3608/The King and the Emperor

The King and the Emperor
Date of Scene:	04 January 2016
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Nero travels to Dun Realtai, to meet with the King of Knights and her lieutenant.
Cast of Characters:	346, 482, 880

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The Church of Dun Realtai is a humble building, constructed over the ruins of the last. Its stones are solid, and leaded glass had even been imported to repair its stained-glass windows to their onetime glory. Or, at least, the glory of what had come before, as imagined by its current residents.

It is here that the steward of the castle has come. He kneels before the altar, head bowed, clad today in the armour of his station -- that of the station he had worn once in Camelot. Most of it has been repaired, but for a few of the worst dents, and the whole of it has been polished to a sheen. His cloak, the white cloak of office, lined in white fur, pools behind him; falls carelessly over one shoulder.

Snow is falling outside.

The church is cold inside, no woodsmoke or fire. No souls but the silver-haired steward. He had politely requested the clergy staff out. He had wanted solitude, and he had gotten it.

His eyes are open to half-mast, but fixed on the stone floor before him; the base of the altar. His mouth does not move; his expression is like stone. He doesn't look like he's expecting much of anyone.

Saber (346) has posed:
     The King of Knights had said her prayers and paid her respects earlier in the day, though she made her way to Dun Realtai's small church once again. There was something which demanded her attention, or rather, necessitated the attention of the lord she had appointed over the village. It might have seemed odd that a king would not rule the village directly...but then, that had been precisely what she had done as King of Britain. The king could not oversee every single province and village, thus appointing trusted officials to oversee the day to day governance of the individual parts making up the kingdom. She oversaw their work, and removed from their position those who were either incompetent or abused their positions. Fortunately, such a thing was a rarity; King Arthur excelled at matching the most ideal person for a particular job.

     Hence, in spite of his discomfiture, Sir Bedivere had been appointed as Dun Realtai's new lord. Though he had been the only one of the Knights of the Round Table to have reappeared for the long run, Arturia would have appointed him to the position, regardless. Though painfully modest and reluctant to assume any sort of power, the results spoke for themselves regarding his king's judgement of his abilities. Once more, she had not read wrong, and Dun Realtai was not only rebuilt but even beginning to prosper.

     At the moment, however, she was reluctant to intrude upon his meditations. The issue was not an emergency by any means, something which could wait a while. Yet, though she made no sound as she entered and waited quietly, their bond between Master and Servant would have nevertheless announced her approach to him. It was impossible for one to catch the other by surprise, unless one was so absorbed in their own thoughts. But the pull was of such strength that such a thing rarely happened.

Nero (880) has posed:
     Peace does not last forever.

     Some things never change.

     No matter how much time has passed.

     The three beats of war, peace, and revolution continue onwards into the future.

     And the church's doors are thrown open with great force, clattering against the walls on each side. And standing there in the doorway, unhindered by the cold, is the Crimson Tyrant. The Emperor of Rome. Master of the Arts. The Strongest Servant. The Most Legendary of Legendary Heroes. Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. And on her face was a smile that suggested that she was privvy to all knowledge in the universe. Every universe. The knowledge that she was the most radiant, the most powerful, the most beauteous, the greatest of the great. It was her and her alone.

     "Behold!" An arm is imperiously thrust forward with great flourish. "It is I, Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus! And I have finally taken it upon myself to give this land of Dun Realtai my blessing! Now that I am here, I shall illuminate the darkness!"

     And just like that, the peace is shattered.

     Never again will it be seen this day.

     It has returned to the place where it belongs; not alongside Nero.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Slowly, those pale eyes lift to the altar. There is no mistaking the bond between them, plucking at his soul like a lyre string wound too tight. He twists to look over his shoulder, and he opens his mouth to greet the King of Knights where she waits.

He never has the opportunity.

No sooner has the door burst open than the sword is out of his scabbard (he had carried it with him even here). His cloak falls back to his ankles, and he looks around as though in search of the enemy. For a brief instant his eyes are haunted, wild. A cornered animal.

