Difference between revisions of "594/Sound Advice and a Calm Ear"

Latest revision as of 05:29, 16 September 2014

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The innermost courtyard of Dún Reáltaí is on the highest tier of the hill, providing an open space before the castle's keep. The grounds have been raked and swept, no doubt by the castle servants – they had lingered for a short bit to take care of such minor tasks before filing downhill, to continue their reconstruction work in the town itself, leaving the castle and its grounds all but empty.

Well, not entirely empty. The newly-made lord of thes lands has remained close to the castle, healing from his battle with Medusa; as well as from hurts much older and more difficult to see. The echoes of Camlann will haunt him for some time to come, though remaining in this quiet place of rest and healing has done much for him.

Unfortunately these more physical wounds mean that he still hasn't been cleared to do any heavy work. Although he's had the opportunity to pore over the ledgers, he's already finished that for the morning, and so he had gone outside to have some fresh air. Off to one side of the courtyard, beside the castle keep, there is a massive oak – a monster at least four storeys tall, very nearly as tall as the keep itself, with a spread that shades half the courtyard and great, ropy roots that reach deep into the hill.

Its branches are barren for the moment, with the unnatural winter that had ravaged the land – traces of that can still be seen here and there, with patchy snow still on the ground. The season is currently autumn, though, and that artificial winter is fading slowly into the proper turn of seasons.

Today, the sky is a uniform leaden grey, and a chill wind whispers over the hill and through Dún Reáltaí's courtyard.

Sir Bedivere himself is seated at the base of the oak, leaned against the tree. He's not wearing his armour today, but the clothing of a commoner, and the mantled greatcloak that he had once worn as a Knight of the Round Table – strictly for warmth, today; though it's since had fur trim added to it.

Balanced over his lap is a battered old harp, which his long fingers pluck with practised ease, playing a tune that seems to manage both melancholy and a mysterious, almost eerie feeling to it.

He had extended an invitation to Yunomi Stadler, once, knowing she was struggling with having lost control of Namamura. She certainly seems to be a good sort, and perhaps in another life she might have made a fine knight for her unwitting dedication to at least a few of the Eight Virtues. And there is great need for dedication to the virtues. So he had extended an invitation to her, and waits beneath the great oak, patient.

Besides which, if he did any serious work at this point, he's quite certain Arturia would be glaring at him...

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    A magical winter melting into true autum – that was something Yunomi could understand and appreciate in a way. She'd been invited some time ago by the polite Sir Bedivere, and lacking concentration on her studies in Ravnica, she had sought him out to take him up on the offer. Gone are the bright colors oft he IZzet from her, instead clad in a less vibrant garb of blacks and grays with a dark red jacket against the chill of Dún Reáltaí.

    She hovers a moment, the red standing out slightly against the dull skies overhead as she looks over the village and its keep. Her fingers curled slightly against her side, and giving a pensive look over her shoulder, she decends, quickly, towards the open courtyard, her boots touching down near the great oak. It grabs her attention, commanding in its great presence. Kicking up a bit of snow on the ground, the young woman approaches the tree, and reaches out a hand to brush against its bark in curiosity.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere had always been extremely perceptive, a skill that he had developed and relied on in Camelot. It is a skill that has also served him very well in the multiverse, so he is hardly surprised by the tanuki's approach. He notices her ascending the hill; the red of her jacket standing out against the more drab colours of village and sky.

Also, she's flying, and he's pretty sure nobody here can do that. Even Arturia can't achieve that, no matter how cleverly she makes use of her life-energy in controlled bursts.

He looks up when she reaches out to touch the oak tree he leans against, though he doesn't interrupt her. Inga had said that the tree was a guardian, and the sheer size of the monster is enough to lend credence to that notion. He certainly appreciates its sheltering boughs.

Those slightly slanted eyes remain fixed on Yunomi, watching the tanuki curiously. Their colour is a bit odd for most, a faded blue-grey that carries a distinct violet hue, and there is no mistaking the intelligence behind them... though that is undone, somewhat, by the shadows beneath them, or the slight traces of gauntness about the knight's high cheekbones. Whatever things he recovers from are not just the physical, and it shows in the shadows of those eyes.

Slowly and stiffly, Bedivere unfolds himself from his position at the tree, clutching the harp at his side and offering a faint smile. Also, he is very tall; standing a little over six feet, broad-shouldered and solid, if given to a slight gauntness. His features carry a softness almost feminine; with his long, silvery-blonde hair, he has been mistaken for a woman before, though the lines of his throat suggest otherwise.

"I am Sir Bedivere of Dún Reáltaí, and I bid you welcome as a guest of my hall," he murmurs, tone soft, similarly almost feminine in its gentleness. There is a stillness about him, a calm; peace in the midst of the boisterous activity down the hill. He dips forward in a formal, respectful bow, cloak trailing the movement. "It is good to finally meet you, Lady Stadler."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    One of her ears swivvels, and Yunomi purses her lips as she turns to the n ight, squaring her shoulders and looking up to the tall knight, though her short stance is anxious – like a ball of wind that can't keep still and a good head and a half – if not more – shorter than the good knight. A little bit of her hair drifts into her face with the wind. Her tail curls a moment behind her and she sheepishly gives the taller night a smile, and a slight bow of her body. Her messenger bag slides forward and whispers against the leather. She has a round face to her, but not plump. Dark eyes with a corona of gold around her pupils and as she straightens up, she draws a few errant stands of her dark hair back.

    "It is good to meet your aquaintence in the flesh, Sir Bedivere." she replies. Much like her stance, her voice is tinged with a sense of anxious energy.

    "I apologize – this tree." she motions, and looks up to its branches. "It recalled a memory of one similar at ho... in Namamura." she issues him a smile. "I hope you don't mind my coming unanounced..."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Indeed it is." The knight inclines his head, hair momentarily hiding his face.

Where she seems to radiate anxiety and restless energy, he is nothing but the same steady, dependable calm that had marked his tenure all through Camelot. In spite of her otherworldly appearance, exposure to the Union has soothed his reaction to the things he perceives as strange.

Shifting his grip on the harp, he maintains that slight hint of a smile, though it fades a little when she mentions her memories of Namamura. It's difficult to know how much that reminder must hurt, but at the same time, there isn't much that he can do to soothe that pain.

"It is a magnificent tree. There is a wisewoman who is a guest of this place, as well, and she claims that it guards this place. I am nearly inclined to belive her. It... has a wholesome feel to it, does it not?" He turns, regarding the great tree. "It looks to be an oak, but never have I seen one so large."

He shakes his head, quietly dismissing the matter. Whatever it is, it's here now, and its presence is welcome. He instead tilts his head faintly, studying her with arched brows. "Ah? It was not an invitation for a particular time. I do not mind. Come, though, let us go in from the wind and weather."

Provided she follows, he'll lead her into the great hall – a vast, cavernous room that takes up nearly the entirety of the keep's first floor. Long wooden tables and benches are arranged in the centre of the room; their timbers still new-smelling and fresh. It's on one of these that he sets the harp down, crossing the room to the great hearth on the other side, where fire blazes merrily.

