4519/Autumn Light

Autumn Light
Date of Scene:	06 September 2016
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Several residents of Dun Realtai get together on a clear autumn evening.
Cast of Characters:	482, Inga, 639

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Autumn in Dun Realtai is a wet and cold season of sudden storms and fierce rain. The last few days have been clear, though, letting some of the saturated ground dry out in the sun. Tonight, the sky is a beautiful wash of red and gold as the sun sinks lower over the horizon.

  The courtyard of the castle is empty, and most of the castle servants from the village have gone home for the evening. It leaves the courtyard and the castle itself blessedly quiet, so quiet that the last fading vestiges of birdsong over the distant weald can be heard, if one listens closely.

  That, and the rhythmic scrape of a broom over dry ground.

  Today finds the master of the castle in the empty courtyard, patiently drawing a broom across the dust and irregular flagstones. He's wearing his armour, which suggests he hasn't yet stopped in from his post-dinner duties around the village, and while calm, his expression is miles distant. Something's on his mind.

Inga has posed:
Inga has taken advantage of the clear day in order to take Jodis for a ride. The poor horse needed to get out and about, and frankly so did Inga. There's been plenty to trouble her mind and she hoped a nice ride would help her clear her head.

It's been very lonely around the cottage as of late. Even rounds in the village have been slow. Everyone is healthy, no one terribly injured. They're busy with the harvest and their trades. That is good of course, but without the distraction of the villagers, she has a tendency to get...lost. Perhaps, if she came up to the castle, there would be company.

She wears a green velvet dress beneath her grey-blue wool cloak, with soft brown leather boots and kidskin gloves. If she didn't have any messy work to do, she may as well dress up and enjoy the novelty.

She spots Bedivere, distractedly sweeping the courtyard, is expression not so unlike hers when she's drifting in the wyrd. His thoughts are far away. Inga sighs softly. "Good day Sir Bedivere," she greets. She doesn't have the excuse of bringing him medicine this time. She'll just have to admit she wants a bit of company.

Merlin (639) has posed:
    It's one of those Mondays, it seems. At least Merlin's DVDs arrived; the simple parcel is tucked under one arm. The wizard makes his way across the keep from the village, looking up at the stars slowly growing in the sky. The clouds seem to be receding, at least; this should be a clear night and quite bitterly cold for it. No great grey blanket to hug the ground and hold the warmth in this eve, it seems.

    But, that's what a good fire is for, isn't it?

    He wears his usual spotless robes, the purple and gold tabard bearing the sigil of the dragon still his favorite outfit. It's quite comfortable, at least; certainly enough to keep him warm in the simple coolness of an autumn eve. It's not unlike Bedivere's own typical garb; perhaps the flaxen-haired knight isn't the only one who's still clinging to the past as well. Or maybe Merlin's just one-upping the Prettiest Knight in bishounen points; who knows.

    The sound of the sweeping mixes with the sound of hoofbeats, and Merlin makes a detour from his meandering. "Sir Bedivere; wisewoman Inga, gentle Jodis. An unexpected pleasure." He approaches the diminutive horse with one hand out, petting it gently before sneaking the animal a couple of sugar cubes magically thieved from the pantry. "An auspicious meeting, perhaps. I see you are walking straight once more, now that our new resident is no longer quite so wrapped in his own disguise."

    Really, it's Bedivere. When is the master of horse NOT out riding, especially after making an allegiance and possible friendship with such a magificent pooka?

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Bedivere's sweeping slows to a halt after a few seconds. He twists to face the gateway at the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats against cobblestones, sheathed sword tapping against his leg at his sudden turn. He almost doesn't seem to recognise the Wisewoman at first, but after a moment he manages the ghost of what might be a smile on anyone else. It flickers back to neutrality at the sight of Merlin.

  While he might narrow his eyes a bit at the sudden appearance of a handful of sugar cubes, Bedivere ultimately doesn't comment. He had done the exact same thing in Camelot, sneaking pieces of apple to the king's horses as well as his own.