Nero's announcing herself is what spares her the unthinking retribution from both Servant and Master; with a decisive frown, Bedivere sheathes his sword, with the 'snick' of the blade settling into its scabbard. He stands with arms folded against the cold wind, as Nero stands in the doorway with her arms outstretched.

Without a word he brushes past her, throwing his shoulder to each great iron-bossed doors, pushing them shut. They latch into place with a solid-sounding 'chunk,' and only once they have does he turn and stare blankly at the Emperor in Red.

He says nothing; he doesn't need to, or maybe he can't. He just stares at her.

Perhaps Arturia can sense something of his thoughts. He wasn't expecting Nero today. He also wasn't expecting her to disturb the sanctity of the church, although perhaps, in reflection, he might have. She did not honour the Lord God, but her own myriad of inscrutable gods.

So he can do no more than stare, and maybe there's a little flint in those pale violet eyes.

Saber (346) has posed:
     A soft smile alighted Arturia's face when Bedivere glanced over his shoulder; their bond ran even deeper than that between a Master and Servant, or even a knight and liege. Even most Master-Servant pairs were incapable of telepathy or simply the wordless communication that the two Knights of the Round Table shared. That ability had only strengthened under the foreign skies of Dun Realtai as their personal bond grew. Her smile was fond, almost indulgent.

     It only lasted for a fraction of a second, however, when she first felt the presence of another Servant approach. But even then, she had no time to warn him before the doors of the church were thrown open, and the Red Saber made her appearance. Her very /loud/ appearance.

     In truth, the Saber of the Fourth War was not terribly surprised at the flamboyant entrance itself, but rather by the fact that Nero was even here in the first place. That should not have surprised her; Gawain seemed to have taken an odd liking to the Roman Saber and it was only a matter of time.

     Saber ruthlessly suppressed a sigh of exasperation. So much for peace and quiet.

     "Greetings, Saber," she replied diplomatically, expertly donning her impassive mask. "To what do we owe the honour?" She was almost afraid to learn the answer.

Nero (880) has posed:
     Even in the face of Bedivere's stare, Nere did not stop smiling. She inclined her head upwards and met the man's gaze with her own. Silently awaiting some kind of acknowledgement. Any kind. But it never came. And the staring contest continued on and on and on an- Oh, so Arturia would speak for them?

     That was enough to rouse the Roman Emperor from her staring match with the steward of the castle. "Greetings, Saber!" She responded in kind, finally relaxing her posture by resting both hands upon her hips. "I have actually come for no truly express purpose this day, save for..." She turned her gaze back to Bedivere. "...the invitations of Sir Bedivere, in fact! Some time ago, you expressed a desire to speak to me in purpose, did you not?"

     At that point, Nero stepped forward, deeper into the church and looking left and right as if this were some kind of exotic museum exhibit. It was true that she did not serve the Lord. No, she spent quite some time stamping out the Lord's worship in her time. Such a thing was of no importance to her. Once she reached the altar however, she turned to face the two, arms coming up and crossing.

     "Well, I am here now! I shall not demand that you rejoice, but I will ask; are you prepared to speak of this matter this day?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight lets his hands fall to his sides. His cloak of office is heavy enough to hide his arms, make it difficult to see what he's doing with them, if anything.

"I did." Bedivere of Britannia's voice is calm and even, but there is a gentleness to it, a softness to it, that some have mistaken for femininity, or weakness. (The last mistake many of his rivals before Camlann had made.) His eyes settle on Nero again, mouth twitching down in a faint almost-frown. "I did not specify here, or now, though."

I see that I was mistaken to expcet you to have the courtesy to call ahead, he wants to say, but that is pointless. She will only flaunt her rank at that. Indeed, it would be an open invitation, and he has no desire or patience to indulge her outrageous ego right now.

Bedivere does not enjoy having his reflection and meditation interrupted. A man had done that to him once in Camelot. It was one of the rare instances in which he had assigned punishment, and felt little remorse over it. The man had never intruded thus again; few others after had done so, either, once the story had gotten out.

