386/Knights and Saints

Knights and Saints
Date of Scene:	10 August 2014
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Jeanne d'Arc, the Saber of Black, travels to Dun Realtai to meet with Sir Bedivere and Sir Gawain.
Cast of Characters:	85, 482, Sir Gawain, 536

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
It had taken a great deal to convince the Knights of the Round Table not to leave with their king.

Arturia had been bound and determined to attend to the meeting set up by her half-angel superior. Ostensibly, it was to be a peace treaty, where the two could finally begin to close the yawning chasm that lay between them, with promise of neutral ground and the opportunity to speak freely. Yet for however much Arturia may have wanted to forgive her offspring, it was not such an easy matter for her knights, who had all dealt with the consequences of Mordred's rebellion in their own ways.

Appeals to duty were made, and so were appeals made to no less than three of the eight chivalric virtues. Those were perhaps enough to satisfy Gawain, for it was a direct request from the king. It had been a somewhat longer debate for Bedivere, but in the end, duty had won over his mistrust; with a deep and profound unhappiness, he had agreed to remain at Dun Realtai.

The fact gnaws at him even now, and it's been evident all through the day. The lord of the keep has been pacing the castle and village, hands folded behind his back and under his mantled cloak, armour clanking with every step. He still looks exhausted, as though he had hardly slept a wink the previous night, in addition to recovering from the restless and grueling years he'd spent wandering after the Battle of Camlann.

In spite of his quietness and his soft voice, not once speaking an angry word to anyone, there is nonetheless a dangerous air about him today; one even the peasants recognise, and no one has dared to bother him over a trivial matter with the reconstruction.

Since she had accepted his offer of tutoring, he had issued a formal invitation to Jeanne, along with very specific instructions on how to reach the keep in a timely manner.

Gawain had also been given express permission to stay at the keep, if he so wished, and quarters of his own -- servant's quarters in the keep, for the time being, since those and the larger lord's quarters are the only rooms complete and fit for habitation.

For now, though, the pale-haired knight has flopped at the foot of an oak tree in the castle's innermost courtyard, not far from the central keep. His legs are out before him, and he leans against the trunk, wrapped up in his heavy, mantled cloak -- and his thoughts, for his eyes are far distant, watching over the village as he broods in silence.

Bedivere is not a happy man right now, no sir.

Sir Gawain has posed:
If someone's upset..obviously Sir Gawain needs to come and cheer them up! It'll never fail! ..Hopefully.

Whilst he would have wished to accompany his king, Sir Gawain was actually very easily appealed to. The fact that both his Master and his King would be there, even with the traitor Mordred there as well, put him at ease. So there has been little change in demeanor for him, as he heads into the courtyard, two apples in hand, as he calls out to his brother-in-arms. "Sir Bedivere, you seem rather tense. Perhaps an apple would cheer you up? I also hear it keeps the doctor away.~". And then, he waits to see if Sir Bedivere turns to face him. If not, he throws the apple at him anyways, taking a bite of his own.

"It will be alright, Sir Bedivere. I have faith that even if something were to go wrong, Master Psyber could defuse it swiftly without problem.". His smile is light but warm, perhaps because Sir Gawain doesn't want to overload Sir Bedivere on cheer. Yet. That'll happen later.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Explicit directions are good. This, combined with Shizune's explanations, means that Jeanne doesn't even get lost once and approaches the castle. She's back in her armored dress, but today, in an attempt to keep herself from getting shot on sight - /especially/ since Saber came to mass with her this morning - she holds a beautiful banner standard in one gloved hand. The banner itself is pure white with gold embroidery and fleur-de-lis, and a image of Mary and Jesus.

     It's a 'don't shoot me it's Jeanne' sign.

     "Ah... Sir Bedivere?" She asks, approaching the tree, her violet eyes locking on him, then the knight next to him.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    There's music playing in the courtyard. Strange and foreign to Western ears, it's a steady, careful strumming of some sort of stringed instrument; a shamisen, specifically. Notes are gently plucked, the song they create slow and subdued as it fills the air almost like the calm chirping of birds in the forest. The music comes from the higher branches of the oak tree, for that is where Kagenashi has chosen to make her perch.

    The nogitsune is in the black and red yukata she seems to have chosen for her attire in this castle, decorated by agate jewelry and lacking any covering for her feet or mask over her face. Her eyes are closed as she plays, her legs crossed and hanging from the branch she sits on. It's hard to read the expression she wears, but it can mostly be described as peaceful, serene. Munashi lies curled in her lap as the shamisen's neck rests on her shoulder, and she simply plays in contemplative silence.

    Her silver eyes only crack open slightly when she hears the arrival of others. Gawain is regarded thoughtfully from above, and Jeanne, too, once she arrives. She recognizes at least one voice, but remains silent for now other than her playing, her eyes closing once more.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
It's not really surprising that Sir Gawain would have come. The Knight of the Sun had been given an open invitation to the castle, and been made welcome regardless of whether he wished to visit or stay for a time. After all, he is one of the lord's brother-knights. Bedivere wouldn't even think about barring the gates to such an ally and friend.

That doesn't mean his cheer is misplaced sometimes, though.

Although his eyes flick briefly at a hint of movement, Bedivere doesn't so much as look at Gawain directly. His hand snaps up to catch the apple neatly. At least his reflexes haven't suffered.

"Sit."

His voice is soft, and there is no edge of what others might read as anger. That, perhaps, is what marks it as more dangerous than normal. Bedivere does not explode like his counterpart unless especially provoked; his anger is the cold and inexorable strength of a glacier when earned. Perhaps Gawain might notice the shadows under his eyes; the lines in his face, marks of sleeplessness and agitation both.

