999999/Rat-Catcher

Rat-Catcher
Date of Scene:	07 July 2014
Location:	Njorun Station - Infinite Library
Synopsis:	After literally catching Sir Faruja Senra of Ivalice and sparing him a nasty fall, Sir Bedivere of the Round Table decides to talk to his impromptu company, and get to know one of his new Union allies a little better.
Cast of Characters:	152, 482

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Faruja (152) has posed:
Inquisitor Faruja Senra, Time Mage though he may be, is often vexed by one thing in particular. Amongst a race of those leaning towards above average height, he is /short/. Five feet tall isn't munchkin size for most humans, but for Burmecians it makes him a runt. As luck would have it, the book of magic he needs for his research into better manipulating gravity is on the top shelf of a /very/ tall book case in the Infinite Library.

Luckily, Faruja Senra has friends. The three lamia Sisters have wrapped themselves around a convenient column to provide enough height for Faruja to get his float on properly; sadly, teleportation is warded here after a few accidents from novice Time Mages.

Faruja, in the arms of the eldest lamia, gets a shove towards the bookcase.

"FLOAT!" And thus anyone entering would get to watch a rat being pushed off towards a bookcase by a trio of lamia coiled up upon a pillar, only for the rat to finally touch the book. Yank!

"Magical energy threshold exceeded. Switching on dampening agents." Ker-crack. Faruja falls like a stone from the sudden reduction in power.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
There are many knights who serve the Union; in many ways, it's only natural that those of such leanings would come together under its banner. Particularly, there are many who serve charitable goals and other such pursuits. In fact, one of the newer ones is trudging into the library, staring at the rows and rows of books with undisguised awe.

Sir Bedivere of the Round Table is perhaps not what some might think of when they think of Arthurian legend. This knight (for they are obviously clad in heavy plate armour, blue waistcloth, and white and blue cloak) looks as though they could be a woman. In fact, they are quite similar in appearance to the Servant Saber. Hmm...

There's a pause as the knight notes the tableau up above where the Burmecian is trying to reach a high book, with the help of some truly strange-looking creatures. His first thought is witchcraft, and his second is that the rat is falling, and may meet an unpleasant fate--

Bedivere doesn't think; he springs forward, crossing the library with surprising speed, reaching out to catch the falling Faruja. Steel sabatons almost strike sparks from the floor in his haste.

He'll worry about the fact that Faruja looks like a supernatural creature of some kind later.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Luckily, Faruja's own golden plate hidden beneath fine red silk is lighter than average, as is the small mouseling. Combined with his sputtering gravity shenanigans, he'll be about the weight of a sack of potatos. A sack that's falling at somewhat high speeds. Whumph! The rat's face is frozen in surprise and irritation for a good ten seconds before his brain replays everything back to him. Njorun magic dampeners, sudden gravity, and a fine...gentleman? Lady? catching him.

Face falling into pure relief, mirrored by the trio of snakes not a good three feet away as they uncurl, the four let out a collective sigh of relief. The habit wearing serpents immediately let out a cry of joy, mixed words of praise for the unknown knight and words at Faruja's expense mix in a white noise. Three tails give poor Bedi a tight hug before letting him go!

The eldest snakess just grins. "Come, Sisters. Methinks this fine Ser has him well in hand." Smirk, and with a hissy wave, they slither off after depositing Faruja's cane and book in his hands. Extricating himself from Bedivere, the rat finally laughs.

"My, my, my, what excellent timing my dear..." Ser? Dame?

"Honored knight! Bloody good catch at that. Lord's blessings upon thee!" Here, the rat dusts himself off, and leans on his cane a bit. Once his hair and fur is right back in place so that he looks presentable, he offers a bow.

"Inquisitor Faruja Senra, Temple Wizard and Ordained Priest of the Holy Church of Saint Ajora Glabados, Ambassador to the Union, at thine service! My deepest apologies for any fright I may hath caused ye. High-placed books and short statures require creative solutions!" The rat's smile is easy and friendly.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere is solidly-built, that's for certain. He catches Faruja and eases the ratling to his feet as easily as he might lift a bushel of grain; surely that must weigh more than the creature he just rescued from an untimely spill. Could be a woman. Could be a man. Hard to say.