It takes only a moment to prepare two cups of tea from where the fire roars, and an iron teapot hangs; the cups are on a shelf nearby. He takes them both back to the bench, seating himself slowly and stiffly enough to suggest he's still healing. One of the two cups is slid carefully across the table toward Yunomi. "Here. This will warm you."

"Dún Reáltaí is a place far removed from the beaten path," he says, with a crooked and vaguely self-depreciating smile, "and I fear its lord is not of much use to the Union, at present. Nonetheless, I am compelled to offer my services, for the Union has done much to me. So, then – what can I do for you, Lady Stadler, for you to have troubled yourself to travel to this far land...?"

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi follows, looking back at the tree as she steps. "She's right. It is remarkable... but so strange. Early winter oaks typically have a few leaves still to them, and I saw no sign of acorns on the way. The whole of the land seems like it's under Winter's cloak a bit early." she replies, and she looks into the great hall. She tilts her head back slightly, looking up to the rafters as she steps lively after the knight.

    "Yunomi seats herself across from Bedivere as he fetches the tea and cups, and graciously accepts the cup as she settles. She gently cradles the tea in her fingertips, and quietly turns any handle to the left, and takes a sip. Her eyes close momentarily, and her lips curl downward before she lowers the cup.

    "Yunomi suits me just fine... I'm no lady; just a tinkerer and shapeshifter." she replies quietly. She slows her breathing with purpose, but doesn't lift her eyes to the knight.

    "And I do not mind the trip. Cool air helps clear the m ind of the cobwebs that cling to it, so to speak. It's nice to leave the city."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Winter came early to this land. It is a long story, but the short version is this: A magician that once lived here had attempted to take over Dún Reáltaí, and he had used the land's proper guardian, a winter-witch and otherworldly being. Her very presence upset the natural seasons, bringing winter early and devastating both the crops and the lives of those who dwell here." He gestures toward the new wooden rafters. "He drove the winter-witch's guardian beasts mad, and set them upon the village."

"We are only now repairing the damage done. There were few survivors, and there was little left of the village itself, or the castle keep." He points up, to where the stone forms a patchwork of older, darker stone; and brighter new masonry. "You can see where the rents in the walls and roof were, there; and there."

"Although natural autumn is returning, it will soon be properly winter, here, and that is what I have been spending my time with; myself and the Servant Saber both." It feels strange to refer to her thus, and the fleeting bemusement in his expression suggests as much. "It has been a race against time to secure the villagers' houses, and to provide food stores for them to last the winter. We are nearly there, however."

He sighs, sinking onto the bench a bit and carefully balancing his own teacup in his hands. His eyes lid as he turns to face the fire, listening quietly.

"You are also a member of the Union, and it is like to an Order of Knighthood, for that is the closest equivalent I can name to it. And you have done much good in the interest of the people whom you serve." He tilts his head, fixing a violet eye on her. "IT is a show of respect. But if you prefer, I shall simply call you 'Yunomi.'"

He tilts his face down as he leans back a little, back against the table's edge and cup held against his chest. "Mm. I once served in Camelot, and it was a grand city... but it was wearisome. And I have lost my taste for great crowds and noise, after the... the Battle of Camlann." There is a flicker of pain in that momentary hesitation; a topic, it seems, that cuts him as deeply as Namamura's loss cuts her. "I prefer quiet places, such as this. I can understand that desire fully."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "I love the bustle of Ravnica." Yunomi replies as she looks up, exmaining the masronry and stone, looking for the imperfections of the old and the careful newness of the ...well, new. "I spent time in London, Njorun Station, New Washington before it was destroyed... and I've always been fascinated with it. I love people – ah..." she pauses, and rubs the back of her head. "Well, I like humans, humanoids... yokai where I'm from... we're considered different. BUt my mother was human once." she pauses, and she draws herself inwards. "I'm no knight, Sir Bedivere. I'm not even a guardian, not anymore. The people I warded are homeless, cast to the winds or dwelling in a strange city-world. I'm still part of the Union... but... I have been now for almost eight years. I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't part of them. They are my family, and though there's some who..." she pauses, and gives a wry smile. "THere's a lot of them who don't care for the antics I used to pull, I would still raise everything I had for them, if it came down to it."

    She looks down, and she raises the cup to her lips... and then her ears went up.

    "... wait. I can help."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I did not always have a choice, in Camelot, for it was a large city. A marshal is responsible for the king's army, and even generals answered to me. My presence was often required in various areas of the city and its stronghold." Bedivere looks down to his teacup, as though to call back those memories. It seems so distant, now, though it was not even six years past. "In much of the time you have served the Union, I had served Camelot, and my king."

He looks back up, gaze settling on the hearth's fire as she explains herself. Although he doesn't interrupt, he does shake his head softly at her assessment. "No. I do not believe that. As I had told you before, just because you are not guarding a specific realm does not mean that you are not still a guardian. Wherever you go, you act in the best interests of the people there, and that is what it is to be a guardian to the people..."

"I do not know what I would do, either, were I not one of them. Perhaps I do not care for all of them, and there are some few I am not certain I wholly trust, but serving them has given me purpose again where once there was none." He seems to droop, eyes hooding. "Camelot was laid low after the Battle of Camlann, and there was nothing to return to. My king was dead. My home was reduced to ashes. My brother-knights dead. I was the only survivor, yet I had to return to bring word that the king lived no more... I never found my way. I became lost, I think, in the Multiverse, but I was found after five years of wandering by the Union."

He shakes his head. "I do not know what I would have done if they had not found me. I could not have carried on so for much longer, I think." Half a smile flickers across his face, but it's wan. "I am glad to have served again, and while perhaps I did not want it, at first, I am glad to be of service to this land and its people."

She can help? He glances over, tilting his head curiously. "Help? How?"

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi listens to Bedivere as he speaks, and much of what he says resonates.

    And immediately, she feels the bottom of her stomach drop out. Bedivere lost everything. She lost powers and strength and a place... but the people still lived. And she willingly gave up so that they could live , unharrassed, and be safe elsewhere outside of Son Gohan's shadow.

    "I might not have Namamura, but I can be of aid to the people of Dún Reáltaí."

    And she holds up her hands, pulling up the sleeves of her jacket until they are as high as they will go.

    And she exhales, concentrating. "I had a knack for this when I was very small... and in Ravnica, though it's a city-world, I've managed to bring pieces of the forest that I grew up in into buildings."

    Green mana swirls lazily, like a leaf in the wind down from Yunomi's elbows and curls around her fingers, clinging and wrapping around itself. Yunomi exhales, and from a ball of mana in her hand, a vine grows. It sprouts leaves, and thin, curled thorns. Its leaves flick outwards, and little flowers form in bright violet-red with yellow-white centers, their petals curling inwards and then falling away.

    And ruby-red fruit grow, little gem-like orbs clinging together unfettered by birds or the poor weather.

    And Yunomi has a raspberry cane, spread between her fingers, heavy-laden with fruit.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Perhaps that fact might explain why there are shadows under the knight's eyes, or why he still seems to be recovering from something. He is tall, and solidly built, but there is a hollowness about his cheekbones and the tendons of his wrists; and a haunted quality to his eyes, when he thinks no one watches him.

