619/A Night's Insight

A Night's Insight
Date of Scene:	19 September 2014
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Bedivere and Kagenashi have an unexpectedly civil conversation.
Cast of Characters:	85, 482

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Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Even after returning from her attack on Akita, Kagenashi has been remarkably quiet. She's kept to her room, door closed, silent aside from the occasional plucking of a shamisen or the lilting of a bamboo flute. Perhaps her silence may be unnerving, or a relief; it's difficult to tell sometimes.

Tonight is one such night.

The nogitsune's room is neither particularly large nor lavish. A simple bed in the corner, a small table beside it, a dresser packed only with a few clothes. If it weren't for the flute sitting on the table and the shamisen leaning against the wall next to that, one might consider that this could be anyone's room. Kagenashi doesn't seem to mind, however.

Her hair is down, falling freely down her back and shoulders. Her mask is beside her, but the rest of her outfit has been packed away. She only wears her black yukata with its red floral patterns tonight as she sits cross-legged and slightly slumped on her bed, staring across the room. Five orbs of ghostly fox fire weave and dance lazily around her, serving as the only light in the closed-off room. Even then, she leaves no shadow: Munashi is curled up in front of the wall on the other end of the room, where Kagenashi's gaze is currently fixed.

But it's not the shadow fox that she stares at. It's Nageki leaning against the wall, freed from its scarlet sheath. The cursed odachi is a work of remarkable craftsmanship, certainly, expertly forged from the handle to the tip of the blade, but one can't help but notice several things wrong with it. Its blade is not an elegant, supple curve: the cutting edge is split into nine curving hooks like the fangs of a vicious predator, engraved with trenches that run to the center of the blade and up to the hilt. A long, white fox tail is mounted against the end of the handle, too, and the whole weapon seems to bristle with a restless energy. It demands, pleas, urges someone to take hold of it and satisfy its thirst. Almost like a starving animal, or, perhaps, a hungry child.

Kagenashi's bright silver eyes remain narrowed as she stares at the sword, the light of her fox fire gleaming against its blade.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
No news is not necessarily good news. The fact that the nogitsune has been so quiet has been no small cause for suspicion from Dún Reáltaí's master, although he's had no desire to stick his hand into the teeth of that particular steel-jaw trap. His attention has been taken with other things up until this evening... but thanks to Loros' gift, he's had the wherewithal to get done the things he's wanted to get done.

Bedivere has decided to make his way to see to what ails his guest, or perhaps to ensure that whatever ails her won't ail his people. Or himself.

There comes a knock at the door to Kagenashi's quarters; precisely three knocks, somehow polite.

Should she open the door, she'll find Bedivere standing there, carrying what looks to be a teapot by a trivet over the handle, and two cups. He's wearing his usual commoner's attire, though his mantled cloak has been thrown over that. His expression is, as always, calm and placid... though perhaps the shadows under his eyes are less than they had been lately.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
The knocks don't go unnoticed. Kagenashi's gaze flits over to the door when Bedivere's precise greeting strikes it. She doesn't answer right away, however; instead, she simply stares, as if considering whether or not she wants to bother tonight.

Eventually, after a notable silence, the door is opened. Not by Kagenashi, for she still sits on her bed across the room. It's Munashi who's managed to tug the door open, letting it creak by on its hinges as she pads her way back to her earlier resting spot.

Silver eyes glance over the tea set, then Bedivere. Curiosity gleams in them for a moment, but it's brief, expressed only in her quiet greeting. The orb in her tongue becomes another source of light in the dim room. "You look strangely well. Have you actually managed to rest for once?"

She straightens up slightly, taking a slow breath as she looks back toward Nageki. "Come in, if you wish. I have not set up any chairs, so you will have to find a seat of your own, if you desire to stay. I have not brought any candles in either, so I hope you do not mind this lighting. What did you need?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Once the door opens, Bedivere eases into the open space, carefully balancing the teapot in his left hand, the cups carefully balanced in the crook of his rgiht arm; it looks as though he also has something tucked into the top cup. Something to eat, perhaps.

He stands to one side as he listens to that explanation, violet eyes briefly surveying Kagenashi's sparse quarters. He notes the cleanliness and neatness that almost borders on disuse – as though there were no one staying here; as though it could be one of a number of empty, unclaimed rooms.

He also notes the silent, smoldering presence of Nageki where it leans against the far wall.

