1440/Unsolicited Advice

Unsolicited Advice
Date of Scene:	28 January 2015
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Merlin has a discussion about various things with Dún Reáltaí's lord and lady. His advice isn't necessarily appreciated.
Cast of Characters:	346, 482, 639

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
It's another snowy day in Dún Reáltaí, to the surprise of no one. Snow falls at such a rate that it almost defies comprehension, burying the plain, the hill, and the castle in a mantle of silent white. Thankfully, there's plenty of firewood, and the doors have been shut against the frozen deluge, so it's a day for working indoors.

Or, in the case of Sir Bedivere, a little leisure time, having finished his work for the day.

The castle's lord is sitting in front of the fireplace, absently looking over an old-looking book. Its binding is leather, and while there was rich foil stamped on its cover, once, most of it has rubbed off and worn away. It's something to do with the legends of the Round Table, to go by the faint traces of a sword and crown on the cover, and guaranteeably from some other world – one of the more 'modern' instances of an Earth, no doubt.

Merlin (639) has posed:
The cacaphony of falling snow drowns out any other sounds from outside, leaving the world empty. It's a sound that frankly drives the wizard mad sometimes, like a little itch just inside the ear that can't be scratched. At the moment it's annoying enough to disrupt Merlin's spell-work, and the wizard sighs. Nothing to be done today, it seems, alas.

In a swirl of robes he strides out of the room he'd been graciously provided with, sealing it magically behind him. It wouldn't do for Gong-chan to walk in there just yet, or for that matter any of the castle pages. But mostly Gong-chan. In the meantime, he's making his way down to the common room, because surely there must be someone interesting there. Someone to keep the wizard occupied...and maybe explain just what in Scathach's lacy panties is going on with all these new people in Dún Reáltaí.

Oh look. A chew toy!

"Milord." Merlin's voice is soft, for once not wishing to startle the engrossed reader. "Might I ask, what is it you're reading?"

Before being told anything different, especially to go away or even to get an answer to his question, Merlin settles luxuriously into the chair opposite the former knight. He reaches down to the table, rustling around a moment before drawing out a magazine that certainly wasn't there when Bedivere had looked before. The wizard flips through his subscription to Penthouse, glancing up at Bedivere when he finally answers.

"So...I see we have a number of new guests. The pink-haired girl among them, she strikes me as...curious. On a level, perhaps, with both Arturia and your mysterious midnight visitor. Fellows from this Union, I take it?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Perhaps it's the silence that bothers Merlin so. There is no sound as the snow drifts gently to the ground, even in such volume. It's as though the outside world simply doesn't exist beyond the thick stone walls of Dún Reáltaí. Quiet and introspection are hardly the wizard's choice pursuits, although he can certainly be considered wise.

The turtle-gong has made itself reasonably scarce, amusing itself by poking around the storerooms, and probably under hot pursuit by Kepas, looking for his favourite chewtoy. At least that antagonistic relationship keeps both of the resident spirits occupied, and out from underfoot of the castle's human staff – it's hard to avoid a large hound-like creature the size of a draught horse under most circumstances.

Bedivere blinks once or twice at the sound of the title he's only reluctantly come to accept. Violet eyes flick up, then over, noting the wizard. He had been hoping for an interruption from Arturia, perhaps with a pot of tea and something to eat, and it's always a bitter disappointment when it's the wizard instead.

Privately, he has to wonder just what sort of awful thing he did to be 'rewarded' with Merlin finding this place. To his credit, he doesn't sigh in exasperation. And slowly hunkers down behind the leather covers of his book as he spots what Merlin pulled out of that pile, which was certainly not there two minutes ago – everything else in the neat stack is to do with the legends of Camelot.

He can feel his face reddening at the wizard's sheer audacity and impropriety.

"Why even ask if you've no interest in the answer?" With the dry thud of a large book being closed, Bedivere sets the tome aside, casting an annoyed look at Merlin and his magazine.

And then, with reflexes that would make a warrior like Cúchulainn proud, he lunges forward, seizes the magazine from Merlin, and tosses it into the hearth-fire, glaring as the thing blackens and curls. It's no great loss; he can just magick up another one if he really wants to... but he won't be doing it in Bedivere's presence.