He freezes at the serpentine hugs, looking extremely uncomfortable and more than a little horrified. Fortunately, they let go of him quickly, leaving him free to focus his attenion on the Burmecian.

"Lord's blessings upon thee as well." It's a slightly more archaic mode of speech than he may be used to, but the knight returns the wishes courteously.

The voice itself is soft. By timbre alone, it's difficult to say whether the knight is a feminine man or a masculine woman; the voice is very gentle, and perhaps pleasingly soft, especially to ears that may be more sensitive than the human standard. No harsh shouting here.

Still, there are aspects that aren't womanish; despite the fine, intricately-braided hair, the gentle voice, or the slightly delicate facial features, those shoulders are too broad for a woman's, and the knight is tall indeed, built solidly even with accounting for that plate mail, and the lines of his throat gives him away.

He doesn't smile, but he inclines his head politely.

"Sir Bedivere of the Round Table, loyal servant of King Arturia Pendragon. I believe you may know her as--hm. The Servant Saber?" The term is still unfamiliar to him, though he understands the concept. It's just odd to think of his king that way. His mouth twitches in what might be a slight smile in response. "A pleasure and an honour, Sir Inquisitor. I am only pleased to have arrived in time to help."

His eyes flick back to the library, staring in open awe. "I have never seen so many books in my life. By the Good Lord, I did not know so many could /exist/," he breathes, somewhat reverently.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja hides a grin beneath a fake cough, turning away. Poor, poor knight. The rat shoo's off his three servants gently.

"Do forgive them, Lamia art...of a friendly and physical persuasion to those whom they like." It's better than devouring the ones they don't like.

As his words are returned, the rat visibly brightens. Strong, polite, and a little bit shy around women. It's cute, really. The pair certainly are a study in contrasts, with the rat's own voice carrying without meaning to from so many years of appealing to crowds, squires on the battlefield, and elderly statesmen.

It takes a while, but the rat finally scents out a good determination of his fellow knight's gender. This close, even a single eye can figure out that much.

Two ears perk as his greetings are returned, the male looking pleased. "'Tis been some time since I hath seen a fellow man of faith within the Union. Good." He even sounds a little relieved.

The bevy of titles get that polite, small smile and appropriate nod of a person to which they mean little...except for 'King'. His smile wavers only slightly. It's a reflex he's slowly learned to control.

"Ahhh, the dear Lady Saber. Truly? Royalty?" Faruja seems a bit surprised at that.

"I admit I hath not had the opportunity to learn of her off of the battlefield, however, she hath always acted a fine warrior and knight. Brave woman. A /king/." Chewing it over with a touch of conflict in his features, he finally returns to a polite smile.

"Well met, Ser Bedivere, the pleasure is all mine. Mine bones in particular thank thee. If I may...'Round Table'? A knightly Order?" A hand is offered to one of the nearby, large tables before the rat limps his way over.

"And please, call me Ser Senra, or Father Senra as it pleases ye. I hath little authority here outside of that which diplomacy offers me. In Ivalice, 'twould be correct." Explains the rat gently as he sits, tail swaying gently behind him.

Grin. "The 'Infinite Library'. Rather grandiouse and arrogant, for 'tis truly finite, but it appears at least to be so. A trick of the eyes. Everything ye aught like to read, of worlds beyond thine wildest dreams, of stories both tragic and uplifting, grand crusades, and Fell Heresy alike. Magery blessed by God, and by fouler things alike lurk here. Beware, my dear knight, for knowledge is a temptation, a blade, and a shield as one. Take care to not fall into wrong knowledge, and thine good faith led astray by books that aught be destr..."

He cuts himself off and waves a hand. "Ye art not here to listen to mine politics and thought on Union policy. What doth ye search for? Merely browsing?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Of course." Bedivere tips his head slightly, not quite frowning. "Has she not told you of her identity? Hm. It seems she has built quite the reputation among the Union, and been quite busy for the years she has been in the Multiverse..."

He'll have to ask her about that later, why so many seem not to recognise her name. Then again, he thinks of her as the king, not as the Servant. The distinction is still somewhat strange, to him.

