4457/For a Quest

For a Quest
Date of Scene:	24 August 2016
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Bedivere questions Saber on whether she truly wants to return to a mortal existence. If she does, he admits that he will do whatever it takes to find her and restore her.
Cast of Characters:	482, 346

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Summer in Dun Realtai has been a surprisingly mild affair, with temperatures never quite passing the threshold of comfort. The sun has been warm, smelling of the fields and the sunlit earth.

  Not so any more. Autumn has come roaring into the valley, and done so with a vengeance. The nights have become cold and sharp, with days of grey and intermittent rain. When the rain falls, it's been the knife-edged rain that preceeds winter.

  It's well into the small hours of the night, the sky still dark and clouded. Wind howls through the valley, throwing rain against the citadel's windows. It sounds like handsful of nails being hurled against the glass; if there were shutters, they would probably be torn from their hinges. Most of the village is asleep, and so are the people who live and stay in the citadel.

  Almost everyone, anyway. The land's steward has always been a light sleeper, and the sound of rain being thrown against the windows with such violence is enough to wake him with a start, jerking slightly as he looks to the nearest window... he's not quite awake, but he's awake enough to tell there's no threat; it's only the rain. Twisting, he rubs at his face with a near-silent groan. He'd been sleeping a nice dreamless sleep, and he huffs a sigh of disappointment to find he's awake. One hand snatches the blanket higher, shivering. The tower is cold, the hearth long gone dark.

  Well... maybe being awake isn't so bad. His eyes flick down to his companion, but he doesn't say anything just yet. If he didn't wake her, he'd rather she slept on. He is not so efficient a Master that she can sustain herself entirely with the essence he provides; sleep is a necessary evil, unfortunately.

  Perhaps, though... perhaps some day he might change that...

Saber (346) has posed:
As a mortal, Arturia had never been a heavy sleeper. Had she not been raised by an old knight who had been training her as a knight nearly her entire childhood, or had she not grown up beside an older brother who loved to play pranks on her, perhaps she would not have been. That habit of sleeping lightly had served her well even in Camelot, though she often woke as Guinevere slept beside her, at times rising in the middle of the night and having difficulty returning to sleep. At times she would rise earlier than usual, occupying her time with training until breakfast.

     That changed somewhat as a Servant. With Kiritsugu as her Master, she conserved her energy as much as possible even as she accompanied Irisviel, though she remained a light sleeper to better protect her pseudo-Master. When she formed the contract with Sakura, she generally conserved energy just to be on the safe side, though the younger Tohsaka never seemed to suffer any ill effects, and had ended up sleeping lightly and rising early much as she had done in Camelot. However, when Sakura transferred her contract to Bedivere, that old habit had needed to change.

     In addition to eating more to supplement her mana intake, Saber had forced herself to become less active than when she had first found herself in the multiverse. Though not easily exhausted, she had developed a habit of micronapping in idle moments, if not resting breifly throughout the day. She could only imagine how much more she would have needed to sleep had the 'rules' of her world applied to the multiverse in general. She would have required constant sleep, most likely. As it was, the flaxen-haired knight could at least continue to help with management of the village, even some of the quite literal heavy lifting some tasks required. and should combat ever arise, she was more than fit to answer any threat to their home.

     Yet, she was as light a sleeper as always, and when Bedivere woke from his own light sleep, the Servant woke in turn. Slowly, the jade eyes opened blearily, a sign that she was not entirely awake, but somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. But she could make out the vague form next to her as she lifted her hand to rub her eyes in a languid gesture.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Few of the Knights of the Round Table had slept as lightly as Bedivere had. He had always been a light sleeper, startling awake at the slightest sound, often keeping a knife under whatever was at hand to serve as a pillow. He's left off sleeping with a knife at hand in Dun Realtai, having no need for a weapon.

  More heavy sleep has only been at the mercy of medication or sedatives. His need for either has been sparse, lately, probably to the relief of the King of Knights. He's never liked muddling his wits, and he tends to refuse them unless in genuine need.

  Small sounds still wake him up, though, and the storm is as subtle as a blacksmith's anvil. Raising an arm, Bedivere rubs it across his eyes, squinting into the darkness; he can feel her stirring beside him, enough to know she's not really asleep as he had hoped. She needs her rest, and he can't help a twinge of guilt at waking her up.

  "Sorry to wake you," he murmurs, gently reaching out to smooth some of her hair back down. At least he sounds like he's recovered from his cold. Half a glance is flicked at the windows as rain clatters against the glass again. The pale-haired knight sighs. "The rain is loud. I will have to go out again in the morning, and see that nothing has begun to flood."

  She's going to tell him not to, he's pretty sure, and he's going to be unhappy about it. In some ways, both knights are extremely predictable...

Saber (346) has posed:
In contrast, the storm was not one of the things which would have woken the Servant by itself. For all its power, it was a force of nature, not unlike Arturia herself was now. What would have awoken her -- besides the distress of her Master -- would have been the sounds of people; an invasion or even just a silent assassin or spy lurking within the halls, or even the distant scramble as a roof collpsed. The former would have been answered with Excalibur; the latter with a quick dressing and dash outside to assist the villagers. Fortunately, none of these scenarios were happening.

     Instead, the mere waking of her Master had woken her in turn, perhaps more to do with their preternatural link than any noise or motion on his part.