"Bare floor will suit me well enough. I have sat on worse." Bedivere kneels down, setting down the teapot, the teacups, and emptying out what he'd been carrying in the teacups – scones or biscuits, or something like that. Although he has to squint a bit, he manages to pour two cups of tea, not missing so much as a drop.

The cup is offered to Kagenashi, the gleam of foxfire reflected in his eyes; so dark in it that they look black rather than violet. Once she accepts, he settles down cross-legged, holding his own cup with both hands.

"You have been quiet, of late. I merely wished to discover what had ailed you. I know little of your comings and goings; and I had been unable to even visit the village, of late." His head bows as he takes a cautious sip of tea. Hot. "Perhaps I may not entirely trust you, but you are still a guest in my hall, and no less deserving of hospitality for that."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Kagenashi listens in silence, still staring across at the sword leaning against the wall. One might begin to wonder if she even registers having a guest if it weren't for the occasional glance. Finally, however, the cup is offered to her, and her bright silver eyes flit across to it, then to Bedivere's own eyes. It's only a moment more before she takes the cup in her hands and cradles it in her lap, and while she doesn't seem interested in drinking it for now, she still stares down at it as if in thought, letting the curling steam waft up to her.

"...you have my thanks, for that at least." Her fingers drum light and slow along the cup's side for a moment more. "My comings and goings are difficult to know by design. Where I go and what I do is only to be known if I choose for it to be known." She isn't tense or snappish about her words, at least. She may not hold a perfectly calm tone, but any lingering anger seems to have faded. "What ails me..."

Her head lifts slightly, eyes of moonlight settling on Bedivere in a curious stare once more. "My attempt the other day failed. When I thought victory was assured, I was beaten; is that not enough for introspection and meditation? It was rather humiliating, too. My injuries still have not quite settled."

Kagenashi pauses, her eyes narrowing in thought. The question that follows is soft, but perhaps no less abrupt. "...what would you do, Bedivere, if Saber were suddenly struck by madness?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
For his part, the knight sits as though he were a statue, cross-legged on the floor, teacup neatly balanced in both of his hands. Although he has the raw power to nearly cleave a man's head from his shoulders, he is gentle; perhaps the gentlest of the Knights of the Round Table, and the least inclined to reach for their sword. That he even offers something as simple as tea to Kagenashi is likely sign enough of that. He's made no secret of his distrust of her.

He doesn't speak, instead remaining quiet to listen. Perhaps he can sense that if she were interrupted, she might not continue; and it is so unlike her to be generous with her words.

Insight. That is, perhaps, what he alone among his brother-knights most sought. Insight into the mind of his Saxon foes, his political detractors. His multiversal foes.

What would he do?

Bedivere doesn't answer immediately. He simply takes another sip of tea, careful for the heat of it. He seems to consider for a long moment, giving the question all due focus. What would he do if she suddenly lost her mind? Perhaps he could have thought of it that way, when he had first come across her in the multiverse. No longer had she worn her kingly mask; the icy, inhuman countenance of the unsmiling king. In those moments he could have thought her mad, if he had not had some small manner of insight into her inner workings. While he had never seen her behave so in Camelot, he knew she had the capacity to. It's still strange to see her smile, or see her laugh, but he finds it more and more less alien and more of a welcome comfort. Too, he welcomes her determined fussing over his well-being, for he does not always remember to take care of himself. That had also taken some getting used to.

What would he do if he did not have that support?

"I would do as I have always done," he answers, after a time. Bedivere supports his teacup by his fingertips around the base, eyeing it thoughtfully. "I would continue to support her, until she were to come back to herself. For she has always been acute of mind, and strong of will, and I have never questioned her judgement. I am her marshal, her servant; her first-and-last knight." His eyes slowly lift to Kagenashi. "What else could I do but support her?"

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Bedivere is likely wise not to risk sending the nogitsune into silence. It's difficult to tell how willing she may be to speak right now, but she has always been prone to misdirections and half-answers. Anything direct, at least relating to her, is a rare thing to obtain.

She does fall silent while she waits for a response, and her silence is echoed in the stillness of her form. Her cup remains cradled, her thumb rising to glide along the rim where warm condensation has begun to gather. Her eyes continue to stare, blinking rarely and slowly. The dance of flames around her remains lazy, as if they were drowsy fairies rather than small fires under her control. At least she is patient, allowing him to think over her sudden inquiry for as long as is needed.

