Difference between revisions of "1373/Hallowed Halls"

Revision as of 06:33, 21 January 2015

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The church recently rebuilt in Dún Reáltaí is hardly a masterpiece of architecture, but it nonetheless serves its purpose with the same practical air as any of its other buildings. Old structure is mixed with new, bright stone alternating with dull, older stone, and the scent of fresh roof timbers is in the air.

So late into the winter as it is, the sky is already dark, and snow has been falling steadily since the 'magus-killer' and his family arrived in the castle. It's like a winter wonderland, colder even than the wintry Germany they had left behind; so cold and so buried in snow it almost seems more reminiscent of a subarctic climate.

Yet there is warmth here, too, inside the buildings. There are iron braziers aplenty, and imported wood and bamboo are on hand to fuel those fires.

The church has been completed not too long ago, though even in its half-finished state it had seen to the spiritual needs of these determined and hardy people. It has also seen its fair share of use from the land's liege-lord. Sir Bedivere has come here often to attend Mass and to pray, and it's here tonight that finds the knight knelt before the altar.

He wears tonight the blue steel chain mail gifted to him by none other than Saint Nicholas himself; leather and steel dark in the candle-lit church. He's bent nearly double, elbows resting on the floor, hands raised up and clasped in prayer; head bent down and resting in the crook of an arm. He wears his mantled cloak of office, which pools in ripples of heavy fabric behind him, fur-lined to cope with Dún Reáltaí's intense cold.

On closer inspection, he seems to be murmuring, but the exact words are hard to make out.

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
It has been a few days filled with upheaval and change for Irisviel and her daughter. Illyasviel is still somewhat in shock over all this, not quite understanding, but Iri sat her down in their new quarters and talked. The mother did her best to explain to her daughter – even if she herself didn't really understand. And, at the very least, Illyasviel is curious about her new environment. It's a trait she shares with her mother, though Irisviel exhibits it even more. The trip here was amazing. Voyaging by warp gates from their own world to another, maybe even passing through multiple worlds on their way here. It has been about two days. Enough time for Kiritsugu to purchase additional clothing, and various 'gifts' for his family to help them settle in, which are more like basic necessities. There is no doubt that Sir Bedivere and King Arturia have taken care of the most basic needs, such as food, drink, any medical care, and – obviously – housing.

But they left essentially everything they owned except the clothes they were wearing behind at the Einzbern Castle. And returning there is probably not going to be an option any time soon. So when Irisviel enters the church – the second one she has seen in her life – she is wearing not the gown she wore at the Einzbern castle, but one of the new outfits that Kiritsugu got for her. She wears a white dress coat that buttons up on the left, with white fure trim about the collar and cuffs. Warm black leggings adorn her lower half, with long white boots that extend up past her knees – each with a grey stripe up the front – guard her feet. A fuzzy white hat comes with, but she has removed this and is carrying it presently. Her face is flushes, and she is breathing somewhat heavier than is ordinary. She has just come in from helping Illyasviel become more comfortable with her surroundings by playing in the snow with her. It's not like they didn't have snow in Germany, obviously. But this was a much more expansive landscape to work with, it looked – and FELT – completely different, and there wasn't the threat of wolves or evil spirits to deal with.

...Maybe. Actually, Iri might want to ask about that.

Not wishing to disturb the man she still knows as Fionnlagh in his praying, Iri tries to keep the clicking of her booted feet to a minimum as she walks closer, until she is able to seat herself, warming her hands with the hat in her lap.

This place has cold and warmth, just like her own castle. But Irisviel has no doubt that this place has a different feel to it – not as spiritually cold. It's something she had never noticed before, simply because it had always been there. She isn't sure what to make of the sensation, she just knows something is missing from her surroundings that she is completely accustomed to.

And that is not necessarily a bad thing.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Surely, it had been a monumental change for both mother and daughter, to flee in the middle of the night and move to a place so far away from the familiar. They had only the clothing on their backs, ushered along with haste, running before the wrath of Jubstachteit von Einzbern like foam before the tide.

If he were more prone to thinking about it, the knight might wonder if that were what the refugees of Camelot had felt, fleeing before the directionless wrath of the Saxon berserkers and raiders.

The sound of footsteps is what reaches him first, before anything else. A light enough tread; and though Arturia is light on her feet, it isn't the tread of a warrior. Nor is it any of the townsfolk, who would have been more quiet and cautious, perhaps a little more hesitant than the approach Irisviel von Einzbern takes.