     Shiftling slightly, she shook her head. "Do not be," she reassured him before stifling a yawn. The slightly drugged tea had apparently been just strong enough to knock him out for a necessary few hours. "I am gladdened...it would seem you have recovered, for the most part."

     The petite knight sighed. Indeed, she was not going to entertain the idea. "No, that is something which I can do," she replied. "There will be plenty of tasks awaiting you after one more day of rest."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Even two years gone, it still seems strange to see the king in such a state. In Camelot, she would have ensured that her appearance was perfect before she left the royal chambers. The armour of her station was one part of it, but the other was the mental preparedness to face the day and its onslaught.

  There's just no need for battening down the proverbial hatches like that, here in Dun Realtai; there are no politics and no assassins to threaten them. Neither king nor marshal have need of being battle-ready from the instant they've leapt out of their beds.

  Probably just as surreal to the king is to see her marshal in a state of unreadiness. Much as her, he had ensured every detail was perfect before he left his quarters in the mornings. Not a single chain-link was out of place in his armour, and not a hair out of place on his head. Similarly, the coldly pragmatic and impartial mask had been part of his repertoire, too. He'd worn it well, as well as she had worn her own mask.

  Right now, though, he's just groggy and half-awake. That much is obvious when he takes several seconds to parse what she'd just said, propped up on an elbow and squinting blearily down at her.

  Huh?

  Oh.

  Right.

  Recovery. He'd had a cold. His syrupy thoughts slowly arrange themselves into an order that makes sense. While they do, Bedivere allows himself a yawn, wide enough for his jaw to pop. At least he isn't sick any more. Illness and injury are unspeakably inconvenient for a man who doesn't know how not to work himself half to death.

  Bedivere looks down at her again while he works on putting together her second statement.

  Of course she's not going to let him go out in the rain. He frowns, and makes a decidedly unhappy sound, but he doesn't argue the point. Either he's learning, or he's just not awake enough to argue yet. The drugged tea must have hit him hard. Normally, he'd be alert the instant his feet hit the ground, as quick to wake as a cat.

  Now, though, he eases himself back under the blanket, huddling against her because it's genuinely /cold/ in their quarters. He mumbles into her hair, huffing an unhappy sigh. "The next day, then..."

  For a few long moments he doesn't say anything, but she may feel his eyes on her. This time it isn't the blank stare of the groggy, but a more thoughtful expression. Almost hesitantly, he reaches out to run his fingers through her hair, the movement distracted. He lets his hand fall to cup the side of her face, but his own expression settles into a thoughtful frown.

  "I... have a question, my lady."

Saber (346) has posed:
Long ago, Bedivere might have been shocked to discover that the king believed to be inhuman had her unguarded moments when her hair was messy, her mien less-than perfect and in fact normal. However, in Camelot such moments existed behind the closed doors of the royal chambers. Once she passed through those doors, only the king existed.

     But in Dun Realtai, that mask had been allowed to slip. Though she prepared herself each day for the same tidy appearance as her marshal, it now lacked the rigid presentation of the ideal king. Professional rather than distant and ethereal.

     At the same time, she had likewise never seen him in any state other than his own knightly mask. She had never so much as seen him with his hair loose and flowing down his shoulders and back, much less mussed, or with his eyes anything other than sharp and focused.

     That is, save one time; that mien was nowhere to be found following the battle when Caliburn had been lost.

     Well, even if he was surprisingly compliant now due to the sleep and drugged tea, it was enough for Arturia. Checking for flooding damage -- barring any destruction to homes which would force anyone outside -- was something even the villagers would not brave until the rains had passed. In the unlikely event someone's home was destroyed, the knights would be out helping the townspeople, but their modern imporvements had meant that they should be more secure than they ever had been. The concern was for long-term effects, something which would demand their attention...but only when it was safe to tend to it.

     Her eyes slowly became clearer and more focused, lit with curiosity now. "What is it?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes, the pale-haired knight seems to consider for a moment. He may in fact be thinking about how surreal it is to see her in a state less than the distant king, but there's no telling what's going on behind those slightly blank eyes.

  He still doesn't seem fully alert just yet. The tea he's been using isn't too strong, but it's enough to leave him foggy-headed once he wakes... and compliant enough not to argue about patrolling in the rain. Thank the Lord for the small favours.

  One hand moves to brush her hair back, idly arranging it and setting it into some kind of order. He can't help a faint smile as he does. Even a small gesture like that is something he still takes pleasure in; his hands may be scarred and callused from holding a sword, but he can still feel how soft her hair is. Softer by far than he had imagined itto be, all those long years.

  Back to the topic at hand, though. He'd said he'd had a question, and she asks him to elabourate.

  Bedivere seems to hesitate over how to start. Maybe he's wondering what words to use, or how precisely to put them.

  "After you bade me throw Excalibur into the mere, you bade me place you in a barge, and set it onto the mere as well. That you would be seen to." He shifts, propping himself up higher on his elbow, licking dry lips. "I had assumed that you were beyond saving, dying of the wound dealt you. I... I had grieved. Yet you had told me, some time past, that you were not..."

  That she wasn't dead or dying. He seems almost nervous, before looking back to her and frowning thoughtfully. "My lady, if... if there were some means to go back and find you, to mend the grievous wound dealt you... to restore your life once more, to allow you to become mortal once again... to... to /save/ you..."