Bedivere's tone brooks no argument.

"I am not in the mood for cheer, brother." He studies the apple, violet eyes cold. The marshal looks like he might have more to say, but evidently he thinks better of actually saying it. "Mm. I have faith in our king to handle herself if something untoward should happen." He's seen firsthand the awe-inspiring power she can wield, and she's only shown him a fraction of that power in their training and sparring. There is no hope that he could ever match her speed and overpowering strength.

Finally he sighs, pushing against the trunk of the oak so he can lurch, with a grimace, back to his feet. He takes up his sword, which had been resting against the trunk beside him, and buckles it back to his sword belt.

He sees the banner before he sees Jeanne. It's hard not to miss that beautiful, bright standard.

Although it pains him, he bows low, right arm tucked tight to his side.

"Be welcome in Dun Realtai, for I receive you as a guest, Most Holy." He does not smile, in spite of his kind greeting. "Truly, I am sorry. I am not at my best at the moment, but please, be welcome. I fear there is little here, but it is an ongoing effort."

There's a short pause, and he glances up.

"I know you are there," he adds, wearily. "Come down from your tree. If you wish to be civilised, you are a guest here, regardless. You did invoke Brehon Law."

Curiously, there's no annoyance or fire in it. He's just... incredibly weary, it seems. Worn out and tired. And maybe worried. His gaze slants sidelong, off distant from the village, and he absently flexes the fingers of his left hand, frowning.

Still not a happy camper. But at least he hasn't locked himself in his quarters or the like. There /is/ still work to oversee here, even if his head and heart aren't really in it.

Sir Gawain has posed:
It is a very good thing Sir Gawain knows when Sir Bedivere is being absolutely serious about cheer. His warm smile doesn't fade, but he does sit as requested. "When has she ever not?~". This is a bit more upbeat, his faith in Arturia unending and strong.

As Jeanne approaches, Sir Gawain smiles brightly. "Dame d'Arc, it is apleasure to meet you in person, as my brother and my king have. How do you fare?". And then, NOGITSUNE. Sir Gawain is actually a bit wary of her, but greets her the same either way as he looks up to the tree. "Lady Kagenashi, I take it? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well."

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Bedivere goes to get up, and Jeanne makes a swift gesture, almost as if to stop him, but he moves anyways, and she sighs. She knows that calling him on his actions while injured would be a frown on his honor, so instead, he bows to her, and she bows right back, one hand keeping the standard from falling.

     "It is a pleasure to be with you again, Sir Bedivere. Your cheerful companion here must be Sir Gawain, if I remember names correctly -" But then they both look up in the tree and she looks up, falling quiet in a bit of surprised silence. "... Greetings."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The music pauses briefly when Bedivere calls up to the tree. With it follows a soft sigh before Munashi bounds down to land nearby. The shadow fox sits quietly beside the tree, and soon Kagenashi follows, gently floating down to stand nearby with her shamisen in hand. Silver eyes glance over Bedivere; her gaze is strangely...tired? That could be the right word. It's not nearly as energetic or playful as it tends to be, particularly not when dealing with him, nor is it spiteful or vindictive. Her voice is quieter, too, when she speaks, though still as serene as ever. "I had no intention of hiding. Thank you for your courtesy, all the same, Bedivere."

    Gawain is the one who's given a smile, though it's soft and subdued when she looks over to him. A bow is offered. "Yes, I am Kagenashi. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Gawain. I am sure you have heard a good deal about me, but you need not fear any conflict while I am here."

    Then Jeanne, who gets a faintly curious stare before she, too, is given a respectful bow. "Greetings to you as well. Do not mind me. I am merely a guest here."

    Her gaze travels between the three before her head tilts slightly to one side. "Am I intruding on something at the moment?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Under most circumstances, Bedivere is reasonably receptive to the infectious cheer shown by the king's nephew. He tends not to be very light-hearted himself, but in most cases he doesn't mind the attempts. It's just how Gawain is, and how he's always been, trying to offer levity to the more serious personalities around him. Even though it might not seem that way, Bedivere has to appreciate those attempts. It takes strength to keep one's humour in the midst of the storm.

To go by the coldness in the marshal's eyes, though, this is absolutely not one of those times to be poking fun at him. There is a dangerous aura about the pale-haired knight today; the aura of a caged beast, and had he more strength he would no doubt be pacing.

Once the formalities are dispensed with, and the nogitsune shows herself from the treetop, Bedivere eases himself back down at the base of the tree with a grunt of what sounds like either pain, weariness, or both. He slumps against the trunk and eyes the assembled company.

"Welcome to my hall," he sighs, his tone one of bland sarcasm. "I fear there is no hall just yet. There are still great holes in the roof, and for all that, we may as well assemble out of doors. The cold will be the same indoors or out. The inn is complete, but that is the domain of the villagers and the workmen. I would not move them out of their temporary home for what is but a social calling."

"Yes, that is Sir Gawain of the Round Table, known to some as the Knight of the Sun. He is the nephew of the King, from distant Orkney... and that is Lady Kagenashi, a guest of this hall." Bedivere doesn't even have the strength or wherewithal to snipe at her today, it seems. "Her actions in part helped to secure this place, and thus under Brehon Law she has been offered room and board for as long as she chooses to stay."

The marshal shuts his eyes, folding his right arm against his right side as though it were troubling him. "Forgive me for offering so little in the way of entertainment. I fear I am not up to the task at the moment. I should not even be here, but for the... strongly worded request of the king." It wasn't technically an order, but he takes even her requests as orders. Even in the matter of Mordred, he had to relent when she appealed to his sense of duty. More concretely, she had reminded him that if he felt her truly in danger, he could call her back by way of his command seals.