Therefore, it must be one of their guests.

Fionnlagh of Dál Riata raises his head slowly, unfolding himself from his kneeling crouch. He rises slowly, slower than a man his age should, with stiffness suggestive of old injuries. Many old injuries, perhaps. When he finally does straighten, it's with a crackle and popping of stiff joints, and a rustle of that heavy cloak.

He looks her over with those faded eyes, expression neutral.

"Lady Irisviel von Einzbern." After a slight delay, he inclines forward in a formal, if slightly stiff, bow. His mouth twitches; in anyone else, it might be a slight smile. "I welcome you as a guest in my hall. Though, I must confess, this church is not within my purview. I have entrusted the spiritual leadership of this place to the Saber of Black."

Until he can be certain of her alliances, he won't give the Maid of Orléans away.

"Be welcome." He folds his arms, shifting his posture slightly; regarding her with that almost sleepy-eyed regard – yet something in those eyes suggests there are few details, very few details, that he misses. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
Irisviel smiles gently at the greeing and bows her own head in return – more like how Kiritsugu has taught her than the more formal method that Bedivere employs, though it is still a respectful lowering of her snowy-haired head. When she lifts her head again, she says, "I don't actually have much in the way of spiritual needs. The people I care about attend to my soul with their presence and continued safety. But I'll be certain to inquire with Saber of Black before visiting in the future." Iri fiddles with the fuzzy hat in her lap a bit and then says, "I actually came to thank you. As I mentioned, the people I care about are who make me whole – make me feel human. I don't know what I'd do without them." Her red gaze is lowered to her slender, frail, pale-skinned hands as she stills their movement.

"I have you to thank for at least one of them still being here. If you hadn't removed Illyasviel from the castle by force, I'm not sure if I could have convinced her to come before... Something unfortunate happened." She probably realized Jubstacheit had a great deal of prana ready to do SOMETHING. And it would have been bad for the 'good guys', no doubt. "It may take time for her to forgive you for that, and to understand... But I want you to know how much I appreciate not only what you personally have done, but also what your companions, friends, and 'acquaintances' have done and endured as well." She lifts her gaze back to Fionnlagh, as she squints slightly, hints of tension around her eyes – possibly due to fatigue.

"I also want to express how very sorry I am for what you have sacrificed to aid us. Kiritsugu explained what it meant for you to turn against your 'host'. It doesn't matter what his intentions were, by the code you believe in and follow, it was painful for you to act as you did." She breathes in and then out. "I won't pretend to understand the intricacies of the code you live by, or how you must feel. But I am sorry for the grief it caused you, and yet... As selfish as it may be..."

She rises from the bench and moves into the aisle, boots clicking, until she can turn to face Bedivere fully. "I still am so very grateful, and will do all that I can to repay the debt that I owe you." She bows fully now, to show her utmost respect for the castle's lord.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight remains still as a statue, and only the steady rise and fall of his chest suggests he's anything but a pale statue. He seems to consider her gratitude in full serious for a moment, but the lack of change in his expression can make him a hard one to read. Just what it is flickering behind those faded violet eyes is hard to say.

For a long moment he doesn't speak. At one point while she continues to explain herself, he shifts his weight, the movement accompanied by the metallic slither of chain links and the rustling of his heavy cloak. Other than that, though, he makes no movement. He doesn't attmept to interrupt her at all.

It isn't until she bows before him that he finally sighs through his nose. It's a quiet sound; oddly, one of mixed relief and weariness.

"I thank you for your kindness, and your understanding. But you owe me no debt. It is Emiya Kiritsugu that I hold accountable, for his actions. Had he informed me ahead of time, perhaps I may have compensated for such an inexcusable breach." Bedivere closes his eyes and looks away. "As it is, I have dishonoured myself in a manner worse than any other crime. To breach Brehon Law is worse even than killing a man. The ability to entertain others in one's hall, to peacefully meet under flag of truce, was invaluable in Camelot."

Ah... so he is a knight of some kind, or at least not from the modern era. Then again, that much is obvious from his attire. He wears it well, with not a trace of awkwardness or unfamiliarity.