  His eyes are shadowed when he looks to her, but there's just enough light from the odd flash of lightning outside to show that his expression is anxious, brow furrowed. "Is that... something that you would want...?"

Saber (346) has posed:
It was a testament to their close relationship that Arturia relaxed into his touch. Both knights had been particular about their personal space, if for no other reason than the necessity dictated by their respective positions. In her case, raised with male company almost exclusively had taught her a certain traditional stoicism, even if she and Kay tended to rough-house often. Yet, such habits were difficult to break, and there were few people with whom she was comfortable enough to allow past her usual boundaries. Just as Bedivere was uncomfortable with even some of their friends expressing friendship through hugging, so too was she. Some even delighted in the almost bashful way in which she reacted to being hugged or doted on, only partially because she had never seen herself as 'cute' as Fate insisted.

     That stiffness was nowhere to be found at present, only a barely-audible, contented sigh any indication she had not yet fellan back to sleep. In fact, she probably would have, save for his hesitant question. Even through the following silence as he struggled, it was easy not to be lulled back, not when he had her complete attention.

     In the back of her mind, she considered that he was being so open about these thoughts now, the sleep and drugged tea having this effect. While there were no secrets between them now, there were still many things which she wondered about in places so deep within her soul that sometimes even she was unaware of them. It would seem that he too harboured things of which perhaps even he -- when fully conscious -- could not voice.

     Yet, she had to admit that she was caught by surprise. Rarely did her thoughts return to that outcome of Camlann; when she thought of the battle, she only thought of those she had lost, of Bedivere's suffering afterwards, and considered it something the Holy Grail would change if only she obtained it and wished her reign out of history.

     Eventually, she had started to think of her own part in it as an ending of that particular life. Trapped in time, her body would die eventually, but Arturia had started to finally and truly live in the present. Perhaps when the time came she would return and pass on, but in the now, she was a knight of the Union and a protector of Dun Realtai.

     But in truth, she should have considered Bedivere's position. True, she had been returned to him, albeit as a being not quite human. Not that she had truly been human ever since she drew Caliburn, but as a Servant, it could be said that though she had always had one foot in the mortal world and one in the Otherworld, most of her weight now rested in the foot in the latter. She was alive...yet not quite existing fully in the mortal world.

     More importantly, her Left Hand had felt he had personally failed her. He had believed for five years that she had died, that he had laid her to rest. But would it even have been possible to save her, with Avalon missing?

     "In truth, I had never considered it a possibility," she admitted after an extended silence, as if struggling to form her thoughts into words. "When I asked the spirit of the world to permit me the cance to undo my mistakes, I had thought only of obtaining the Holy Grail and remaking history. When I discovered that it was irreparably corrupted, I simply became a knight of the Union, and a protector of my Master."

     Would she want to become mortal again, were it possible? Human?

     "It is rather complicated," she slowly admitted. "As a Servant, I am capable of a great many things which I was not, even with the powers of Excalibur and Avalon. I believe I have more use as a Servant..."

     There was a drawn silence again. "Yet, were I to be honest with myself, and were I to consider only my own feelings on the matter...it would seem I am little different than anyone. After all, who would not prefer to be human?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The constant warfare might have had something to do with the pale-haired knight's aloofness. In those few instances where people did get close enough to touch him, it was so often to do harm. On several occasions he had been badly wounded, the worst being in the battle that claimed Caliburn.

  Although Bedivere had never had any occasion to let anyone close to him during his tenure in Camelot, he has in the multiverse, and he's shown a distinct aversion to it. It takes conscious effort for him not to tense up around most people.

  He did not react with bashfulnes; he tended to react with his claws out, subconsciously fearing attack. Only Arturia seems to be able to bypass those fight-or-flight reflexes.

  Bedivere is silent as she puzzles her way through her thoughts, expression not quite grim, but still anxious. It's a sensitive subject, one that he's been mulling over for the better part of a year, uncertain of how to broach the topic. Would she laugh at him for wanting to return to mortality, when her body lay broken and dying in a little boat near Camlann, perhaps in the custody of the faerie queens?

  That alone might necessitate some clever diplomacy. The Tylwyth Teg are a capricious lot, and they might not be so inclined to release the body of King Arthur to one who, in their eyes, would be a stranger.

  "I see." He seems to relax, if only a little. The arms around her are trembling so slightly that someone else would miss it, but only Arturia has ever been able to read him as well as he could read her. "I see. With no recourse, you left it behind, just as I had turned aside from my path as a filidh. Yet I do not think it would be a waste of time."

  He smiles, a little sadly. "I failed you, my lady. My sacred duty was to protect you. I could not save anyone at Camlann, but worst of all is that I could not save you. I swore to you, silently, when you touched Caliburn to my shoulders, that I would protect you no matter what befell you. That I would stand against anything that would challenge you or seek to do you harm, no matter the cost to myself. And I failed in that oath."

  "Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask. Why would you want wish to remain a Servant? You are powerful now, more powerful than you ever were in life. Excalibur is returned to your hand, as a Servant. You do not feel cold, nor heat, nor does the passing of years affect you." He curls a finger, touching the knuckle to the side of her face. It's a curiously hesitant gesture, as though he were uncertain.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "Though... I wonder, sometimes, what you may have looked like if you had not taken Caliburn from the stone." He must still be strung out on the aftereffects of his medicine. He tilts his head almost thoughtfully, regarding her. "I think you would still have a certain fineness of feature; that is simply how you are. But taller, perhaps. Would you have worn your hair longer, I wonder? Half-bound, perhaps, like mine...?"