He had finally relented, then, if extremely unhappily, biting his tongue on his complaints. The marshal could hardly be expected to trust Mordred, who had instigated such a bloody rebellion that there had been little more than rubble and ash left of his beloved kingdom. She /was/ a traitor, there was no denying that, and her words could not be trusted.

Violet eyes flicker open to half-mast.

"Have a seat. I fear we have no chairs, but the ground is not especially hard, here." In fact, the snow has largely melted from this part of the courtyard, with no witchcraft to hold it. "It is even dry... for the most part. I would check before settling."

His eyes then slide over to Gawain, when Kagenashi makes a point of introducing herself to the king's cousin. /Careful, brother/, his eyes seem to say. /Don't trust her./

"No." Bedivere's answer to Kagenashi is simple enough, and he waves a hand almost dismissively. "Stay or go, whichever you prefer. I do not have a preference." His eyes flit to Jeanne, then. He seems to study her for a few moments, and the quiet, subdued study might even be uncomfortable after a moment or two. Her eyes are much more vibrant than his; his seem almost blue-grey, with a hint of violet that the sun seems to bring out; washed-out in hue, and at the moment, clearly tired.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Do you know Latin?" He reaches up, tugging on that bloodstone stud thoughtfully. "If you do, I believe the easiest way to approach this would be to begin with the Good Book. I am in possession of a copy that would serve, and it would be a trifling matter for me to obtain a copy to give to you, for your own study..."

Sir Gawain has posed:
Sir Gawain nods to Jeanne. "That is correct. I'm well known for my overabundance of cheer and terrible jokes.~". And he's self aware, too! Sir Gawain remains cordial with KAgenashi as well. "Likewise. As long as you are under Brehon Law, I will remain civil inside the keep.".

Sir Gawain takes Sir Bedivere's reaction to Kagenashi with a simple nod. He wasn't going to trust her in the first place, after all. He remains silent for now, but the smile doesn't fade from his face.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Violet eyes meet violet, or really, violet meets blue grey. She is not uncomfortable; this is the woman who had the gall at sixteen years of age to go up to a noble knight and request the right to participate in the war and fight under God's banner. So, instead... she stares back.

     Jeanne's violet eyes flicker, finally, from the gaze of his own as he asks her about the Good Book and other things. Her gaze mostly travels down to his right hand side, and there, something akin to a small frown crosses her lips. She knows he is ailing, and it discomforts her to know that someone in such a state is prioritizing her learning.

     However, first she addresses the other two.

     "Sir Gawain, there is a small amount to be said for those who are of cheer and hope in the faith, for it is that morale that keeps people going and smiles on their face. Yet I can tell you are a steadfast and good knight, even if a bit... silly, as it were." Jeanne does not really praise him, so much as she goes briefly analytical.

     Jeanne turns to Kagenashi and gives a bit of a bow back. "As you are a guest under what Sir Bedivere is claiming known as 'Brehon Law', which I presume is something like a law or code of chivalry, then understand that I will treat you the same, as I myself am essentially a guest of the same law."

     This done, Jeanne turns back to Bedivere, testing the ground to find a spot that isn't damp.

     She kneels next to him, making sure to adjust her skirt as she goes so neither one of them are duly embarassed by the impropriety of revealing a length of ankle to the poor knight. She takes a small book out of somewhere - and holds it out to him. It's the Good Book, but it's ... unfortunately for both of them it is in Japanese.

     "This is what I have at the moment. Since my Master lives in Japan, much of what I have available is Japanese, so she is starting to teach me that. I know some Latin, but the basis of my language is in French, because I was born in France and I am proud of that, and wish to not lose my native tongue." Jeanne sounds a bit proud for a moment. She always was all about France and promoting the idea of everyone being proud of being French and keeping some of that nationalism.

     (Boy, she's in for a field day soon.)

     "So yes, thank you. I would enjoy learning in Latin, especially if it means I can read this..." Her hands caress the cover of the Bible with grace- "That much sooner. I do have much of it memorized, which I would hope will help me with my lettering? I can write my own name, at least." Jeanne sighs, then, giving Bedivere a sharp look, leans forward to murmur something quietly into his ear.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Once seats are taken, Kagenashi follows suit, sinking down to sit with her legs crossed beneath her and her back resting against the oak tree. Munashi curls up beside her, but now her head is lifted, bright eyes cast toward the guests of the castle in turn. Kagenashi's head is lowered, meanwhile, as she starts to take interest in her shamisen again. The neck rests against her shoulder, the instrument sits in her lap, and she resumes her gentle, even plucking. Munashi glances over to Bedivere as Kagenashi speaks simply. "At least someone is up to the task of entertainment," she remarks.

    Munashi's head turns to Jeanne next, the fox's tail wagging briefly in acknowledgment. Then on to Gawain, who the shadow fox simply stares at curiously. Kagenashi's silver gaze is narrowed and fixed on the strings of her instrument. The star orb shimmering with rainbow colors glows as she speaks, embedded in the center of her tongue like a jewel and adding a strange element to her graceful, serene nature. She is beautiful in an almost otherworldly sense; no doubt her viciousness must be able to match her beauty, if she truly is meant not to be trusted.