His head tilts faintly to the side, violet eyes settling on Irisviel. "After all, what lasting peace could be formed without such a thing, to negotiate and mediate amongst ourselves? Perhaps Camelot sought peace, but the other kingdoms of the age were numerous, and fractious. Few could settle on lasting peace. But, at the very least, Brehon Law allowed for the foundations of that peace. And in Camelot itself, even knights of quarreling houses could speak with one another with civility and honour, and yet not disgrace themselves for not attacking their enemy."

"It is older than knighthood, older than Camelot, older even than my people – for I am not of Camelot." He smiles a thin little half-smile, almost sardonic, as he studies the Einzbern homunculus. "I was a foreigner in court. Ah, I suppose there is no helping it. You will discover the other layers of my identity sooner or later. Forgive me my deception, my lady, for I am not Fionnlagh. At least, that is not how history would remember me."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
He bows formally before Irisviel, hair falling forward, eyes closing momentarily at the apex of his bow.

"Allow me to introduce myself – properly. I am Sir Bedivere of Camelot, Left Hand of the King, Marshal of the Realm, and commander of Camelot's armies. Forgive me my earlier deception, but I dared not reveal the name that I would be remembered for to your patriarch. He surely would have discovered my king's identity. We attempted to obfuscate even her class designation as a Servant, although there is only so much to be done to hide the power of her presence."

He holds up his left hand, for he wears no gauntlets, and the red knotwork of his command seals are bared there. They're similar to those that Kiritsugu would eventually wield, but more soft-edged; more organic-looking – intricate and beautiful, harmonious in a way the sharp, angular lines he would carry never would be.

"I am Sir Bedivere, and my Servant is King Arthur of Camelot. You do not owe us any debt at all, my lady, nor does your daughter."

His hand drops, and he huddles into his cloak once more, as though cold; the church is not particularly warm, and the snow outside is deep. "As for your daughter, there is nothing to thank me for. I am a tactician at heart. While it is possible I could have requested a weapon of Master Shirou, I do not think it would have been in anyone's best interest if I had fought. Your patriarch possesses entirely different skills than those which I am equipped to counter."

"It is true that I am a filidh," he murmurs, which seems to mean either 'advisor' or 'magician' or 'bard,' "but it is a complicated matter, and I am not fully qualified. As it is, I only bear my command seals out of necessity; my king and I have no wish to fight in any War of the Holy Grail. We are thoughly finished with warring, save when our duties see us against the Confederacy."

His head raises, and he shakes it slowly. "I expect no forgiveness from Illyasviel, but I do not ask it. In a question between her wishes and her life, I sought to preserve the latter. Perhaps she may hate me for what I have done to her in robbing her of her free will. Perhaps not. That is her decision to make." He looks up. "I only wish it known to her that I mean no harm, and that she is welcome here, for you no longer have a home in that place you had come from. I am sorry for that. Truly, I am."

"But after considering the possibilities, that was the best possible outcome, I believe." He shifts his weight, finally moving to sit on the edge of one of the pews, lowering himself stiffly and slowly with a popping of joints. "I only hope that I may provide for you a place that feels as much home as the place you left behind. That is my duty, as host, and as lord of this estate. If you have need of anything, anything at all, you need only ask my king or I."

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
Iri straightens up and listens to the explanation offered, making suitable noises and expressions of surprise, sympathy, and – though she was told the blame is not hers – regret. In particular, she seems startled to hear that King Arthur is a girl. "Sir Bedivere and King Arthur... Here in the flesh. Say what you will about the Grail War, it at least allows for some amazing meetings with some amazing people, doesn't it?" She puts a finger to the side of her face and tilts her head. "Though it seems the Multiverse allows the same thing, without all the entanglements of a war." Though she has already introduced herself before, it is only polite to do so again.

"Reintroducing myself, I am Irisviel von Einzbern, of the Einzbern magus family, wife of Kiritsugu Emiya, mother of Illyasviel von Einzbern, honored to meet you, Lord Bedivere..." She curtsies to Bedivere. Before looking up and saying, "...and I am not taking 'no thanks' for an answer on returning the favor of saving the life of my daughter."

She then stands straight again and says, "There's still much I don't understand of the world, let alone of the struggles you went through. The fact that all the tales of King Arthur's legend never mentioned he-SHE was who she really is shows how much I still need to learn. But while I mean no disrespect to Brehon Law, I have to say that from what I've observed of the two of you together..."