  "Wisewoman. Master Merlin." He inclines his head to each, putting up his broom and letting it rest against the crook of an elbow. He raises a brow at Merlin's salutation, frowning slightly, but he lets the wizard get away with that comment, for now. The knight shrugs. "There are servants to see to this, but I had need of fresh air."

  Setting his broom to lean against one of the tree's prodigous roots, he steals closer to Jodis, reaching out with a hand held flat to let the mare sniff; then rubbing carefully at Jodis' velvety nose. He manages a smile. "I see you and she are getting along well, Wisewoman."

  It seems only when he's dealing with horses does the shy, soft-spoken marshal seem to really come out of his shell.

Inga has posed:
Not just Bedivere, but Merlin too! That could be good or bad...obviously she is hoping for good. They need someone to keep them from sinking into a mire of meloncholy. She damn well knows they are both in danger of such.

She smiles to both. "And Merlin, good day," she greets, smile growing as Merlin slips Jodis a coupleof sugar cubes. She approves of spoiling her horse. Jodis eats them daintily and clearly enjoys both the sugar cubes and the attention from Bedivere. "We are indeed. I thought she needed the chance to get out for a walk today, while the weather was alright," she replies.

Inga begins to dismount then, supposing it would be rude to keep towering over them--though it's certainly a nice change of pace for the petite woman! It is so rarely that she sees the tops of people's heads.

She slides down from the saddle, which is luckily the easy part, then straightens and smoothes her dress. She looks to Merlin and the parcle under his arm, raising a curious brow. "How are you both?" she ask, stroking the side of Jodis' face. She wonders where Black One has gotten to. Seems he'd taken to staying by Bedivere's side. And how does the fae creature get on with Kepas, she wonders? "I am surprised not to see Black One about," she comments.

Merlin (639) has posed:
    Hmpf. Neutrality. At least he's not being frowned at like usual; that's something at least! Oh well, Bedivere still has a whole lifetime to admit that he likes having Merlin around. Probably more than one, if Merlin has any say in the matter. Aren't they both naughty sneaky horsefeeding boys after all? See, we're so much alike.

    "I suppose. And it is late, as well; I imagine you've let them return to their homes for all but the castle's few." There are /some/ that remain in the keep as their home; most of them are the cooks on guard for Midnight Gawaining. "At least it is not too windy, though I worry that may change by morning. A clear night, Inga?" This at the wisewoman, getting her opinion of the coming weather as well.

    Her comment about the walk for Jodis gets a nod, and Bedivere's own approval is apparent. Not to mention his affection for the horse, but it's the way he's always been. Inga slides down from the horse, and Merlin offers a hand to steady her in case her balance fails, but Inga's quite alright. "Your leg is well?"

    When she asks about the Black, Merlin laughs. "I believe I saw him earlier. Kepas had found his way to the paddock, and while the other horses would pay him no fond attention it seems that our newest fey resident has bonded with him. When I left, they had organized some sort of game with a giant ball made of hay..." Pookaball!

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The knight often has a tendency to spiral downward when left alone for too long. He survived what must have semeed like a literal hell, and while he took no life-threatening wounds at Camlann, the scars he bore are the kind that cannot be seen.

  "Good, good." Bedivere seems satisfied enough with that explanation. If it weren't so close to dusk, he might have indulged in an evening walk. The sun is too low in the sky, now; Arturia would worry about him going out in such cold. The knight indulges in a last rub at Jodis' black nose, half-smiling. "I am glad you and your friend are getting along well."

  There aren't many who can tower over Bedivere; at six feet and two inches, he's taller even than Merlin, and positively towers over Arturia.

  "Well enough." He looks over his shoulder when Inga asks after the Black One, shrugging one shoulder faintly. "Off to wander, I suppose. He is of the Tylwyth Teg; he goes where he will, for the most part. If I call him, he will certainly come, but I do not have any particular need of him at the moment."

  He shrugs to Merlin's question. "I do not require them to stay if they have homes to return to, and most of them do. If I should require something, I am capable of fetching it myself." A ghost of a smile. "My cooking is perhaps bland by the standards of many, but it is at least not lethal as Sir Gawain's."

