Sullivan," she introduces herself. "I'm sort've a maid here, I think?"

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    For people from what Bedivere and Saber would consider 'Saxony' (the bloody Saxons :|) it seems like there's no ill will towards modern Germany. A thousand or so years give or take will change an awful lot after all.

    Inwardly, Brigitte exhales in relief. No getting stabbed for being filthy Saxon descendants today! "Well, you guys certainly have quite the settlement here. I'm very impressed, it's like stepping back in time for guys like me and Reinhardt." She smiles, sipping her cider gingerly.

    Reinhardt takes a hearty chug of wine, and he nods. "I won't pry the details if you'd rather I not, my lord." He promises, smiling genially. "He has done well to manage this settlement, as Brigitte has said."

    Eithne gets a nod of his head from Reinhardt and Brigitte both, "I am Reinhardt Wilhelm of Stutgart, formerly of the German Army and Overwatch, now allied to the Union. This is my companion, Brigitte." The girl waves a bit shyly, before she eyes the soup as well. "God, that looks fantastic, thanks for making it." She smiles, as she and Reinhardt both accept a bowl to slurp. Delicious.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "It is nothing I cannot handle, my lady..." Though his tone is a little exasperated, Bedivere's protest doesn't have any real animosity. If anything, it sounds resigned, as though this is an argument they've been through countless times.

  They have.

  In fact, the more she goes on about his skills, the more he seems to wither beside her, drooping a little bit like a sad house plant left out in the sun for too long. He handles praise about as well as she does; that is to say, not very well at all. "My lady..." Now he does sound a little exasperated.

  Fortunately, Eithne has his attention with soup, even going so far as to deliver his bowl personally, which earns murmured thanks from the knight. He pauses when she seems to hesitate over whether she should've served him first, before shaking his head.

  "What? Absolutely not." The startled vehemence of his protest might be a little surprising, but there's no anger in his tone. "If anything at all, a king must needs receive his portion after all else have been seen to." The pale-haired knight shakes his head; he's certain Arturia would agree with him. "A king does not lord over his guests, or his subjects; he is, as his knights, a servant of the people first and foremost."

  Hopefully that'll clear that up.

  "I took the liberty of hiring Miss O'Suilebhain here to assist with duties in the citadel; the villagers work hard, but she seemed inclined to accept my offer," he explains, to Arturia. "I have afforded her more lenient wages as an Elite, for I do not have any illusions that if this place comes under threat, she will be among its defenders."

  Reinhardt earns a slight tilt of his head. "Thank you. Many have commented as such, but I assure you, such a standard of living is quite normal for us. Advanced, indeed, in certain regards." Bedivere gestures toward the hall with his chin. "Most strongholds would not be so well-insulated. On a day like this, a place as Dun Realtai built by the old ways would be drafty and cold."

  He can remember well how many times he'd wished he could afford the luxury of lingering by the hearthside in winter. His own quarters had basically been an box of ice not much bigger than a closet, because despite not having any windows, the north wind always managed to find chinks in the stone. In short, it was miserable. Dun Realtai is categorically better in every respect.

  He settles more comfortably, allowing himself the luxury of some soup. It is very good soup. Not too hot, either, which is nice, because he's as averse to spices as Arturia is attracted to them...

  "Oh, and one more thing," he adds, eyeing the three. "Mayhap you may have noticed the horses penned below the hill, on your way in. If you intend to stay here for any length of time, stay away from the largest pen; the one empty but for the black stallion." Bedivere punctuates his request with another spoonful of soup or three. "Also, he is somewhat vicious of temperament, and as like to try to kill you as say hello."

Saber (346) has posed:
"Just because you are /capable/ of handling something does not mean that you /should/," Arturia insisted. He could be exasperated all he wanted but she was immovable on this particular hill. There were some things she could be persuaded on, but the subject of Bedivere's health was not one of them.

     "Ah, I see. There is always the need for more help...I am most grateful." With a faint smile, the jade-eyed knight shook her head. "And worry not. Bedivere is the lord of the keep, and the one who is ill besides." Nope, he was going to be overruled for the moment. Were he not sick, there would be some flexibility on the matter. "There is little need for ceremony and formality here in this place."