The Battle of Camlann had taken much from the gentlest of the Round Table's knights. Even explaining to her what was taken cannot convey the full extent of it. He had lost so much more, that terrible day, than merely his king and the kingdom he had served for so many years.

Even so, Dún Reáltaí is a place of healing and rest for him. He has begun to recover, though it will be some time yet before he is as strong and sure as he once was.

"Any aid would be welcome, my lady. These people have lost much." He looks off to the hearth-fire again. Maybe that's why he had felt such a strong instinct to protect them and offer them succor, aside from the knightly virtues he held so dear. The people and the land were as kindred spirits, to him, for they too had lost everything. Yet helping to rebuild and recover here was a mirror for his own soul. Helping these people to recover would in turn help him to heal.

He smiles a faint, flickering smile, but it fades when she pulls up her sleeves. He had expected her to offer supplies or funding, but what she offers instead is...

That's...

Violet eyes snap wide at the sight of that swirling energy, especially once it coalesces into a vine, producing leaves, tendrils, and thorns; and finally tiny flowers, which bloom and fade, revealing fruit. Recognisable fruit, no less, for he is familiar with raspberries.

Bedivere stares. The blood seems to drain from his face, but it isn't an expression of horror. On the contrary, he seems to be in awe, thunderstruck; for this is an unexpected boon the likes of which he could not have even asked for. He had expected the road to replanting to be a long, arduous one after the ravages of winter. But with Yunomi's help...

"Oh, lady," he breathes, staring at that raspberry sprig, those faintly almond-shaped eyes wide in wonder. "I... truly, you do not know what tremendous aid you offer with this. My king would know of this, for this is more than we could have asked for."

Wait a minute, didn't the king he spoke of perish at Camlann?

Carefully, almost reverently, he holds out a hand toward the sprig. "May I...?"

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "Of course – careful for the thorns." Yunomi replies, as the magic fades from the raspberries. She hands the cane gently to Bediere, and she gives a small smile. Such a little thing giving such wonder, something Yunomi thought commonplace, and she eases herself back. and stretches her fingers. "I can create vines with fruit, grow and establish orchards in the dead of winter. Windbreaks made of pine, shaded paths of oaks and beech. I've not tried my hand at grains other than rice, but I could try for wheat, for barley and rye and all other plants you might think is valuable. A little itme is all I need."

    She smiles, watching Bedivere carefully.

    "It's easier to rebuild hope on a full stomach."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Carefully, and almost reverently, the knight reaches out to accept the sprig. He turns it this way and that, marvelling over the berries and the greenery on it. The land here almost looks as though it had been scorched and salted, so barren are the plains beyond the hill – to see anything green and growing seems to come as a shock to him.

His eyes lift to regard her as she explains her talents, and there's no mistaking the wonder in his eyes. How can he be stoic in the face of such a gift? This is incredible, and it spells the end of Dún Reáltaí's bleak future. While importing food has worked for the winter, it's not sustainable. To be able to grow crops again is exactly what this land needed, though perhaps this isn't the season for it.

"This is the answer to our struggles," he breathes, still turning the sprig this way and that, inspecting it, marvelling over it. "And I will have need of that gift, though I—I know not how I can repay you for such a thing. Yet now would not be the proper time for it," he murmurs, considering. "Winter has not yet begun, and I do not wish to upset the natural seasons or the cycles. Planting will begin once the snows have melted, but perhaps then..." He lifts his eyes to Yunomi again, and the awe there is almost haunted. "It was to be a long and hard road until the farmland and pastures of Dún Reáltaí could be restored, but now..."

He exhales, too quiet and unsteady for a sigh, passing the sprig back to Yunomi. "I—truly, I do not know how to thank you for such an offer."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "Keep it. Find some good soil, warm it and keep it where the sun can catch it. It's my promise." Yunomi orders, softly. Her eyes now are alive, wheels turning. "I like helping others, and... if I can keep finding ways to help others, even though my guardian powers are gone, then I'll help in any way I can. Getting others self-sufficient by rasing some trees? By all means."

    Yunomi gives a smile, a deep, genuine smile. "You have my word, Sir Bedivere, that come spring your people will not go hungry. I ask only one thing in exchange." she holds a hand up, with one finger raised, and her face gets a dour, serious look to it. She squares her shoulders.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I will do that." Bedivere takes back the sprig, holding it carefully as he studies it. When she thinks out loud, his eyes flick back to watch the tanuki. Mindful of the thorns, he rests it over his lap, reaching for his teacup and helping himself to a drink.

He's considering the situation, too. If she can encourage simple raspberries to grow in the dead of winter like this what more could be done for staple crops? Would her powers apply to cereals and grains, or raise orchards? Encourage the grass to grow in land set aside for pasture?

At that smile, he offers one of his own, though it's a bit more reserve; a little more weary. Only one person has had the opportunity to see him smile genuinely, and that person isn't here at the moment. This is the next best thing he can offer, but it's no less grateful. It fades when she states that the offer comes with terms, though, and his head tilts to regard her in muted curiosity.

"Name your terms, then," he states, solemn once more, attention fixed wholly on Yunomi. "I shall do what I can to satisfy them."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi looks up at the smile, her eyes studying his face a moment. Then her eyes light up, and her lips that were pressed together with much seriousness curl into a grin.

    "You have a nice smile. You should do so more often." she states. "... but that's not the condition. I'll have to think on it... you know, with a couple of steel supports, some phosphate and nitrogen and a few favors called in from the grove back in Ravnica, I could hook you up with a hothouse for the winter... you'll need proper venting for the summer, but I'm not sure how hot it gets here in Dun Rea—" Yunomi had put her hands behind her head, and had the inoppertune moment to wax thoughtful about the future and had leaned back, but forgetting that she's sitting on a bench and not a chair, her eyes go wide, her arms flail about, and she tumbles backwards onto the floor, teakettle-over-top, her bag going off to the side.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The smile falters when he finds himself studied so closely. Bedivere had done that to enough people to know what it feels like in return, to be carefully scrutinised thus. And then, when he's complimented on having a nice smile, the knight ducks his head, and she might catch the brief hint of scarlet before his hair falls to hide his face. While he mumbles something that sounds vaguely like gratitude, it's hard to make out the words.

Accepting compliments is not one of his strong suits; while he has perhaps the most dramatic reactions when they come from Arturia, he's still not very good at accepting them from anyone. He never has been.

Fortunately, she presents a change of topic.

"A hothouse?" He lifts his head, complexion more or less back to normal. "I had not thought of it, but that would be useful. We could grow things that would not otherwise be available. Fruits and vegetables both, for the winters here I suspect are harsh." Flowers, too. In particular, he wouldn't mind donating a corner towards raising lily-of-the-valley...

Her abrupt cutoff brings him back into the present, blinking – but before he can reach out to help her, she's already landed flat on her back.

She'll find that a hand is offered to help her up as the knight climbs stiffly to his feet; his other retrieves her bag, setting it on the table's surface.