Iri puts her hands behind her back, leans forward a bit, and squints her eyes nearly closed as she says, "...I do not think she has anything but respect for what you did." She then shakes her head and goes, 'hm-mm' negatorily. "As a matter of fact, I can't help but think Saber must be very proud of you for, in a dire moment, with few options, choosing loyalty to your friends and allies over abiding by rules that could have cost them their lives."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Something darkens in the knight's expression at the mention of the war. He looks away from the homunculus, and once again he looks weary and time-worn. No great hero of past ages is this; just a battered, tired soldier who's had his fill of warfare. For a brief moment, the look in those violet eyes is unspeakably bitter, and weary.

"That may be so." His voice is just as soft as it had been in the castle, when he had first made his introduction to Irisviel; gentle in tone, soft enough that someone unobservant might well mistake him for a woman with his long hair and soft voice. "It has certainly allowed me an opportunity to serve my king once more, and I am grateful beyond words for that. However, we are also constantly under threat of other Servants and Masters who may not be so discerning over their targets. We have no desire for the Holy Grail, and no desire to fight."

His expression softens, eventually, and he just looks weary. Folding his arms behind his back, he turns to look up at the altar, back stiff and head raised to look up at the rose windows of stained glass, though without sunlight, the glass is dark and strangely foreboding.

Bedivere sighs, and it seems almost regretful.

"Even if you were a scholar whose life's work were the Matter of Britain, I do not think that you would have discovered that fact, Lady Einzbern. It was a careful deception. There were few indeed who were aware of the secret. My king struggled greatly to hide the matter of her gender, and Merlin offered some assistance with his magic. To my knowledge, only the Right Hand of the King, Sir Lancelot, and myself, as well as Sir Gawain, were privy to her secret."

"Yet we did not know at the time that the others knew. When I was appointed marshal, I thought I was the only one who was aware." He shrugs, the chain hauberk slithering, one leather pauldron rustling. "Many still do not know. Just as it is not know that I hail from Dál Riata, or that I was anything beyond one of her loyal knights." He smiles, a little thinly. "In fact, I could find no record that it was remembered I was the commander of her armies. Sir Kay, her foster-brother, was her seneschal and castellan of Camelot. Yet I am hardly remembered."

"I am glad for that."

It seems an odd stance to take, for someone whose presence in tales speaks of such a chief virtue among knighthood; of loyalty beyond all expectations to one's liege. Yet, from what she may have seen of him, he seems a withdrawn and genuinely modest man, quick to praise his allies and quick to diminish his own role in events.

Bedivere sighs one more time, though it seems more dismissive this time; shorter and sharper. He hasn't moved, still standing with his head tilted up to the stained-glass windows.

"She approved of my actions, but I do not know about pride. A knight acts in whatever way he believes is right, and he expects no praise for his actions." Bedivere finally seems to relax a little, looking down at the altar, though he doesn't approach it. "In truth, she would have asked me to do so, even if I had not formulated that plan myself."

Turning to face Irisviel again, he eyes her somewhat obliquely. "Ah. Do not mistake my adherence to Brehon Law for blind obedience. I do not approve of what was done by your patriarch any more than I approve of Emiya Kiritsugu's actions." Curiously, he never seems to use any sort of title for Kiritsugu. Is it a form of subtle disrespect? He smiles, sourly. "The ancient laws are hardly black and white. In that instance, with so many lives on the line, I would not have stood idly by. But it was still a difficult thing to do."

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
"It was a really good deception!" Irisviel offers supportively, as though trying to console Bedivere. She picks up on a lot of things, but why the knight is so seemingly-upset and gloomy is something she hasn't figured out yet. Honestly, this man reminds her of Kiritsugu, but she hasn't had the time required to get to know him, and Bedivere has not shown the same degree of warmth her hubsand does when he is around her. But telling the lord of the castle that he's colde than the Magus Slayer is probably not a good idea, and Iri doesn't really think in those terms anyway, so the idea never occurs to her. Instead she's just trying to understand, cope, and offer something productive. But for all her insight and her 'miraculous existence', she is still learning about the world. So she stops talking and resumes listening.

So it isn't quite as binding as she had imagined... And Bedivere would have broken it either way. But he still feels bad about it regardless. It seems as though he is determined to hurt himself and to despise Kiritsugu. Still, she can not say his sense of shame is misplaced or that Kiritsugu's actions were not wrong. He should have spoken to the others, and trusted them, the way he trusts Irisviel herself.