  Most of that is given almost under his breath, as though he were talking more to himself than to her. He remembers himself after a moment, though, eyes focusing again as he listens to the rest of her explanation.

  "I do not know," he says at length, looking away from her, as though shamed. "That is why I thought to ask. I... I would do this for you, no matter what it took, no matter how much I must travel or what I must challenge. For you, my love; anything. But... but I would not do so if that were not your will."

  His hand returns to her face, touch light as a feather. "But if I am honest with myself... I would see you enjoy this place not as a Servant, not caught like a dragonfly in amber, out of time... but as yourself, as I remember you; as you remember being -- able to feel, to experience things, as you were once able." Before Caliburn, before Camelot; before she ever had the cares and worries of kingship forced upon her.

Saber (346) has posed:
Such a quest would not be a waste of time if something good came out of it, but that was what concerned her. Setting off on something which was only a hypothetical at this point, leaving Dun Realtai in the care of another steward in the meanwhile, seemed unwise at best and a fool's errand at worst. There were simply too many uncertainties as things were now.

     Yet, in the end it mattered little. Neither of them so much as even knew how to return through the weald connecting that world to the multiverse, much less how to find Avalon to cure her of her mortal wounds. It might be that the Union possessed artefacts or technology capable of healing her mortal body, but that too was merely hypothetical. It might have been, she considered, that she had never died at all, instead remaining in stasis on the faerie isle and watched over by her kin amongst the Tylwyth Teg until she could be healed, making it possible to be restored to a human life. Or she had died and been buried somewhere human hands could not reach, and her current state was merely borrowed time with their own time effectively frozen, only to begin again should that stasis be disturbed.

     More importantly, she could not simply leave Dun Realtai merely to find out. Arturia existed now to protect it...and to make Bedivere happy, as much as she was able. Yet, from the sound of it, her status as a Servant had been something secretly troubling him below the surface all this time.

     There was one certainty, however. "You did not fail me," she insisted, shaking her head. "You were faithful until the last, and you obeyed my order to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake, as difficult as that was. I wish that I had not needed to ask that of you, but...you carried it out faithfully. That was all I could request of you."

     She smiled slightly, though it held traces of sadness. "aye, that is true...and there are those who would gladly trade mortality for the power. Yet, we must rely on Masters to sustain us, and we must constantly draw on magic merely to continue to exist. My existence in this state was intended to be temporary -- a fortnight at the most -- and was not truly intended to be a permanent state. Whatever advantages it holds would depend on how willing one would be to endure its disadvantages." She paused for a moment before continuing. "That does not even take into account that a Servant is not truly human, but a spirit of humanity given a transient form."

     It was another thing Arturia had never considered; what her life would have been like or what her appearance would have been had she never claimed Caliburn. Merlin might posit that she was always destined to become the King of Britain, but this hypothetical exercise would not draw her away from Dun Realtai. "That too was something I never considered," she admitted. "I cast aside both femininity and humanity to become king...I believed that I could not afford to consider what might have been, not even as a Servant."

     A quiet sigh answered his last question. "Do not trouble yourself over the matter," she assured him. "Our thoughts are better spent caring for Dun Realtai. Whatever wish I might have to be human once more is simply a flight of fancy on my part. What we have in this place is far more than I would have dared to dream of, far more than I believed I aver deserved."

     Arturia smiled languidly. "For the first time since my childhood, I am truly content."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  To go by the knight's quiet state, righting the wrongs of Camlann had been preying on him for some time. It's possible he had been brooding over that very matter since the end of the Battle of Camlann. In truth, he's done well to stem the tide of self-loathing; Camlann is something he will always feel some degree of responsibility for.

  She might feel him rest his head over hers, arms settling around her and tightening subtly. Regardless of what she is, human or Servant or something between, she is here now. Yet he wonders, sometimes, what had happened to her body. If she had not actually perished, as seems to be the case; if her body is held in stasis and watched over somehow by the Tylwyth Teg, there can be some hope of restoring her.

  It's just a matter of finding. It isn't impossible -- their reality exists, somewhere in the multiverse. He simply has no recollection of how he got away from it, or how he would find it again. Trying to find that needle out of a multiversal haystack would be the grandest of fool's errands.

  "Yes I did," he insists, so quiet that his protest almost has no voice. "Were it not for that, you would yet live." Bedivere swallows, throat dry. He did carry out that final order, even if the doing had nearly killed him. What's done is done, though. She is a Servant, her body somewhere on the Blessed Isle. Now it only remains to find that place, if it exists.

  He drops his gaze, looking something between troubled and thoughtful. "Temporary. What, then, happens when you live out years, even decades, this way?" He lifts his eyes to hers. "I fear what might come if you were to outlive the intended length of this existence... which you have done already. What, then, may happen if you continue to exist this way?" Does her existence have a shelf life?