He tilts his head to look down at Nero. Much like the King of Knights, he is a solid foot taller, perhaps a little more; abnormally tall even by Camelot's standards.

But then, he had not been of Camelot, either.

"Let us retire to the great hall. This is not a day to be in such a cold hall, and you do not suit this place," he adds, in a slightly icy tone. In other words, it rankles him to even have the irreverent and disrespectful Emperor here in this place; is insulted that he had even allowed her to come here.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Arturia raised her eyebrows slightly with a puzzled expression, though she did not so much as turn to glance back at Bedivere. The surprise seemed to stem from the fact that Nero was offering to discuss business /now/, rather than the fact that Bedivere had requested a meeting. That, too, she probably should have expected.

     With another stifled sigh, Arturia nodded at Bedivere's suggestion, in part because of the purpose of the Great Hall for receiving visitors and in part to hopefully to reduce the stress on Bedivere. Not that the meeting was not going to wear him out simply with Nero being Nero, but some tea should help his soon-to-be frayed nerves. Any more flamboyance in the Lord's House was liable to push the Left Hand of the King's tolerance past the point of no return. At least Arturia was somewhat inured to the Emperor's personality from previous experience.

     "Indeed, the Hall is much more conducive to Dun Realtai's hospitality. I can offer tea, or perhaps some other forms of refreshment while we discuss matters." It was something the taller knight might rankle him, but their own laws and ways bound them. Even enemies had been offered hospitality as a reflection on Dun Realtai's generosity, while the only ones who were turned away would be those with malevolent intent. It would reflect poorly on them if they did not, and Dun Realtai now had a reputation to uphold.

     "This way, my lady," Arturia replied politely as she made to lead them out and toward the keep. Politely, but no more or less so than for anyone else she had dealings with. She did have her own rank as a King to maintain, defending her title even in the face of a Servant far more arrogant: the loathsome King of Heroes.

Nero (880) has posed:
     Bedivere would be correct. Nero would take any opportunity to flaunt her own ego. It was best for everyone involved if she was denied the opportunity altogether. At the mention of the great hall, and the fact that she did not suit this place, she only smiled wider. "Mhmhm! Indeed. I do not find this place fitting for one of my stature either."

     Whatever that meant.

     The Red Saber chuckled a tad and turned her gaze over to the Blue Saber. "Very well, I shall allow it! Let us away to the great hall!" She stated, a nod following. And with nary a glance back to her surroundings, Nero allowed herself to be lead out of the church, God's house, and back outside, on the way to their proper destination.

     All along the way, the Roman Emperor hummed a cheerful little tune, seeming far, far too pleased with herself for some reason. She was in no rush to discover exactly what it was that awaited her once they sat down to talk. "I must say however, this is quite a favorable piece of land you have acquired here. I am mildly impressed."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The pale knight can only shake his head as he turns and makes his way back to the church's iron-bossed doors. He moves slowly, as though one feeling old wounds, something that Nero's warrior instincts might recognise. He doesn't limp, though, and he still moves with enough speed to disguise it; to make a viewer second-guess the extent of those old wounds.

Bedivere ignores the cheery humming. Indeed, he seems to have barely spoken to the Emperor, and does so little. It doesn't take long to reach the great hall, and he opens the door to allow the other two entry before shutting it and barring it.

An order given briskly to one of the waiting servants sees that they'll be provided with tea and a little something to have with the tea; delivered unobtrusively as the steward settles into his seat beside the hearth.

Definitely warmer here.

He seems to be in no hurry to begin the proceedings, waiting a moment to warm himself before the fire; and to eye the others. In particular his eye lingers on Arturia. I do not wish to rush this, the look seems to say. This will be on my terms, not hers.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Arturia recognised that, fortunately, Bedivere had enough good sense not to comment on their guest's ego, having honed his diplomatic acumen through the years of dealing with various nobles as his station demanded. At least now, such occasions were rare, those times when the mask became a necessity once again no longer occurring on a daily -- sometimes hourly -- basis. And he now had the open support of his king, now his lady, as well as the time to finally rest and set aside that mask. The fleeting glance she threw him said as much.