But there should still be something... Some way to resolve things between these two men, and to move forward. She'll have to think on that, and speak to Kiritsugu as well. "Though you've graciously permitted my daughter and I to stay here for the time being, I wonder if you've given any thought to the future?" Irisviel asks, after acknowledging all of Bedivere's words and being silent for a time. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but to go from being protected in one castle to being protected in another seems like a bit of waste considering what Saber-Ah, I mean, King Arthur, has told me of everything to see in the Multiverse. I approve of Illya remaining guarded, but I was always prepared for the risk to my life when I agreed to follow Kiritsugu to Fuyuki for the Grail War. Am I free to come and go if I choose? Or should I be staying here for my own protection?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Slowly, almost painfully, the knight lowers himself into one of the wooden pews. The bench creaks under the weight of his chain, which rattles against the wooden seat. He leans back against the seat back, in turn leaning his head back and baring his throat, letting out a tired sigh. His eyes drift closed after a moment.

"I would not keep you here as a prisoner." His throat works as he speaks; his voice is still quiet, but it carries a weary edge to it. Yet it isn't the weariness of body, despite the shadows under his eyes, but something that runs far deeper. "You are free to come and go as you please, Lady Einzbern. Never did I imply that you could not. Although, for the time being, I would recommend staying for a time. It would be best for you to rest after your ordeal. And until we know where Lord Einzbern is, or what his plans are, I cannot guarantee your safety. But that is your decision to make."

Pulling himself straight, slowly, he rests his elbows over his knees, spine curving as he slumps a little. "Please call her Saber, if you must call her something. That is her name. She is no king, here, just as I am no Marshal of the Realm. And it is not safe to refer to her as king. As I said, there are other Servants, other Wars of the Holy Grail, and I would not like to endanger ourselves. Or you. It is possible that you may be mistaken as her Master."

"I do not know what manner of filidh you are." He turns his head, regarding her with those violet eyes for a moment. It seems to be his word for magi, or something like them; and his eyes are bright as he studies her. "But if I am a candle, you are a bonfire."

"But yes." He looks back to the altar. "You are free to come and go as you please. I am not your warden. While I will defend you with my life so long as you remain in these walls, I am not your minder, or your keeper; if Emiya Kiritsugu wishes to assume that duty, that is his own business."

He regards her for a few moments more, frowning as though he were puzzled.

"Tell me, Lady Einzbern. Why are his eyes so empty, yet he feels so much for you? How can he feel so much for you – and I can tell that he does, to have risked so much for your sake – and yet feel so little?"

"I lived through the Battle of Camlann, the only survivor of my king's host, and the last one left to administer her final rites, although I could not bury my brother-knights." He looks down, brow furrowing. "I understand blood, and fire, and death; I understand remembering that place five years later as though I were standing there still, and waking from it in the night." He looks to her, his expression one of reluctant confusion.

"But why does he bear the same look in his eyes...?"

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
"Oh, I didn't mean to imply that," Irisviel offers worriedly. "I apologize if I have offended you. I know it's best I stay here, I've just... Never been outside of the walls of the Einzbern castle before today. The furthest I'd been was the courtyard. I know it's unwise to venture out right now. But when I think of everything out there I could see and experience myself..." She sighs and folds her hands over her belly. "It's selfish, I know. You've already done so much. I shouldn't be burdening you with petty desires. I apologize." She bows her head, and moves back towards the pew she had been seated upon before, taking her time with sitting down. "I understand the importance of calling her 'Saber' instead, of course. Concealing a Servant's identity is just one of the things Kiritsugu has taught me. I just thought it might have been awkward for you to have me refer to her that way, given that you knew her life as well."

She can see the pain in Bedivere's movements, but isn't sure what she can do about it. They seem too old to be corrected by magic – wear and tear rather than injuries. And based on the indications the knight has given, it seems he doesn't just dislike Kiritsugu, he dislikes magi in general. She may be mistaken. The translation of that word – something else she is still getting used to: understanding languages she doesn't speak – does not necessarily carry with it any flattering connotations.

It may very well be that Bedivere would refuse magical treatment. And yet... No. That's something to consider another time. The knight is speaking of more important matters now. Iri finally seats herself again, and listens once more. History lessons. She definitely received those when Kiritsugu was teaching her, helping her to develop into a person instead of just a shell with no self-preservation or understanding of society. But she can not claim to know even a fraction of the world's history, especially the parts that have been obfuscated or simply misreported. And reading something does not convey the full depth of emotion of those who lived through it, their own feelings, their own perceptions, their way of life, their experiences... Even being told doesn't necessarily impart that understanding. Such is the case with the man whom Bedivere now inquires about as well.