    One would not really be able to tell with the serene, quiet way she speaks, even though she doesn't look at Gawain herself. "I understand you are of the Round Table as well. It is truly interesting to meet others of Bedivere's home, when my own is so vastly different. Have you been away from Camelot for long?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The marshal blinks somewhat owlishly when the saint turns her attention back on him, cocking his head very slightly in the manner of a confused hound. He respectfully takes the Bible offered to him, holding it very close to his eyes and squinting at the cramped ideograms printed across its pages. While he's familiar with modern books, as Arturia is teaching him to read modern English, he is not so familiar with the Asian languages.

Bedivere holds the book upright. He then turns it sideways, squinting, as though that might help him make some sense of the confusing scatter of tiny marks.

Sighing, he finally shuts the book and offers it back to Jeanne.

"No, I do not. I fear my expertise halts with the tongues of Albion... that is to say, I know the tongues of Prydein, and of Dál Riata, and the Latin employed by the Church. But... that is all I know." Dál Riata is probably a surprise to Gawain; the marshal had never indicated he had known anything but the ancient mode of Welsh used in the courts. He had spoken without so much as an accent, but if he were a foreigner, it makes sense that it wouldn't have been his first tongue. He frowns slightly, considering the Japanese Bible as though the book were ramping up to bite him. "Mm. That will be of help, yes. I will teach you also how to write, in addition to read. There is no shortage of parchment, and I will give to you a quill of your own, though I am to understand that the modern 'pen' is easier to use." He shrugs, pauldron clanking slightly. "I prefer the quill, however, so that is what I will teach you with."

And then she leans forward to murmur something to him. Whatever it is she says, he must not like it; his expression turns a little more stony. He exhales through his nose, looking fundamentally unhappy for a moment before returning to that stony neutrality.

True, she is a saint, and true, her advice is certainly reasonable. But he is a stubborn man, as Arturia herself has observed, and he is not inclined to be generous right now. He still worries about her, and he is not inclined to put his faith in either her boss or her 'son.'

He'll let Gawain answer questions about Gawain, though. It would be rude to answer for him, besides which, he doesn't feel like overturning that kettle of fish. Arturia has taught him a great deal about the Grail War, but the specifics still make his head hurt in ways he's not really sure he likes. The whole affair is insane, even if it did bring her back to him, and he's had no qualms about telling her this when she's tried to help him understand particularly convoluted aspects of it.

Bedivere reaches aside for something in the snow -- apparently he'd had a satchel of some kind with him, blended into the roots of the tree. Pulling it out, he produces a sheaf of parchment, a striped, soft owl's-feather quill, and a carefully-stoppered inkwell.

"Write for me, then, if you would be so kind, Most Holy. I should like to see you sign your name." He produces the satchel, angling it like a kind of lap-desk, and carefully passes the whole affair to her. His reasoning is pretty simple, really. He might as well make use of this time, and any distractions from worrying about Arturia are welcome ones.

Sir Gawain has posed:
Sir Gawain laughs at Jeanne's statement. "Indeed, you're not the first to say such words. Sir Bedivere has said such many times.~". Sir Gawain is more surprised that Sir Bedivere has /said/ he speaks the tongues of Dal Riata than the fact that he actually does such. It's barely visible, just a slightly shocked stare when Bedivere says such that lasts for about a second.

"Ah, yes I am, Lady Kagenashi. About 14 centuries, give or take.~" Sir Gawain smiles warmly as he says such words.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
Jeanne takes the supplies and her book back. She settles again, into a more comfortable position, although that incremental movement of his face from stone to even more stone gets a stern look from the Saint. She stares at him, her violet eyes narrowed slightly as she essentially tries to tell him, non-verbally, that she /will/ fuss at Saber about this, and that's just asking for more trouble. Jeanne looks after those in the faith.

     "Mmm." She says to Gawain, carefully leaning forward to write her name in thin, but looping letters.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    "That long? My. How unfortunate." Kagenashi lifts her head slightly, looking over to Gawain out of the corner of her eye. The smile is returned, though more softly than his own. "It must be a pleasure to see your king and fellow knight once again. Has your adjustment to the Multiverse been pleasant, outside of that?"

    Munashi's gaze shifts over to Jeanne, her head tilting to the side in foxlike curiosity. Kagenashi speaks to her, then, though of course she doesn't look at the saint. "Japanese? Forgive my curiosity, but...who might your master be? There are not many people I know who would fit that description."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Gawain's incredulous stare is met with a bland expression from the marshal. Was it so surprising for him to admit to that, when his foreign origins had been an open secret among the court? Still, it was something he had never spoken of, not for over twenty years.

Bedivere can't help a faint, almost sardonic smile. It suggests they can speak on that detail later, if he's still curious. Or, maybe he's just pleased to have shut Gawain up for a full second. There's a certain pride in that accomplishment. A bit of both, perhaps? The mirth is gone from his features soon enough, though, returning to that neutral expression the marshal was once so famed for.

The saint's stare is carefully and coolly ignored.

He's good at /that/, too.

Those faded violet eyes settle on the paper as Jeanne bends to the task, carefully scrutinising as she writes with the care and intensity of purpose of one still learning. He once wrote like that, too, although he couldn't afford to dally in that stage for long. Duty had swept him up, and he had pushed himself even more back then than he does now.

Bedivere doesn't look at Kagenashi, but he's still listening to her. "Fourteen centuries for him, perhaps. I have been separated from my king and my brother-knights for five years. Time is a bit more fluid when one is a Heroic Spirit, I am to understand. The Throne of Heroes is not particular when it comes to chronology and the correct temporal flow... I imagine Master Merlin would be fascinated by a thing."

A cold breeze whips through the courtyard.

Bedivere shudders, and decides he doesn't really want to think about Merlin going anywhere near the War of the Holy Grail.