     Likewise, she caught the meaning in his own glance and nodded. Nero had a way of driving ahead at her own pace like a bulldozer. But Dun Realtai and the Celtic people had their own ways of doing things...as did Bedivere and Arturia as individual people. Their lifestyle suited them, and diplomacy or not, both of them were too hard-headed and stubborn to change their ways.

     But rather than take up her position as his Lady, the jade-eyed knight reverted back to her role as King, with Bedivere acting in his capacity as her Left Hand. It was probably easier that way, given the two women's status as not only rulers, but Heroic Spirits.

     The castle's servants have served the pair long enough to have learned how to read a situation. Many times the lady was more than happy to serve out the refreshments on her own, but when she had reverted to form, they had learned to act in their traditional roles, unobtrusively serving before returning to their other tasks. The Saber of Britain took up her own station, seating herself with a practised regal grace before claiming the cup before her and sipping lightly at the hot black tea. "While bitter, I have grown quite fond of green tea," she commented with seeming idleness. "However, black tea would seem to have a much wider appeal, and so that is what we tend to have served. As for our land....we have found that it suits us."

Nero (880) has posed:
     My, silence all around. Nero couldn't help but twitch a brow at that. Did she accidentally make a wrong turn and step into the Roman Senate? She was not blind. She observed the looks Bedivere and Arturia shared. She observed the way the knight moved, though it was only faint, it seemed as if he was under some kind of pressure.

     An old wound? Stress? A lack of beauty in his life!?

     One of those didn't belong.

     Eventually, they arrived, and Nero took note of the servant ordered to task, and stepped further in, having herself a seat as appropriate, grasping the cup of tea placed before her with an uncharacteristic gentleness. But then, even a ruler as boistrous as Nero is still educated in the ways of royal ettiquette. Perhaps somewhat different due to the years separating their eras, but the intent was all the same.

     Saber of Britain's idle comment is met with a glance and a smirk. "Is that so? I am not quite fond of green tea myself, but I am capable of appreciating the charm is possesses." A sip is had in the interim. "However- I find myself quite pleased with white tea as of late." A hand is raised, pressed against her collarbone, above her chest. "Pure and radiant, just like myself! It is a matter of course that I should find myself drawn to it! Mhmhmhm!"

     Of course.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Most of the servants had come from a background of service with other lords, in other lands, and some of these people had even found their way here from alternative versions of the place from which their steward hailed. They knew how to revert to type.

So too did their steward who, while genuinely not the kind of man to adopt the role of the traditional man in power, knew how to fake it. Convincingly.

Bedivere gathers up his cup, stirring in a little honey, a little sugar, and a little cream. There's no response to Arturia's observation about tea nor land; she says everything succinctly by herself.

Instead, he crisply sets his cup down on the saucer, and turns those strangely pale, strangely violet eyes on the Emperor of Rome. His appearance might otherwise be unassuming but those are the eyes of a raptor, a hawk. They do not blink.

White tea?

"It is neither pure nor radiant. It simply is. However, it would appear to be somewhat expensive in the modern era, so perhaps its luxury is what appeals to you. But we are not here to discuss your shocking lack of modesty. We are here to discuss other matters." Direct, for Bedivere. Very direct. He could be as subtle as the wolves he shared court with in Camelot, or he could be straight and sharp as the blade at his hip. One never always knew which it would be.

He drums his fingers against the side of his cup, faint, regarding Nero in chilly detachment.

Evidently he is unhurried; he sets his cup down wtihout a trace of haste. "I have a proposition for you, Servant, and--" He holds up a hand, "--it is purely business. I do not want to hear anything of your Imperial rights, or your Imperial tastes, or your Imperial /anything/. I am in no mood for theatrics this day." His voice is cold, hard; every bit as regal as that of the king when she had worn her mask of sovreignty. "There are forces at work that are most interested in laying low not just this place, but many of those within it."