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
She has been told things, but does not fully grasp them. She understands she cares about Kiritsugu, so she wants to ensure his happiness. She knows he feels pain, so she wants to soothe it. The same can be said about Saber and Bedivere, though she scarcely knows them. They are all people who have become important to her, in one way or another. So while she may not be able to experience the suffering and horror that her host clearly has, she does not need to in order to know she wants to help him somehow. The topic of Kiritsugu, however, is a complex one, and she tries to order her thoughts on that before speaking on other subjects.

"I don't know the whole of Kiritsugu's history. He hasn't even told me all of it. But when he was a child, something bad happened in the place he lived. Someone he cared about became infected with a malady... Vampirism. He said he was too kind then. He couldn't harden his heart to grant her the wish she begged of him. To end her life before it was too late, and she lost control." Iri puts one arm across her lap and her other hand to her cheek, and leans forward on her elbow. "I wasn't there for any of this, you understand. But as a result of choosing to save one life, he says it wound up costing everyone else their lives – and didn't even save that girl's life, in the end. When he learned of the Mage Association and the Church, and of who was responsible for this disaster..."

Irisviel sits up suddenly, and lets out a breath. She smiles sadly at Bedivere. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure how much more I should say without Kiritsugu here. But his idealogy that one must sacrifice some lives in order to save many others was, in his words, born of the decision he made in dealing with the one responsible. Saving one life had cost him everyone he knew – even the one he saved. His act of compassion brought only suffering. But he doesn't believe killing – even if only a few – is a good thing. I don't really understand all of it, myself. I'm just parroting his wish. I know that being happy causes him pain, and that he wishes with all his heart that the world we all live in – or, I suppose, the Multiverse now – didn't require war, suffering, or killing. That was the wish he wanted from the Grail. But now..." She sighs and tilts her head back to look up at the ceiling. "Now I'm not sure what he wants. He might still want what he always has. But I'm not sure he's willing to fight in the Grail War anymore."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"You have given no offense." Bedivere shakes his head, raising his head to look up to the altar, and the darkened stained-glass windows behind it. His eyes fall half-closed. "That is understandable. I felt the same when I left Dál Riata. I wanted to see every alley, every street, every field of Albion's. I could not, of course; I was bound to my training as a knight-aspirant."

He glances back to Irisviel, studying her. "It must be the same for you, although you are truly free to come and go as you please."

"If you must call her something, in private company, than call her Arturia. That is her name. Not Arthur." He sighs, but at least he seems to be defrosting, however little. In some ways, he isn't so dissimilar to Kiritsugu – slow to trust, and a little suspicious of those he doesn't know. "Around potential Servants, though, I would sooner call her by her class designation."

Well, at least he seems to be defrosting, at least a little. That he even speaks to her at all at length like this is probably suggestive that there's some measure of trust – her inherently good nature is so unlike Kiritsugu's that it's hard for her not to come across as well-intentioned and likeable.

"Understandable. I would not speak of matters relating to my king so. Especially not to someone I did not know well. But thank you for that much. It will help me to understand him, for that is all I wish for. Understanding. Perhaps I may speak with him later." He sighs, reaching up and rubbing at his face. "He is a complicated man."

So is the knight, however, with hidden depths he rarely reveals to others.

Where the Grail War is concerned, though, he shakes his head. "I would not place any stock in the War of the Holy Grail, Lady Irisviel von Einzbern, for it is treacherous and such mysteries were never meant for the minds of men to know. There are some things only the Good Lord keeps in His knowing. And such things that may be wrought by the Holy Grail... that is one of them."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Many of my brother-knights sought the Holy Grail in their lives. I have seen no good come of it, and I am weary of hearing about such high hopes fastened to it, for it cannot be trusted, and one loses much in its pursuit." He smiles, a little sadly. "Did you know? Of all the knights I knew who sought after it, none of them ever achieved it, that I am aware of. Good and loyal men, men I was proud to call my brother-knights. Such a waste."

He stands again, folding his arms over his chest and looking to the altar. It seems more of a defensive gesture than a standoffish one; as though he were feeling weary and vulnerable.