     Her head tilted slightly to one side in what was her equivalent of a shrug. "And now, my title as the King of Knights is merely a title. In Dun Realtai, I am merely its lady." And Bedivere's Designated Worrier, though that goes unsaid, if heavily implied by her actions. In fact, there might have been the tiniest of smirks as he practically wilts under her praise. "It is nothing which they have probably not already heard," she quipped. "I have merely given the king's perspective on your legends."

     Of course, the cunning tactician of the courts would likely not let this stand, and would probably enact some kind of revenge on her in kind.

     No, there was little -- if any -- reason to fault more modern Germans for the actions of the long-dead Sea Wolves who plagued and harried Britain's borders from their East Anglia foothold. What mattered much more was that they were knights, those beholden to the same chivalry Arturia had espoused during her reign. If anything, the fact that future Saxons, Franks, and others had learned of her legend through wandering bards and took up that chivalry was a subject she was more than happy to share.

     Likewise, there is little need to keep her prior secrets, both the fact that King Arthur had indeed been a woman with the appearance of a girl no older than fifteen years, or the fact that the Servant Saber was in fact the King of Knights. "My knights still defer to me, though perhaps that is because of my founding of the Round Table rather than my status as having been the King of Britain."

     And as if to reassure Eithne that there was nothing to forgive, Arturia's face seemed to light up with the soup. It would appear that her great weakness had just been revealed; any offer of a homemade meal would always place someone in her permanent good graces. "Ah, you have my gratitude," she replied and without a trace of insincerity.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    "I'm glad yeh could both make it," the black-haired girl beams. It's not her place to invote people over, but she can be glad that they've gotten out of the nasty weather! She's also glad that while Bedivere may have a stern outlook on the nature and duties of royalty, he's at least not angry with her for not knowing anything about it. "Oh, that makes sense then," she just nods, and serves herself last (she cooked it, she should get to eat some too!!).

    Seeing everybody enjoy something she's made for them... it's nice. It does more to warm her than the fireplace, though she definitely appreciates that too - Eithne finds a seat on the floor next to Kepas and the hearth, legs folded criss-cross-applesauce, and basks in the heat.

    There's some kind of happiness - not /quite/ glee - in her voice at the thought of battle, even one on her new home's lands. "I'll come back with my sword or on it," she beams. Siiiiiiiip!

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    "As they ought. Brotherhood, and sisterhood, is to be upheld to the highest of regard." Reinhardt states, a far cry from those damnable Sea Wolves indeed. He was raised on tales of chivalry and honor, to remember the heroes of old such as Arthur, Gawain, Siegfried, and even Quixote (Ironically enough.) One might argue Reinhardt was born hilariously out of date.

    He takes note of Bedivere's warnings, nodding as his train of thought goes wayward for a moment...

    Somehow, he thinks he's just found the perfect partner to a certain black clad revenant of death, dual wielding shotguns and screaming 'DIE DIE DIE' in an unearthly rasp. Yeah, Reaper would probably be right at home riding that stallion into battle.

    Elsewhere, the being formerly known as Gabriel Reyes is doing pretty much exactly that, tearing apart some government black site, sans demonic steed. Shame, it'd put the fear of God in his enemies before he even fired a shot.

    Back at Dun Realtai, Reinhardt and Brigitte are obliviously dining away, the girl asking, "So how long have you had this place? Did you just find it or were you guys building it yourself?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "My lady..."

  Any furhter argument from Bedivere is forestalled by company, and it is not very knightly to argue with the woman who's taking care of him right now. Interestingly, he calls her by that simple title, rather than any more regal monikers.

  Actually, if she really wanted to, she could probably slip something into his tea that puts him out like a light for twenty-four hours. Really, it's amazing what certain combinations of herbs can do.

  Then again, the last time she had to slip him anything, it was Union-issued, industrial-grade pharmaceuticals. He was out like a light, all right, and for days at a time.

  "I am, but I am not. I fear my lady does me too much honour." Bedivere shakes his head at Arturia's praise and mention of his title. "I am steward, not lord; this land is entrusted to me, for safekeeping, but I do not own it, nor would I presume to. And I am not so ill as that," he protests, a little half-heartedly. He sounds haggard, of course he is.

  "My lady is correct about that much, though. There is not even any need for formalities in this place." The only titles that are given here are those given out of respect. The townsfolk acknowledge Bedivere's position because they respect him. If he were a different sort of person, and if he had come here demanding such recognition out of hand, they would have ignored him. Worse still, they would have laughed him out of town for such arrogance.