"I am certain you have heard of Sir Gawain's ill-considered conversation with the Confederate creature; I believe its name is 'HK-47.' I would propose alliance to you. In exchange for protection if that creature should ever set foot upon these lands, I would offer what safe harbour I may to your Master, and by proxy, to you, although I will not participate openly in your Grail War."

He's serious. Scared. He doesn't lightly offer protection or ask for it. That android assassin must have him rattled.

"My brother-knight lacks restraint, and has foolishly made a target of himself, I have no doubt. I would not have his lack of foresight endanger this place; not when it is under my protection, and so I must take steps to preserve its safety."

His eyes settle on Nero, still bright and cold and hard. Stars. The name was given to this place in jest once but maybe those stars are in its master's eyes, too. Cold and resolute and inexorable.

"What say you?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     To her credit, Arturia did not so much as lift an eyebrow at Nero's own grace. In fact, it might appear that she had expected it; while she was a knight just as Bedivere was, she was also a king, a ruler...just as Nero was. For all of the strange theatre of her 'twin', the Emperor knew the burdens of the path of the king, and what it demanded of that king. Perhaps this was her way of coping with demands that would break another.

     Or perhaps she was simply of a similar cloth as Gawain: good at what he was called to do, but of some questionable sanity.

     "How unexpected," Arturia admitted with a faint smile. "White tea is a rather subtle taste, so delicate that the water it is steeped in cannot be allowed to a full boil. Radiant, but without assaulting the senses. A nuance I would otherwise have not expected."

     This time, Arturia did not simply glance at Bedivere as he presented his concerns, but stared intently at her fellow knight. Under normal circumstances, he might simply humour the Roman Servant up to a point; whatever had him concerned was a matter of dire importance. While one's allies could grate on the nerves at times, she had long ago learned how to maintain her calm and maintained her businesslike demeanour among Union members with more...flexible morality. Bedivere was much the same, so for him to simply forgo that in favour of bluntly cutting straight to the point came as something of a mild surprise.

     That is, until mention of the Confederate machine designating itself as HK-47.

     "I have heard of this creature," she admitted. And nothing she had heard was good. Perhaps more troubling was its apparent familiarity with her legend specifically, in spite of hailing from a reality where her legend did not exist. How it had learned of her deeply concerned the knight, even aside from the potential threat it posed to Dun Realtai and her various friends. It was of no comfort that she was apparently not one of its designated targets...yet.

     she was not about to argue against his offer to the red-clad Saber. Even if the two were inclined to argue in front of others -- aside from Arturia's fussing over his health when she deemed that he was pushing himself too hard -- she was inclined to agree. Gawain's good-natured disposition made him a bigger target than he otherwise might be. Her nephew was an exemplary knight, but even he could not watch his back all the time. It was a good proposition, given how he had taken up with the Emperor....even if her literary tastes were highly questionable. In the end, it was a trade-off.

     The British Saber nodded her agreement rather that speaking; she would rather Gawain be safe in Nero's company than a target for a mad machine-creature.

Nero (880) has posed:
     Nero would have burst out laughing if the situation were not so serious. So just for this once, she let Bedivere have the way of things, here in his land, and merely smiled in response to his sharp turn of the conversation to business. There would be other days to regail that long suffering man with tales of her matchless brilliance.

     Though he most certainly would not want any part of it.

     And so comes the crux of today's visit. The point of her setting ffoot in Dun Realtai at all. Mention of Gawain's impending duel with HK-47, and the situation as a whole causes the Roman Emperor to sober up a bit. Setting the cup down, her expression is less overwhelmingly obnoxious as it usually is. "I see. Yes, indeed, I have heard much about this droid's deeds." The Red Saber nodded once, peering into the cup before her and studying the muddled reflection momentarily.

     "And I have also heard firsthand of this droid's intent to lay seige upon this land, and your king." Arturia is given a pointed glance. "I will say that I am not impressed. Such vulgar methods. Lacking in beauty and grace." Nero shook her head and sighed. Then she brought her cup to her lips, taking a long sip as she deliberated upon Bedivere's offer.