"Somewhat of an order. The Round Table was founded by milord Arturia. In it, her knights would be equals among one another, even in the company of the king. 'Twas a noble sentiment for Camelot, but alas, for it was not to be. The traitor Mordred saw fit to sew the seeds of unrest, and Camelot and its noble Round Table was laid low. Mordred raised a host at Camlann, and there milord Arturia fell. I returned her blade Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake, and I laid her to rest after the battle." Bedivere sighs; the topic is clearly one that pains him, even with his seemingly reserved nature. "But I have been blessed, truly, to see her again, and to be taken again into her service."

"Sir Senra it is, then." Bedivere folds himself into the chair opposite the Burmecian, though he's still quite tall. Faruja looks to be about the same height as Saber, and he has at least a foot and change on her. "I thought it somewhat an arrogant name, but I see I was mistaken. Books are rare and precious things, in Camelot, hand-copied by monks, over a span of great time. I am told there are page illuminations that are simply beyond value. To see so many here... I confess, 'tis a bit overwhelming."

His eyes turn back to Faruja. They may have seemed a kind of grey-blue, before, but in the light, there's a trace of colour in them that seems almost violet. Actually, his features aren't too far from Saber's, though taller and paler. And, you know. Not a woman. (Honest.)

"I have no desire to do aught but serve milord Arturia. Actually, I had sought to familiarise myself with Njorun Station. No larger structure have I ever beheld or imagined. A�, I could never dream something so large." He shakes his head, and for a brief instant, his expression is one of wonder. "Ah, but no. I did not come here to read. Truly, I did not know to where I would go. Milord Arturia bade that I rest, and so I shall."

Reluctantly, his tone seems to imply, however vaguely.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja outright smiles. "Dame Saber from what I hath heard of her, seems most humble. Not...well." He pauses, considering his words carefully. He knows a man who loves his king. The Templar can't help but feel envious of those days.

"She is unlike any King I hath encountered in mine homeland. Nor doth she pronounce such at every opportunity. Humility is a blessing, and from mine eye, she hath such in spades." There's honest respect in the rat's voice, a rare thing for someone who so hates such positions.

The story of Camelot has the rat feeling conflicted. Traitors of all stripes earn his ire. But was this Mordred right in felling the Table? Too many things he doesn't know.

"Traitors art most foul indeed. I hath seen far too many as of late. May ye not suffer such a loss again, Ser. Chivalry is a dieing thing in the Multiverse. See that ye, too, art not struck down before the time the Lord appoints ye, hmm? Dead knights may be sung of in tales, but their loss for foolish causes lead to the downfall of those they protect."

As for her living? Faruja merely crosses his chest.

Books! A much happier subject. "Collected from across so many worlds. Many art indeed original works, some reproductions. Certain worlds that ye humans claim hath developed the ability to create books rapidly, and cheaply, for the swift education of Highborne and Common-blooded alike. Many here art such. So too hath clever peoples reduced entire libraries to mere trinkets, available at one's fingertips." He scoffs at the last bit.

"Though I hardly see how one may truly learn from such. Parchment and ink for me." Old fashioned, this rat.

Overwhelming. Faruja's red eye meets those grey-blue. His Abstractum eye, beneath his bandages, flutters briefly before again resting. Lucky for him, no headaches today.

"I quiver to think of the scale of this place. We art floating upon the heavens...or, more accurately, in the distance between heavenly bodies, upon a ship which I am told barely keeps us from being crushed by the force of gravity. Mine...vocation, so much as I quail at 'Advanced Technology', leaves me rather nervous aboard this place to be quite honest."

He much prefers good old ground, rather than metal.

Smile. How loyal. "A tired, haggard knight hardly represents their Liege well. Come then." Faruja bows, excusing himself for a minute. The next, there's a pot of tea, sugar, honey, and several scones with cups for two.

"Vexing, hmm? To be witheld from action? Time ever passes, every wasted moment a lost opportunity. But trust in others. Ye art now part of a grand alliance. When ye rest, thousands...nay, millions of heroes unsung and sung alike fight, triumph, art defeated and taste death at once. The Multiverse is confusing, and vast beyond the telling of any single person, human or nezumi alike. Ye shall come to terms with it in thine own way, nay doubt. My advice? Remember that 'tis not one's words, but the intent and actions behind them that make a person, be they King, pauper, knight, or soldier."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Milord Arturia does indeed have a noble bearing, but she is modest as well." Bedivere doesn't crack a smile, but his tone is one of obvious reverence. "She is King of Britain, but truly, she has the people at heart. She is the ideal knight, and an ideal king, and I am proud to serve her." He bows his head, humble. "Truly, I am blessed to serve her once more."