  "K-king's perspective--" Bedivere casts Arturia an expression of alarm, as though to say, 'Don't you go giving legitimacy to that praise!'

  Swallowing a little, he looks vaguely irritated. "What my king means to say is that she pays her servant entirely too much honour," he protests, somewhat weakly. "I... I have merely acted in accordance with the Eight Virtues, as I have done since I was a knight-aspirant."

  Curiously, he says nothing to clarify why he defers to her, though the look he gives her is simple enough for the king, so familiar with his subtleties, to read. Royalty has nothing to do with his long years of service; it had never factored into it at all.

  His eyes skim past her, to Eithne, and he offers a faint half-smile as Arturia thanks the Irishwoman for her cooking. Yeah, Eithne's probably going to be cooking a lot more in the future.

  "I would of course be on the front lines, myeslf," the knight murmurs, to Eithne's battle-readiness; his tone is somehow distant. "There are many here who would fight to the last for the sake of this place. It is a curious enchantment that it must surely have; a way of healing the broken places we do not always know we have, and mending the hurts we cannot see."

  Bedivere seems to snap out of his reverie, looking up to Reinhardt and Brigitte. "Indeed," he offers, to the giant knight. "Such is in accordance with more than one of the Eight Virtues."

  "We did not build this place, but came to it when it was but a shadow of itself." He gestures up, to a point above the hearth. Hung on the wall is the rusted, moldering remains of a greatsword that looks like it's about the right size for a man of Reinhardt's freakishly large stature. "There were certain things that were here already before us, like that blade."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "In truth, I responded to a cry for help from the villagers, who had sought the Union's intervention. A magician enacted a failed coup, and he subverted the land's own guardian spirits against it. Kepas--" he gestures to the hound, who picks his head up, ears pricking, "--was one such, but they were larger; compelled into madness by the rebel's magicks."

  When it becomes clear he isn't going to be given any tidbits, the hound puts his head back down with an ice-misted sigh. Appearances aside, his behaviour is certainly hound-like.

  "We expected to fight with Lady Alaia, but she was quite reasonable when we proceeded uphill through the village ruins to the keep. She was not the one who had instigated the attack, but rather, she was attempting to bring her hounds--" Here he jerks his chin at Kepas, "--to heel. Kepas was the only one that could be saved."

  He drums his fingers on his bowl, thoughtful. "In truth, it happened quickly, to me. We fought our way in past the corrupted hounds, encountered the Lady Alaia, and the next thing I knew, this place became... home." There is an audible lurch over the word; an awkward unfamiliarity. "Lady Alaia is a spirit of winter, and she physically cannot bear to be out of her enchanted mere during the warm months. Therefore, I act as steward of this land for part of the spring, the summer, and part of the autumn. In parts of the spring and autumn, and for the winter months, Lady Alaia relieves my lady and I of our duties."

  "We have kept our part of her bargain now for nearly two years."

Saber (346) has posed:
Had she been asked if she had considered a particular combination of herbs that would properly knock him out, Arturia would have been lying had she said it hadn't crossed her mind. But such things would be saved for later; Bedivere would likely be asleep for the entirety of the following day. But it was fortunate that she had refrained for the time being, what with their guests. Acting as proper hosts seemed to take precedence for them both.

     "If there is anyone to whom this land truly belongs, it is Lady Alaia, her people, and the Tylwyth Teg. They have been here for generations, whereas we have come and acted as stewards on the Lady's behalf. In her good graces, we have been permitted to remain and cary out those duties."

     Her smile might have contained just the slightest hint of triumph. She might have never been able to best him at chess, but there were smaller victories to be had elsewhere. But it was not the victory which truly pleased her, but rather than others were more than willing to finally appreciate the knight whom she had trusted as the Left Hand of the King. She was more than willing to indulge, even if, when such praise turned towards /her/, she was in the same predicament.

     For the moment, however, she swallowed a grin. But the faint smile she wore might as well have been for all her subtlety, entirely too satisfied with herself. "As did we all. But there were those knights who went above and beyond their duties, as well as possessed of certain talents and skills which made them invaluable. and it would seem that the fili remembered."