"Her name is Lady Sakura, and you will leave her in peace, on pain of violating Brehon Law. She wishes no visitors unless she should seek them out." The words are given in a no-nonsense tone. Leaning back in his chair, Bedivere folds his arms. "And he was not 'my' visitor. He sought me out, but he is no Union member. In fact, I would ask that you inform me if you should see him slinking about again. I do not trust him and his presence here will only foretell disaster," he adds, clearly uneasy.

Saber (346) has posed:
While the former Marshal of Camelot had been bitterly disappointed that his interruption had not been on account of its former king bringing tea, that was not to say that she would not be doing just that. Not long after the wizard made himself comfortable and set to his favourite past-time of annoying Bedivere, Arturia emerged from the kitchens with a tea tray laden with black tea, honey, cream, and biscuits. It was not the sort of thing that had existed in their time, but it was nevertheless one of those modern comforts that the knights had taken a liking to.

At first, she only spotted the lord of the keep, intending to have him take a short break from his duties and studies. Even when he was not working....he was working, and continued to practise at the small spellcrafting which Loros had taught him so far. It was seldom that the knight truly took a break, and many times she had to remind him of that fact. Or scold him when he was being particularly stubborn.

Unfortunately, that soft smile soured into a slight frown as she spotted her tutor and advisor now seated across from him. Arturia could tolerate his presence far better than many others – perhaps because Merlin had always been present some way or another throughout her life – but that hardly meant she was never annoyed at him. She was especially peeved when he bothered her friends and loved ones. In fact, she seemed to be annoyed at the white-haired wizard quite often for that.

It was a good thing she had made a generous helping, in retrospect. A certain someone was going to be pilfering biscuits, she was certain.

Quietly, the Servant set the tea down on the table in front of Bedivere before pouring tea into the cups. And it was a good thing she brought two more in the event of guests. And yes, Merlin would be receiving a cup, as well, though he would probably conjure himself one anyway.

Sitting down beside her knight, she lifted the cup to her lips and blandly regarded her advisor. "I would have thought you would be in that land you call 'Bermuda' by now, given the weather here."

Merlin (639) has posed:
Quiet and introspection have their place. So does rampaging hedonism and spectacular parties. Alas, the former is all Merlin is left with, but he is pleased enough. He glances out the window, noting the drifts starting to build against the side of the building. It's starting to block the bottom-most edge of the windows, which bears ill for the lighting. Hmm...perhaps he can provide a little addition to that later. A simple spell to improve the brightness of a flame is hardly a difficult thing, and it'll keep him occupied later.

"Perhaps not who you hoped for, I take it." The look on Bedivere's face is virtually invisible to most people, but in the years they've known each other the wizard has learned how to scru with the inscrutable knight. Merlin simply smiles peacefully, though he scowls when the magazine is suddenly plucked from his hands. "I see your reflexes are sharp as ever, my lord."

Hmpf. Really, stealing such a thing out of his hands, how terribly rude. "You presume much, sire." Pale blue eyes take in the faded titles of the books, even as Bedivere apparently tries to feign uninterest and change the subject. "Studying what became of our history, I see. Learning what the world made of us, so as to know what to expect in future dealings, perhaps? Or simple reminiscing of the past, preferably of the better days we all once shared?"

He raises a hand to head off the expected complaints, before being suddenly placated with biscuits and tea. "Arturia. A warm pleasure, no doubt. Bedivere and I were just discussing what he'd learned, what the Union and your future thought of your time." Ooh, honey on biscuits tastes so good. And Merlin looks like the cat that not only ate the canary but dipped its tasty birdie ass in some barbecue sauce first.

As far as he cares, his student is doing well. Learning another's point of view to understand how they view you, and then using that knowledge, is the second-best form of international relations. Certainly a far better choice than simply making war against them and converting them to your point of view.

"Bermuda is a fine place to visit, but I have my work here," the wizard says to Saber. "I do not merely sit around in my room reading magazines all day," he adds, with an aside to the fireplace. Sigh. He was looking forward to that one. "Alas, I must remain until the current incantation is finished; it requires finesse and control. Once it is finished, perhaps I shall take up a weekend upon the other Blessed Isle." He waves a hand before turning back to Bedivere.

And stares, hard. "Be at peace, Lord Bedivere. I inquire for reasons other than you might suspect. Remember what I said to you about gathering allies." He focuses his gaze in a more clinical way, taking in both Lord and Lady of Dún Reáltaí. "You should know better than anyone to threaten me with Brehon law, for I will violate it upon pain of much more than you can muster. I may be thrown out, I may well be sealed once more. Perhaps even killed. But violating that ancient oath would do far worse. A wizard swears such things upon pains the likes of which no mortal might understand."