  "Wind? Mayhap." Bedivere looks up to the branches of the great oak, silent for the moment. "Not until later, I would wager; the air is silent, for the moment. It will be a cold wind when it comes."

  Shifting his weight, he lets his cloak settle again, rustling softly. "Did he, now? I suspected as much. I have hardly seen either since supper." He snorts, with a faint half-smile. "Well, I suppose their getting along is one less thing to worry over."

  He could hardly dismiss Kepas, after all, and it would have been foolish to dismiss a creature like the Black One out of hand, especially when that friendship was offered freely.

  "I am convinced that creature--" That is to say, Kepas, "--is far more intelligent than he lets on."

Inga has posed:
Inga looks to the sky for a moment, then nods. "Yes, I think so. Another clear day then it will rain I think," she answers. Yes, lets talk about the weather and horses instead of what's troubling them all.

The subject of her leg gets a brow raise. "Same as it ever is..." she says. It's not clear why Inga limps. She's definitly below average strength, but Inga has resisted all attempts to try to figure out what is 'wrong' with her.

Subject change, go! "Ohh, I was wondering how the two of them would get on," she admits. "I am glad they are amiable, I feared perhaps they would not be."

Inga takes a deep breath, then sighs, looking in the direction of the greenhouse. "Shall we walk a bit? I have a few herbs I wanted to pick..."

Inga is also prone to being a bit...intense. When you see such doom and gloom it can be difficult not to be. Wore worrisome though, is the tendancy to completely lose track of time.

Inga grins now, shaking her head. "I will remember not to let Gawain cook anything for me. Not that I think that will come up," she says, walking stick in hand as she begins to stroll toward the greenhouse. She expects they will follow.

Merlin (639) has posed:
    "Mm. Rain, perhaps...at least it shouldn't freeze the ground yet. And a little more water will be good for the fields, it seems." Yes, weather. A nice, quiet subject, and Merlin agrees with bedi's assessment as well. Perhaps it's a good thing they've both appeared to chat, at least to keep a certain knight from trodding the same ground mentally as well as physically.

    "Indeed, I know. I simply observe, and question not." Merlin smiles a peaceful, almost strange smile. At least, strange for the wizard; it's without the usual feline amusement at the rest of the world. "I suppose the keep is more than capable of holding itself together for a bit. I for one would be honored to accompany you, Miss Inga. Bedivere?"

    Of course he will. He's a knight, and Inga's more than someone merely under his protection. She's a friend, and a valued ally in Bedivere's quest to keep Dun Realtai alive.

    "I spent a little time watching. I think Black is stronger on the defense, though Kepas can be quick if he doesn't trip over himself." The wizard glances over towards the direction the pooka paddock is, but sees neither of the creatures. "I suppose their game was called on account of darkness, and now they nefariously plot ways to sneak food from the greenhouse and kitchen. I wonder if we'll have to add guards," he adds with a laugh.

    Inga's leg makes him wonder, but she's never spoken about it - and there are a host of reasons that someone even as young as she could be partially lame. At least Jodis makes it much easier to get around, even if Inga insists on walking from time to time.

    "I suppose it is a fine night for such a walk. What sorts of herbs were you wanting to collect?" He'd noticed her interest in his parcel, but doesn't say anything about it. It's just a package of movies, after all; it isn't as if it's the third and fourth season of Desperate Housewives or anything. That won't arrive until Friday.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  "More rain." The knight sighs, and the sound is a little morose. While he's hardly one to complain, it seems that the region has a disproportionate amount of rain, and it gets a little wearisome once in a while. At least they won't need to worry about erosion. He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. "Ah, well. I suppose it's good for the greenery and good for the soil, so recently back from the brink."

  His head shakes. "A valid concern. I had wondered what would happen were they not amicable with one another, but it seems like recognises like. I am not certain what they think of one another."

  "Walk?" Bedivere's brow furrows, and he looks downhill, to the distant form of the greenhouse. It's down among the crop fields, as much for the space as for want of level ground. It wouldn't have fit in the courtyard. "Certainly. I would recommend sitting astride Jodis for the walk back down, however. I will remain on foot; I have no need of the Black One to descend the hill."