     Her playfulness finally dissipated when it came to the defence of their home. "Indeed...there are many with honour among Elites regardless of affiliation, and many who have partaken of Dun Realtai's status as a neutral ground and haven," she added. Arturia hoped it would never come to that, but it gave her some peace of mind. She loved tests of strength and skill, but she abhorred war. "If this place were threatened, they would be relucant to lose their haven. That is its true magic, I believe."

     Her mien lightens once more at the mention of chivalric duties. "Quite so," she agreed readily along with Bedivere. "It is as my knight says, one of the Eight Virtues necessary for a knight."

     "Likewise, Lady Alaia requested of us to bring the errant mage to justice," she added to Bedivere's recounting. "Kepas was entrusted to us for that reason; to hunt him and bring him to the Lady to answer for his wrongdoings. However, we have been granted a more permanent stay here for our continued service."

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    The black horse isn't a kelpie (as far as she knows) so aside from some natural curiosity about something so dangerous, she's not very interested in seeking it out! She certainly won't mind cooking though... "It's been a while since there's been anyone but myself to make things fer," she sighs contentedly, steadying her bowl on one knee while reaching out to scritch Kelpas behind his ears. "It's good to know I've still got the touch." Cooking for one person gets boring! There're always leftovers, leftovers, and more leftovers...

    Eithne eats quietly while Bedivere tells the story of how Dun Realtai came to be under his stewardship, shifting once to let the fire warm her side instead. Arturia adds more to the tale and she listens, puzzling out bits and bobs as she goes. So /that's/ the Lady that Bedivere had mentioned before.

    What would it be like, to find a place that really felt like home? She thinks Camelot had been their home before, or at least the ideal that they'd been building toward - she's never been sure which it was more, a place or a feeling. The same could be said for the word 'home' too though. Maybe she'll make one of her own one day? It'd have lots of light for her plants, and bookshelves...

    Still daydreaming a bit, she drinks the last of the soup in her bowl, leaving behind a few meaty bites and bits of potato, and offers the rest to Kelpas. "Here, yeh've been a good patient boy, haven't yeh." He's such a cute ghost doggy!!

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    Glancing up at the ancient greatsword, Reinhardt can't help but admire the history that must come with such a massive blade. He wonders who could've used it and used it for so long, mayhap a giant or some such. In any case, he already has his own knightly weapon in the form of his hammer.

    "The Fair Folk." Reinhardt states simply, understand enough what Bedivere and Saber speak of. "I've heard the stories, but they are sadly but folk tales where Brigitte and I hail from. However, this mage seems like quite the adversary if Lady Alaia seeks the assistance of others." He hints for a moment, features solemn before he nods again. "I would be glad to render what assistance I can, if your search for him begins once again."

    Grinning, he can't help but find approval in hospitality, even for those considered enemies or outsiders. Such a quality is prized in any proponent of Chivalry after all, especially if they provide such delicious soup, wine, and cider for guests!

    Brigitte eyes Kepas again, wary of the massive hound. "So...I guess that's why he's sticking around, huh? Is that horse you mentioned like him in any way?" She wonders, canting a thumb towards Kepas briefly while nursing her warm cider.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "It is the Ever-Living Ones who truly call this land home," Bedivere agrees. He's loathe to deal with them under most circumstances, but Alaia is much less inclined towards playing mind games or killing and devouring mortals. "That is why I ask of guests to trouble not the Tylwyth Teg while they remain here. They are leery, still, of having a mortal looking after their land, upsetting the balance; I think, more importantly, they fear war against themselves, both Seelie and Unseelie alike."

  Bedivere settles in his blanket more comfortably, unconsciously leaning on Arturia a little. "That includes the kelpie in the lake. It seems not to be openly malicious, merely watching. Perhaps it is curious, but I will spare no caution; such creatures were dangerous, and very much real, in the lands beyond Camelot. But I would not have it reporting to its fellows that it has been accosted in these lands. The Ever-Living Ones are capricious; they may be jovial with you one moment, and wroth the next. I would not have /them/ declaring war, even as they are apprehensive about my place here inviting conflict for them."

  "It is something of a delicate balance," he finishes awkwardly, rubbing at his temple with one hand.

  He only eyes Arturia as she talks about knights going above and beyond, and his expression is so bland it almost hurts. Yeah, he's well aware of who she's implying in her statement, and he's not buying it.

