Scene #839: Stones and Knights

Owner	Pose
Faruja	It's taken awhile, but one Inquisitor Faruja Senra has finally come calling into the Lord and Lady of Dun Realtei. He's done the proper thing, and given the pair a few hours notice, as well as a request to not eat a large lunch. The reason becomes more than clear when the Burmecian walks into the hall with a large sack of foodstuffs and a smile on his muzzle. He'd politely await Saber or Bedivere, even as he offers blessings, bows, and general good will to the servant staff. As well as asking the whereabouts of the kitchen!
Sir Bedivere	The weather of Dun Realtai is exactly what the visitor might expect of Burmecia -- cold, rainy, and wet. It seems autumn's taken a turn for the blustery, and even though there's no snow, it can still make things miserable with the cold and bone-chilling wet. That would explain why the lord of the keep hasn't really ventured outside today. The rain hasn't let up since before dawn, and it's been a steady drizzle the whole time. It's the perfect kind of day to spend inside, so checking over the ledgers and napping were all the afternoon's been fit for. Although he had wanted to go outside earlier in the morning to make sure there hasn't been any flooding, a stern look from the lady of Dun Realtai had been more than enough to cut down that notion. And so, Sir Bedivere of Dun Realtai can be found... ...not in the great hall, it seems. He's just making his way down the stairs as Faruja passes over the threshold, and before he turns into view Faruja might hear a yawn. He's spent the afternoon napping, or so it seems. Unlike the other times that the Inquisitor has seen him, he's dressed in the simple, homespun clothing of a commoner; although he has a sweater on over the tunic for warmth, which looks suspiciously like it came from a modern world. He offers an almost sheepish half-smile to Faruja as he catches sight of his visitor. "Be welcome in my hall as an honoured guest, Sir Senra." Once he reaches the foot of the stairs, he offers a formal bow. "It is good to see you again."
Faruja	Faruja Senra is still vaguely wet, freezing, and the weather is dreary. It's put a bounce to his step and perk to his smile that does much to keep the cold at bay. The bow returned to good Bedivere is low and respectful, though he can't quite banish a smile from his muzzle. "Lord's blessings upon thee, this beautiful, beautiful evening mine good Ser Bedivere! Forgive me if I do not apply the local titles given thine...new position. I am afraid mine research gained me little of use on such." The clothing gets a look. He smiles even more. Then he tries to straighten himself. "'Tis been too long!" Unlike Bedivere, the Inquisitor is wearing a pair of freshly pressed robes of his station, and the formal ones at that. Golden thread has prayers in Ivalician sewn into them. Social call or not, he's visiting a ruler of a proper civilization. Wobble wobble! The big, weighty pack might not be too much to carry, but it /is/ too much to bow with. There's a squeak of alarm, and then Faruja's just about to tip over. There's a clatter of bottles and containers, the rat's fluff-ended tail desperately tilting, moving, and swaying to get some semblance of balance against that massive load upon his back. It's not helping much. At least Faruja has the dignity to not flail too much.
Saber	Conditions such as cold and wet were not things which especially bothered the spirit-beings known as Servants, and Dun Realtai's currently miserable weather was little exception. Yet, the Servant Saber had found it much more comfortable to remain within the keep, for the most part, only venturing out when there was need of her out in the village. Yet, those instances were rare, the villagers adequately prepared for the coming bitter winter and having more than enough sense to remain indoors themselves. No, these days were better spent by the hearth-fires with ale or mulled cider in hand, enjoying the company of family and friends. It seemed that much the same was expected of the lord and lady of the land. But it was more than simply the weather which had led Arturia to order her marshal on light duty, convalescing from yet another battle injury. Though his shoulder had been restored thanks to Inga's blood magic, it would take some time to heal in full, especially with such disagreeable weather. Fortunately, Bedivere had been inclined to agree, and there was more than enough work to occupy himself with in the meantime. For her part, the petite knight was more than happy to make sure of that by taking up meals and a steady supply of tea up to the lord's quarters and office. by the time Faruja arrived, she emerged from the kitchens herself, armed with a service with a pot of hot tea and the necessary accoutrements, as well as honey and cream. At the Burmecian's arrival, she managed to set the tray down on the table by the hearth just in time to help right the beleaguered priest. "Ah, careful, Sir Faruja," she cautioned softly. "I should not like to see you injured merely to visit us."