"Be careful," he murmurs, with a faint chuckle. "The flagstones are unforgiving. And I do not have a resident medic, here; I would need to request the services of the Wisewoman Inga, or Lady Sakura."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi was on a brilliant tract of thought when she went down, and when the good Bedivere catches up with her, she's laughing at her own mistake, breathlessly since it was knocked out of her. "Oh, no, I'm fine Sir Bedivere, won't be the first time I knock the breath outta myself around here, I'm sure." she replies, but accepts the hand up, reaching up and grasping Bedivere's arm to pull herself to her feet, and brushes off her jacket.

    "I can get you hooked up with a hothouse. I'm pretty sure the Izzet have the metal and the insulated glass." she replies, and gives a cough, trying not to keep laughing. "As long as it's facing the South, I think it should be fine."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Fortunately, the knight's grip is strong, in spite of the fact that he's still recovering; he's able to pull her to her feet easily with a well-timed yank. He does offer that restrained smile again at her own humble words, though, apparently pleased to hear that.

"Hmm. I am not certain we have the ore fit for producing steel on such a level, here; I have not yet had the opportunity to survey the land. It is another task I fear must wait until the snows have melted. There is most likely ores in these hills, but I do not yet know what." Bedivere turns, pacing over toward the hearth, leaving his cup on the table.

The fire is pleasantly high, and the warmth must be welcome after the chill of the outdoors. He holds his hands out to absorb some of it, thinking on her offer. It's something best discussed with Arturia, though he can't imagine that she would protest. He wouldn't want to miss discussion of the specifics with her, though; although she had named him lord of this keep, he still looks to her for the final approval on many projects.

Old habits die hard.

"Ah, yes," he murmurs, "southern sun would do well for it. I will need to discuss the matter with my king. There are yet many things that must be done before we might concentrate on that, but such would be most welcome..."

Again, that king business. Who exactly is that, if his king had died at Camlann? Curious. Referring to that title doesn't seem to cause him any remembered pain, so perhaps it's someone else, or... something? Then again, there is a mark on his left hand; the trifold mark of a command seal in red, elegant Celtic knotwork forming a sword...

Bedivere raises that marked hand, rubbing at his jaw in contemplative gesture. "Glass, however, is something that can be produced locally. There is an abundance of sand on the northeastern shore of the lake, just northeast of the village, in turn. Some has already been fired into glass for the windows of my chamber. Ah, what of crop seeds? Have you any that we might trade for or purchase from your realm? I fear much was lost in the catastrophe before I was entrusted this land."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi gives a thoughtful look downwards. She purses her lips and tries to think of a good way to explain how the Golgari – who feed Ravnica in a manner of speaking – gather their foodstuffs. And decides that it's not a lesson Bedivere needs at the moment.

    "I'm afraid Ravnica probably doesn't have crop seeds, but I can generate the plants themselves. I've not had any trouble with apples, peaches, plums, apricots or any of the vine fruits, and I'm told the flowers I've raised up have gone to seed." Yunomi replies, but she smiles. "I can talk to my dad about grains."

    Because Stadler works with zombies, some zombies are vegans, and they desire grrraaaaiiiins.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"So long as the plants and the trees can be established, and they will go to seed, that is all that is needed. The people can rebuild their stores of seeds from that," Bedivere muses, folding his hands behind his back as he stands in front of the fire. For a brief moment, he almost looks the proud knight in spite of the rough homespun of a commoner he wears; though after a few moments his posture seems to sag a little. "But perhaps that is getting ahead of myself."

He turns, glancing back. "I would welcome it. And please, when you do, pass my thanks on to him. He is... Lieutenant Richard Stadler, is he not? I do not believe we have made one another's acquaintance, yet, but I am told he is a longtime soldier of the Union."

"Ah, forgive me," he adds, looking back to the fire. "Have you eaten, yet? We have little in the way of food stores, and my skills in cooking are basic at best, but I do not mind offering you a hot meal, if you should like one. Something for the road, I suppose, for the path to the warpgate is yet long and must needs be repaved when the weather has returned to normal..."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "I've not had a planting go awry yet." Yunomi replies to Bedivere – and at the idea of getting ahead of himself, Yunomi gives a gentle smile.

    "Optimism is not getting a head of yourself, Sir Bedivere. The future here is bright – you have the support of your king, the support of your allies, and I would expect the support of the people here." she explains, following him to the fire, and she raises her palms to it – but stays a step behind him, farther back.

    "There's nothing to be forgiven, I hadn't come with the expectation of a meal."

    And she gives a grin, reaching for her bag and pulling it to her, she lifts up the flap and withdraws a clear plastic bag.

    Within the bag, in shades of tan and black as night, are a variety of round, doughy looking breads, with holes within the puffed-up dough rounds.

    "And I brought bagels."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I will hold you to your word, then." Bedivere studies the fire for a moment, silent as he considers the spring. It will be good to see the sun, and to feel the warmth of it again. Sometimes it seems as though it's been such a long, long time since he had felt that; like he had been trapped in winter for the five years since Camlann.

It will be good, he decides, with a gentle, if melancholy, little smile. Better still, it will be good to experience that here, in this place he has increasingly come to call home. "Perhaps not. But first will be to survive the winter. There is nothing to be done, in that season, for I believe the snow will be fast and high. I have no illusions that this is not a harsh land, and I fear the winter here will put even Camelot's fiercest to shame. It was important to restore the village, and fortify against the cold wind and the wet."

He falls silent when she shows her prize in its clear plastic bag; which is another one of those strange, modern materials he isn't sure what to think of. It's clear as glass, yet there is a softness to it not unlike vellum... and things kept in it remain fresh even when they are perishable.

Such as bagels. Another slightly more modern invention, although he had experienced those in his brief time in the Tohsaka residence – something the elder magus had occasionally kept on hand when she needed to eat breakfast but couldn't be bothered or didn't have the time to cook. Even so, the foods aren't quite the same level of culture shock as the materials and tools of the modern age.

"I see. Well, you are welcome to stay as long as you like." Slowly and stiffly, Bedivere turns, making his way back to the table, but only to retrieve his harp, leaving his mostly-empty teacup. "We welcome visitors, here in Dún Reáltaí, particularly those who have freely offered of themselves such valuable assistance." He smiles that faint, fleeting smile again. "Indeed, if you did not wish to travel back this evening, there are guest quarters that may be made available to you, if you wish. Truly, it is the least I can offer," he adds, plucking at the strings of the harp – a soft, ascending run through the notes; head tilted so he can check the tuning, after the contrast of the cold air outside to the warm air by the hearth.

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi gives a 'rye' grin, and sets her bagels back down into her bag, and when Bedivere picks up the harp and begins run his fingers over it, her ears prick up. And she settles down on the bench again, giving a curious look to the harp and its player.

    "Well... I am in no rush to leave, but if you do not mind – might I stay for a while, and listen to you play? I thought I had heard music carried on the wind when I had arrived..."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I do not mind," the knight murmurs, glancing down to the harp. It looks to be a very old instrument, the wooden paneling dark from age, its knotwork carvings worn though still recognisable. The strings look to be in better shape, either new or close to it. His fingers pass over the strings once more, head tilted to listen. "One of the villagers gave this to me, when he learned I had some training."