  Meanwhile, having found himself settled down beside, Kepas turns his head around to face her. It's about the size of a horse's head, which means it's about the same size as half Eithne's mass; lighter, probably, since his face is an open skull the colour of sun-bleached bone. Those yellow lights are indeed no more than pinpricks of light. It's hard to see where they originate or how they work or move, sometimes bobbing about in their sockets like fireflies, but they seem to work somehow. He's certainly not blind.

  With an icy sigh and a quiet, unvoiced grunt, Kepas lays his head down on Eithne's lap. It's basically her whole lap. He sure doesn't care.

  Bedivere watches the hound idly, eyes flicking sidelong back to Arturia. "Aye. It was the only time I had ever heard Kepas give tongue." He shakes his head. "And Lord God, the sounds he made... I wonder sometimes if he is really one of the Cwn Annwn, if he had ears." He's gotten pretty used to having a dog with a skull for a head, given how blase he is about referring to Kepas having a skull for a head.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  He smiles, serenely.

  "His fate? Oh, the traitor lived. Kepas was true to what Lady Alaia said he would do. He tracked the man, and he brought him in, alive." He tilts his head, very faintly, raising one brow in good-natured expression. "Truth told, he sounded like he meant to kill the man."

  "She turned him into a tree."

  Kepas wastes absolutely no time, head jerking up in the time it takes to say 'here, boy.' In fact, he wastes such little time that he eats the bowl, too. Snap! Down it vanishes, swallowed whole beyond those ice-pale jaws. He then lets his jaws fall open at Eithne in a doggy grin. Congratulations, you just made a lifelong friend. Apparently the saying about feeding stray mutts also applies to creatures of the Otherworld.

  "Aye, Kepas is a stalwart companion. He looks after his master with the same dilligence he looks after the land." Bedivere doesn't give the skull-faced dog a pat, because Kepas is too far away, and the faerie mutt is too busy staring very intently at Eithne to notice he's being talked about. "I think mayhap he remembers we saved him, and that is why he defends us with such ferocity."

  Some guardian. He could probably be fooled with a nice fat string of sausage.

  "No. The Black One is merely a mortal stallion, as far as I can discern." A shadow flits across his expression, though, and he looks distant for a moment. "At least, I have not attempted to see what he is beyond my own senses. Mayhap I should. I had not thought an animal could be so stubborn..." He glances sidelong at Arturia, uneasy. "I do not think he is a kelpie, though. They are white, most usually, when they wish to be seen as a beautiful horse. But a black..."

  "A púca? They are known to be black. But their eyes are golden, and this one has dark eyes. No, a mortal stallion, surely; merely one who has been mishandled in his colt days. I hope only the damage can be undone, and that is why I ask guests not to draw too close. It is so easy to do irrepairable harm at this stage. Gaining his trust is a delicate balancing act."

Saber (346) has posed:
"Perhaps the previous lord -- the mage who had devasted these lands previously -- has made them wary, though with good reason. Were we simply mortals as the people of the village are, they would not be so cautious...but as a Servant, my magical power is not something they can simply ignore. Nor is that of the other Servants who frequently visit, or that of other visitors from the multiverse. Thus, one of the only true rules we must insist upon is, aside from the ancient law of hospitality, that the Tylwyth Teg are to be left alone and no magic which would disturb them cast."

     The petite blonde was not in lecture mode, however, simply seeming to be explaining the situation. Apparently, she trusted their visitors not to need the warning. And the kelpie was plenty creepy enough to remain unmolested.

     Fortunately for Bedivere's peace of mind, she was apparently finished with her teasing...for now.

     "Indeed, Kepas tracked him easily enough; our hunt did not last the day," she further explained. "Lady Alaia prefers not to stress the lands with her powers, and if given the choice, only rouses from her slumber in the wintertime. To hunt for him herself would have plunged the land into another unnatural winter from which it would likely not be able to recover."

     If she was to be believed, the supernatural denizens cared for the land and its people as well. Apparently, some kind of symbiosis had been achieved, a deliate and precarious balance the two stewards were careful not to upset. But perhaps that was to be expected of a king and knights whose very legends were steeped in the ancient magic of the Otherworld.

     Her eyes flick to the fae hound, currently underscoring all his otherworldliness in acting the part of a simple hound. "I think perhaps Kepas has chosen to remain with us because of how we have treated him," she admitted with wry amusement. "He appears to enjoy the food."