     "......" Her eyes closed, and several moments of silence passed. "Well-" She opened her eyes and smiled. "I believe I know what my answer is. It is simple! If my dear distant descendant cannot help but get himself into trouble, then it is up to I, his dear distant ancestor, to support and assist him, and the land in which he dwells in, in times to crisis."

     Another long sip, in no rush to say anything, and then she set the cup down. "Therefore, I shall accept your offer, Sir Bedivere. Should this land of Dun Realtai, or it's occupants come under attack, I shall lend my blade to it's defense in any capacity I am capable of offering."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight's expression may as well be of stone, nor does anything reflect in his eyes while the Emperor of Rome considers his proposition of an alliance. His ability to play the part, to wear the mask, is superb. Beyond question. He had worn it in deadlier situations than this, with more than his life at stake.

His eyes narrow very slightly when Nero extolls the lack of virtues such an approach as extremely unfair assassination might merit. It does lack honour, but in this case, he cares nothing of elegance.

There is nothing elegant about the premeditated murder of another.

"Good." Bedivere lowers his gaze, very faintly. His eyes slowly close. "Very good. I cannot offer you alliance in your war, but I can offer you assistance in any other conflict, should you require it, or assistance your Master, should you be unable to render it." His eyes open, and he fixes Nero with a flat look. He frowns very slightly.

"Distant descendant...?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     It spoke volumes that Arturia would rather sit through one of Nero's plays than endure certain indignities she had been forced to suffer through, the unexpected 'double date' with the Pokemon trainer Lute among them. She could only take her probable ancestor in measured doses without a bribe of excellent food peppered with some heavy sighing on her part, but the indignities couldn't even begin to compare to having to put up with Gilgamesh for more than an hour. At least she was reasonably sure Nero's heart was in the right place.

     That much was confirmed when she treated the situation with the proper amount of seriousness and agreed to their proposal. "This 'droid' would appear to view his rampages as 'artful'," she remarked drily. she was of the same mindset as Bedivere, however. There was no art to killing; there was simply killing, the ending of a life. "Yes...it is a strange thing. This land lacks what could be considered valuable resources. The people make this land what it is...otherwise, it would simply be rock outcropping among fields and forests. I fail to understand its interest in Dun Realtai."

     Inwardly, she was relieved by the relatively easy acceptance, though the friendship the Emperor had struck with Gawain had likely made that a foregone conclusion. The Knight of the Sun was actually rather good at forming odd friendships.

     "Ah....that was a speculation," she answered Bedivere's confusion. "It is most likely that Sir Gawain and I are descendants of the Emperor's family...it would explain why we are so alike in appearance." Eerily alike, in fact.

Nero (880) has posed:
     A nod. "Of course. I require no assistance in my war. I am capable enough to bring my Praetor victory with my own two hands!" A pause is had, and then she adds. "Ah, but perhaps I would like to come back to this place and paint some of the vistas that I have seen on my way. The land here is prime reference material for the arts, I must say!" Typical. Well, at least she was talking about painting, and not sculting a giant Bedivere statue. Maybe she finally gave up on that.

     "Hmph!" Nero huffed a bit indignantly at Her 'twin's' statement. "His rampages are ugly. Messy, and without grace. But then, I suppose that not everyone has the mental fortitude to conduct themselves in manners that bring the true beauty of their surroundings." Priorities, Nero. Priorities.

     "Well, be that as it may, Lady Saber, I have come to the conclusion that the people of this land are the 'valuable resources' that malevolent forces seek." Her cup was retreived and a sip was had as the Servant gathered her thoughts. "As I understand it, Sir Valeth has an uncanny interest in that boy, Sir Emiya, no?" A smirk formed then. "And I have heard that Sir Archer has been making quite a name for himself recently."

     Another sip. "And then we have you, The King of Knights! Foolish as it may be to even think of attempting to bring harm to one of your calibur, you are quite a high profile target yourself, are you not?" And her gaze turned to Bedivere at that. "And as this land's lord, are you not of a similar profile?"