"Music was not something I was free to pursue in Camelot, for I was of the northern lands and a foreigner in the king's court, although I served as marshal. But music was a vital part of the culture of my people. Our great bards, the filí, were our magicians, our lorekeepers, our judges and advisors to kings... I was to be one of them, but that was not meant to be." Another experimental run, and he reaches down to adjust the tuning peg near the bottom of the soundboard. "I stayed instead in Camelot, to train, and become a knight-aspirant of King Arthur's court."

Carefully, delicately, he begins to play, a meandering tune that seems more of a warmup than an actual performance; light-hearted. The harp's strings of the harp providing a bright, brassy tone against the echoing reaches of the great hall's cavernous ceiling.

"In truth, I do not think I would have been happy, had I remained in Dál Riata. I was missing something, there, and I found it in Camelot, although Camelot was scarce enough a home to me... ah," he adds, as though remembering suddenly, with a sheepish smile. "Yes, that was me you heard. I have the training of a fili, but my training was incomplete, for I took up arms in Camelot instead... but I know of music, and remember that much, though it was rare that I could practise."

The harp continues as he stands in front of the fire, grateful at the warmth. The afternoon is cold, and those leaden skies promise more inclement weather, sooner or later. "I served in the king's court for nearly twenty years. They were not kind years, and I do not doubt that I would have worked myself to death..." The smile he wears is small and almost melancholy, but there's a fondness in his violet eyes. "But I would not have traded them for anything. If I could but serve as the Left Hand of the King, and remain at her side, I was content."

Wait. King Arthur? She? But before he can comment more on that, he continues. "Yet at the same time, it is good to know music again. It was a part of me, even though I was forced to deny it for so long, as it is for many who hail from Dál Riata... or even Ulaidh, or Alba. But it seems those of Albion were not so skilled, save perhaps Master Merlin... ah, I am sorry, good lady; I speak too much. While you are here, and while you listen, have you any questions for me, perhaps? We do not know each other well, I find, and I am inclined to offer answers, if you should have questions. It is the least I can do."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi is quiet, listening to the sounds of the harp, listening to the harp as she watches its player with a lazy sense of curiosity. "I know hwo it feels about not being able to freely persue what you want... but I think that we all make sacrifices in order ot find some sense of home. I come from a once-great clan of tanuki – ah, they are something like chubby, brown, shapeshifting foxes with robber's masks—" she explains. "My father – my birth father – was so displeased at my being a girl that after my mother died, he abandoned me to the care of a priestess and made pursuit of his dreams of being a wrestler for the emperor. I grew in the shadow of the kami, and made friends of ghosts and children as I learned to shift my shape around. Then... I left, and took up residence with the Union. At first, I lived in a London, in England, the future form of the country you lived in, and I went to school there, and then in the United States, where my dad adopted me. From there to a school in Japan where I learned magic from one of the teachers, and then to Ravnica, where I—"

    And Yunomi puffs up a little bit, proud of herself "I was the last student of the founder of the Izzet League, the dragon Niv-Mizzet. I was on my way to being a guild champion when he... when..." she shifts her weight, "... but it doesn't matter now. We set aside our dreams to protect those we love, those who require our guidence and our attentions... I think, perhaps, you would understand it well enough." She smiles,

    "Ah, don't worry about speaking too much. I have two good ears for listening, and people tend to be... lively, animated by talking of what they know and love."

    And jokingly, she adds "You should hear me 'wax poetic' about fighting kaiju or my mis-adventures in learning magic."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I did not mind, so much." Bedivere looks down to the strings of the harp, plucking at them deftly with one hand while the other supports the instrument. "To give up those aspects of myself seemed a small price to pay, at the time, for there was much to be done as a Knight of the Round Table, and..."

There was another, more pressing reason that drove him to take up service in Camelot, and to turn his back on his heritage, but he doesn't elabourate. He instead trails off into a faint, almost awkward little half-smile. He listens to her tale as he plays. His eyes are half-lidded, though, and there is a distance about his gaze that suggests he might not be listening... but those who know him well would know that he's intent on her tale. Little did the Left Hand of the King miss in Camelot, and there is little that passes him by now. His scrutiny and his keen senses have never failed him.

Shapeshifting foxes? The harp's notes never strike foul, but the knight's expression twists into one of brief distaste. That's probably the worst parallel she could draw at the moment. His only significant experience with foxes is with Kagenashi, and she's been nothing but a thorn in his side since she'd travelled to the castle. He doesn't comment, though; it sounds as though a tanuki is something entirely different.

"Yes, I had heard that Albion became Britain. Wales, too, though I am not familiar with the modern geography." He pauses his playing long enough to reach up and clear his hair from his eyes, regarding Yunomi thoughtfully. He smiles, then, though the expression is restrained; almost hesitant. "It is as I told my king. Our lands survived... perhaps not in the form we expected, but our struggles were not wasted... Camelot fell, but the hope it inspired lived on, I am to understand."

He quiets to listen to the rest, though, perhaps noting her hesitation over Ravnica matters and the mention of Niv-Mizzet. As he had hesitated over mention of his king, so too does she hesitate over that dragon. No stranger to loss, this girl... but he doesn't comment, for now, at least not on that.

"Mm." He bows his head, looking down at his harp again. "Perhaps." Though... those words cause him to look up again, brow furrowing slightly. "'Kaiju?'"

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "... well. Foxes are a different animal. Where I'm from they're called kitsune – they shapeshift as well, but they're more malicious. Tanuki tend to be... less crafty, more like the uncle who gets entirely too into his drink and plays clumsy pranks. They don't have raccoons... I didn't know what other animal to compare it with." Yunomi replies embarrassedly, seeing that she's struck a sour note, but she's not going to harp on the knight – might cause him to change his tune on her help. No trebble, though. Bass-ically it was the right idea.

    (I am so, so sorry)

    "Kaiju... giant monsters with poisonous blood that rise from a crack in the sea between a version of my homeland and the Americas. I work with a group who fights them as a volunteer."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I am familiar with foxes." Bedivere sighs quietly. "There is a guest staying here who is a nogitsune of the Confederacy. Her name is Kagenashi. Unfortunately, I do not have any means to dismiss her without compromising Brehon Law, so I must tolerate her presence, and bide my time, for surely she will not be able to help herself. Surely, sooner or later, she will do something that will give me justified cause to dismiss her from my hall."

Come to think of it, Arturia would be proud. He's begun to refer to this place as his, even if it's a small difference, much like how he introduces himself now as Bedivere of Dún Reáltaí, instead of Bedivere of Camelot. It's a small difference, and subtle, but yet another way that shows how much he's begun to think of this place as home.

His fingers brush the strings of the harp again, coaxing a quiet melody from the strings as he considers her explanation of what a kaiju is.

"There were large and dangerous creatures in Albion, as well, but generally they avoided people. Those of us who were smart did not trouble ourselves to seek them out. Gryphons, there were, with the head and fore of an eagle, and the body and tail of a lion, and all the savagery of both." His eyes hood as he considers the old harp, absently playing a soft and distracted melody. "Even so, they did not have venomous blood. They must be difficult to deal with. How do you battle such a thing?"