"Perhaps I am simply tired. I am sorry to disappoint you, Lady Einzbern. Go where you will, but you will have no protection beyond these walls unless you should ask for it. While we are honour-bound to comply, we still have much work to do in this place. It is no Camelot, but these people nonetheless depend upon us... perhaps you may ask of the Union, and find someone who would be willing to protect you while you are abroad. And perhaps, if I were not busy with my duties, I would be willing to do that for you."

He turns back to her, violet eyes tired, but he offers a small smile. "For now, I am happy to see you hale and hearty within these walls." He bows his head. "Perhaps I may have broken Brehon Law. And I am indeed unhappy about that. But some oaths must be broken." His head raises. "I swore to my king that I would protect her. I failed in that, too, yet there has been good come of that as well. She is here once more, and I am free to stand at her side; not as her vassal, but..."

Bedivere trails off, and seems to consider for a moment, as though uncertain of what precisely to call himself. It's clear that Master and Servant mean a great deal to one another; that they are more than simply king and knight – the sheer intricacy of his command seals is enough to prove that.

"As friends," he states, shaking his head. Again, that flicker of a smile; but this time there's a warmth to it when he speaks of the King of Knights. "Never would I have dreamt to be able to do that. To see her smile. To see her without the weight of the crown dragging upon her." The smile fades. "So I would hardly fault you, Lady Einzbern, for wanting to see the wonders of the multiverse for yourself. There are a great many wonders to see. A great many wonders, indeed."

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
Irisviel smiles broadly at Bedivere. To see him starting to melt his cold exterior a bit, and to acknowledge his happiness and connections with others, and to treat her so well and with such trust – yes, she was right to decide that she liked him. She doesn't always go through the inbetween-steps before achieving her results, at least in magecraft. With people, though she may have insights, there's no real way to achieve the result of understanding another's heart without taking the time and effort to get to know them and consider how they feel. She thinks she understands the knight better now. "I agree very much with that plan." She considers, for a moment, and then says, "There is one thing that I think I can do, not just as repayment for your aid, but to help protect everyone who dwells in the castle. I do not mean to brag, but I have some skill with thaumaturgical defenses. Bounded Fields, in particular. I'd be happy to set up such defenses for the castle to protect against unwelcome intruders." She does not use the euphemism of 'guest' to mean 'trespasser' given the importance of guests and hospitality to Sir Bedivere. Calling individuals seeking to barge in with ill-intent or sneak in with the same is what they are, and they should be called such.

"I promise they'll be discrete, so as not to alarm those unused to magecraft." She clasps her hands together in front of herself like she's praying or begging, and closes one eye so she can squint at Bedivere with the other. "Will you grant permission, as lord of the castle?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Thaumaturgy." Bedivere repeats the unfamiliar term somewhat awkwardly, for it's spoken in a language he doesn't understand. He sighs as though resigned, shaking his head. "More witchcraft, then. Well, so be it. I once thought of it as ungodly, but I cannot seem to be rid of such things. Surely He must be telling me something about it."

He seems to consider the offer, drumming his fingers against his leg, frowning. His lessons haven't yet included things like bounded fields, new to the ways of the Otherworldly as he may be; the things that can be done with it are beyond him.

"I will consider your request." He pushes himself to his feet, suddenly restless; pacing the width of the space before the altar, folding his hands behind his back. "There is something to understand about this place. There are beings that live beyond the world we know, beings living in the Otherworld. They are the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk, the Ever-Living Ones. And they are uncertain of this mortal upstart who has taken over this place, which was once under their stewardship. They are afraid he may prove to be a warlord, rather than a seneschal."

He looks to her, fixing the homunculus with those faded, violet eyes. "I do not wish to make them unduly cautious. Perhaps in time, I would allow you to do that, for it is something that would prove useful, I think; doubtless, or you would not offer, though I know not what may be done with such a thing." He must be a pretty terrible Master, if he doesn't even know what a bounded field is. "But until the Tylwyth Teg may trust me, and my guardianship of these lands, I would not provoke them."

"And, perhaps, if you were to explain to me what you may do with such a thing." He smiles, a little uncertainly. "I am a Master, that much is true. I suspect you discerned that much. But I am a poor filidh, at best. I was to become one, on my return to Dál Riata. Only... I never returned. I remained to become a knight-aspirant. Therefore, my training as a filidh was never begun. I learned what things were useful to a bard, perhaps... but not the skills that set the filídh apart."