The answer makes Kagenashi's eyes narrow slightly. Her gaze falls to the cup in her hand again, her thumb stilled along its rim. "...how patient. I have my doubts it would be effective, but at least your intention proves your faithfulness. She is fortunate to be served by a knight of such stubborn endurance."

Again, Kagenashi falls silent for quite some time. Thoughts weave their way through her mind, turned over again and again. She seems intent on the liquid in her hands, shimmering with the ethereal light she gives off, but surely it acts as nothing more than a focus for her senses to allow her thoughts to move freely.

"...what ails me," she at last repeats in a low murmur. "What ails me...is frailty, Bedivere. Frailty of mind, of spirit. A stone wall with a single crack steadily worn to a gaping hole. Do you see that sword?" She doesn't look up as she asks him that question. It's not like Nageki is hard to notice at all, even in the dim light of the room. "Do you feel it? You must, surely. I will ask you never to touch it, nor should you go anywhere near it, but even where you are, you must hear its cries and pleas."

Her head doesn't lift, but her eyes still flit up to look at Bedivere again. "It is a tool of death and bloodshed. Do you think anything good could ever come of such a creature? Do you think you could protect someone dear to you with such a weapon, if you held it in your grasp?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight remains silent and still, patience to match patience as she passes her judgement on his answer.

"I did not say that it would be effective. Madness is rarely so simple a thing, or so simply solved," Bedivere murmurs in that soft tone of his, though there is a gentleness that suggests he isn't precisely arguing. "But many times, merely showing such support is a greater assistance than we might know."

He knows it had been a great help in the days of Camelot. Although king and knight could not so much as speak earnestly to one another, simply knowing one another's intent had provided some small measure of strength to each. They had needed it. For Bedivere, he had served in a court that had always been subtly hostile. There had been a great deal of quiet animosity directed at the pale-haired foreigner, who had seemed to sweep in and seize from the blooded and landed nobility such a position of prestige. And, he supposes they must have thought, the king's ear.

Of course, Arturia did not rule so, and he had never had her ear, even if he had wanted it. She was a king who could not be bought off or influenced so; no more than her loyal Left Hand had been.

When bidden, his eyes turn to the sword at the far end of the room, gleaming in the light of the fox-fire. He had not looked so directly at it when he'd entered, and now that he settles his gaze more firmly on it, there is a subtle wrongness to it.

No, he decides silently. A hunger, and there is nothing subtle about it.

His eyes narrow.

"I would not wish to touch such an evil thing," he says, so softly the words might be missed. His fingers tighten subtly around his teacup, pressing the warm porcelain close. "It lusts for destruction. Even I, a mere mortal man, can sense that."

"It lusts for destruction," he repeats softly, as though he were subtly horrified by the intent that seems to radiate from it. "It wants nothing more than to destroy. That is not a blade ever meant to protect... I would not hold that weapon."

"It would use me. It would achieve the destruction it so lusts for... and then it would destroy me." He eyes it uneasily, and although he doesn't so much as move, there's no mistaking the fact that his hackles are up.

Perhaps his tells are subtle... but Bedivere is afraid of that object. He takes a sip of his tea, as though to disguise that unease. Violet eyes turn to Kagenashi. For a long moment he simply studies her, his gaze apprehensive, reflected in the light of the fox-fires attending her.

"Why do you wield such a thing?"

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Kagenashi's head lifts slightly when he begins examining the cursed sword. As he studies it, she watches him, examining every subtle reaction. As she had hoped, it is not just an observation on his part; he feels it, the sword's intent permeating him and making him absolutely certain of what it is, what it wishes for, what it does. When he at last turns away from it to watch her next, she finally lifts her own cup of tea to her lips, taking a slow, steady sip of its contents.

The breath that falls from her when she lowers the cup is a slow sigh, like a breeze whistling through ruins. Kagenashi's gaze lifts to meet Bedivere's again, and her words come in a tone that states nothing but fact. "Because I lack the luxury of choice. It was a tool made over a century ago to strip kitsune and nogitsune alike of their powers, but that came with a hunger for life itself. The desperation poured into it upon its creation gave it a single-minded will, and it grew too ravenous for any but the strongest in spirit to wield. I have endured holding it in my grasp for...nearly a year now. And yet it has only been drawn from its sheath a handful of times. When it does, it guides me more than I direct it. It is a weakness...but also a strength, and the only path I have to greater power and the achievement of my goals."

The nogitsune seems to sink slightly in her seat. Her poise is less refined and straight, her shoulders falling as if a weight settled on them. "...but it has proven to be more of a weakness than I at first realized."