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi's listening to the quiet explaination, and offers a quiet suggestion, with a mischevious little smile on her lips as her ears prick up and her tail curls behind her. "Tell her that there's a tanuki moving operations into the tower. It might just dissuade her from staying... clasically, our types do not get along."

    And Yunomi considers, quietly, the large dangerous animals she's had to deal with. Babysitting dragons, learning from them, friendly conversations with giants and meeting the angels and demons of Beli's world.

    And then he asks her how she battles such things. And she considers, very carefully.

    "Well. With giant robotic suits of armor, really."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight cants his head slightly to one side, listening as she describes the age-old lack of chemistry between foxes and raccoon dogs. Truly, he had no idea what a tanuki was before joining the greater multiverse. Such things didn't exist in Albion. Even foxes were difficult to find, and certainly not the supernatural kind that seem to populate other worlds – merely the quarry of noble-blooded huntsmen with too much time on their hands.

"Hmm. Perhaps. Such would still be an attempt to circumvent Brehon Law, however, and it would be dishonourable." Bedivere shakes his head, pausing in his harp-playing long enough to clear his hair from his face.

Uncharacteristically, he'd left it down today; not because he couldn't braid it, but because it's cold out, and leaving it down is at least a little warmer. "I will bide my time. Sooner or later, she will do something that will leave me no choice but to cast her out."

It's just a matter of which one of them has more patience... and what that catalyst might be. No doubt she'll have to do something terrible, and he only hopes it doesn't wind up at the cost of the village folk. They trust him to protect them, and to have a guest of his own hall threaten them in such a way... perhaps he might not technically be at fault, for he would not have breached his own honour, but it would be disgraceful to him, personally; to live with knowing he endangered them so.

When she tells him how it is she battles giant creatures like kaiju, Bedivere just... stares. Blankly.

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi feels the blank stare even before she looks up from the lukewarm tea she had abandoned, and she gives a sort of embarrassed look, and downs the rest of the tea.

    "OK. So... to fight the kaiju – oh, hold on..."

    She rummages around in her pack, and pulls out something no comic book artist would be without, a sketchbook. She flips open a few pages, rummaging through that.

    "Metallic armors as big as mountains, manned by two people inside because the strain is too much for a single person." she flips open a page, and inside is a sketch. In the sketch is a guy and a girl who look a decent bit alike, wearing armor themselves with helmets and clear, protective shields in front of the faces, and the giant form of Apex Gryphon looking out over the Santa Monica boulevard, shaded in with little notations on color.

    "The armor echoes movements from the pilots, and they use it to defend the coasts against the kaiju. A lot of smaller fighters who can be airborne, like me, harrass the kaiju and try to weaken it or contain the pollutants from the blood."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere looks on as the tanuki reaches for her sketchbook, opting to show rather than tell exactly how it is that men can fight a beast many times larger than even a structure like Dún Reáltaí's central keep. Somehow he'd suspected that advanced technology might play into it, somehow, but it still doesn't quite prepare him for the outlandish thing that he's presented with... but then again, most modern contrivances are beyond his understanding.

"An intricate depiction," he murmurs, leaning over to regard the page. "Is it your work? I am impressed... ah, I think I see how that would work. So, these two guide this armour, and the armour is the thing to fight the kaiju, then? Interesting."

He still looks a little uncomfortable. The idea of something that big threatening Dún Reáltaí is almost enough to give him nightmares... almost. "They are very brave," he murmurs. "I imagine it must take courage to fight a foe like that."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    "That's the jist of it – I hang out with the Rangers who pilot them sometimes," Nevermind the tourist trips to Sydney.

    At the compliment, Yunomi does flush a little bit and rub the back of her head, offering the book to him. "It's my work, yes. I m ight not be the greatest fighter to ever come out of Japan, but at least I can claim to be a good artist." she smiles, and she looks down. "It does... it takes a lot of courage, and a lot of trust. And a small deal of insanity." she explains. "It's dangerous. Pilots are connected through their minds, and can see into the other's memories from what I hear. I was fortunate enough to meet some of the scientists who worked on the prototypes. It's... fascinating, but very humbling."

    She shifts her weight. "Before I... lost Namamura, I was able to take one on my own. I nearly killed it."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The marshal accepts the sketchbook with care with one hand, opening the pages and flipping through them. He's careful not to actually touch any of the drawings, handling the pages only by their margins to turn them and thumb through Yunomi's sketches. He's still listening even as he passes it back.

Clutching the harp, Bedivere cants his head slightly to one side as he watches and listens. Connected through their minds; able to see the other's memories? That doesn't sound so different from the bond shared between Master and Servant. Idly, his left hand flexes over the worn wood of the harp's frame, and for a moment he finds himself thinking back to their shared dreams.

While he's glad to have that closeness, the idea of a stranger sharing such intimacy is distasteful. Although he never would have subjected her to visions of Camlann by choice, she is at least understanding of it, for she was there. She experienced that waking hell alongside all of her knights, both loyal and rebel.

The thought of forcing that onto a stranger is almost abhorrent. He can barely stand to suffer through the nightmares, himself, and that's five years afterward.

"That sounds difficult," he murmurs, arms wrapping around the harp, idly rubbing at the mark on his left hand. His eyes flick down to it, thoughtful. "I cannot imagine what a strain that must be, on both pilots. They must be close to withstand such testing... it must be difficult for two strangers."

Once again, he finds himself grateful that it's Arturia whom he shares such a bond with. They had known each other as well as they could have known one another even throughout her reign, save perhaps the parts hidden beneath their respective masks. The imposition of that supernatural bond has only strengthened the more ordinary bonds forged from loyalt and hardship. When called to battle, they can fight without ever needing to speak a word of order or suggestion to one another; their ability to work in tandem almost borders on the eerie, as it always had.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, violet eyes hooding. Is it so different, that they can share one another's minds? He wouldn't necessarily consider it dangerous. After all, he and Arturia are astonishingly similar in personality. Rare is it that they disagree on something, and when they do, it usually has to do with the same old topic of him pushing himself too hard, and her nagging him to stop and take care of himself...

Bedivere looks up. "I am sorry for your loss... but I would not have imagined you to be so powerful." His smile is a little self-depreciating. "I have met many powerful beings, here in the multiverse. I cannot imagine what it must be to have such power... the only strength I have is what I spent twenty years honing myself. I cannot do half so many things as many of you. Even Sir Gawain, who once sat the Round Table beside me, far outmatches me, now; he has returned as a Servant, and he is much more than human."

Sadly, being a Servant hasn't imposed any sort of common sense on him.

...Well, a man can dream, anyway.

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    The drawings range over a wide range of subjects. Giant robots, landscapes, a beautifully detailed tree in full blossom. Armors, elves. Sailors scouts and goblins. Women in kimono with tall winter shoes, a doofy looking hound with short legs and long ears. A stern looking young man with a miltary cap accompanied by a overly happy looking bulldog.