Emiya Kiritsugu (603) has posed:
"Ahh!" Iri lets out as she lowers her hands and clenches them into fists of determination. "I understand. That would probably be wisest then. Aggravating powerful spirits doesn't seem like the best course of action regardless of the circumstances. Doing it when you are trying to work peacefully with them would be quite foolish." Iri gets up off the pew once again, and puts her hat back on her head. "I'd be delighted to be able to explain or instruct you, if you're interested. I know most magi aren't what many would consider traditionally 'good' people, but I believe that has to do with how they were raised and taught, not the nature of the work itself."

Irisviel looks towards Bedivere and says, "I can think of at least a few magi I know who I'd have no problem trusting in." She squints her eyes a bit as she smiles at the time-displaced knight. "A bounded field is basically just a magical barrier. It seperates the inside from the outside. They can do many things and there are offensive variants, but they are, by nature, defensive in purpose. The bounded fields surrounding the Einzbern castle were very strong and intricate, but it seems Kiritsugu managed to find a way to shut them down in order to get us out. I understand we had some allies I have yet to meet on the outside to thank for that." Ah, right. She hasn't met Archer of Brown or Staren yet.

"Penetrating bounded fields is a gift of Kiritsugu's – a talent – but outside of a Servant, I would not expect most people to be able to get through a well-made bounded field." Then she laughs a bit as she realizes she may have gone into teacher mode with a student both older than her and not necessarily possessing the knowledge to grasp what's being described yet. Too much, too fast. "It seems we both have a great deal to learn. I'd be quite happy to learn together with you. For now, however, I should see how Illya is doing. She was making quite the snow man when I stepped inside." Irisviel bows, and then turns to leave, before pausing and asking. "...You'd be welcome if you wished to join us."

Stoic, noble, lordly Sir Bedivere, out making snowmen!?

...Maybe.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Turning, the knight folds his arms again, cloak rippling as it falls behind him. He turns his head just far enough to regard Irisviel, though there's no hostility in his oblique regard. Rather, he seems to be giving her what attention he can, even though he's doubtless the type to worry about several different problems at once. Where knights like Gawain are cheerful and inclined to be a little bit silly, light-hearted in spite of the gravity of their duties, Bedivere is the precise opposite.

Of course, that's what made him such an excellent Marshal of the Realm. Little escaped his notice, or in the case of the many problems plaguing the kingdom, his contemplation. It made for an excellent official, but the personal cost was often high. Even now he still heals from burning the candle at both ends – perhaps the source of his stiffness and slowness as much as any injury. A lifetime of working past one's limits will do that.

"I am already receiving instruction, actually, though I thank you for your kindly offer. Perhaps if I require explanation, I will ask... but I do not know how compatible with modern magi I would be." He shucks off his left gauntlet, showing Irisviel the command seal on his left hand. It's similar to the one Kiritsugu bears, but almost organic-looking. Bedivere's is also a sword, but where Kiritsugu's is harsh angles and sharp lines, the knight's is artful, Celtic-style knotwork; uncommonly intricate. "In another time, I might have become a filidh. But that time is past, and in any case, a filidh is not a magus."

The gauntlet is replaced; he flexes his fingers back into them, articulated steel plates clicking quietly with the motion. "The same could be said of Albion, or Ulaidh, or Alba; or my own Dál Riata. Magicians are not inherently evil, though it would seem that there is some form of difference between 'magician' and 'magus.' I am still not certain. Perhaps misunderstood, or misguided... but what they do, that is not necessarily evil in and of itself."

"Aye?" Bedivere's brow wrinkles a little as he folds his arms, frowning; it's obvious her lecture's already lost him. He's certainly older – thirty-four, to be precise, although the shadows and lines under his eyes make him seem a little older than that. "Perhaps another time. I do not think I am the most welcome company for Illyasviel, at the moment. Better perhaps to give her time to forget her anger."

Sighing, he drops his arms to his sides, folding his hands behind his back again. "In truth, I should retire for the eve. The hour grows late, and I am weary; and my lady will be wondering where I have gone." Hmm. Lady, and not king? "Good eve, Lady Einzbern. Seek me out if you have need of me, or my king; or any of those whom we are allied with in this place. You are safe here, and so is your daughter. That I promise you, upon my honour."

With that, provided she makes no move to stop him, the tall knight will turn and take his leave, trudging back out to the snow, past the snowman-building Illyasviel, and into the citadel proper.