Her stare shifts back to Nageki again. Silver eyes fix on its blade and do not falter, as if she could simply stare it into submission. "...if you were forced to, do you believe you could still support Arturia in her frail madness with that sword at your waist? Or do you think you would even realize her weakness then?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere doesn't look away, but there is an unspoken discomfort in that gaze, once he looks back to Kagenashi. He had faced down half a battle line on his own, once, a wall of furious Saxons who had done their level best to lay him low, and he had done it without flinching. Indeed, he had met them calmly, his nameless sword swinging, and whistling its song of steel.

Yet to see Nageki in all of its terrible presence is enough to make even the stoic marshal's skin crawl.

True, he has experienced swords that were not crafted by human hands. The king wielded Caliburn as a symbol of her kingship, and later Excalibur, the Golden Sword of Promised Victory. He had even held that relic once, just once, when she had bade him cast it into a deep lake, after her death.

Perhaps it had made him uncomfortable, but that was not a matter of what it was. What had made him uncomfortable had been their parting, and to cast away Excalibur had been to admit that his king was fallen – that Arturia was dying.

Yet Excalibur in all its otherworldliness had not made him recoil as much as the mere sight of this blood-drinker does.

It is an evil thing, a hungry thing, his subconscious whispers to him, and he is inclined to heed that instinct well.

For all his discomfort, though, he does not so much as show it. Not beyond subtle hints here or there. Perhaps he grips his teacup a little too carefully, or the way his gaze dances everywhere but at Nageki. Subtle as he is, there's no mistaking his unease, even for someone who doesn't know him as well as Arturia. Truly, his self-control must be masterful, to disguise his repulsion so well.

Or he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"That thing you carry... that hateful, accursed thing lusting for destruction, against the wall... that is not a weakness. That is self-sabotage." Bedivere's voice is calm and level in spite of his unease. "Perhaps I do not trust you, or your motives, but I can say that I respect you. Especially that you carry a burden such as this wretched thing."

Could he still support Arturia with that blade?

"I would not support my lady with such a thing." He must be distraught; it is perhaps the first time he has publically referred to her without royal title, and the first time before Kagenashi that he has ever acknowledged what is perhaps more than a working relationship between king and marshal. He pauses to take a sip of tea, and even that simple gesture seems distraught, hands folding over the warm porcelain as though to shelter it from the silent cruelty of Nageki's presence. "It would be a dishonour to everything she has stood for – everything we have stood for – to take up such a wretched thing."

"If my hand were forced... then it would not matter whom I chose to support with it. That—that thing would consume me. I know it as surely as the sun rises." His voice is very quiet, but there is an earnesty there that borders on anxiety. "All I could but hope for would be to support for as long as I may... and beg her, or someone, to strike me down before it could consume me. Before it became too much to contain."

He allows himself a shudder, brief as it is.

"But you have made one mistake, nogitsune," he murmurs, lifting his gaze to her, and regarding her with a calmness he perhaps doesn't quite feel. "She is not weak. Not now, nor ever. Not even were she to fall into madness, which I doubt, would she be weak. I am the weak one. Not her. You do not know her; nor do you understand the burdens she has borne..."

"But... I beg you, do not make me stir such dark thoughts. I have had my weary fill of darkness. And I do not wish to think of failing her again," he murmurs, quietly. Yet for all his quiet tone, there is something different to his voice, this time.

Pain.

Silence again, and his gaze slides back down to his teacup.

"What drives you so desperately...?"

The question is almost hesitant – as though he doesn't actually want to know the answer.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Respect. The smile that word draws is small, light, barely even mirthful, but for a fleeting moment, it is there. It fades just as swiftly, however, when he continues, and his discomfort seems all too obvious to one as observant as the nogitsune. Perhaps, if she were feeling more playful or even cruel, or if it were another topic, she may take some pleasure in his distress; now, however, her silence speaks loudly enough of how little humor she views this subject with.

"...perhaps you are the one who is mistaken, knight," she remarks, her own sight still fixed across the room to Nageki. "If she were weak, she would not be a successful king, or any sort of leader. You are right; I do not know her, nor the burdens that have weighed upon her shoulders. But have I not pieced you together, despite still knowing little of your story?" Her silver eyes finally settle on his again. "Everyone has weaknesses, no matter how small, no matter how strong they are. It is simply inevitable. Denying that is a weakness in itself."