    Fishermen's homes with their nets hung to dry out. Little wooden boats tied to the shore. A holy building with its tall gate still standing, though the building itself is in ruins. A smiling old woman. A terrifyingly angry looking bird-man.

    And at the back, the beginnings of a dragon with a short muzzle and long frills to the back, with regal bearing. Only the eyes were complete on this one, and even rendered in pencil they had a fire to them.

    "... neither wuold I... but... there were innocent people. A man with the ability to link with monsters of his own world tried to link with a kaiju. He was destroying a factory... I went out to stop him, to let them have time to escape... but... I couldn't slay the monster. Lute was in tears, begging me to spare his life... I was so close."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Once he's handed the sketchbook back, Bedivere holds the harp close, regarding the tanuki with his side facing the fire. Even after having been inside for a while, it still feels good to stand and soak in that warmth. Exhaustion still hangs about him like a shroud; he finds himself chilled more easily, and fatigued much faster than he would otherwise be.

"I see," he murmurs, to her explanation. "There is no shame in showing mercy to one's enemies. Indeed, such embodies the knightly virtue of ingenuitas."

"Far be it for me to criticise that, personally." He smiles a slightly crooked little smile. "I was consideed merciful even by the measure of most knights, and in most circumstances, I preferred to offer my foes the chance to lay down their arms. In truth, though I have kept myself trained, as befitting the Marshal of the Realm and Left Hand of the King, I dislike fighting." The smile falters, and then fades. "Although there were times it was necessary, and times I could not offer my enemies mercy."

He thinks back, briefly, to the battle in which Caliburn was sundered. The Saxons would have laughed at him if he had offered them the opportunity to surrender... and then they would have parted his head from his shoulders. And when Mordred raised the rebel host, there would be no reconciliation with them.

"I prefer humanitarian works, such as bringing supplies to those in need. Or my work here in Dún Reáltaí," he adds, waving his left hand to indicate the keep itself. "I do not recover as swiftly from battle as many of you others, in any case. I participated in the battle in Azuma some weeks ago, and I have only now regained the use of my right arm and shoulder." He shakes his head, faintly. "I am not on the same level as so many others; I have no illusions that I am a mere mortal before so many supernatural beings. The best I can do is to offer such relief as I can here, or in other places, for no matter what happens in the war, relief and the reallocation of supplies will always be necessary."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi leans back against the table, her lips pursed as she closes her eyes and her ears relax. She thought about the Angels of Paradisio and the Demons in the Inferno, of the Demon Lords and of the Magic-Eaters. Of the Old War in Namamura.

    "Don't be so sure. We need humanitarian works the same way we need sword arms and shield bearers. There's a great need for kindness and understanding as well as... you know. Badassery." Yunomi smiles, and leans forward. "You're on the same level... but you're a different skill. Logistics, organization, kindness... you were very patient when I Was angry with everyone, ut most disappointed and furious with myself. And your words weren't empty platitudes... because you understood."

    She looks up to the ceiling, marking the old stone against new, repairs against the original work of the keep.

    "You're no mere mortal, Sir Bedivere. You're kind."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Long fingers pluck at the harp strings, but it seems less of a conscious act on Bedivere's part, and more of an involuntary thing to do with his hands. He's otherwise silent as he listens, the soft notes of the harp hardly intrusive; quiet enough that the crackling of the hearth-fire nearly drowns them out.

"Of course we do. That is what I am saying." Bedivere smiles, though it's subdued. "Too many forget that such things are necessary. I saw it happen in Camelot, and I have seen it happen here. Make no mistake, I hold my brother-knight Sir Gawain in the highest regard, but sometimes I feel he is too quick to seek glory on the battlefield, and does not always remember that even the least of us are deserving of aid."

He gives a brief run on the harp, before glancing back to Yunomi, obliquely. "I myself was not of Albion, as you know. I hail from Dál Riata, and to be a foreigner in the court of the king did no favours to me. The king was open-minded, but her nobles, they were not so open-minded, and preferred their own company. I had suspicions cast upon me from the moment I was appointed marshal." His fingers dance seemingly of their own accord, eyes lidded as he watches the play of firelight on the harp's wire strings. "Although none would speak of it openly, I was regarded as less than a commoner."

"Yet it was the commonfolk I most felt comfortable among, in Albion. And it was they whom I spent my efforts in helping, for it was they who suffered most in the raiding of the Saxons, and the petty disputes of the nobility." Again, that faint smile. "I am sorry to say that there were many who forgot this."

He looks up when she gives her praise, canting his head slightly to one side. "You do me too much honour, good lady." He shakes his head, hair drifting for a moment until he pauses his playing, reaching up to brush it from his face. "I do only what is expected of a Knight of the Round, for we are held to higher standards, and I wish to do what is right."

"And I do understand." He smiles, a little more warmly. "I do not think that you thought I did, at the time. And there is no shame in that. You did not know my story; I was simply another faceless soldier among the Union roster, was I not? We had not met, not formally, and I had not told any of this to you."

"I do understand," he repeats, more softly. "I have lost everything. Yet I have also been given everything, again... I do not understand why." His smile fades into a softer expression, warm; as though reflecting on something private. "But I thank the Lord God for it, and I could not be more grateful."

He seems to come back to himself, looking back to Yunomi. "Have faith. That is the best advice I can give you. Faith, and patience. Namamura will be returned to you, somehow. I am confident in that, at least, but if you like, I will pray for you."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi cannot help but give a sad smile. "I too was alien to the Izzet... and I still am, to some." she quietly replies, lifting her hands and looking at them quietly before she closes her fingers around themselves, and she leans back.

    The Lord God. Ugh. The sort of maddening diety that would create PAradisio and The Inferno where demons and angels alike shackled souls into use? The silent, judging god that she'd witnessed sermons of, the kind of god that the crazed angel who nearly flooded San Fran harbor?

    The kind that considered her a demon?

    Yunomi's sad smile doesn't falter though, and she shakes her head "No, you're right , too many people forget to be kind. Especially in my line of work."

    ANd then she shifts her weight, uncomfortable. "If Namamura's returned, it won't be to me. I'm no longer the guardian, I failed. It's like... a campfire. It starts as a spark, but then it grows and grows... but once the fire's snuffed out, you can't get that fire back. A new guardian will be chosen, and I just have to carry on. The physical land is gone, and perhaps forever, but all of the people and yokai who lived there are safe."

    ANd she goes to stand, that same, anxious energy creeping back up. Her fingers curl and uncurl. And tap against her thigh. "That's the important thing... I have nothing to mourn or be sad over."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere takes a step sideways away from the hearth, but only to nudge a stool closer with his boot, sitting down on it and resting the harp over his lap. In spite of the rest he's taken, he's still tired easily, and constantly cold. He had pushed himself so hard for so many years that he'll be surprised if he ever fully recovers.

Forging ahead in spite of his own physical shortcomings was a perfectly viable strategy when he was young, for it was a necessity more than anything else, in Camelot... but for too long he had burned the candle at both ends. Now he finds himself paying the price. The five years he had spent in Camlann had done him no favours, either, and he wonders now if he can ever fully heal.