  He sniffs disdainfully at mention of Gawain's cooking. "Do so. It is loathsome. His poultices and salves are wondrous, but his cooking is a blasphemy in and of itself."

  Three days and three nights he'd wanted to die after eating something Gawain cooked, unable to backpedal out of it without violating the laws of hospitality. He'd never felt so wretched in his life, not even after the time a Saxon had almost taken his left arm off at the shoulder.

  His eyes slide to Merlin, thoughtful. "Kepas is shockingly agile when he puts his mind to it. Do you recall the hunt for the traitor whom Lady Alaia bade me return to her custody? It is the only time I have heard him give tongue, in all the time I have been here; when he feels his master or his land threatened." The knight shrugs, faintly. "I suppose one can expect no less from a guardian spirit."

  Sometimes he's wondered about Inga's handicap, too, but he would never be so rude as to ask her directly. He himself is hardly a picture of perfect health; stiff and slow from old injuries stacked atop old injuries, and made worse in autumn and winter's cold. Bedivere does as he's always done, though, bulling through the pain and forging onward with brute force when it comes to his own health.

  He half-smiles, folding his hands behind his back and moving to fall into step beside Merlin and Inga. "Aye, it is a fine night for a walk." His next statement brings a faint half-smile, but this time it's more that shy, sweet expression than the reserved, guarded one. "Shall we go, friends?"

  'Friends' are still a fairly new concept to him, and something he still cherishes dearly.

Inga has posed:
"Indeed, a bit more rain would be welcome I think. We should perhas think about adding a field for corn next year. Corn is very popular," Inga says. This is about as boring as it gets, people.

Inga listens to the report about Kepas and Black One with a smile, wondering what mischief they'll be into. "I do not think adding guards would help much. I don't think it would stop them from doing as they please--reminds me of someone..." she says, glancing toward Merlin. But it seems a walk will be had. If there isn't tea or food or mead at least, standing there seems so awkward. Why does there need to be drinks or movement? Puzzling, but things always seem to flow better that way. "I'm nearly out of fennel, peppermint, and chammomile. A lot of digestive complaints lately it seems...a couple months, everyone will have colds and I will run out of feverfew and eucalyptus," she sighs.

Inga notices Merlin watching her. By now, she knows that look and the thoughts behind it. She purses her lips briefly, then addresses the issue like a bandaid. Rip quickly and its relatively painless. "I was born malformed. It is my hips rather than my leg. I have always been weak. No, I do not know why," she informs him. Then, without missing a beat, "Are those your movies you spoke of? What do you have there? I haven't seen a movie in months."

Inga looks to the greenhouse again, sighing. "Oh yes. The hill. Well, down is much easier than up. Jodis will happily walk beside us. I'll make it with a bit of assistance," she says with a smile, linking her arm with Bedivere on one side before handing Merlin her staff and taking his arm on the other. There. She is unashamed to use people as mobility aids. "Yes, lets go."

Merlin (639) has posed:
    The time has come, it seems...not to talk of ships and sealing wax, but of crops and weather, and perhaps other things as well. Well, it wasn't such a bad thing really. Even if Bedivere's not a fan of the rain, it's still one of the elemental forces that drives the world, and Merlin relishes in its power.

    Together arm in arm, for a moment anyway, the three of them make their way down the path. And then Inga explains her birth, and Merlin sighs. Bedivere's too old and rusty for this, and probably quite broken of ass and shoulder /anyway/ despite his claims to the negative. With a pause, Merlin bends down and simply /scoops/ the white-haired girl into his arms -

    - and if Inga's going to slap him for trying to kiss her, she's just going to whiff on air as she's hoisted to his shoulders like a little girl. "I may not be as tall as Bedivere or as steady as Jodis, Lady Inga...but I suppose I make a suitable perch nonetheless." And then holding on to her legs, he'll walk her all the way there.

    "Movies? Ah, yes. A few, though...I suppose there might be one you both would like. I've quite a few to pick from, and Sir Bedivere...I think I must insist upon you joining us. I've one in particular that is quite good, about all sorts of things. Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles..."