His question comes through the lingering silence, and for a while, he isn't given an answer. Kagenashi simply stares at him in silence, as if pondering what sort of response to give, if any. It almost seems as if he may not get any response at all, after a point...but, eventually, her legs uncross and she rises from her seat. The orbs of fox fire part to allow her to pass, and she places her cup down on the table beside the bed.

Her slow steps carry her across to the room to where Nageki sits. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she takes hold of the sword's hilt. Before Bedivere may be able to suspect that she's about to use the weapon, she takes up the sheath in her other hand and eases Nageki into it, finally sealing it with a quiet click. The sword's ravenous aura seems tempered by the scarlet sheath, dulling its cries to a faint, smoldering presence. Kagenashi places the cursed weapon down against the wall once more, but she doesn't move from that spot. Her fingers rest on the bronze cap of the sword's handle, where her silver eyes still linger.

"What drives me..." Her voice is a ponderous murmur, barely audible even at that distance. "...what drives me is duty. Duty to a goal that only I can see through to its end. It has dictated the course of every century of my life, and though I deviate from its path now and then, I have little choice in continuing. If I fail, then so too will anyone else who takes up that task. So, I will proceed, and I will be victorious..." Her lips purse together to a hard line. The next words that she speaks are given with a lingering reluctance. "...and that will be the end."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Although the nogitsune shows a fleeting smile at that word, the knight's expression never changes. What he speaks is true. He does respect that she carries a great burden, and he has respect for her abilities. The two are not mutually exclusive to his mistrust, though, and just because he can treat her as a proper guest does not mean he has any further sense of obligation towards what is, ostensibly, an enemy.

He looks down to his teacup when she suggests that he's the one mistaken. His expression is not quite neutral, but neither is it an open frown. It seems more troubled than anything else.

"Perhaps." He looks up to her slowly, though his gaze drops away after a few seconds. The silver-haired knight sips at his tea, eyes lingering on it. "Having pieced me together is no great achievement. Perhaps it might have been harder, if you had come upon us in Camelot, for I was... a different man, there. But it is not so hard, here. The multiverse has... changed me. But she is more complicated than I."

He lifts his eyes again, regarding her calmly. "I said that she is not weak; not that she does not have weaknesses. A strong knight may still have weaknesses, but taken separately from those vulnerabilities, he is not intrinsically weak. It is the same with my king. She has her vulnerabilities, but she is not a weak person."

"Indeed..." Bedivere drops his gaze to his teacup again. His lips thin, although it's not quite a frown. "It is the duty of the Left Hand of the King to guard those weaknesses... however I must. I only pray I have the strength to, for she is possessed of more fortitude than I, and has ever been so."

Silence falls again, although he doesn't prompt her for her answer to his question. He is patient; he knows that she'll answer in her own time. More than that, perhaps he senses that if he prods her for an answer, he'll never have one.

His eyes follow her as she uncoils to cross the room and take up the sword – for a brief instant, tension settles in his shoulders, although he is unarmed; it fades, very slowly, when she eases the sword back into its scarlet scabbard.

Some of that tension bleeds out of him, slowly, once the sword's bloodlust is dimmed.

Where once he might have scorned her for an answer like that, he is inclined to believe it, if what she says about how long she's carried Nageki is true. Bedivere doesn't need to wield that accursed blade personally to know what kind of self-discipline it must take not to fall victim to its lust for destruction.

In some ways, it isn't so different from the burdens he had carried in Camelot and beyond. Perhaps they had not driven him to bloodshed and violence, but they had consumed him all the same, and he is only now beginning to heal from it. He seems less fatigued than he had; but though the shadows beneath his eyes are faded, there is still a haunted quality to those violet eyes from time to time.

"I believe you," he says instead, softly, "though I am compelled to obstruct you, for I am a knight of the Union, and you a Lieutenant of the Confederacy. But that does not lessen my respect for the burden you carry." His gaze lowers to his teacup again, eyes half-lidded. "I understand duty," he murmurs quietly. "I understand it very well."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
The nogitsune's hand falls from Nageki's handle, lowering to her side. She takes in a slow breath, then lets it fall away in a steady sigh as her eyes drift closed. "I would not expect you to hold any sympathy or wish to assist in my goals. But...I at least appreciate your respect, for I doubt it is something easily given by you."