"I thank you, Sir Senra, for your kind words. But I shall not be struck down. I swore to milord Arturia that I would ever return to her side to serve; I'll not break my given word." To such a knight, their word is as good as a binding contract, and once given, cannot be broken... so long as they value it. Bedivere clearly does.

Libraries reduced to mere trinkets? The notion seems impossible to Bedivere; he looks up to the books around them in renewed wonder. "A�." The soft sound seems a general expression of emotion, instead of letting it slip on his face. "Truly, the Multiverse is a wondrous place."

To think of the actual scale and setting of this place, though, that's more than he wants to really consider. It's impossible to imagine such a thing. It is by far easier to think of this place as something more mundane; simply a very... very... very large structure.

Very large.

Actually, that doesn't help very much, either. Trying to conceive of a thing that big only invites headaches.

He sags in his chair. It's clear that he's tired. Slogging through waist-high snow for several hours, and arguing with a bitchy and highly dangerous traitor, will do that to a person.

That teapot is given a cautious sniff, for such a thing was not known in Camelot. Not for recreational drinking, anyway. Tea? A herbal blend of some sort, but such things were strictly for healing, as far as it was concerned in Camelot. "Ah, no, I am--" No, no. This is not for healing, but simple recreational enjoyment. That's right. Tea is a commonplace commodity in this age. He'd almost forgotten himself for a minute, there.

The sugar and honey are also given the fish-eye. It still seems strange that such luxuries are available so cheaply and readily to the people of this era. Honey was a luxury produced by dedicated monks, often enjoyed by the high nobility or the king, or somebody most definitely not a humble knight. He had tasted it recently at Arturia's behest, after Unification, and it had not disappointed at all.

For a moment Bedivere seems conflicted. Ah, but honey is a luxury, and he shouldn't be indulging himself so. On the other hand, it would be rude to refuse this creature's hospitality, and such things are commonplace, now...

"Honey, if you please." The knight relents after some internal struggle. It wouldn't do to seem rude, would it?

He listens to the other, inclining his head in a gesture of acquiesce, and a sigh. "Of course. I simply... 'tis difficult, Sir Senra, when I had buried milord with my own hands; never had I thought I would ever serve her again, or dared to dream of such impossibility. I only wish not to lose her again, now that I am back in her service. And I shall take your advice to heart, certainly."

Bedivere falls silent for a moment, considering.

"Ah... Sir Senra." Plate-gauntleted fingers drum on the table briefly in thought. "May I ask a question? I do not wish to seem rude, but what manner of creature are you? I have not seen your kind in Camelot, or anywhere else."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Such loyalty. Faruja clenches his cross.

"I only pray that such good-hearted loyalty shall ever be returned upon thee in kind, my Child." Says the rat simply and honestly. A hand rubs at his bad leg, remembering old betrayals and enemies that still haunt him.

Faruja nods at several points, tail gently swaying as he sips upon honeyed tea with a bit of cream. Sighing happily, the rat relaxes somewhat. He looks tired, Ivalice has been busy as of late.

A small laugh, good natured escapes him. "My dear Ser Bedivere, mayhaps ye know aught of those with such honor? I wouldst do much to see such things instilled in the Holy Church's squires more oft! Camelot seems a wonderous realm. I admit I am stricken with the sin of jealousy that ye were once in the company of such illustrious kinsmen, one vile traitor aside, whom held such notions dear to their heart. Mayhaps...mayhaps such a man as thineself aught serve as an example to others, that such notions of knighthood may once again flourish in lands of strife and peace alike."

Faruja knows that look. "Think naught of it. Drink. 'Tis a pittance in these times, and ye hath the look of a man both struggling with the vastness of thine new home, and much besides. Breathe. Pray. Drink. Ye shall feel somewhat better. All things in time as the Lord wills it."

The knight relents, and the rat is kind enough to furnish honey. Faruja moves with someone well used to serving tea, like many a Burmecian.