He quickly returns his attention to Jeanne's laborious writing, patiently waiting for her to pass it back to him.

Sir Gawain has posed:
"It has been. Master Psyber has already given me quite the steed, and the Multiverse is quite beautiful in general...most of it.~". Sir Gawain smiles brightly, but then shudders at Bedivere's comment. "Sir Bedivere, please. You may jinx it and cause him to unify. And then he'll come /here/ and..I don't even want to think about it.". Gawain also looks at Jeanne as well, curious about her writing himself.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     "Merlin?" Jeanne asks, curious, as she finally looks up and passes the paper off to Bedivere. She does not write a surname, nor does she do anything more simple than the curves and smooth loops. "That is my name. I am Jeanne." She flicks her look to Kagenashi. "... Master Nakamura..."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Munashi turns her head to Bedivere when he addresses her. Or, more accurately, her mistress. Kagenashi doesn't do so herself, just as Bedivere doesn't; whether she's actively trying to ignore him or not isn't quite clear. "I suppose that is the case. Or, perhaps, you are not exactly of the same world." She continues to play her instrument, delicate fingers slipping gently over the strings as a soothing backdrop to their conversation. She leans her head back against the tree, gaining a slightly more reclining posture. "Either way...that is a very long time for both of you. At least for your lifespans."

    Munashi's gaze shifts back to Gawain again as that smile returns to Kagenashi. "A steed? Of course, I suppose that is almost necessary for a knight. How gracious of him to grant you one, in any case."

    All at once, Kagenashi's playing freezes for several moments when Jeanne mentions Shizune's name. The nogitsune doesn't /seem/ to grow tense, but when she's been playing that shamisen this whole time, the abrupt halt is certainly notable. It's a minute before she starts again, very slowly getting back into the melody she had been playing. "...I see." Another moment before she gives a more noteworthy response than that. "She will be an excellent master for you, I am certain. She is very determined...and surprisingly powerful, on top of that."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The paper is taken and studied, though Bedivere has to squint for a moment to make out what it says. The curves and loops are proportional, with all the meticulous disorder of one unfamiliar with a quill in hand. He takes back the satchel, parchment and quill, regarding Jeanne's signature with a neutral expression.

JEHANNE, the paper says, in the unsteady hand of a learner.

"Well, it is a start," Bedivere says, diplomatically. The parchment is folded and quartered and tucked into the satchel. "I will show you an easier way to do this later. You are gripping the quill too hard, as though you expect it to fly away. It must be handled gently, or it will be ruined, for the nib is a delicate thing."

His faded eyes flick toward the others, raising a brow at Gawain, and looking for a moment fundamentally unhappy. "No," he says, mournfully. "Anything but that. Do not even say it, brother."

Nooo. No Merlin. Merlin is the King of Trolls and Bedivere would certainly have no peace if the old nuissance ever showed up here. Neither would Arturia, for he considers himself her tutor in so many words, and he would hang about Dún Reáltaí and cause trouble for everyone. No one would have any peace, not even cheerful Gawain. Nothing is sacred in that bored old man's view.

"Master Merlin," he clarifies for Jeanne. "He is a wizard of great repute, but he is also a troublesome old man, and while it is good to respect one's elders, he does not respect anyone. Not even the king. There would be no end to the troubles if he came to the multiverse. No, I think it would be better if he did not come here."

Did the marshal just shudder again?

He does, however, watch very closely as the saint and the nogitsune exchange their pleasantries. It seems that Kagenashi has some knowledge of Jeanne's Master, and that is an interesting development. Bedivere silently tucks that tidbit away. It seems like something worth mentioning to Arturia later, and perhaps mentioning to Jeanne's Master as well. The girl had seemed nice enough, and he does not have any particular reason to treat her as an enemy, for she seems to share their disinterest in the Holy Grail.

"It is a... what is it called? 'Motor-cycle?'" The motorcycle is a much more suitable topic, even if he doesn't like the things very much. He has no idea how they work, and his default assumption is 'some manner of witchcraft.' How could it not be, with all that noise? "A curious machine. But it seems that both my king and Sir Gawain have knowledge of how to use one. I do not. I prefer to walk, or to ride a horse, if I must go somewhere... but I have been busy here, in Dún Reáltaí."

He shakes his head, sighing.

"I wonder how our king fares." He flexes his left hand again, frowning. "I mislike this waiting..."

Sir Gawain has posed:
Sir Gawain quickly quiets as to not jinx it. If Merlin suddenly showed up..he might scream. LET'S TALK ABOUT THE MOTORCYCLE.

"Motorcycle, yes. It's faster than a horse, does not need to be fed, and doesn't require stableboys.~". Except you forgot gasoline, Sir Gawain. "Master Psyber custom-built it, 'elite-proofing' I believe? But it's reliable. I have affectionately named it Gringolet II."

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     "What's a motorcycle?" Jeanne asks, tripping over the word like Bedivere does. "I have heard of a train. Master Nakamura showed me how to ride them." However, Kagenashi seems to distract her, and she stares at her for a few seconds. "... Thank you?" She says, almost startled, but a bit worried. She might have to talk to Shizune now.

     "Oh... Horseback riding. I would like that."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi seems lost in thought for a moment after that revelation. She ignores the curious staring, simply playing her instrument as she stares at the opposite wall. It's several moments of silence and consideration on her part, before she at last gives pause to her playing once more and slowly rises to her feet.

    "If you will excuse me," she says, turning to the group, "I believe I will take some time to myself for now. A pleasure to meet you both, Gawain, Jeanne." She bows to each of them, low and respectful, before offering a polite nod to Bedivere. "Bedivere. My apologies if I have disturbed you today."