With the sword quieted for a time, Kagenashi at last turns back toward her bed, once more sitting herself on its edge surrounded by those ghostly flames. Her cup is returned to her hands, then lifted to her lips for a slow, steady sip of its contents before she cradles it in her palms once more. "Perhaps you are right when you speak of the separation of weakness and vulnerabilities. Perhaps...but too often have I seen those vulnerabilities exploited to one's inevitable downfall." A faint, hollow smile returns to her lips. "That is what I do, after all. Does it really matter how strong they are, then?"

She lifts her eyes to regard him once more, her expression soft and neutral, perhaps with a shred of melancholy lingering over her beautiful features. "You are stubborn. That stubbornness makes you a remarkable asset, particularly when you devote yourself to something. Arturia is fortunate that you have devoted yourself to her, for I have my doubts that even the strongest opposition will make you falter."

Kagenashi's head lowers at that, and her eyes slip closed as she cradles her cup close to her. It's still warm, even if only faintly so. "...you have the answer you came here for, though I suspect it is not satisfactory. Is there anything else you wish to pry at?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Until I know with certainty what those goals are, you will have no assistance from me. You will not even have sympathy, for if I devote myself to a cause, I would know without question what that cause is." Bedivere shakes his head, but his tone is not argumentative so much as a peaceful statement of fact. He is slow to extend his trust, and cautious by nature. Such qualities were not only desirable in his service as marshal, but absolutely necessary.

As to the matter of his respect, he simply regards her levelly for a few moments. "No," he says simply, "it is not." Seldom does he give it, but in this instance, Kagenashi has earned it. They are enemies, of that he has no doubt, but he can still respect her. In fact, it is necessary, if he is to maintain his own honour as a knight. It is right and proper that a knight be respectful even to his enemies. They may disagree, but they may still speak as men.

Bedivere regards that hollow smile with what seems to be open wariness.

"I believe it does." Some of that wariness seems to bleed away, and the calm he replaces it with suggests a conscious effort. "Perhaps we are doomed to fail, those of us who pursue our dreams. After all, I have failed my king, but I think it would be worse still if we did not strive for them; and perhaps, even if we are weak, we might find the inner strength that is needed, if we are willing to look."

Although she looks up, he looks down, returning his gaze to his teacup. There is a melancholy about him as he does, although he offers no immediate comment on the subject of his subborn nature. He has been told that, in so many words, by Arturia; though usually on the heels of his tireless efforts to work himself half to death. What Kagenashi speaks of, though, is something entirely different.

At length, he looks up, though he still does not look directly at her. Instead, he watches Munashi, as though the little shadow-fox were something different to focus on; something that does not make him half so wary as either Kagenashi or the accursed blade she wields, still leaning in the corner, its presence a silent reminder of its stark hunger.

"I will do anything for her," he says softly. "There is nothing too great for her to ask of me, or that need be done, for her sake." There is such truth and confidence to his words that they almost seem to have a life of their own for a moment; a brief and fleeting instant in which there is fire in his eyes, when he looks up to Kagenashi; the same fire he had shown once as a knight-aspirant in King Arthur's court – but perhaps that fire could be imagined, for he bows his head again an instant later. "But that does not mean I am not weak. I failed her once. I pray only that I do not fail her again. When next I do, I do not expect the consequences to be so lenient."

He looks down to his tea again, swirling the dregs in the bottom of his cup.

"Your answers are never satisfactory, but I do not mind. It is your way, just as it is my way to ask. Even so, you give me answers, though perhaps they are not in so many words as one might expect. Perhaps they are not what I asked of you, but they are answers all the same." He lifts his gaze to Munashi again. She seems to be in a talkative mood, so perhaps he might satisfy his curiosity.

"That creature. What is it to you?" He gestures to Munashi. "You do not have a shadow, and that creature follows you everywhere you go. What is it?"

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Kagenashi's eyes don't open, nor does her head lift to look at Bedivere, but Munashi's does. The black little fox stares at him even as Kagenashi seems to rest, her own silver gaze unblinking and unwavering. "...I would ask neither for your aid nor your sympathy, regardless," Kagenashi replies softly. "They would only hinder my goals, if you could even manage either. Rest assured, I will not be attempting to sway you to my cause."

A sound of dim amusement rises from her as he speaks of his devotion to King Arthur. Munashi's head tilts curiously, as if echoing her mistress' thoughts. "You say so much, and then deny the obvious conclusion that comes from it. It still continues to baffle me...but, I suppose, you are stubborn. It matters little, really."