A swift nod. "She is precious to ye. Sometimes, Ser, 'tis such thing as thinking too bloody much. Focus on what ye believe in, thine Liege, and how ye may help thyself, others, and /her/. So long as ye act when ye must, so too shall those whom ye inspire." States the rat with all the surety of a person content in the knowledge his chosen diety has a plan. It certainly makes things easier, even if the Multiverse if filled with so much corruption.

A hand is waved. "Better to question than wallow in ignorance! Ye art hardly the first! I am a nezumi, from the world of Ivalice. My kind art a rare people, confined to a small continent off of the coast of the country of Ivalice, where my Order and Church hath its heart. Once we were as brothers and sisters, however, in ancient times we were split upon the notions of peace, and war. Two cities were founded; Burmecia, the City of Eternal Rain from which I myself hail, and the City Hidden in the Sands, Cleyra. Typically, one refers to which city one hails from when addressing our race, as both art proud of our individual ways of life."

A shrug. "Though 'tis changing. An attack upon Burmecia by a nation known as Alexandria hath driven our peoples together once more. Divided, of course, upon what must be done upon the matter, yet Cleyra opened their arms to us despite."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"Thank you, Sir Senra." Bedivere ducks his head, clearly unaccustomed to and uncomfortable with such direct praise. His hair hides his face, which thankfully hides the slight tinge of scarlet. He doesn't think of it as anything special worth accolade. He simply acts as he sees fit, and would expect others to act. "But I am only fulfilling my duties. I am milord Arturia's humble servant, and will remain so."

He swills his cup around, cocking a violet eye to the tea therein. It's odd to see such a thing so commonly used. Perhaps there was a kind of tea the peasants liked similar to this, but he never partook of it himself. Bedivere didn't exactly live like a monk in Camelot, but it's true that he did deny himself some luxuries out of obligation to helping the less fortunate. Tea was one of those things he had a tendency to skip, to the point where he knows nearly nothing about the finer points of it.

"Ah. No, I fear not. Not in this place, though. Camelot is lost to me. I am told I wandered for some four years, striving to leave the fateful fields of Camlann, and I did not find myself back in Camelot. Truth be told, I have not yet found it." He shakes his head, raising the cup to take a cautious sip. "Any squires I would have known of are lost to me, as are my fellow Knights of the Round."

He misses them, sometimes, even if he was never particularly close to any of them. Much like Arturia, he had put up a mask, the better to carry out his duties; impartiality had demanded that he harden his gentle heart from the less pleasant aspects of his duties. Only now has the ice begun to crack, and under Arturia's direct suggestion has he allowed that exterior to thaw somewhat. And it comes easily, in the Union -- these people are so strange and confounding that sometimes, he has no choice but to let his confoundment and surprise show through; too taken off his guard to put up his walls.

"Mayhap. I would be honoured to serve as such, though I serve for the sake of it, not to be watched." The idea of being observed so is almost enough to make him uncomfortable. He seems a gentle soul; almost shy, in contrast to a stature that might be imposing to some. Bedivere lets his violet eyes hood, regarding the distant shelves again thoughtfully.

His gaze is pulled back to Faruja when the Burmecian speaks. Bedivere seems to agree with that, dipping his chin in acquiesce. "I live to serve her," he says simply. It's obvious that he's devoted, though he seems to take it to heart so that perhaps there's more at stake than mere duty. As Faruja himself pointed out, she obviously means a great deal to him, that he would sacrifice his time and effort so.

"I see. I have never seen a creature like you. Ah, my apologies; I mean no insult. That is to say, I have seen only humans in my home of Camelot..." Bedivere contents himself with sipping at his tea, watching and listening to Faruja with thinly-veiled fascination. "I am sorry to hear your homeland suffered so. If there is aught I can do to help, you need only call upon me. Perhaps milord Arturia may wish to aid you against such injustice, as well," he adds, thoughtfully.

Bedivere wrenches his wandering attention away from the endless shelves of books, and forces himself to glance back to Faruja. "'Tis only fair that you ask of me what questions you may, Sir Senra." A faint flicker of what is almost a smile.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja gives a nod of assent and respect. "Merely ensure that thine Liege ever remains worthy of such devotion. Doth not mistake mine words; I respect the good King. However, power oft drives men to madness and corruption. A proper servant works to ensure that such a fate doth not befall their masters." Cautions the rat. He's seen what becomes of blind loyalty, now so more than ever.