He glances at Saber for a moment, wondering if her former Master would be one who does.

"As for that swordsman, I speak in colloquialism. I have felt no sign of him since, though I recall him promising to return someday. I fear greatly if he were to find Gawain." Merlin sits back, leaning against the chair and congratulating himself for not eating all the biscuits. See, he can share! "As for my curiosity for our visitors, would not anyone have such?" Shrug. It's not like he's hitting on the pink-haired ninja yet!

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"My lady." The greeting is murmured so quietly it could be missed, though Bedivere does incline his head faintly. His mouth twitches in the faintest hint of a smile, as though heartened by her mere arrival. "Thank you."

His attention invariably drifts back to the wizard, though, studying the white-haired and blue-eyed advisor of Camelot. In response to that accusatory statement, he merely affects a bland expression, the type he's so very good with.

"I always welcome stimulating discussion with Camelot's chief advisor. And allowing my reflexes to dull would be a violation of Exercitium, would it not?" Bedivere arches a brow, faintly. "And yes. It would behoove me to know what to expect, particularly in these worlds where our own doings are such distant history..."

As to reminiscing on days past, Bedivere merely stares flatly at Merlin. The wizard of all people ought to know there was no joy for him in those days, and little relief from the marshal's grueling service. Or, indeed, any of the knights. To pursue the dream of happiness for the people, they were required to sacrifice their own.

"As to that, there is nothing to reminisce about," he says softly. "A fact I am certain you are well aware. There was little better about those days, and I will thank you not to mock the sacrifices of the Round Table – or mine."

That coldness fades, though, as Merlin proceeds to gorge himself on biscuits, and after a moment he sighs a bland sigh, casting an equally bland look over to Arturia. Honestly, can someone really be that thoughtless? It's as well she brought an extra helping or three, or they wouldn't have any for themselves. Selfish old man.

"Incantation?" Bedivere raises his brow, and only the curiously light tone of his voice suggests his suspicion. "What manner of incantation?" After all, making magical waves is exactly the sort of thing Bedivere doesn't want done, not with the Tylwyth Teg already suspicious about his presence.

Merlin's hard stare earns one in kind, although he doesn't quite narrow his eyes. For all Merlin's mockery of Brehon Law, and how he was its founder, the knight is reasonably certain it existed in some form even before the wizard. He snorts softly though his nose. "Should I? I have been dragged into your world, like it or no, and I believe I have some inkling of what awaits one such as yourself when the Ancient Laws are violated. Why do you think I invoke it?"

"Mm." He looks vaguely troubled at the mention of Sasaki Kojirou. "It is my hope that he has lost interest in this place, and moved on. I am in agreement; I do not wish for Sir Gawain to meet with him, for he is brash, and would seek to prove himself in battle. I cannot be certain, but I am not certain even a Servant would survive such a thing." Bedivere shakes his head. "I do not know what he is, but I know that he is strong."

A heartbeat or two pass in silence.

"...Leave Lady Sakura alone," he adds, blandly.

Saber (346) has posed:
The petite blonde smiled faintly in response to her marshal's; an otherwise barely noticeable thing. But he would, naturally, pick up on it. Though so too would the third person present, and his own way of ribbing them about it would be much more unique that the usual reactions. "You are welcome," she merely replied in response.

Merlin earned a slight tilt her head to one side, her version of a shrug. Not only the Union, but other Elites of the multiverse seemed to have mixed opinions...at least, those who had even known about it. And among those who did and knew their legends, the only constant seemed to be the astonishment over the discovery that King Arthur was a woman.

That, she realised with some resignation, was something she would continue to deal with whenever she met someone new. "There would appear to be a lack of a pervading opinion," she admitted.

But she did certainly smile at Bedivere's mildly sarcastic response; even when he was tired, his seemingly languid reactions always concealed what he was truly capable of, like a hunting cat ready to spring.

She decided against commenting on the magazines, which, thankfully, she had not caught a glance of. And Merlin was not going to comment on his work, anyway. At Bedivere's bland glance her way, the Servant shook her head slightly. He had only informed them partially, she was certain, and the incantation was only a part of it. No....there was little doubt that the wizard had some lesson or other to impart on them. As irritating as it was, it was something they would have to sit through nevertheless. Apparently, she was never sufficiently 'taught'.