The black fox finally rises from her place of rest, padding over to Bedivere and taking a seat in front of him. Munashi's tail sways from side to side as she stares up at him, watching him as closely as Kagenashi might, were her eyes not closed and her head lifted. Though the nogitsune remains unmoving, she still replies to his question. "Munashi? She is my shadow. My sight when my eyes are closed, my hearing when my ears are covered. She goes where I cannot, but at times, she returns to me, when I need her to."

Munashi's ears flatten slightly before she sinks down, resting in front of Bedivere with her head lowered to the floor. Should he feel the desire to touch her, he would feel...nothing, really, save for a slight chill. It's as if she isn't even there. "Her name, Munashi...the closest I believe it would translate to for you is..." Kagenashi pauses, then speaks in slightly accented English. "Empty. Lifeless." She shrugs slightly before continuing in her usual dialect. "She is nothing but part of me, but she is a companion, and one I have valued over the years."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"I do not think I would give those things even if asked." Even if she had the most noble of intentions, something warns the silver-haired knight not to allow himself to fall too deeply into the tangle of Kagenashi's motivations. Certainly he has no desire to be swayed to her side, for all that he might wish to understand. Understanding does not necessarily incur his sympathy; it merely satisfies his curiosity. He shakes his head faintly but doesn't say anything.

She might say that she doesn't want to convince him, but can he really trust anything she says as truth? She is indirect, evasive, dodgy; the very opposite of the kind of forthright earnestness so prized by the Knights of the Round Table.

He drains the last of his teacup and sets it aside, in time to hear her make that soft sound of amusement. It's not quite a chuckle, but he can sense the mirth in it.

Because everyone has vulnerabilities, he wants to say to that, but he would not give her the satisfaction of tipping his hand and revealing that very vulnerability. On some level, he knows that is exactly what Arturia is to him. She is a handle; a means by which he can be controlled. Threatened. Hurt. She is that which he cherishes most, but her very nature as that also makes her that which can cause him the most agony. He would not want anything to happen to her just for his sake, either.

So he holds his tongue, though for a fleeting instant he looks like he might like to say something... but ultimately, he does not.

Instead, he looks down as Munashi daintily sets down before him, studying the shadow-fox with evident interest. Although she's been close to him before, he's never taken the opportunity to study her, and those violet eyes are sifting over every detail. There is certainly an emptiness to her, some quality to that wispy fur that suggests—

And yes, when he reaches out to touch her, so carefully and lightly, she feels as empty as he had suspected. He draws his hand back as though it had been burnt.

"Hollow," he murmurs, but the word he uses is not English. It's Gaelic, rather than the Welsh he otherwise speaks, and the word is old. It seems to reverberate with the very emptiness that he senses in the little creature. Perhaps the word he uses is something the filí might have used; some snippet of lost training that he had ultimately chosen not to pursue. "I see that. I thought something had seemed strange about her."

Bedivere withdraws his hands, shifting his gaze from the shadow-fox to Kagenashi. Something strange settles over his expression again, for all the sharpness he studies her with; it's almost melancholy.

"You are lonely." The murmured words are an observation, not a question, and his gaze slides away from the nogitsune. Yet there is no pity in it; but understanding, for he understands what it is to be wholly and completely alone. He had only endured that for five relatively short years, held up against Kagenashi's centuries, and it had nearly broken him.

It is not a fate he would wish on anyone.

He looks up to her again, puzzlement and perhaps sympathy in the slight furrowing of his brow. "Tell me why. Help me to understand. Why do you do this to yourself? I can see that the thing you carry is at great cost to yourself, but also the things you do, as well. You push away that which you do not want to push away, and I can understand that. You have told me 'duty,' and I understand that, but I cannot understand why. There are so many things that duty may encompass..."

Does she act out of love, and duty, and the inability to reconcile the two; as he once had? The duty she spoke of; is it a greater calling, to correct some immutable way of her world that she might see as an oversight or mistake? She gave him the answer he asked for, yet it still makes no sense to him.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Something in that brief, simple observation strikes Kagenashi. It's difficult to tell, for she already wasn't moving more than her lips to speak, but the way the weaving orbs of fox fire suddenly stop their dance around her to linger in midair is enough of a sign. Munashi lifts her head toward Bedivere, staring with gleaming eyes in the darkness. Kagenashi soon follows, her eyes opening to regard Bedivere. He analyses her and insists that she explain, and she only stares at him with a pointed sharpness in her silver eyes as if they were honed blades.