     As to speculation of the Black One, she shook her head. "If he is indeed fae, he is an expert at hiding. Though I am assured he is no kelpie...I would imagine the kelpie occupying the lake currently would have driven him out of his territory by now."

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    She feeds the dog and doesn't lose a finger. Success!

    She does lose the bowl, though. "There goes your chances of gettin' seconds, Keppie," Eithne murmurs to him - but he's too cute to be angry with, just look at those adorable eyesockets! "Whoosa good boy," she whispers, tousling his ears with both hands. "Issit Kepas? Issit? It is!"

    She's trying to get him to roll over so she can rub his belly when she hears the magic word: 'kelpie'. Eithne loooooooks up at Bedivere, and then over at Saber, and then at Reinhardt and Brigitte for good measure. Maybe they will be potential allies in her quest to tame the lake's fiercest pony??

    "Have yeh thought any more about lettin' me try to tame the kelpie?" she asks, although Eithne expects that they'll both still say no.

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    "I would imagine not." Reinhardt's thankfully assured that the mage situation's been handled, though it's enough reason for him to be careful around Kepas in the near future. "At the very least, having an angered horse spirit would be equally unpleasant as this stallion's wrath."

    Taking another mouthful of soup, he glances to Enya, "Hmm, one would think many would have by now." He muses to himself. Brigitte is just sadly lost in all of this, content to paw at her food and nurse her cider some more.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The knight is once more silent as Arturia describes their situation with the original residents, and how their relative power is noticed by the Otherworldly. While true enough that a Servant has enough power to be like an alert signal to nearby sensitives, he himself is no more than the flicker of a candle.

  That candle-spark is growing into a proper flame, though, fanned by the Otherworldly among Arturia's own court. It has to; tethering something as monstrously powerful as a Servant to the mortal realm is against the very laws of nature. Therefore, he has to dredge up the power he had once turned his back on; to keep digging deeper, until he is strong enough to anchor Saber properly. His inability to maintain that kind of metaphysical power is dangerous for them both. If Arturia feels strongly enough about something to use her final recourse, they're in trouble; beyond that, he cannot weather that kind of monstrous drain and hope to survive.

  It's only reluctantly that he's come to embrace the Otherworldly in his life, still new enough to be awkward.

  "Indeed. Lady Alaia had made a similar arrangement with the mortal man who had preceded me, but he'd become too ambitious for his own good. He attempted to enslave Lady Alaia to do his bidding; to bind her as he would any lesser spirit... but she was not a lesser spirit. Unfortunately, the battle between them had done much to ruin Dun Realtai, and exhaust Lady Alaia of her power. She was already staying overly long to bargain with us when first we met with her; it was that night that she appointed me steward of this place."

  He tugs at the bloodstone stud in his left ear, thoughtful. "Mayhap," he comments, on why Kepas sticks around. "I wonder, though, if such a creature even has need of food..." Can he even taste anything? How does he swallow? He seems to get along just fine with scraps begged from guests, anyway.

  "Or he is trapped," Bedivere points out, regarding the Black One, thoughtfully. "I had heard of such tales before. We had the selkie-folk in the channel, but the northmen had their own version of such a thing, too; women, who transformed into swans when they wore their cloak-of-feathers. When that cloak was stolen they were trapped in the form of human women. The same of those selkie-folk whose seal hides are stolen..."

  "Mayhap, instead of some artifact, he has been imprisoned in this form? Mayhap he has forgotten some of his Sidhe nature?" The knight frowns, tugging on that stud again; the only real ornamentation he's ever seemed to allow himself. "He was not injured when I purchased him; I examined him myself. I was also able to ride him to deliver the mares and to return to Dun Realtai, but when next I attempted to ride him, he would not even permit me to saddle or bridle him."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "Perhaps he has been taken from land he belonged to, and that belonged to him, and so much time apart has robbed him of something of his Sidhe nature?" He leans back, shrugging more firmly into the blanket, and very definitely leaning on Arturia by this point. What? It's comfy here, he might be a little drowsy. Or maybe he just doesn't care and he enjoys leaning on her. She's a Servant, he won't bowl her over. Hopefully. That would be embarrassing.