Sir Bedivere	"Beautiful evening? Hmm... I'm not certain I would describe the weather thus. I tire of the rain already, and look forward to spring, that I might feel the sun on my back again." Bedivere shakes his head. His morose description is betrayed by a hint of mirth in his eyes. "As for that, pay it no mind. I am lord of these lands in name only, and it is but a temporary arrangement." Such is his modesty that Bedivere would prefer not to think of himself that way, even though he's been doing work befitting a lord. He's protected and looked after these people with the same silent dedication he would have shown to Camelot's people... but he might scoff to think of himself thought of as a leader, if he knew of Faruja's outlook on that matter. He glances over; by the time he registers that Faruja's lost his balance, Arturia's already come to the Burmecian's aid. For his part, Bedivere shifts his weight, easing closer to the hearth. Truth be told, he still looks a bit bleary-eyed; a rare look, for him, which the king might find a little amusing. Although normally so fast to wake and be alert, he's still reaching that point after a nice afternoon nap that had very nearly overslept through their guest's arrival. How embarrassing. "Ah, please, have a seat, Sir Senra. By the hearth, preferably." There are a number of chairs already there, comfortable ones, with footstools and tables as necessary. One of them has a half-folded blanket in it, if Faruja should need it. "By the Good Lord, you're soaked through and through. Have some tea; warm yourself by the fire. I would not mind, had you chosen to wait for less inclement weather... this place is not always the most accessible."
Faruja	Saber to the rescue! Faruja's arms go limp and he sighs. "Mine thanks, dear Dame Saber. I get enough of those as it stands! Remind me to listen to mine Acolytes when they say something is too large. 'Pride goeth before the Fall unless ye hath a convenient knight to keep thine nose from tasting the floor'." Instead of a bow, smartly, the rat crosses his chest, takes his cross, kisses it, then gently taps it against Saber's forehead should she let him. "May ye ever walk in His Light, oh brave knight, and wield thine blade for the good of all." Blesses the priest, since bowing's out. Formality done, he smiles widely at the pair once more. "Tell me ye hath not eaten! I wouldst like to offer thee and thine own what mine meager cooking skills can produce. Given the weather, 'tis appropriate ye shouldst dine as Burmecians! Ye certainly hath honor enough for such!" Comes the rat eagerly. While the rat hardly seems the worst for being soaked to the bone, his robes sure need drying! He sets down the large pack of foodstuffs, before doing as bidden. With another bow, he takes tea, honeyed, and sits before the warmth harth. He parts his robes just a touch to let the heat soak in. Oddly, his fur seems far less damp than his clothes. A sharp eye might notice rain seeming to slide off of his fur. "In all mine years, never hath I encountered a human whom thinks as /we/ do upon the subject. Not unsurprising! Do forgive a Burmecian his love for..." Faruja chuckles. "Inclement weather. It reminds me of home." There's a soft sigh, and he seems lost in thought for a moment. Bedivere's words seem to float by him before he blinks and shakes himself. Another chuckle, and his tail flicks. "But look at me, fading away into memories old when ones yet anew await. Humility, in a ruler?" There's a small nod. Faruja can't find the words to express the swelling of respect in his heart. If he were to die half the knight of the man before him, he could die fulfilled. "This place shall prosper." Says the rat simply, as sure as any mortal could be. He's seen too many arrogant leaders drive their realm to ruin. Thankfully, it all distracts Faruja from bleary Bedi's. "I am ever honored to take in thine most gracious hospitality. Worry not! Rain, cold, a warm hearth, and tea. This...is a Blessing and a gift." Sip. "Didst ye make this, Lady Saber? An excellent aroma, and just the right amount of bitterness. Well done." Seems he'll dry off before cooking!
Saber	Jade eyes blinked a bit in confusion -- with what some might find an adorable look on her face -- as she was unexpectedly blessed. "O-oh...I thank you, Sir Faruja," she replied. It /was/ a nice gesture. She had been just about to flag down one of the few servants in the keep to bring some warm towels before the knight noticed that the priest's fur was impressively water-resistant. "Well...I am gladdened that you find the weather agreeable," she replied, relieved that she wasn't completely failing as a proper hostess. "Autumn in Britain is much of the same...though most remain inside, the harvests already gathered to last the winter." Whatever mirth Arturia found in the situation was stifled for the sake of the violet-eyed knight. She had preferred he rest, still catching up on five years of little sleep, operating solely on inertia after the battle which had ended her kingdom. She had worked hard to tend to him and gently encourage him to rest properly rather than overexert himself as he was wont to do, but he was as much of a workaholic as his king was. inwardly, she was glad to see him getting a decent amount of sleep. But she had to admit, that sleepy look was adorable. The jade-eyed knight coughed softly looked away for a moment, her ears faintly toughed with red before she found a suitable distraction with serving tea. She did, however, manage a faint smile at the priest's praise. "Aye, thank you. I have had much practise, as of late." After all, she and her marshal were quite fond of tea. At the praise of the proper knightly humility Bedivere carried himself with, Arturia tilted her head slightly. He continued to be horrid at accepting praise, and doubtless he was about to insist that it was only proper for a knight to act as he was. Of course, he was absolutely right, and Arturia had demanded such from her knights, and much more of herself. But to spare him some embarrassment, she chimed in. "A knight must act with Ingenuitas at all times," she explained. "Even when appointed to a high position, a knight is expected to act with the appropriate humility. The higher the post, the more humility is demanded of him."