    And then she turns, simply striding off into the other rooms of the castle with Munashi following faithfully behind her.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The marshal merely squints at his fellow knight, expression somewhere between skepticism and the kind of vague, long-suffering annoyance that dealing with him seems to entail. He sighs; it's not at all surprising that he named the bloody machine after his onetime horse. Bedivere sighs and leans his head back against the trunk, momentarily closing his eyes.

He's still incredibly tired, and it shows.

"It is... something like a train," he explains to Jeanne, not bothering to open his eyes. "Only it is much smaller, perhaps the size of a horse, and it can be ridden like one straddles a horse. It is much faster, though, and I am not certain how it is steered, for there are no reins, and it does not understand you like a horse does. I am certain there are benefits to using it, but I am not familiar with them."

So sue him, he likes horses. He'd always gotten along well with his horses, and they had always been well-trained.

"You know how to ride?" One faded violet eye half-opens, regarding Jeanne in almost sleepy regard, but Gawain would perhaps recognise that the marshal is studying her and sizing her up. Thinking, perhaps, on what sort of horse would suit her. "If you would like to ride, once the stable is rebuilt, you are welcome to take any horse you like. Only, I do not know when that will be. We have not even yet rebuilt the church. It was necessary first to rebuild places for the workers and villagers to stay. I imagine they will rebuild the church, next. And then the storehouses and granary as they rebuild their houses..."

"Farewell, Kagenashi." The eye slides shut. He makes no comment on whether she's disturbed him or not. Her mere existence is disturbing, and it would be rude to say anything, so he prefers to hold his tongue. There's no percentage in sniping at her before this assemblage. He would rather not behave so uncivilly in front of Jeanne, or his friend Gawain.

His eye open again. "Once it is rebuilt, the church would be a good place for you to learn how to read, I think."

Falling silent, he seems to think for a moment.

"Might I ask a favour, Most Holy?"

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     "Good bye." Jeanne says, to Kagenashi, uncertainly, before she turns to Bedivere. There is a somewhat vague, suffering expression that crosses her face when she gets called 'Most Holy' by the man; she wasn't kidding when she said she was perfectly alright with people calling her by her name. Or even Dame, like Gawain. However, the phrase of 'Most Holy' is slightly uncomfortable.

     "... Yes, Sir Bedivere?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Well, she's just going to have to deal with the knight being properly reverent. Though... she does seem to be made considerably uncomfortable by that title, no matter how much he may think it is proper. Perhaps a simple Lady Jeanne wouldn't cause offense; or, you know, invite thunderbolts from on high to strike him down.

Bedivere looks her way, thoughtful in his unsmiling regard. His expression is not quite stony, but he seems to be mulling something over.

"The people do not have a church at the moment, but I am confident they will rebuild it soon, for it is only proper that we have a house of God in this castle. Yet these are only poor folk, and the clergy were killed when the demons invaded." He reaches up, tugging at the bloodstone stud in his ear thoughtfully. "They do not have even a single monk to guide them. Would you be interested in offering them spiritual guidance, Lady Jeanne? At least, until a monk or a priest can be trained? I should think it would mean a great deal to them. And you are most faithful."

He reaches for his satchel, pulling out a sheaf of vellum -- calfskin, and far finer than the rough parchment he had been using; made for more durable tasks than simple figures and numbers. On it is sketched an approximate map of what the grounds should look like, and where things should be laid out. "The church will be here." He points to the mark, where a squarish building is laid out, not far from the central keep. "I will understand, if not, for you are a Servant and obligated to protect your Master."

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
Jeanne never viewed herself as saintly. Yes, she was doing God's work, but she'd be just as comfortable back then as she is now with being called 'Most Holy', which is to say, NOT AT ALL.

     She looks at the vellum, shifting her weight to peer out at the map as he points at it.

     Then what he says hits her, and Jeanne d'Arc lands backwards on her rear end with a gentle 'whump' of noise.

     "I..." Jeanne coughs. Clears her throat a little bit. "I am no priest, docent, or anything else, Sir Bedivere. I can..." She hesitates. "I cannot offer the Mass, the Euchrist, what have you. I can, however..." Jeanne looks down on her hands. "I can offer them my simple faith, m'lord."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight blinks a bit when the saint falls back on her rump, cocking his head and eyeing her as though he were concerned. Is she quite all right? That sounds like it was an unpleasant landing, and he hadn't thought it would be asking too much of her. Had he asked too much? He seems genuinely concerned about the possibility that he'd asked too much of her.

"Ah. I am not asking that you be a priest, or a docent, or a nun. I only ask that you lead the spirits of these people, until they can lead themselves." He manages a half-smile that seems somehow sympathetic, as though he really did sympathise with her shy, awkward handling of praise. Mostly because he does. Every time Arturia praises his skills, he finds himself shifting uncomfortably and denying it. "You need not be lettered to do that service for them. And if you feel you do, I will certainly help you to learn, as I have promised."

With some effort, he pushes himself to his feet, replacing his things into the satchel and gathering it up. Shouldering the satchel, he sways a moment as though his balance were uncertain -- he is in fact unreasonably tired, but still struggling to hide it -- before finding his footing, stepping forward and offering his hand to help Jeanne back to her own feet.

"Walk with me? I will show you where it is to be. And you need not answer now; take all the time you wish to think it over. In the meantime, you are of course welcome in Dun Realtai as a guest at any time, as is your Master, should she wish to visit."