And what kind of incantation, she wondered? "It would not have something to do with our other fae guest within the lake, would it?" she asked mildly. That creature was going to be trouble, she could tell already.

Carefully, she laid a light hand on Bedivere's upper arm. To be fair, they really had nothing to worry about from Merlin beyond an irritating prank: he was just as bound to those Laws as they were. But getting upset at the wizard was not going to help his own piece of mind.

Upon mention of a swordsman, however, Arturia allowed a concerned expression to cross her face. It demanded not special insight to know what Merlin referred to, the mysterious swordsman that Bedivere had nearly been killed by. She had yet to set eyes upon him beyond a fleeting glimpse, but it was only a matter of time. She or Gawain would have to face him eventually, she was certain. "I fear that he will not lose interest in this place, so long as we remain here," she replied quietly, grimly. "There are not only those of us who are Servants here, but Elites of power and skill. If he is truly searching for strong opponents to battle, he will come here again."

As to bedivere's last comment? Arturia merely nodded in agreement.

Merlin (639) has posed:
The blander Bedivere becomes, the more Merlin knows he's making a point. At the current rate the wizard's going, Bedivere should be well on his way to turning into enriched white rice. "Indeed it would. And I do enjoy the chance to speak to friends and allies, even if only to excuse myself from the doom of boredom." He turns a distant gaze up to his right, as if suddenly contemplating something he sees in the ceiling.

Bedivere's reply is perhaps expected, but it gives him the chance to make his point further. The wizard leans forward slightly, resting his chin upon laced fingers. "It may have had its difficulties for you. But was not the land at peace? And slightly warmer," he asks, casting an eye to the drift building up against the window. "A country not at war, without starvation or suffering. Peace in a kingdom, and the subjects of the king happy. For a time, at least; I would say that is something to reminisce over." The people and the land are more important than petty emotions and hurt memories, Lord Bedivere.

Thoughtless? Why no. Merlin's thoughts are entirely foremost, especially where it comes to the fantastic taste. And it isn't as if he's entirely inconsiderate of them, after all - if Arturia hadn't been quite so generous in her portions, then the wizard would have simply shared less. It's merely a flavorful demonstration of the economy of scale.

A slow nod comes from the wizard, before he leans back. "I see. Perhaps not such a bad position after all; it is likely you will not be held to unattainable expectations. And you are not fighting a political battle from a position of weakness; this gives you the chance to present to the Union the face you want them to see." Merlin smiles. "That shall make things much easier for your future."

He waves a hand, looking to the side again. "Trouble yourself not. Exercitium, you said? Just as Gawain practices his sword, Arturia practices her cooking - quite good, I must add," he grins, "and you hone the fine edge of your mind. I would be quite useless to you were I to let my abilities slip, but do not fear. There is no more danger to you or the castle than there is permitting Gawain to ride his steel horse around." Just practice! At least, that's what Merlin will cop to.

Merlin's eyes narrow. "You are quick to invoke it, my lord. I am quite aware of the law, and have never transgressed it. Does one need to apply the whip so readily to to a horse that hasn't yet slowed its pace?" He is quiet after that, letting Arturia continue. Elites of power and skill, she says, which makes his point. "I believe he will as well. Which brings me back to my prior question, Bedivere. This Lady Sakura, the Elite of the Union. I am aware of your guest right being given to her, though I also wonder. Is she in danger from the Cursed Swordsman as well?" Sometimes Merlin operates on more levels than you can imagine, Bedivere.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Those violet eyes remain fixed on the wizard, especially when Arturia openly challenges her advisor on the nature of his spells. If he's intending to interfere with the thing in the lake, there's probably no telling what the consequences might be. The touch of Otherworldly that lives in this land is already nervous about the presence of a relatively new lord, and perhaps nervous that he might prove to have a less tolerant attitude towards them than the last.

He flicks a glance sidelong when a hand is laid on his arm, but he doesn't comment. She might feel him let out his breath in faint, exasperated gesture; but he doesn't snap at Merlin. Not yet.

"I do not imagine how you must have survived in that rock. You cannot stand to be alone and quiet in your own head for five minutes, let alone however many seasons you spent entombed." Bedivere snorts, quietly. "As to that, I am not the only one it had difficulties for, and it would be selfish to think that I am. But I will not debate this with you. I am finished."