  Regarding the Black One, he shrugs. "If, of course, he is a Sidhe. I am not well convinced, and have seen no sign to suspect him. The faerie-horses generally allow men to ride them, because that is how they entrap their prey." And eat them, in the case of the kelpie. At least púca are relatively benign. Ish.

  Kepas, meanwhile, is hamming it up and thumping his whip-thin tail on the flagstones behind him. Thwhap thwhap thwhap. Happy mutt.

  "Aye. I had spoken to Lady Alaia on it, too, in time past, and asked whether subduing one of them would constitute an act of aggression. She did not seem to think it so." He just didn't trust himself not to be dragged into the mere and drowned. Also, he wasn't sure if his fledgling skills with the Otherworld were up to par at the time. Dying won't be very helpful to Dun Realtai's people. "I am of a mind to allow you to try, but under the condition that my lady and I are present for the attempt."

  Just to make sure nothing explodes.

  "Mayhap," he offers, to Reinhardt, with a faint shrug and flinch. "It would explain why neither my lady nor I canseem to have any effect in gentling him..."

Saber (346) has posed:
In truth, Arturia was inclined to believe Kepas remained for the attention. His true nature was that of any fey creature; almost humanlike intelligence -- possibly sapience -- and wielding unearthly powers. Yet, when he acted no differently than any of the dogs Arturia had enjoyed the companionship of in her mortal lifetime, such realisations went straight out the proverbial window. Perhaps he was exploiting -- even unintentionally -- the ancient companionship of dogs and humans, but whatever the truth was, Arturia simply could not stop herself from treating him the same way she had treated Cavall.

     And it seemed that she was not alone in that. Her smile at Eithne spoiling Kepas might as well have been a grin,

     "I do not believe he needs it, but he enjoys it nevertheless. Or perhaps he enjoys being treated as one would treat any dog." If he possessed the same intelligence they did and simply acted the part because he enjoyed the attention...that idea was rather amusing in its own way. Why deny Kepas his entertainment, especially if it was mutually beneficial?

     Bedivere's and Reinhardt's musings on the Black One and his predicament made a great deal of sense. Arturia silently considered that; if it were true, perhaps one of their mage allies would be able to discern it. Even Merlin...though she was reluctant to ask her former tutor and advisor for anything. He usually wanted something unreasonable in return...unreasonable from her perspective, at any rate.

     If Bedivere's leaning on her bothered her, no one would ever know. Despite her tiny frame, she appeared not to be bothered or even inconvenienced in the least. Instead, she regarded Eithne thoughtfully. "The kelpie is, like us, a more recent addition," she replied. "It is as Bedivere says; it is unlikely that doing so would disturb the balance. Though I am in agreement that it would be best for us to be present. While he has not been aggressive, he might become agitated if he sees it as an encroachment on his declared territory."

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    "Well, they do tend to eat anybody who gets tricked into riding 'em," she notes at Reinhardt, though he seems well aware of the legend already. "I'm willin' to lose a little meat to the project so I figure it shouldn't go too badly even if I fail!"

    Then again, Eithne can withstand more punishment than most, so it's hardly fair.

    "If yeh put a piece of iron on the black horse's back, I think any fae nature would be revealed - or maybe it'd hurt the poor thing, so yeh should probably forget that I mentioned it." If it's just ill-tempered and not strictly /evil/ there's no reason to go around torturing the horse just to satisfy their curiosity. "Maybe it'll settle, given time."

    Wait, they're actually inclined to let her try?! "That's fine!" she agrees quickly, grin threatening to split her face. She's missing a tooth on the left side. "Just don't jump in after me, all right?"

Reinhardt Wilhelm (1010) has posed:
    Reinhardt can't help but laugh, "This I will have to see. Hopefully the weather lightens up to permit such an activity!" He grins at Enya, while Brigitte just collapses into a peal of giggles.

    "In any case, I doubt the horse will be so easy to soothe in order to permit a proper inspection. If he's half as spirited as Bedivere says he is, then it would be a herculean effort just to get it to remain still." He muses aloud.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "It does not stop him from wanting scraps from the table," Bedivere says, with a largely indulgent half-smile. If the creature wants to act like a capering Cavall, who is he to stop him? Kepas is convincing enough at his part, and Bedivere had always gotten along better with the hounds and horses than most men. "Of course... that does not stop him from having those scraps, either."