Perhaps so. After all, he no longer walks that road alone. That knowledge alone does much for his weary spirit, and perhaps it is, slowly, helping his weary and broken body as well.

"Is that what you believe?" Fingers dance over the harp, and though the knight lifts his gaze to Yunomi, there is a distance in his eyes that suggests that he is either tired, or simply thinking back to something else. "I am not so certain. If you have the will to recover Namamura, to return to these people their rightful homes, I do not think they would consider that lightly."

He looks down again, eyes turning toward the fire, half-lidded as he watches the flames snap and crackle. "Failure is a part of living. Did you know? I was never suited to become a knight, even though to serve in the king's retinue was what I wanted above all other things." He smiles that gentle smile again, though he doesn't move his gaze from the fire. "I was beaten and bruised by my fellow knight-aspirants more times than I can count. I rose before them in the morning to practise, and I went to sleep hours later after them. Truly, I do not think I slept during my time as a knight-aspirant..."

"To fail is to live, and to learn. Life is never so black and white. Even after I was appointed marshal by my king, there were times that I failed her. Even my greatest failure of all has somehow been eased..." His eyes close. "If even I may be granted a second chance through the most impossible of means, I would not rule out the possibility that Namamura may yet be returned to you. There were times in Camelot that I had failed, as well, other failures; smaller failures. Yet I learned from them, and I carried on."

He smiles that gentle, almost melancholy smile again as she rises up, anxious. Where she seems to exude nervous energy, his mien is nothing but calm; serene, just as he had once been in Camelot... but that gentle smile never would have been on his face in Camelot. He would not have attempted to comfort someone, in Camelot, nor offered them kind words. That he is free to do so here is more a balm to his spirit than he can even fully articulate.

"Take heart," he says softly. "For I see that you do mourn still, all the same, no matter how brave your words. There is no shame in mourning that which you once loved. Even I mourned the death of my king..." His gaze grows distant again, that familiar pain like a shadow over him. It passes, though there is a forced quality to his smile after that. "But have faith, and patience. With those two things, anything is possible. I have seen many impossible things happen in this multiverse, things in defiance of all sense and logic. After all, I have seen this broken land begin to heal. My king has been returned to me. And there is hope yet even of my own ability to heal..."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
That smile grows a little more genuine; warm. "So have faith. And do not rule out the possibility. It may merely require patience... but I do not think it is beyond your means to attain. One failure is hardly grounds to dismiss one's calling, or I never would have risen to become the Left Hand of the King. I would have never become a knight, even. I would have returned to Dál Riata in failure and shame before I had ever begun, if one failure was all it had taken."

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi goes to open her mouth, and expunge her list of failures... but she softens her stance, and demurely lets her arms slide up her back. She exhales quietly, and pulls some of her hair back, reaching into her pocket to secure a hairband rather than fiddle with her fingers.

    Instead, she offers a smile. "Thank you, Sir Bedivere, for being such a listener... and for y our advice today... I will take it to heart." Maybe not now... but eventually.

    The young woman folds her fingers in front of her, looking at the bright red hair elastic.

    "... I have so many friends who have... ah, how to put it – they have fire. And some of them have acid. And... it's good to have a calm ear." Yunomi's voice wavers. Her lips press together, and she gives a small huff.

    "Sorry... must be smoke from the fire." she explains, unconvincingly, then she gives a pause, and a bow. "Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Bedivere. I'll ask my friends back in Ravnica about the materials for the green hosue, and see if I can't get some mock-ups made up."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"A good listener?" The marshal tilts his head and regards Yunomi somewhat obliquely. Her statement seems to give him pause, expression slightly puzzled. "Think nothing of it. Listening is something I have always needed to do well. Perhaps it is not as critical as it was in the days of Camelot, but it is a useful skill..."

He rises somewhat stiffly, and even from across the room she may hear joints creaking and popping in protest. It may be that his arm is no longer in a splint, but he's still not exactly in peak physical condition. Making his way over to the tanuki, he reaches out with his left hand, still holding the harp in his right.

For a moment it almost looks like he might give her a nice comforting hug, but he doesn't do that. He simply lays a hand on her shoulder and smiles that gentle smile.

"Many people of the Union all wish to do good, in their own way. But sometimes, a calm ear is what is desperately needed, and also the most difficult to find... I am glad to lend it to you, if that is your wish." He gives her shoulder a comforting pat, though there is a slight awkwardness to it; it suggests that he's uncomfortable with such contact. "You are welcome in my hall any time, and indeed, if my counsel is what you require, you are welcome to that, too, at any time."

He lets her go, backing up a step, just far enough to incline forward in a formal bow, harp clutched to his side.

"I live to serve."

Where it might be an empty platitude from anyone else, the words are sincere, coming from Sir Bedivere. He truly does live to serve, and he is made extremely unhappy when he cannot be of some service or help, somehow. It explains the struggle Arturia has had with him, in trying to soothe his dogged need to work; his relentless need to make himself useful.

"And there is no shame in a little smoke in one's eye, either," he adds, with a faint but knowing smile. "You are most welcome. I would appreciate the gesture. To have certain foods readily available year-round would certainly be a luxury."

He smiles that slightly melancholy little smile. "But do not let me keep you all through the night, if you have business to tend to. Go well, and know that you are welcome here any time. Announced or no," he adds, with a faint half-smile.

Yunomi Stadler (272) has posed:
    Yunomi gives a small smile, and she returns the bow, though in the way of her home. She was genuinely appreciative of the knight and his ear – and the advice.

    "Bedivere, do not live only to serve. Remember to live as well. NExt when we meet, I'll try to have some samples and take some measurements... and I'd like to hear tales of your homeland, if it's not too much trouble. I'll be happy to share the legends that I am part of." she gives a smile up to him, and then goes to gather her bag. From them, she takes out a set of lenses on a leather strap, and affixes them to her head. They have little dragon insignia on the side.

    "Until we meet again, Sir Bedivere, I wish you well."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight holds his harp close, offering that reserved half-smile when Yunomi returns his bow in her own manner. While the it may be different from the bow given by those of Albion, the respectful intent of the gesture remains unchanged.

"Aye." Bedivere chuckles, softly. "I have been learning that lesson. My lord has ensured that I learn this lesson, for I had lived in her court to serve, and it had nearly killed me. It has been a hard one to learn, in some ways, but in others... perhaps it is not so hard. Have no fear. While it is noble to sacrifice oneself for the sake of another, I am more discerning, here, about that which I would sacrifice myself for."

In other words, he won't burn himself out too quickly. He has things to live for, here, and he will be careful. It's taken some repetition and some effort, but Arturia has managed to pound that lesson into his head. Mostly.

"Dún Reáltaí's gates will ever be open for you, good lady. Go with God. I will look forward to your return, and perhaps then you may meet my lord... I think that she would take a liking to you." He inclines his head respectfully as she heads out through the door, sinking back onto his stool and gently strumming the wire strings of the harp. "And I wish you well, as well."

He smiles softly to himself, turning back to face the fire once she's gone. It's there that he'll be found later, whenever Arturia returns, or any other of Dún Reáltaí's guests; absently playing his harp and basking in the warmth of the fire.