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Two things happen: Jeanne stares at his hand for a few moments, then, she takes it, in her first moment of physical contact since getting burned at the stack five-hundred eighty odd years ago. Good job, Bedivere.

     "You should be /resting/." She mutters to him quietly as she moves to her feet.

     "But yes. Let us go. A walk should be... pleasant." If not midly confusing to everyone wondering who the not-Saber Saber is.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Perhaps I should be resting," Bedivere agrees reasonably. "The Good Lord knows that I am weary. But there is much work to be done. It will not be completed if I spend my time resting. I will have much time and more to rest after the repairs are complete, once winter arrives. Until then, the livelihood and the safety of these people depends on my efforts. It is for them that I work."

See? He's being chivalrous. You wouldn't stop a knight from being chivalrous, would you? You monster.

It doesn't take long to descend to the lowest courtyard. There are three, as is proper for a large castle, and in times of peace, the outermost yard would be adorned with training equipment and perhaps a run for jousting. There's certainly room enough. The second bailey would house the kennels, the stables, granaries, and the aviary, where the falcons and hunting-hawks would be kept.

Right now, the whole of it is rubble in the vague suggestions of buildings, lying beneath the vague suggestion of a curtain wall. The wind is cold; Bedivere finds himself pulling his mantled cloak more tightly about this shoulders.

"Here in the lowermost courtyard is where the church will be." He strides over to the vague suggestion of a building, where, in the ruin, one can still make out the form of a stone cross. It seems to have a vaguely Celtic style to it, "It is, from what I have seen, what was a church once. I should like to see it rebuilt..."

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Jeanne remarks, quietly, "Chivalry can end up with you being dead, Sir Bedivere. My faith got myself executed at the stake. Remember that." She sounds a little uneasy, but still... they move, and Jeanne enjoys the walk, even the coldness of it, which doesn't seem to affect her much aside from tugging her skirt down every so often so people don't get scandalized by the stripe of bare skin above her thigh-highs.

     She looks down at the ruin, then gives him a nod, before she steps through the ruins - a dangerous move, but she is moving with intent. She finally makes it to the cross, and kneels down next to it, a look of hurt on her face. The destruction and desecration of churches is always painful. She lays on her hands on it, then bows her head, almost as if making a prayer.

     "... I will be pleased to assist you in rebuilding, if my Master so agrees, as well as lead the faith."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere does not follow the saint into the ruins; he is content where his footing is still mostly stable. He probably doesn't trust himself to remain upright if he were to venture into those broken stones. No, he simply watches from afar, clutching his mantled cloak about himself, even as the cold wind tugs on it.

The look on his face is a bit odd as he watches her, though, as though he were somewhere between pained and awed. The desecration of churches is a painful thing to witness, indeed, but there is something about her earnesty, something abotu her singularity of purpose and spirit, that is at once rewarding and painful to see.

Nineteen, she had said. Burnt at the stake, before her twentieth birthday. And here he had served Arturia's court for twenty years, after travelling to Camelot -- he is, most probably, in his early thirties. Death is a certainty in the age he came from, though perhaps it was not so harsh as some modern worlds may make it out to be. If one lived to their twenty -first birthday, they were likely to live much longer than some might think.

But to have a life cut so short, in such an agonising manner, for one who was so clearly pure of faith and purpose...

His frown is thoughtful as he studies her.

He can't imagine it. Nor does he want to. He has had quite enough of imagining fire. He sees fire in his dreams; a terrible fire, an ending-fire, and he does not need to invite any more. Camlann was traumatic enough to suffer through. He does not need to add the execution of an innocent and pious girl to that.

Almost without thinking, he turns, glancing to the boulevard. No sign of Arturia; he doesn't sense her approaching. The fingers of his left hand flex almost of their own accord as he turns to face the church's ruins again.

He smiles that faint, restrained half-smile when Jeanne gives her assent.

"Of course. You have my thanks, but more importantly, you will have the thanks of the people living here. They need someone of strong faith to guide them, for they are survivors of troubled times, I am to understand. I am not suitable for such a task; I am but a humble knight. But I do not question your faith at all. I will see to it that quarters are made available here, and quarters for your Master, as well, should either of you wish to visit now and again."

He looks to the front gate again, weary and a little worried. Part of him hopes that no trouble erupted between the king and her 'son.'

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     Jeanne does have nightmares, on occasion. Her faith is very strong. She tries, mostly to dream about the good things. About the lessons she has learned, the way the Lord has graced her, and the people she has met and bound as friends within her mindset. This little group of people has, of course, been decimated when she was burned at the stake.

     Most of those friends, unless, she thinks to herself for a moment, are gone unless they too ended up in the Throne of Heroes. But surely, she'd know about that by now... right? Right? She clucks her tongue slightly as she watches him turn to look at the boulevard, then back at her.

     She then stands, moving her way back through the ruins towards him. She looks at him for a moment, not quite staring, but just... being there as she makes a statement in her mind, runs it through a couple of things, and then finally says it. "Bedivere." Jeanne says, gently. "You are no humble knight. You are a man I can see is clearly dedicated to those he must watch over, and that includes Saber and Gawain, even though the second might try your patience and the first is your own Lord."

     Jeanne's mouth quirks into a small, almost weary smile.

     "You call me Most Holy. A Saint. Yet, I did nothing that you are not doing. I put my trust in the lord and did my work. Does that make you a saint? Perhaps." Jeanne says, looking up into the sky. She doesn't notice the cold wind, seemingly either enjoying it or shrugging it off with the standard Saber tankiness.

