994/Look What The Cat Dragged In

Look What The Cat Dragged In
Date of Scene:	18 November 2014
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	After a pitched battle in Sir Gawain's Grail War, Emiya Shirou returns to Dún Reáltaí, where Sir Bedivere awaits the return of his not-quite-a-squire.
Cast of Characters:	482, 560, 617

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The weather is miserable in Dún Reáltaí, as it usually is. So much rain falls in this place that one wonders how the hill itself doesn't simply wash away... actually, that's a very real concern, but one for another day.

Today, Sir Bedivere is more concerned with the return of Emiya Shirou. Although the boy isn't formally his squire, still taking ample time to consider such a monumental decision, the silver-haired knight nonetheless feels responsible for his actions when he does things in keeping with the chivalric virtues. Such knightly actions usually involve knightly sacrifice, and much like Bedivere, Shirou is but a mortal and only able to withstand mortal levels of punishment.

Frequently he toes that line.

Although rain sluices down from an unforgiving sky and making for treacherous footing, riders have been dispatched to the far corners of the hills, most notably near the warpgate to pick up any travellers. A separate horse and rider are there for both Shirou and Chloe, wherever they may be, to return them swiftly to the castle keep.

They'll deposit their guests and go back from whence they came once their duty is complete, though not without quiet thanks from Bedivere, waiting in the doorway.

He looks like he's been roused out of bed, actually; his hair is unbound, and his clothing is even looser and less formal than his usual commoners' garb. He has medical supplies under an arm, linen and antiseptic and bandaging; and more set up beside the hearth. Once those two arrive, he'll usher both of them in and to the fireside.

"My king is taking her rest, but I assured her I would see to you and then return to my own rest," he'll explain, though not without a flat – and therefore probably disturbed – stare at Shirou's condition. "It would be best if you took your rest, as well, once I've finished the worst of this, Master Shirou."

The words are spoken in a hoarse rasp, and he pauses afterward to cough; the sound is horrible and just as miserable-sounding as it had been a few days ago. It's not the kind of night to be up and about, but it does explain why he didn't personally go looking for Shirou, still sick as he is.

...Saber probably would've killed him.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
Toeing the line is being merciful. Shirou did not toe the line this time. He ran at it screaming with wild abandon and leapt across it like a tiger going in for the kill.

It was pretty awesome.

AND REALLY, REALLY PAINFUL.

And that is why he's been enduring the pain with a somewhat vaguely bandaged arm... if you can call it an arm. It's more like a tattered lump of flesh, vaguely shaped like an arm, taht happens to be attached where his arm should be. Executing Nine Lives ripped all the muscle and flesh where Reinforcing it somewhat badly didn't do the job already, and his bones have only just started to set. Not much bleeding at this point, thanks to Avalon's effect getting stronger, but it's like someone took claws and ripped open all of the flesh in twisting patterns.

And now it's raining on it.

HOW he is enduring that without painkillers of any kind is a mystery, but Fortitudo it is.

He's really, really rateful for the lift when he got this close that's for sure.

So Shirou wanders in towards the Hearth with Bedivere, constantly biting down the urge to cry out in pain as he adjusts the somewhat-healing arm and finds a seat. "yeah. Don't worry, that's the plan, Sir Bedivere. Urngh..."

Teeth girit, he just focuses on breathing once he can finally sit. "You sound... about as bad as I feel. Whew..."

Chloe von Einzbern (617) has posed:
Someone REALLY pushed themself too hard, and it was not Chloe.

Nevertheless, Emiya Shirou is not alone in his return to Dún Reáltaí, and it is not the girl's first time here. However it is only proper to finally meet her host, after crashing in Gawain's room on at least two occasions when the knight of the round was not particularly using it. Thus, here she is; no longer in the tattered red and black armor from earlier, but in a more casual shirt and skirt, despite the lousy and miserable weather.

Despite the fact that her left arm hangs limp, her right is probably holding onto Shirou for support, after the ride from the warp gate. That is to say, to support HIM. "Geeze, Shirou, you really did a number on yourself. ... I kind of should have known this would happen." Murmured a tad cryptically.

All things considered, she's in better condition than Shirou is, so Bedivere won't need to play nurse for longer than he has to for one of them. "You sound miserable." That's her greeting to the knight, as she pushes Shirou to sit down, before she remembers to be a bit more polite. Oh right that is kind of important isn't it.

"Hiiii~."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight is in motion as soon as both cross the threshold. Although he'd stared briefly at Shirou's injuries, he's all business, now; brusquely steering Shirou over to a seat by the fire, and immediately going about the business of cleaning and disinfecting the wound.

That's bound to be a special kind of hell for Shirou, but it's not something the knight is inclined to listen to argument over. Infection was lethal in his day and age, and even if Avalon is inclined to heal the boy, Bedivere is loathe to risk that.

"I am sorry; this will be painful." Bedivere at least sounds properly regretful at that, but knowing what it's going to do doesn't stay his hand. "But it is necessary. By the Good Lord, what have you done? And how are you still on your feet to reach here? No, do not answer me. Conserve your strength."

His voice is hard, but not angry; he works quickly, and seems to be a top-notch field medic in spite of his profession. Every knight needed to know how to patch up his fellows, for the ability to staunch bleeding and cover wounds could save lives in a pinch. The craft of the chirurgeon was something else entirely, but Bedivere is knowledgeable in basic first aid.

In this case, it's probably all he'll need. Avalon should take over for the rest.