He frowns, violet eyes settling distrustfully on the wizard. "I intend no duplicity. Stop making it sound as though it were some great plot. I merely wish to understand, and be aware of their reactions." He stares levelly at the wizard, and perhaps Arturia might note that he's coming awfully close to something approaching anger. "Y—"

Something twitches near his right eye. There's a reason why he doesn't like talking to Merlin, and that's because now that he's capable of speaking freely to the old man, it threatens to end in argument more often than not. There's a reason why he trusts Loros to administer his lessons; and not the very advisor to the king whose presence he had tolerated for so long.

The old man is insufferable.

Bedivere takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose.

"No. She is a healer, not a warrior, else I would have bade her stay elsewhere. She can defend herself, as any Elite would, but she seeks not battle. Here, she seeks only peace of mind. I do not expect her to be a problem."

Saber (346) has posed:
Saber almost did not want to know just what Merlin might be contemplating as he spoke of boredom. No, scratch that...she was fairly certain she didn't.

This time it was her turn to twitch in irritation. Camelot was not something she would ever look back upon with a true fondness. There was too much which had gone wrong...too much suffering, too much war when the Saxons invaded and too much unrest when they weren't. King and Knights alike reached for what the world insisted were impossible ideals, but she had lacked the necessary strength to bring it about. And it was only her own happiness which was ultimately unimportant; even the Knights who served her had earned some measure of it.

Though now, it had miraculously found them both. Five years ago shee would have felt guilty over that, but working to make the people of Dún Reáltaí happy and safe had preoccupied her sufficiently, to say nothing of looking after its lord.

Fortunately, her hand was already where it was. Now she almost needed that touch as some reassurance for herself.

At this rate, however, a less calm and composed man would have already stormed off. Though her former advisor enjoyed pushing his buttons – both of theirs, really – Bedivere was patient enough to endure it...for the most part. She squeezed his arm lightly in reaasurance, knowing full well how insufferable the wizard could be that he could test even the marshal's famous patience.

hough she did nearly roll her eyes at his cooking comment.

Instead, the Servant shook her head. "Even were she a warrior, there are three Servants already here. He will seek us out, first."

Merlin (639) has posed:
"Temper, my lord." Merlin bows his head. "I do not seek quarrel with you, only to offer alternate points of view. Calm yourself, argument is not what I intend." Merlin relaxes, gazing at the fire, letting Bedivere's snort echo into nothingness. "In all truth, my time sealed in the earth was...strange. It was as if one is asleep, dreaming - yet seeing all that is going on around you, and yet unable to even perceive it clearly. As if watching history as a ghost, seeing through the veil of a dream." Or perhaps a nightmare. A coma that one cannot wake up from, cannot do anything about, and are completely powerless to affect even the slightest thing - and yet watching everything that happened after the fall of Camelot.

Perhaps Bedivere is willing to understand the idea. At least the knight was able to influence outcomes, save someone once. Bedivere was even granted the ability to simply breathe. If he does, so much the better for him...if he refuses, it is hardly the wizard's fault.

"Duplicity?" One eyebrow quirks far too high. "I do not speak of duplicity, sir. Perhaps you might understand this, then. Was there ever anyone in your life for whom you wanted them to see your best side? Someone who you wished to impress with ability, and you were aware they would be impressed by it?" Merlin knows all too damned well that's true. He's aware of Bedivere's foreign nature at Camelot, and he is aware of the love he has for the woman by his side. "I merely speak of the same for the people of Dún Reáltaí. Is it duplicitous to know what the Union expects of you, and to live up to the best of those goals? Understanding their view of us helps us view them."

Wise advice, in the end.

The wizard nods slowly, at Arturia's comment. "This is quite true, though. I note that the cursed swordsman appeared first when there was such a gathering of Elites at the céilidh. Perhaps he sensed their power from afar, and was drawn to it like a moth to a flame." He settles his eyes on Bedivere, letting the obvious nature of the statement continue. If there are another large number of Elites, then it's very likely that it could draw him again, right at that time. Perhaps there should be a limit to Bedivere's hospitality, at least until they have truly ascertained the immediate danger.

"Nonetheless, I believe he will come for either Arturia or Gawain first. He has already faced Bedivere," the wizard continues with a nod to the lord. "And I suspect he may seek to gauge others strength first."