  "I could not, either, not in Camelot. But now that we are here, I wonder if perhaps it would be better for us both to find wherever your true body lies, and mend the hurts done." Bedivere looks worried again. "I would not put you at a disadvantage, my lady, without good reason... I know your abilities are most welcome in defense of Dun Realtai. But how much of that existence, I must wonder, is on borrowed time...?" In other words, Bedivere doesn't trust the Otherworldly, to the surprise of no one.

  He breathes out a sigh, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close. Resting his head against her shoulder, he buries his face against the side of her neck. "Perhaps." There's an unspoken 'but,' there, and he continues on a moment later, even as he listens for the sound of her heart. "But perhaps it is not so much a flight of fancy, my lady."

  "Lady Alaia will resume her duties as guardian once the winter is come. We could search then," he murmurs against her neck, hooded eyes unfocused. "Mayhap even fit Caliburn's broken pieces together once more if we can yet find them. Find a means to search for Excalibur's lost scabbard... surely that would have the power to mend your hurts..."

  He picks himself up just a little, brushing an idle kiss to the side of her neck as he straightens to look her in the eye. "I think we could," he breathes, at once hopeful and solemn and... terrified, to go by the way his hands tremble around her shoulders. "I do not think it is so much fancy as all that. If we searched in the winter months..."

Saber (346) has posed:
For Arturia, Camlann was the cumulation of all her failures, a tragedy which could have been averted by a better, stronger king. It was her greatest failure -- allowing her kingdom to fall and failing to protect its people -- but the road to it had been paved with her numerous others. And yet, it was a permanent part of history, one she had realised she could not undo without causing irreparable damage to present lives. She could not change it and hope that the present world would remain unaffected.

     Even still, it was a lingering regret.

     "No...I believe it would have been no different," she replied, lifting her hand to rest against his cheek. "The only difference would have been that you had died, as well. Perhaps we would have met again, but you would most likely be a Servant as Gawain and I are, bound to a Master and embroiled in a different Holy Grail War." From her words and tone, Heavens Feel was something she never wanted him tangled up in. Had she and Sakura not abdicated the War, it would have been most likely that she would never have permitted a contract to change Masters specifically to keep him out of it.

     "To my knowledge, I could remain indefinitely, so long as I have a Master to anchor me to this plane. Yet, that is not an existence I would enjoy leading." Unsaid was that she would submit to it, if her continued purpose was something like Alaia's; as a guardian and protector. But the winter witch was a part of that natural world, whereas Saber remained artificially outside it.

     It surprised Arturia to learn that this was not something he had been mulling over and was simply idly entertaining in a half-asleep state, but something he had been seriously considering. She was quiet for a long moment as she came to this realisation, and torn on what that would mean. Certainly, she was touched that he would even make an attempt for her sake, to try to make her whole again simly because she would honestly and selfishly prefer to be human. Yet, it would demand a considerable amount from him, aside from having to leave Dun Realtai for a time. And would he even know where to begin? Merlin would be the best one to ask, but would even the mercurial wizard know even if he were so inclined to impart that information?

     "Avalon was stolen not long before Camlann, and the pieces of Caliburn have long since scattered. The Tylwyth Teg might know of their location, but I fear I have no way of learning what they know. Nor do I know if finding either is possible now, especially after Unification."

     She shook her head. "Given enough time, perhaps it would be possible...but it would mean being gone from Dun Realtai for too long."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The Battle of Camlann only represents a single failure to Bedivere, but it is an absolutely capital failure. Were there only some way to save her, then all of this may have been averted. The rebels would have been put down and Camelot would have found its footing again. Maybe, with the combined efforts of the king and her Left Hand, some of the other loyal knights might have been saved...

  No. Even if he had prevented her from dying, she had been in no condition to battle. She would have been barely capable of standing, let alone wielding her sword.

  Much as with her, it is a lingering regret. Few aspects would have been different. He would have continued to serve her as he had before, and then his service would have been the death of him.

  If he lived there still, he doubts he would have survived to his current thirty-four years. While serving her allowed him to stay close to her, as he had wanted, it cost him to do so. With every passing day of burying his nature and his desires, with every day of sacrificing of himself, there was less and less left. There's no telling how long he would have lasted beyond Camlann, but eventually, the pale-haired northerner would have died of a broken heart.

  A different sort of broken heart than what he felt in the multiversal weald, but as deadly as that sort, all the same.

  He reaches up to rest a hand over the hand on his cheek, fingers folding around hers with surprising delicacy. Those long fingers have held a sword for many years, but they had also held more fragile things -- rescued birds, chilled butterflies on an early spring morning. Yet none of those natural wonders are so precious to him as the hand he now holds.

  Gently pulling it from his face, he presses his lips over the knuckles. His thoughtful gaze remains on her as he does. So. While she may not agree with the same reasons, it seems her becoming human once more is something they share. Guiding her hand back to his face, he presses his lips to the palm, before letting it rest over his cheekbone again. The faint ridge of a scar crosses over it; one of countless such scars he bears -- the ones that can be seen, anyway.

  She says it's a long shot to reunite Caliburn or find Avalon, but that doesn't matter to him. Once upon a time, it was a long shot that he would ever see her again. Yet he was reunited with her as a Servant. It's still fundamentally /Arturia/, guided by Arturia's spirit and will.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Half his face twists in a hesitant smile.

  "Once, you might have said the same of our meeting with one another ever again," he murmurs, fingers tightening slightly over hers. "Or that we would ever find our way to a place like Dun Realtai. Yet here we are, and it is also our home."