"On second thought, it does not matter," he adds, neatly winding linen around the ruined arm once he has the wounded portions as clean as he can get them. It's probably very painful. "My apologies. This will also be painful, but you musn't touch it. I will give you whisky, or wine, or something from the castle stores once I've finished. It will help you sleep," he adds, and for the first time he lets a note of concern creep into his voice.

To Chloe, he cocks a faded violet eye, offering a slightly sour smile; not because of her, but because he's trying very hard not to cough all over Shirou's open wound. "You must be Chloe. I was told of your presence. I welcome you to Dún Reáltaí as a guest, milady, for I know your father, and he has been through my hall. You shall have safe harbour here, for I gave my word as a knight, that I would keep you safe so long as you remain in these lands, and so it shall be."

"As for you." His eyes turn back to Shirou, thoughtful. "Mead, perhaps. That would take you out all the more quickly. There should be some left after the autumn céilidh, I think. Ah, do try not to move that. My king remains yet in her chamber, but her presence should be close enough, I think, for such purpose as you require."

He frowns, then, and shakes his head. "Come." Carefully, he moves to take Shirou by the uninjured shoulder, guiding him – if he allows it – toward the stairwell. "I will take you to your quarters. You should not be on your feet any longer than necessary; rest, now, for as long as you require."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
"Hwgh—" Yeah, Shirou's pushed into the chair by Chloe and just gives her a reassuring look. He should be okay! ... Should. Hopefully.

"That's okay. Do what you've got to, Sir Bedivere... it was worth it. We ended up not killing anyone." He sounds... maybe just a little bit out of it at this point! And no surprise. MAybe a light tap to the head will clear his thoughts up.

OR getting a bandage wrapped about it suddenly. "AUGH—" Quickly, he clamps down on the scream.

A grunt, an exhale, and staggering up with Bedivere's help later... "...I used some crazy technique of a Heroic Spirit to chop off a Master's arms. Gruesome. But no arms means no Command Spells... he had them covered or I'd've only had to attack one."

That doesn't really explain ANYTHING.

But Gawain has mentioned 'no killing Masters' for his war...

Chloe von Einzbern (617) has posed:
With Shirou now depositied in his seat and reporting for first aid, Chloe's work here is prettymuch done. But what did Shirou do? "Heeeee only threw himself into a fight with an assassin who specializes in killing magi better than he is." Chloe is a bit more forthcoming there as she folds her hands behind her back with a small wince.

Still, the girl is flashing a pretty big grin when Bedivere's attention turns to her. She opts to not HOLD the knight's attention for too long, because he's going to be busy tending to Shirou. But the man gives his word as a knight, she kind of has to say something to that. "Heh... Other than the weather it's not bad here. Thanks."

Oh there's no doubting it, this one is going to be an imp, going by demeanor alone. But amid Bedivere's attempts to not cough all over the red haired magus, the girl produces a handkerchief. This is offered to the round table knight as she already starts meandering off as though she owns the whole castle. "I don't know what you're talking about big brother. Saying we didn't kill anyone. ~I~ helped kill a Servant." A little smug there as she's already off. "Anyway I'm soaked, tired, and sore. I'll be in my room. Good niiiiight."

Unless someone stops her, she probably means the room she juked off of Gawain.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight is sympathetic to the boy's horrific injury, having taken his fair share of such injuries himself. He guides Shirou patiently up the stairway, bracing him with a palm against his uninjured shoulder where needed.

He is patient, walking at whatever pace it is Shirou can drag himself up the stairs, never climbing faster than Shirou can manage.

Mead, Bedivere decides, eyeing the blood-spotted linen bandages he'd just applied. Definitely mead.

Chloe is given a nod in both acknowledgement and farewell, though the man seems hardly perturbed by whatever he might read into her personality. One girl is hardly a concern to him, and unless Confederates come calling with a more sinister purpose in mind, there are few things to truly threaten her here except the dreary weather.

Besides which, he's in no condition to protect anyone right now. He's still dreadfully sick, evidenced by his red-raw throat and equally raw voice. She'll be free to go where she will; so long as she doesn't disturb him in his own quarters.

"You fought well, but now is not the time to reflect on it," Bedivere chides softly, his voice little more than an exhausted rasp. He'll help Shirou to his bed and help the poor boy sit, before backing to the doorway. "Rest, for now. And do not worry about preparing any meals, or any other work, for the next several days."

Those faded violet eyes fix on the red-headed youth, stern. "In fact, as your host, I forbid it, so long as you aspire to work at any task in Dún Reáltaí. You are to rest and gather your strength. I cannot stop you from doing work for the Union, although I would strongly recommend you restrain yourself from leaping into the next fray that should present itself. You are perhaps too eager to sacrifice yourself."

Pot... kettle... yeah.

"Not unless you wish to lose that arm," he adds, clicking his tongue. "I should not push the limits of the Ever-Distant Utopia, were I you, for I myself do not know what they are. Long has it been out of my king's keeping, until now. It will not kill you to rest a few days. As noble as it is to fight on behalf of the people, a knight must also exercise restraint. He is of no use to anyone if he is unable to rise."

He pauses, before producing a glass bottle that he had, apparently carried up under his arm. "Ah, here. Drink some of this before you sleep. 'Tis mead, goodly powerful, and it should help you sleep."

Backing away, he offers an inclination of his head. "I will leave you to your rest, then, young master." He stifles a yawn, in turn forced to stifle a cough. "–I will be in my own quarters. Call if you should need anything, and myself or my king will see it done."

"May the Lord watch over you," he adds in parting, shutting the door as he backs out. From there it's up the stairs and back into his own bed, to collapse until uncharacteristically late into the morning. Sleep is a wonderful thing...