     That was her theory anyway. It wasn't the land, it was the people in it. As the subject turned to the matter of distant descendants, Nero chuckled. "But of course! Where do you think your king got her radiant good looks from?" She pressed a hand above her chest in a proud manner. "It was from me, of course! Ah ha ha ha ha!"

     So she said, but it really was just speculation.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The former knight-marshal remains still, so still that one might mistake him for a statue. His eyes occasionally flick from one speaker to the other, but otherwise, he seems content to take in the others' words. Behind him, servants go about their business, out of sight and out of mind.

He does tilt his head faintly in what might be acquiesce to the King of Knights; he has agreed with her observation before, privately. There are no resources. Even the people are without merit, for beyond their remarkable spirit, they are otherwise unremarkable non-Elites of little interest to enemy camps. Therefore, the hunter-killer droid's interest must be restricted strictly to the Elites here. They have attracted his attention.

Attention, Bedivere reflects as Nero brushes off his offer of alliance, is usually something to be avoided at all costs. The mice do not wish to attract the attention of the cat while they creep through the granary. So too do those of Dun Realtai prefer to avoid the attention of the Confederacy, particularly one of the more outspoken and less scrupled members of the Confederacy such as this. With or without Nero's help, he decides, this hunter-killer droid will need to be dealt with, and dealt with soon, before he has the opportunity to strike against Dun Realtai on his own twisted terms--

"Hm?" He raises a brow, interrupted from his musings. The Steward of Dun Realtai frowns, very slowly. "Lezard Valeth. Yes, I have heard his voice on the open frequency. And I have reason to believe that Master Shirou has been incautious in his dealings with such. Neither do I have reason to trust Archer, but trust is not something that I am in the habit of dispensing freely." He smiles thinly; thin as the honed blade at his hip. "Surely you, as an Emperor, understand the necessity of courtly politicking. And the need is all the more great when you are holding court amongst wolves and tigers."

The smile fades, expression grave once more. "The difference is that the King of Knights has earned her title, and she is more than capable of proving why she is called such. She is a Servant, as you are, and I would place you on equal terms, at the very least, although I cannot offer an unbiased account, for I have seen her in war. As to that... no, I do not think so. Dun Realtai is insignificant, militarily, and I do not make a habit of putting my name forth particularly often. It is better for me to listen than to speak, and to observe, for that is how I survived the court at Camelot." He smiles thinly again. "Such is the case here, for I have traded Camelot's wolves for the lions and tigers of the multiverse. I am only a mortal. I must use what resources I have to ensure that the situation remains advantageous to me, and the land under my protection... and I am less a lord," he adds, "and more of a steward, to be technical."

He rises, then, eyeing the Roman Emperor blandly at that boast.

"Actually, I do not think so," he states, in an equally bland tone. "I think it coincidental. There were those in the northlands who bore similar appearances to mine, though we be not of any blood; I do not think it so strange that there would be those of the multiverse bearing similar appearances."

Dismissive. Just like that.

He turns, then; turns his back on Nero, as though that in itself were a dismissal. Before he can ascend the first step of the stone staircase at the end of the hall, though, he pauses, head half-turning.

"Remain here as long as you wish," he murmurs, before turning and ascending the stairs -- slowly, stiffly, but with the same quiet dignity he's always reserved for courtly formalities.

Nero (880) has posed:
     It was not a dismissal of alliance, so much as a dismissal of assistance. Nero would not go back on her word of lending her blade to Dun Realtai's defense, but she would not demand that others help in her matters. Her pride would not allow her to do such a thing. Typical really, flameboyantly taking any chance to show off, even in matters of war, while dismissing offers of assistance in return. The Emperor did not need assistance, but she was glad to give it. "Nevertheless, this droid, as they call it. This killer of men, I shall not allow it to bring harm to my Praetor or those who I have placed value in." A nod and another sip followed. "I shall let that be that."