  He lifts his eyes to hers, solemn once more. He goes so far as to shift slightly so he can face her, hands falling to curl around her shoulders.

  "My lady--" His eyes don't so much as waver as he corrects himself. "Arturia," he breathes. "Arturia... to see you mended and healed is more than I have any right to ask the Lord God of. But I will ask it, if it means you are happy and free. I will go to any place, do anything, if it means seeing you whole again. I will strike any bargain with even the Tylwyth Teg themselves, brave any foe, pit myself against any challenge..." His expression is somewhere between anxiety and wonderment. "Lady Alaia will see to things here in the winter months. I will search only in those months she has resumed her duties... she would not be bothered, I am certain of it."

  He flinches as the rain clatters at the window especially hard. The knight squares himself up, though, as though he were facing down a dragon instead of the woman he would go to any peril for. They're not so different, though, are they? In her veins is the blood of the dragon.

  "Arturia." He breathes her name as though savouring it, lowering his face to touch his forehead to hers. "I will do this. For you, I would do anything, and do it gladly. Allow me this. Please, Arturia. Give me the opportunity to right a wrong; to correct a failure... if this is what you want, I will do it gladly. We will find a way. I will make a way, if I must."

  He hesitates for an instant, before drawing forward; his lips brush hers uncertainly, almost hesitantly. He's still not used to being so open, without the heady thrill of mead goading him into foolishness. But this is another luxury he can afford himself, one he's certain she doesn't mind.

  So he lingers a moment; allows himself to lean into her. It's a long moment before he remembers himself, and when he pulls away, it's not with a startle or a sudden jerk. He only pulls away enough to rest his forehead on hers, eyes closed as he holds her close.

  "This winter," he whispers, "when Lady Alaia resumes her duties. We will speak with the Tylwyth Teg, and determine which direction to search in. And when we have reforged Caliburn and found Avalon... when we find your resting place, and mend your hurts, and you are human once more... I will..."

  He flushes scarlet. Is his heart thundering even louder than it was, or is that a trick of the imagination? She may not be able to hear it over the rain lancing against the window, but she can certainly feel his heartbeat thudding time against his ribs.


  This time, whatever it is he was going to say, he doesn't let himself.

Saber (346) has posed:
Of course, the jade-eyed knight understood full well that the things she had cautioned of would hardly be enough to discourage him. She had never allowed any obstacle to deter her in her goals, be they ancient king-heroes, monstrous god-creatures of the deep, or fate itself. And her marshal had been cut from the same cloth, as stubborn and driven as she was. Her caution had been half-hearted at best; from the moment she admitted that she would prefer to be human again, he would make the insignificant wish a reality. He would give everything again...though now, she was finally in a position to make sure he didn't kill himself over it.

     Her name brought her out of her musings...rather, his speaking of her name did. It was such a rare thing; there were some of their old habits which were simply too ingrained to be easily discarded, and some form of pseudo-formality had been too comfortable. Or perhaps Bedivere was unable to help feeling that calling her by her given name would be a form of disrespect. But whatever the reason, it grabbed her attention and held it fast.

     She still had her doubts and concerns, but more than anything she was absolutely unwilling to have him kill himself over it, as he had slowly done just by carrying out his duties in Camelot. Yet, this was different in so many ways. There was a hope that she had not seen in years, something that the trying years in Britain had never shown. There had only been the ideal of the elusive utopia, but nothing which had lit his eyes in this way. The chance to save her.

     She had never thought of herself as in need of saving...not when she herself had been trying to save so many. And yet...now there was someone who wished to save her, wished it as much as she had wished to save her country. It was a humbling feeling like nothing else had been.

     "If you so wish it, then...yes. I will grant you this chance." Almost more for him than for herself.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The knight is already preparing himself for an argument. He's ready to tell her why he's willing to throw his life away in the pursuit of such a fool's errand. It isn't a fool's errand to him; it's no less than one of the single most important things he can do with his life, aside from the long years of service he had already given her.

  "I--"

  He doesn't have to, though.

  Bedivere blinks, and he looks so very bewildered that the expression has to be comical.

  "You... you will?"

  That seems to take a shift of mental gears. He had fully expected an argument, or at least the closest thing to an argument they ever come with one another.

  His head bows, silvery-pale hair veiling his expression for an instant. He lets out a great breath as though he were letting out all his anxiety and apprehension over the matter. It had been a fair amount of it, too; a premeditation based on months of mulling and planning. This is no idle, half-asleep topic of conversation but a real and deadly serious endeavour that he's had in mind.

  Bedivere allows himself a self-depreciating half-smile.

  "Words do not express my thanks, my lady." Though his speech is formal again, his eyes and his tone betray amusement. "I promise that you will not regret this." He lets go of her shoulders, going so far as to take her hands in his, animated once more; the hope that had been gone for so long from his eyes back once more. "I will do whatever is necessary. I have dreamt of the day, since you told me that you were not truly perished..."

  "That I might kneel before you once more, in life, and know that I could make right my failure; that I might once again see your face... I see it now before me, but to see it /truly/..." The silver-haired knight flushes, sputtering a little. "Aí," he adds, hastily, almost sputtering, "I--I did not mean to say I am not grateful for you being here now! T-truly, I thank the Lord God each day for it. But--but I would... see you once again as that which /you/ should wish to be."