  Nah, he doesn't mind Eithne spoiling the hound. The overgrown puppy is worth it.

  "I simply noticed it watching from the shore, one day," Bedivere explains. "I could not be certain which day it was that I first began seeing it. It took me some time to determine that it was most probably a kelpie; at first I had thought some villager, in good fortune, had come by a horse of fine breeding for himself; as so many of them play the part of, to lure their victims."

  He shrugs, faintly, wincing slightly. There's definitely no hiding it from Arturia, now; leaned up against her as he is, there's no way she wouldn't feel the reflexive twitch of pain. "Indeed. Thus far it has remained peaceful, and it has not been challenged by any man or beast."

  Bedivere does eye Eithne when she says she's willing to lose a little meat over it. He has no doubt that she means that literally, and that it also wouldn't bother her, taken in a literal sense. Don't mind that slightly ashy look that flickers across his face. Eugh. "No. No, I'll not place cold iron on him. If I had any chance at trust, that would be the end of it; there's no way it would not be seen as an act of aggression."

  He raises a brow, expression going very bland as he regards Eithne for a moment or two. The expression almost seeks skeptical, or it almost seems like practised neutrality in the face of her enthusiasm. "Why would I? I cannot swim."

  To Reinhardt, he only shrugs. "It will not matter. That manner of inspection need not be done with the same meticulous care as inspecting an animal's paces. I imagine if I were to ask it of Master Merlin, he would not need be too close to perform such an inspection. There would be no tying that animal down unless I had ten men, and rope with core and braiding like iron."

Saber (346) has posed:
To eithne's credit, it was one more thing which cemented her in the lord and lady's good graces. Mistreatment of animals was never tolerated, but spoiling their animal companions, even ones which were really fae versions of them? At this rate, the Irishwoman would probably be formally declared kin soon.

     "Perhaps that, too, is an adaptation of what a dog would do, as opposed to how he was before our arrival...that is, if he was indeed different." Even the disciplined Cavall had not been above begging for what she had been eating, if for no other reason than that she was eating it. Then again, it was difficult to imagine Kepas as anything other than the derphound he was now.

     Arturia remained silent at the wince, but that was a good indication that the knight could use a soak in the Roman-style bath and some much-needed rest. In all likelihood, the latter would require some drugged herbal tea, but that would wait until they had seen to their guests.

     "Quite so," she agreed instead. "It has admittedly been a surprise that it has remained so. I had been expecting the need to drive it off before it devoured one of the villagers. But it has seemed content to simply occupy its lake."

     She shook her head at the cold iron suggestion. "As reluctant as I am to ask it of Merlin, I believe the best way would be to ask him to identify any possible enchantments or curses on the Black One. Such might even go some ways into gaining his trust."

     The knight did not appear to be especially concerned with regards to her own safety when it came to the kelpie, however. "No water may stop my advance, as I possess the blessing of the Lady of the Lake." As in, not Alaia. "And no fae would be able to harm me...but I do not wish to risk his wrath lest the villagers be put in danger. Thus, I will be careful."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "Mayhap." Bedivere watches the way Eithne interacts with the shameless hound. There's certainly approval in his regard, although he had always found the company of animals to be less disruptive to him than the company of men.

  He glances to Arturia from the corner of his eye. The look is brief, but enough to suggest he isn't going to be up for much more socialising. The desire to fall over and go back to sleep is almost overwhelming, ans it's probably a result of whatever it was she had given him earlier. Sleeping malaise away is likely the best thing he can do.

  Bedivere considers for a moment, mulling over the problem of the Black One. "Mayhap he can give us an answer on the Black One's nature. If there are aught who could, I would expect he is most able. After all, we were familiar with such creatures even in Albion."

  After a moment, he finally shrugs off the blankets, climbing slowly and somewhat painfully to his feet. He's still hurting from the last time the Black One had shrugged him off his back; between that and the aches of illness, a hot bath would be welcome. And sleep. Sleeping for another several days sounds fantastic.

  "However, if you will pardon me," the knight murmurs. He inclines his head to his guests, with a half-smile. "I must rest. Do not let me keep you from your festivities. Stay as long as you like; you are guests of my hall."

  With that, he'll let Arturia help him to the stairs, leaning on her.

  Kepas, however, will stick to Eithne like glue. She might have more leftovers.