Then he pauses. "A healer, you say. Mm..." He pauses. "Perhaps she may know of the nature of his curse, or at least one way to fight what defiles him. You remember that blackness, and how you described it. As if it flowed over his very soul. I fear it isn't something limited to him, but like a pool of mud contaminating those who approach it." And potentially cursing others.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Once upon a time, the pale-haired knight had been the very image of calm within the tumult of Camelot's court politics. He had been a bastion of cool detachment simply because he'd had no choice. Now, to see him here, it might even seem surreal that he's on the verge of losing his temper with the magician... yet if anybody could do that sheerly through being obnoxious, it would be Merlin.

Five years ago, he wouldn't have even batted an eye, and it's perhaps that realisation that the knight draws in a slow breath, letting it go just as slowly. He closes his eyes for a moment, reaching for those reserves of calm and peace. It's a skill that will never leave him.

He seems calmer when he opens his eyes, though there's still a hint of tension about his shoulders. He can't quite completely banish his aggravation, and likely won't until Merlin gets bored and wanders off to bother somebody else.

"As my king says. If there are other Servants to be sought out, here, he will seek them out first. He seeks strong warriors, not healers; he longs to hear steel-song, and nothing more. It is the only joy he knows, although I am not certain I would describe it as 'joy.' Perhaps it is better to say that it makes him feel alive, or with purpose? I do not know." He shakes his head, reaching for his teacup and taking a drink.

When chided on his temper, though, his eyes flick back up to Merlin. His expression doesn't so much as change, and that in itself suggests he's retreated entirely behind that cold, professional mask he once wore. For not intending an argument, he has a funny way of showing it, sometimes... and an obnoxious way of pointing things out to people.

"I intended no such thing. To caution myself for what their reaction may be, perhaps, but not to alter my own. I am long past that point. There were only one people I wished to do that for, and that was not for my own benefit, but my king's. And you know that full well," he snaps, though his voice remains level. He sighs, short and sharp. "But you are right. Understanding their view of us helps us to view them... and our knowing helps them to view us."

He frowns. "It would be seen as cowardice if I did not hold a future céilidh just on account of one dangerous Elite. No, I will not do that. He has already found out for himself that I cannot stand against him, so, as you say, he will seek out the others. Sir Gawain, my king... perhaps even the other Elites who stay on here. I do not know. His reasons are his own."

To the nature of the swordsman's curse, he only shakes his head. "I do not know. I had thought to ask her, but for the time being, it is unimportant. She requires time, and healing, things that I know well she can find here. And that is why I ask you to leave her be. Let her heal from whatever it is that harries her; do not seek her out."

Saber (346) has posed:
Arturia stifled a sigh. If she didn't know any better, she might suspect Merlin was worried about them. Of course, the more honest side of herself would not let her weasel out of that realisation; Fides could as easily apply to refusing self-deception as much as being honest with others. And Fortitudo, to endure it. No, as much as he enjoyed getting rises out of his charge and others as equally serious-minded, there was some other purpose for his being here. Though it seemed rather odd that he would appear now, though perhaps that was more the multiverse's ways than necessarily anything the wizard could really control.

"You need not worry about the Union, Teacher," she replied with a slight hint of exasperation. "The only given goal is to keep the Confederacy from its goal of conquest. Beyond that, it is only as good and honourable as it individual members." And yes, the same could even be said about the Confederacy. Still, he had a point about perhaps making their goals in Dún Reáltaí more public. So far, she had been content to merely work quietly and, for the most part, contentedly.

But she was not going to limit hospitality merely to contain the cursed swordsman. Not only that, but drawing more power might even work to their advantage. "It would seem he can sense skill as well as power. This might, in fact, be advantageous. If he is indeed lured to such places, then perhaps a trap might be laid." Not that she was certain how to pull that one off...but then, that was precisely why she had appointed Bedivere to his position.

As to the nature of the curse, Arturia shook her head. "It is not a conventional curse, if I understand it correctly," she pointed out. "I have my suspicions, but if they are correct, it will prove much more difficult to purge than even the most potent magic can withstand. Certainly nothing which conventional healing techniques could cure."

Merlin (639) has posed:
Bedivere would approve of Merlin's line of thinking. It's Exercitium, in a way. If Bedivere doesn't practice his anger, he'll never get to use it properly. And perhaps Merlin has his reasons for doing that, but one will never know. Maybe he really is just the ultimate troll after all, his incubus side roaring to the top. Then again, one does need to generate anger to be able to control it. Then again...perhaps he has another reason for getting Bedivere's blood up.