     Bedivere's accounts of their various allies and enemies earn him a why smirk. "I must agree. Sir Emiya has been far too lax in his dealings with that Magus. I have heard tell of his terrible power. To have a man of that ability seeking your flesh for dark purposes, I would stay vigilant. No, I would be proactive. Remove the threat before it does harm, no?" A careless shrug and a light laugh followed. "Mhmhm! I understand well indeed. Trust and alliance are two different things, are they not? Sometimes, one must consort with wolves in order to maintain a measure of peace."

     One last sip was had, downing the rest of the tea. And distantly, Nero looked aside, as if recalling something. "A measure of order..." She knew well. It was not something that she liked to think about. Her political career, while lined with unambiguous successes, were also mired in conspiracy, tragedy, and betrayal. But this was not a situation exclusive to the Roman Emperor. No, Camelot was a land that was fraught with it's own tragedies, was it not?

     It was pure and beautiful, even if only for an instant, but then the dream ended.

     A shake of the head and Nero roused herself out of her own reverie. No use dwelling on the past.

     Bedivere's bland dismissal of her previous boast earns him a look. "Hah! You may deny it all you wish, Sir Bedivere! I do not blame you! It is a hard thing to accept after all! Ah ha ha ha ha!" And then it was right back to egotistical shenanigans.

     It would seem this meeting had drawn to a close, with the steward of the land taking his leave. Nero watched him go briefly, and then looked towards the nearest servant. "Another cup, if you will!"

     Looks like she was going to take her time getting out of here.

Saber (346) has posed:
     "Now that life has returned to the land, its natural beauty has returned, as well," Arturia replied. Whether or not the self-styled artist was any good, she was more than happy to encourage her away from the statue of Bedivere. "Take care near the forests, however...the Tylwyth Teg claim those as their domain, and the woods have yet to fully recover. Similarly, one of the lakes is the home of the winter guardian of these lands, while the other is the home of a kelpie. They might become agitated if disturbed too greatly."

     She let the matter of HK's reputed lack of grace and elegance in killing go, disagreeing that such a thing could be done gracefully at all. War and slaughter were inherently ugly things, and attempts to prettify it were ignoring the hideousness of the truth.

This time, she did nothing to stifle her sigh; fortunately it was not over exasperation for Nero's manic energy, but the situation. "I fear you are right, my lady," Arturia remarked. "Dun Realtai has become known as a refuge of sorts, where powerful beings gather. It has been enough to cause the Tylwyth Teg some concern."

     Though she sipped her tea, there was a slight grimace on her face owing to where her thoughts led. "Though there are some among the Confederacy who have partaken of the refuge we offer, many of their own compatriots have no such honour to respect Dun Realtai's sanctity. Even now, we must remain vigilant against such threats." As much as their charge has worked miracles for her state of mind, apparently the King of Knights knew better than to relax her guard entirely.

     Her head tilted slightly as she regarded the other part of it, the fact that it might well be the Elites themselves. She couldn't deny that she was at least a target of some interest, given the cryptic list pulled from one of the HK duplicates. "That was a concern of the Tylwyth Teg, as well," she admitted with some ruefulness. "That while we wish them no harm, the collective power of Elites would draw unwanted attention."

     As much as Nero's outward disposition was almost diametrically opposed to Arturia's, their similarities were more than merely skin deep. So too was the King of Knights willing to offer her sword in the defence of others while insisting on fighting her own battles on her own and on her terms. She herself was not so dismissive of the possibility of relation, even if she strongly disagreed on the 'radiant beauty' aspect of it. And admittedly, Camelot had been built in part on the dying embers of the Roman Empire before it.

     "I thank you, my lady," she replied smoothly. "We are indebted to any who would come to the defence of our home." Home, she had called it. Not merely a place they protect and govern.

     Finishing her tea, she rose politely as Bedivere made his exit, though she made no move to help him ascend the stairs, allowing him to project the old strength so necessary in Camelot to avoid speculation of personal weakness. At least now, it was more of a matter of pride than avoiding a poisoned dagger in the back. "It is as my knight says," she added. "The hospitality of Dun Realtai is open to you."