  Bedivere smiles, at once hopeful and uneasy. "For so many years, you wished for peace and prosperity for the people of Prydein. If I can but have some small part in granting a wish, a wish for /you/..."

  His voice drops so low the rain almost drowns it out. There's no way she can miss it, though, as he leans over her, holding her close as though to seek comfort -- the words are breathed into her ear, with no more force than a butterfly's wing.

  "It would make all the pain, all the suffering I have endured... worth it."

Saber (346) has posed:
It was really no surprise that Bedivere would be stunned; normally she was stubborn enough, but when it came to his health Arturia was especially obstinate. Their kind of bond was hardly necessary to observe the poor health of the marshal when he inevitably pushed himself too far, the hard years of service finally having caught up to him. Ironically, she had been in no position in spite of her status as the king to look after him then, and at times it seemed as if she was making up for those years with her worrying and fussing.

     For the flaxen-haired knight to make this sort of ascquiescence was nearly unprecedented.

     What surprised her in turn was that this was no subconscious musing, no elusive thoughts which had been simmering below the surface even unknownst to him. No, it was apparent that Bedivere had been considering such things for a while now...perhaps even ever since her revelation that, unlike other Servants, she was not yet dead. It was not, she realised, something she could refuse him in good conscience. As much as she would always worry, as much as she would do everything within her power to protect him, this was to him what her wish to save Britain had been for her. Only this -- while potentially dangerous -- was not something which demanded the questionable power of the Holy Grail. This was within the realm of possibility without altering the fabric of reality. It would have been cruel of her to insist on being content with Dun Realtai alone.

     She could not help but smile at the now-familiar awkwardness. "I understand. I could not deny you this, not so long as I truly care for you..."

     She might have been blushing on her part. "I would be content with what we have now. I would not be selfish to ask for even more, unworthy as I am...but if this is your wish, I shall use what power I have to help to grant it."

     His well-being was of the utmost importance to her, but it was more than simply his health. If this made him whole again, there was only one path to take.

     Arturia sighed softly in his arms. "In the winter, then. One more quest to make ourselves whole."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The marshal knows his king well, and though he may be blind to the matter of his own health, he knows well that most of her answers revolve around the preservation of his own health. If something is dangerous or stands some risk to his own well-being, she'll usually be inclined to deny it. His patrols in the rain and snow are a good example. He insists upon them. She insists upon him not doing them.

  Bedivere lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He shudders; a last casting-off of his subconscious anxiety, or perhaps he's steeling himself for the coming days.

  "Nor could I deny you anything," he murmurs, head dipping so he can look her in the eye. The difference in height is more of an amusement to him than an actual hindrance; he offers a crooked half-smile. "whether it be the stewardship of Dun Realtai, or the pursuit of peace for its people... I share your dreams, my lady. I would do all in my power for the sake of your happiness. I would fain give all that I have, and more, in pursuit of that." It is, to him, the most noble and sacred goal he could strive for.

  He tightens his arms around her at her sigh, tucking his head over hers, snorting softly at that little flyaway bit of her bangs. "It is selfish of me, but I am not content with this, not if I know that there is some hope of restoration. To make you whole again... I would do that. I would do anything, go anywhere, meet any challenge..." It's clear that he feels he must do this, no matter the cost. "For you, there is no price too great. There never will be a price too great."

  He presses a kiss to the top of herhead, sighing "@

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  He presses a kiss to the top of her head, sighing into her hair. "Yes," he murmurs, the word almost a breath. "In the winter. One more quest, to make ourselves whole again. One last ride, we Knights of the Round." For she, though king, was a knight also; a fact she would let few forget. "I will speak with Lady Alaia, and see if she has any advice in treating with her cousin-kin of the Tylwyth Teg. And, too, to negotiate the winter crossing. I do not think she will mind so much, so long as we keep our search to the cold days and the winter months."

  With a smile -- one of those rare, genuine few -- he holds her close, breathing in the faint rose scent of her hair and heaving a great sigh of what almost seems contentment through her hair. "Aye, my lady. Arturia," he corrects himself, flushing faintly. "We will be whole again. This I promise you, my lady."

  and few have promises as binding as Sir Bedivere of the Round Table.

Saber (346) has posed:
Indeed, if there were any reason at all for her to be reluctant to agree to this task, it was the issue of his health. Even now, he tended to forget himself and push himself too far. While two of his admirable traits were his drive and dedication -- especially once he had committed to something -- there was only so much he could do without killing himself over it. It was not too different from how she had been as the King of Britain, all too willing to break herself over things she considered necessary.

     Perhaps there had never been any question that knight and king would come to such a level of understanding that there was little need for words, so similar of mind as they were. Of course, it made hiding things impossible, and was precisely why Arturia nagged him so much; she would have done precisely the same thing. Were the circumstances reversed, Bedivere could easily have become the one fussing over her as she drove herself too far.

     And it was that sharing of dreams which likewise drew her to him; they truly were of one mind when it came to their ideals. It might have been that she had influenced him early on, but it was her personal belief that, even had she not been the king, he would have easily taken up those ideals. She had simply given him a purpose, not very different from her own.