Merlin smiles when Bedivere sighs and acquiesces the argument. "Would that all the worlds relied on chivalry and honor so as you do, my lord." Then maybe someone like Merlin wouldn't be required, and he can go back to thinking of Scathach. And others. And more than thinking. Matter of fact, forget the thinking, Merlin decides.

"A valid point. Very well...though, having the feel of him now, I may be able to do more to search him out in the future. His ability to mingle with the guests with none sensing him disturbs me, especially for a creature of such power. A lion is a great and powerful animal, but it is not what one would call stealthy." Merlin pauses to think. Perhaps a warding of sorts around the castle and town, even a simple thing announcing his presence.

"Steel-song. Poetic." Perhaps a clue to his identity. How many swordsmen seek nothing but battle, and have the soul of an artist, corrupted as it may be?

And then Arturia speaks. 's idea might well engender something. And Merlin realizes his job is done; he's now got the two of them thinking of a solution - Bedivere riled up some and willing to think tactically, and Arturia's mind turned to a strategic idea. The lord of Dún Reáltaí may sometimes need a proper push to a combat mindset, but it is a push that Merlin is capable of giving. Between the King of Knights and her Marshal, there is little they cannot overcome. The subtlest of smiles crosses Merlin's face as he enjoys seeing his finest tools working so wonderfully together.

Time and healing. "I see. Fear not; it is not my intent to inquire deeply into Lady Sakura's life. My concerns were for the people of Dún Reáltaí, and what dangers there are to them - as are yours, my lord. And now that the moment has passed," he adds, with a glance to the fireplace and the curled ashes of a rather visually impressive magazine inside it, "I shall take my leave of you. Until later, my lord, my lady."

Merlin rises with a bow, withdrawing almost silently. They should have a plan in an hour, he thinks. Unless they put more than their minds together, in which case...well, it can wait until morning. Now, where did Gawain keep his porn stash again?

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The pale-haired knight glances to the king, although he offers no comment when she clarifies the Union's goals. Ostensibly, that's true, but methodology is also a significant difference between the two. Although it's still a vast organisation of individuals, the Union generally holds to higher standards of what they consider acceptable in wartime; the Confederacy, largely, seems to be much more lax about that... and in dangerous ways, often.

Bedivere shakes his head. "I must agree with my king. If he is lured, it is possible that we may be capable of setting a trap. He is strong, but no man or being is invincible. Perhaps it may be at great cost, but I believe he could be subdued, if it were made necessary... it would, however, take a great deal of planning and forethought." Two things, fortunately, that Bedivere is reasonably skilled with. "And time. He is no fool, and he would not be lured by a trap too hastily constructed."

"As to his curse, I cannot speak to that. I know little of such things, but I can say that it is virulent, whatever it is, and it is repulsive. The mere sight of the marks upon his skin turn even my stomach. It is not natural."

If he knew about Merlin's reasoning, though, he'd probably just lose his temper. Still, it's an impressive trick of Merlin's, to get the pale-haired knight to lose his temper at all – he lacks not for means to control his anger; Merlin just knows how to get under his skin, much as he does with Arturia.

His eyes flick back as Merlin decides to take his leave, and it's a good thing he can't read the wizard very well.

He'd definitely lose his temper at whatever direction Merlin's inscrutable thoughts are running in.

Bedivere slumps back in his chair once Merlin is well and truly out of earshot and eyesight.

"I would have been happier if he had not shown up here." The statement is quiet and a little plaintive. "It was easier to deal with him in Camelot. He was wise enough not to inquire too deeply into anything, or to be caught speaking to me much at all. Alas that I cannot avoid him so easily here."

Leaning back in his chair, he clutches his cup of tea close, draining the rest of it and setting the empty porcelain aside. "I think I will go rest. I find myself suddenly weary; I will think of what to do about that swordsman, but later." Pushing himself to his feet, he pulls his arm from her hand somewhat reluctantly, though he lets his hand trail along her shoulder as he does.

Provided the wizard decides not to come back and harass him any further, Bedivere will take his leave, trudging up the stairs and back to his chambers. Verbally sparring with Merlin is always exhausting, and a nice long winter's nap sounds like a good idea. The day isn't good for much else.