The man's words pain him, to hear of a world lost. At least Burmecian can be regained. A shake of the head. There's no words, merely a gentle prayer for all of those far gone.

"Ye wouldst be observed to /teach/. To ensure that others carry on such powerful, knightly virtues in their actions. Ye seek to do good. Inspiring and teaching with word and pen may save more lives than any shield, Ser Bedivere."

Faruja peers at Bedivere for a long moment, sizing him up as the offer is made. His head tilts.

"...Come to Ivalice. Learn of all of its people before ye make such offers, kind-hearted though they may be. Mine is a complicated land where most hands with power art as swift to offer ye a dagger to the throat as a cup of water to slake thee." He couldn't in all good conscionse simply throw the man into the hotbed that is Ivalician politics without giving him a good show of just what the place often devolves into.

"Tell me of thyself. Where were ye born? A noble? A commoner? How hath ye entered into Dame Saber's service?" Pause. He smiles.

"What doth ye wish for thyself, for the Union ye shall serve as well. I ask not the good Ser Bedivere. But merely the man. I shouldst like to know ye well, my good Ser, if ye so wish to commit thyself to mine cause of freeing mine people." Comes the rat, his single eye narrowing in judgement and searching glances, his voice that of an Inquisitor as he looks upon the man.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"As do we all respect my liege," Bedivere assents. "I must assure you that your fears are ill-placed. If ever there were a liege less likely to fall by the wayside of corruption and temptation, it would be milady Arturia. She has sacrificed much for Camelot, much and more that many will never know of -- ah, forgive me, for I speak more on this than I should."

He shakes his head, draining the remnants of his cup and resting his hands over the table's surface. Violet eyes fall to studying Faruja carefully. There seems to be no hint of malice in the rat-creature. If anything, he almost seems reminiscent of priests that Bedivere once knew in Camelot, well-meaning and absolutely concerned for the spiritual welfare of their brothers.

"Mmm." The sound is more acknowledgement than agreement, but the logic is sound. "As you wish, then, Sir Senra. I will come to Ivalice, by your leave, and study your people and their ways before I commit myself to your protection. But I mislike the sound of this situation, and I do not think that my opinion will change, for I am unhappy to hear of any who are driven from their home."

He tilts his head faintly at the question of his own origins, brows drawing together slightly in an expression that seems... not precisely puzzled, but as though he had been taken off his guard, not expecting the conversation to turn towards he himself.

"I? I was a commoner born of Britain's countryside. I sought to see the king's entourage when she passed by. She is older than I, but by a few seasons only." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully as he sifts back through the memories. How long ago that had been...!

Bedivere remembers that day as surely as it were yesterday. He was just a lanky boy in the crowd, shaggy and unkempt silver hair, violet eyes burning with a yearning he hadn't known he'd possessed. Those shining knights had seemed to him the very paragons of what an upstanding person ought to be, and he had vowed then and there to himself that he would be counted honourably among their number, or he would die in the attempt. More than that, he had laid eyes on King Arturia Pendragon -- and he had decided that there was no other calling in his life but to serve her.

"Mm." He closes his eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile touches his face. "I was little more than a child when I saw her that day, but I knew then there was nothing else that I would do with my life but to serve her. I would become a knight of the Round Table, of King Arturia's court, or I would die in the attempt. So, I submitted myself to training as soon as the knights would accept me."

He opens his eyes, violet eyes settling on Faruja. "Hm. Perhaps I will ask of you my own questions, Sir Senra, but for the nonce, I should not like to impose on your time any longer. And I should be resting," he adds, a little more distantly. It's kind of reluctant that he do that, but she /did/ ask him, and he would be loathe to disappoint Arturia.

Sweeping to his feet, he shakes his cloak out behind him, offering a polite bow to the Burmecian.

"'Twas an honour, Sir Senra. May the Good Lord keep you, until our next meeting -- for I am certain we'll meet again."

With that, provided Faruja doesn't halt him, Bedivere will turn and walk -- somewhat slowly, for he's still tired, and still stiff from so much cold earlier in the morning -- back from whence he came.