     "Thank you very much for your offer, Sir Bedivere." She finally says, in a complete change of topic.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Huddling into his mantled cloak, Bedivere thins his lips as the cold wind rakes at him. It seems that in addition to unseasonably cold temperatures, this tundra is nothing more than a wind tunnel, and that wind is let slip from its harness at night. It's been building steadily, a breeze here and a tug at one's cloak there, but it's beginning to build.

And that wind is /cold/.

Lord God, he thinks to himself, do not storm before my lady returns.

It may be that she can take care of herself, as a Saber-class Servant and as the Once and Future King, but he'll continue to worry until she returns to the keep.

It's just his nature. He has not come all this way only to lose her again.

His attention swings back to the saint when she speaks, blinking somewhat owlishly at the interruption to his thoughts. He turns, regarding her with one pale, ash-blonde brow arched. No humble knight? If he is not a knight, what is he, then...?

He looks almost troubled as she continues on, and when she draws that comparison, his expression is definitely one that is troubled.

"I am no saint, my lady." His voice is low; equally troubled. He shakes his head, releasing his cloak to wave his hands emphatically. "Please. You do me too much honour. I--I am but a humble knight. Truly. I do only what is expected of me." And about ten times more, but he doesn't seem to care about that part too much. "I--I am merely acting in accordance with the chivalric virtues..."

His hands drop at the non-sequitur. He stares at her almost like one thunderstruck, as though he were struggling to catch up to that sudden change in topic.

"Er," he finally manages, blinking owlishly. "Well." One hand rises to rub at the back of his neck, the leather pads of his gauntlets cool against his skin. "W-well. You are welcome to remain here as you wish. There are servant quarters in the keep; I am sorry for such humble lodgings, but there is very little yet reconstructed..."

He looks to the path again, brow furrowing, before he turns his attention back to Jeanne. "I am sorry, my lady, but I have yet some work to be done before my lord returns... we will speak again later, I hope."

In other words, he's exhausted, and it's his graceful way to say that he'd like to retreat to his quarters and wait where he can watch out the window. Where it's not freezing. The last thing he needs is to catch a cold out here. He'll never hear the end of it from Arturia.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     He looks troubled.

     Welcome to what Jeanne feels like when you call her 'Most Holy', Bedivere.

     She blinks at him, before shaking her head, gently. "Thank you very much for her offering to house myself and master. I believe I will withdraw myself and speak with my Master over my radio for a brief period, and I will let you know when I depart. It is not right for you to be out here in this cold." Jeanne takes care of those she has housed in her mind as her 'friends'.

     Wait, what?

     Jeanne reaches up and undoes one of the chains, sliding her capelet off of her shoulders. It is made of a thicker, warmer material, and without a thought, she tosses it around his shoulders.

     "May God watch over you, Bedivere." She says to him.

     Once he's gone in and secured himself in a warm room, Jeanne moves herself back out to the front of the keep, sword on her hip, waiting patiently for Arturia's return, and also watching for both of them, because that is what Jeanne does. That is who she is. She is a woman of impeccable faith, and does everything she can to assist those she has taken up as her cause.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The pale-haired knight shifts his weight over the snow; here, by the ruins of the church, it hasn't quite begun to dissipate. There have been comparatively few workmen in this area, so it hasn't been churned underfoot into slush and melted by the weak afternoon sun. Not yet, anyway. No doubt the villagers will turn their attention here, next, for they have no proper place of worship, and this seems not unlike a place like Camelot, if on a smaller scale.

Out of a village of what should have been over a hundred, only thirty-nine have survived. It will be some time before Dún Reáltaí is what it once may have been.

He half-turns as she thanks him, cocking his head faintly when she says it isn't right that he remain out in the cold.

"What?" He sounds as confused as he looks. "I do not--"

The chained cape falls over the mantled cloak with a rustling sound, and he's left in shock for a moment or two, staring after Jeanne helplessly.

When she turns to keep her vigil before the road, he's obviously torn for a moment or two. While he would dearly love to return Jeanne's chained cape, it would be a grave insult to return something given freely as a gift in such a manner. More than that, from a chivalric sense, it would be insulting. She is a Servant, and the cold is simply not a concern to her, but she had given it to him out of a sense of consideration.

"God keep you," he manages feebly to her retreating back.

He watches the road for a moment more before, with a sigh, he finds himself trudging back to the keep. His weary footsteps take him up the stairs; he doesn't know when Kepas joined him, but the ice-hound trudges at his heels, silent as the grave but for the click of his claws on the stone. Bedivere trails a hand to ruffle the elemental creature's ear, or whatever passes for it on the creature's skull-like head.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere pauses before the fresh oak planks of the lord's chamber's door, frowning heavily. Instinct tells him to make his way back down to the servants' quarters, but several are already spoken for by various guests, and they had already held this discussion, even though the end result still galled his chivalric sensibilities.

Sighing, he pushes the door open, and Kepas trots in, promptly circling three times on the rug in the middle of the floor, curling up in an awkward-looking ball with his limbs sticking out, and lays his head down. He doesn't have eyelids to close; the yellow lights in the shadows of his eye sockets simply wink out. It is absurdly adorable and even Bedivere has to show a half-smile at that.

Both cloaks are shrugged out of and hung over a peg on the wall, and he takes one of the chairs by the back, dragging it over to the window that overlooks the road.

He'll just sit for a few moments, and if Arturia doesn't reappear in another hour or two, he'll simply go to bed.

That was his plan, anyway.

By the time Arturia does return, that's where she'll find him -- arms folded over his chest, kicked back in the chair, one boot against a wall support keeping him and the chair balanced at an angle; chin on his chest and hair fallen across his face, asleep.