     Yet, there was one difference. Arturia was truly content with her new life and purpose, though a wish to be reunited with her knights remained in the back of her mind. Still, it was possible that they would make their way to Dun Realtai, either as Servants or somehow drawn out of time, across the infinite multiverse, as the human beings they had been in life. It was one reason she had not gone out and sought them; it was far better to remain and give them something to come home to. Before she had accepted her new duties as one of Dun Realtai's stewards, or before Bedivere had appeared in the multiverse, it had been something she was considering in the back of her mind. But now, with a new home to look after, Arturia could not simply cast it aside for a wish she was not even certain how to realise. And in some ways, the selfish wish to be human again was not so very different.

     But if it was someone else's wish, specifically a wish of someone she had committed to finally granting happiness for...well, that was not something quite so selfish. Nevetheless, it was greatly humbling.

     "Ah...well. I do not agree that I am worth any price..." Her sense of modesty was only eclipsed by his. "Yet...to find that which was lost again...it is not an entirely selfish thought, I hope?"

     She sighed softly. "But to be whole again...I would be glad for it. There would be nothing I could give to be properly grateful. It would never be enough..."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The thought of leaving Dun Realtai for the winter had been a twinge at the back of Bedivere's mind, but when held up against the opportunity to atone for his failure and make whole again the single person he cares most about, a little discomfort is a small price to pay.

  That he may not be permitted to leave after accepting such a charge has indeed crossed his mind, but it's a detail he won't be able to address until the time for it comes.

  Bedivere closes his eyes, listening to the rain assaulting the windows, and the wind howling outside. Although he cannot hear the sound of her heartbeat, he can feel it, and he spends a long moment focusing his attention on that subtle sensation. He draws in a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then lets it go, softly, as though releasing the last of his pent-up tension.

  He had honestly expected her to forbid him from such a search. Although he is not intentionally neglectful of himself, the value of his own life is disproportionate to that of anyone else, even the lowliest of peasants or beasts. Perhaps he has a vague sense that Arturia values his life, but it's only a dim grasp of the concept; in most cases, he will gladly sacrifice himself for the sake of others.

  Years past, he had done so for the downtrodden of Britain. When the Saxons had swept over the bordermarches in a tide of blood and ruin, he had travelled to the distant territories of the kingdom to set right what he could, no matter the cost to himself, or how bitterly cold the winter winds. He had done the same for the people of Dun Realtai, even at the cost of his own comfort and health.

  He will do so again, for Arturia; and that is the most meaningful of all, to him. She wouldn't want him to, but that's the very reason he would -- for her, he would do anything, go to any length, to ensure her happiness and her well-being. Through dreams, she had seen a mere spark of that inner fire. It is what moves him, what drives him; even after she had been lost to him, the memory of her had been enough to turn him aside from the despair that had threatened to pull him under.

  "You need not agree." Bedivere half-smiles, running his fingers through her hair. He had dreamt once of being able to do that, had wondered how soft it would be. Even now it's something he feels he could never take for granted. He buries the side of his face into her hair, drawing in a deep breath and sighing in contentment. "No. I do not think it a selfish thought. Caliburn and Avalon, they are treasures of Britain, and they were entrusted to you. I do not think the sundering of Caliburn could have been avoided, for while I suppose I was busy bleeding out at the time, I had heard later from those who were present. Were I in your position at the time, I fear I would have done the same."

  He closes his eyes, nuzzling into her hair a little, arms tightening around her. "But Avalon... Avalon was entrusted to you, not the miscreant who stole it. I am certain Nimue would appreciate such a gesture. And I would rest easier, knowing that its power of healing would be entrusted to you once more..."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  This is, of course, assuming that she doesn't shove the thing into Bedivere, who has a knack for finding himself in life-threatening situations with alarming frequency.

  He would refuse.

  "To see you made whole again..." He draws back, hands settling over her shoulders, mild violet eyes earnest in a way that the withdrawn knight rarely is. "Beloved," he breathes, "there is nothing I would not do, no place I would not go, and no beast or man alive or unliving that I would not challenge." He bows his head over her until their foreheads touch, closing his eyes. "You are everything to me. You are my sun, my moon, my stars. How could I not do this for you?"

  When she says she would be glad to be whole again, he smiles that soft, shy smile. "Neither would I. Perhaps it is blasphemous to pray for aught more than I have been given, but I pray for this one last opportunity. One last quest, on my life, on my sword, with the Lord God as my witness. This I promise you, my love. I will do this for you, and I will succeed. I will let nothing stop me, not even the Ever-Living Ones themselves."

  His voice grows a little distant as he continues. "I will strike a bargain with the Ever-Living Ones, and I will see them restore Caliburn to what it once was, chivalrous again, a shining beacon: It will reside here in Dun Realtai, a beacon to what Camelot strove to be but never was." He smiles, tiredly, even as he eases himself back down, though he still holds her close, tucking his head over hers and murmuring into her hair. "And I will see Avalon returned to your hand, to mend your hurts and to protect you, reunited once more with Excalibur... whole again..."

  He laughs, so softly the rain against the windows might drown it out. He does sit up long enough to favour her with a gentle kiss before laying his head back down, eyes slowly drifting closed. His grip slackens, though he doesn't let go of her. "I wonder... sometimes... what I had done to deserve all of this, my love. And I thank the Lord God... each day for it... and you..."

  The smile fades from his face as he drifts into sleep, but perhaps just as precious to Arturia, there is an expression there of genuine peace.