Her grasp of the cup in her hands tightens, until it seems as if the cup might begin to crack.

Still, her voice comes through with an enforced calm, though it holds a certain edge, perhaps of faint irritation. "What you ask is for me to cast aside the work of a thousand years and the trials that come with them. What you ask for is for me to give in to temptations that have lingered and gnawed for centuries. I will not do so simply to satisfy the curiosity of one who presumes to understand the burdens I have carried and makes their hatred of me known. You are just a human. How could you possibly understand? What could you possibly do if you did?"

Her next breath is released in a heavy gust of tension, but little of that same tension seems to leave her with it. At least her voice is somewhat calmer when she continues, not quite so harsh as it was a moment before. As resistant as she is, perhaps, in some regard, she does want to speak. "...I will gain less from it than most would think. I doubt most would find it worthwhile or reasonable, even my own allies, but it is necessary. It is something I will do everything in my power to keep secret, no matter what should come to pass. If you wish so desperately to understand, then search for yourself, for I will not answer while I still draw breath."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Kagenashi reacts, and with far more fire and zeal than might have been expected. Yet for all that, the marshal remains still, as though he were carved from stone. There is not so much as a flicker of apprehension from behind those violet eyes or a tremor of the hands folded across his lap. He simply watches her with that calm... but there's something different about it, an opaqueness, like a portcullis slammed shut over a castle's gate.

The marshal is wearing his mask. Perhaps he feels something of apprehension after all, and feels the need to hide it. Or, perhaps there is some other insight that he might have into her nature and her behaviour, and he chooses not to share that reaction.

Or perhaps he simply feels the conversation is at an end. Dialogue between them rarely lasts for long, and perhaps he's surprised to have heard as much as he had.

"I ask nothing of you," he says calmly, climbing to his feet. He does so with with neither stiffness or pain, for once, and he brushes off his tunic as he stoops to gather both his teacup and the teapot. "You will not explain to your own allies, let alone one who is ostensibly an enemy. I understand that, and I will ask no more of you. I will leave you to your brooding, and your meditation."

He leaves the nogitsune her teacup. Anyone knows a wild animal will bite, if approached when it feels cornered.

"If you should change your mind, I would listen. I have been told I am an adequate listener." He bobs his head in respectful gesture, using his ankle to hook the door open and step into the open doorway. "As for whether I can keep your precious secrets... ask of my king, some time, how well I am able to keep a secret. Her answer may surprise you."

"As for the necessity of your goals... I suppose that is for you to decide. If you feel them necessary, than act upon that, though I fear to think of the lengths you would go in that pursuit, and though I would be compelled to hinder you. But I cannot fault you for trying. There was a time when I would have challenged any force for the sake of duty. And in some things... I will still do so, as you have observed. I sense the same in you, although you seem less willing to part with your motives." His gaze grows distant for a moment. "Actually... I was the same, once upon a time, although it would have been my head on a pike, no doubt, if I had been forthright, in that situation."

He pauses on the threshold, shaking his head; finally canting it slightly to one side and studying Kagenashi thoughtfully. "Perhaps we are not so different, you and I." It's not clear whether he means that as a left-handed compliment, or whether it's a simple, objective observation.

The silver-haired knight does not clarify. With that statement, he simply turns to leave, provided she doesn't stop him.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
Once Bedivere rises, Kagenashi's gaze flits aside to an empty space beside her. Not that there's anything interesting there; she simply has no wish to look at him at the moment, whether that comes from irritation or fear of him prying out another small weakness of hers. She is the one to do that, after all, not the other way around.

Her eyes narrow as he speaks, but she is silent, letting him stand and move as he chooses. Her grip around her cup has loosened, but tension still lingers in her form lit by the flickering flames around her. Even when he moves to the door, she doesn't look back at him...but she listens, broodingly quiet as she is.

Perhaps there is something to be taken from his words.

If Kagenashi does feel that way, she doesn't voice that thought. Her only response comes in a low murmur when he pauses at the doorway. "...it is strange to hear you suggest that. But perhaps you are correct. Maybe we will see, in time, if you are." A pause, then, "You have my thanks for the tea. I wish you well, Bedivere."

The flames around her flicker away, casting the room into darkness even before Bedivere leaves. When the door closes, the nogitsune takes a deep breath, then finishes the last of her tea. Keen eyesight allows her to set the cup aside on the nearby table, before she lays down across the bed, eyes open and mind humming with thought.

She has been given a good deal to think about.