Sir Bedivere	Bedivere blinks, distracted from whatever he'd been about to do or say by the blessing. Tilting his head, he watches a bit bleary-eyed as Faruja kisses the cross and touches it to Arturia's forehead. The gesture and words are reminiscent of what a priest of his own world might have done. It brings him to smile, faintly. Truer words couldn't be spoken. Surely she already must walk with the blessing of the Lord, and he could not imagine her wielding her blade for anything but the good of the people. "My thanks for your kind words, Sir Senr--" Before he can finish, Faruja has already moved on to the matter of humility and giving his solemn proclamation. The pale knight flushes, abruptly averting his eyes, though he doesn't quite seem to be able to find properly grateful words to answer the praise with. He really is as bad as Arturia when it comes to accepting praise. "Truly, I was merely fulfilling my duties as a knight," he mumbles, quietly. "I-indeed." He clears his throat, somewhat awkwardly, glancing up to regard Faruja almost obliquely. "Ingenuity of character is vital for a knight, and even more vital for one who would exert his will over the people..."
Faruja	As he's thanked by Saber, Faruja smiles in turn. There's a small nod. "At any hour. Ye art as valiant off the battlefield as upon it." Seeing her actions, particularly during the fight against King Washinton, has clearly colored his feelings about the woman. "Oh?" Faruja starts, then halts. He's read of the tale of the King-slash-Knight before him. There's a moment of hesitation, and his smile grows slightly weaker. "I aught visit the countries of 'Earth' more oft then." Ends the rat gently. He knows all too well what it is to lose a home, and he'll walk on eggshells if he must out of respect. Faruja claps his hands at the mention of her practice, happy for the change in topic. "Excellent! I shall see thee and thine well stocked with Burmecian varieties then! In all the Multiverse there art nay better tea than that of mine rainy homeland!" His chest puffs a bit in a rare showing of pride. Even now, his national pride remains, nevermind his issues with his own king. It helps when they're likely dead. "'Oh ye Kings of Ivalice, giveth up thine crowns, and turn to the Lord for salvation in humility and grace'." Quotes the rat of the Ajoran bible, nodding to Saber. "...I wish that I wouldst hath seen such a place." Mutters the rat vaguely to Saber finally, and gingerly. What would Ivalice be, with such ideals? A small, small sigh. Likely with much less need for an Inquisition. Bedivere's own humble reply has the rat turning fully to the hearth, and tilting his muzzle down. He quivers for but a moment. Envy rises, that such virtuous people could exist. A small sigh, and he beats it down. Envy is a sin, and he won't display it before such persons. When he masters himself, he turns back. Something in Bedivere's words catch him. Like a proper Inquisitor, he seizes upon it with singular focus and purpose. "...Over the people? Or in their name and desires?" Questions the rat suddenly, tone light and curious. He might sound slightly strained, as if holding himself back. He turns to fully face the pair. "Such words...forgive me. Though I hardly knew it at the time, mine mentor long ago trained me for the position I hath gained. Inquisitor. He whom upholds Divine Law and questions all before him. Ye draw mine curiousity, therefore, I shall ask it plain at the risk of insult. Before Faram, and his Divine Son, mine apologies. But mine honor and respect for thee both demand I ask it." Faruja gives a glance to both, his single natural eye searching the pair piercingly in that vaguely suspicious way Ivalician Inquisitors are often associated with. "What is the purpose of a King? Nay, of any ruler. To impose their will upon those they rule, or act as the embodiment of the will of the faithful and just?"
Saber	tragically, her save was not quite as successful as she had intended. True, she had spared him some embarrassed flailing, and she happened to agree. No, she could feel only pride for the work he had accomplished, and for the duties he had carried out without so much as a sound of complaint. 5 And now it was her turn to be infuriatingly modest. "I merely perform my duties as becoming a knight," she offered, her blushing and floundering impressively matching Bedivere's. They were practically a matched set in this regard, leading the villagers to some perfectly natural conclusions. To say nothing of a betting pool which would have likely caused Master and Servant to die of embarrassment, were such a thing possible. Thank the Lord for the change of subject. The Servant actually smiled at mention of Britain. She did, occasionally, miss her homeland, but Dun Realtai had become a true home for the two knights, and she could speak of Britain without sorrow. "Indeed. The late spring and summer months see little in the way of rain, and there are frequent snows during the winter months. Autumn and the early spring, however, are quite rainy." It also helped her mood that there was the promise of food. It was the simplest way to earn Saber's good graces. "I shall look forward to it," she replied, smiling almost brightly. But then, the Inquisitor asks a question which the Once and Future King has answered before, and always with an uncharacteristic passion. Today was no different, though she did not take on the defiant air she had before the King of Conquerors and the King of Heroes. But it is still filled with her pride as a knight, and her complete assurance of the righteousness of her path. "Just as it is the sacred duty of a knight to act in accordance with the virtues of chivalry, it is the sacred duty of a king to serve the people with just laws and actions, in humility and mercy. Just as knights serve the people, the king serves the kingdom. As God Himself became Man to sacrifice for the sake of the people, so too must the king."
Sir Bedivere	"We do not require any such gifts, but we thank you for your kindness, Sir Senra." Bedivere bows his head modestly at that implicit gift of tea. He's grown quite fond of the hot drink. True, it wasn't unknown even in Camelot, with many teas being prepared of common herbs for their medicinal value, but it wasn't quite the same as the stuff brewed for recreational enjoyment. It has a pleasing taste to it that he's found himself drawn to, particularly on cold days like this. "We would be honoured." He falls silent, then, as he quotes his own holy text; then, to turn his muzzle down and tremble. The violet-eyed knight tilts his head, looking openly worried for a moment. Had he said something insulting? Was there some breach of etiquette as a host he was unaware of? Surely not; the Burmecian has always been on friendly terms with him. What had he said that was wrong? That airy question seems to puzzle Bedivere even more. He frowns, head still canted slightly to one side, but... Kingship is not his area of expertise. He is the steady Left Hand of the King, as he has always been, and this is not his question to answer. He falls silent, bowing his head slightly and letting Arturia speak for him. They're of the same mind in many things; it really doesn't matter which one of them actually puts to voice the words. The answer would be the same. "Such is the role of the king," Bedivere echoes, softly and solemnly. "In a word: We serve in their name, and to fulfill their desires, if they be for the benefit of all. That is the duty of a king. And until this land's rightwise guardian assumes her duties once more, such is my duty, to act as the will of the faithful and just." His head bows, eyes closing. "It is my sacred duty as a knight, no matter the cost. A knight exists to serve the people."
Faruja	Faruja relaxes slightly as Saber offers no insult. The rat smiles once more. "Little of such divine joy? Then forgive mine presance sparse upon spring and summer, and yet mayhaps overstaying mine welcome upon the latter." Offers the nezumi, ears wiggling just a touch in amusement at the pair of Knight and King. Bedivere, ever humble, speaks. A light sigh. "Admittedly, 'tis rare these days." Offers the rat to the man quietly. The tea of a fallen kingdom is indeed rare, what with it being occupied by its conquerors. But Faruja spent much of his wealth before his current station in gathering all that he could of his fallen homeland out of desperation. And if ever there were two who deserved its spending, it was the pair before him. Faruja listens to both, and lets out a long-suffering sigh. He's always wanted to be a simple priest. But Faram offered him rare gifts, and he won't throw them away. A rub of forehead, and hair alike, before he regards the pair honestly. First, Saber. "As expected of a Knight, and yet, a King. Such a strange legend...I did a touch of research upon the 'Arthurian Legend' as 'tis most widely known as. Curious. And tragic. Well. I shan't elaborate. I was not there, therefore, I shan't speculate. Still. I was a Priest since age fifteen. Require ye either of mine services? Ask it. I shall listen to all befor the sight of the Lord, and regale none of its telling. For that is mine foremost duty, to listen to Holy Confession, and keep it to mine heart against all whom wouldst pry it from me. Torture. Threat of death. Dishonor? Pain? Useless. I am but a humble servant of God. Let them come. None shall pry away mine sacred duty to the Lord." Promises the rat. Then, a sigh. Faruja slowly stands, and limp-walks to Bedivere. There's a light slap to the shoulder, one of familiarity that might be improper. A squeeze. "When thine time comes, die well, Ser Bedivere. God slay me before ye. 'Twould be a bitter funeral. Lord knows I hath suffered enough of those. Ye stand by thine King." A nod. He turns to Saber. His look is serious, and he draws his short stature taller. "Offer thine thanks to the Lord, oh King of Britain, that ye hath such a faithful servant. Still. I hath nay doubt in mine heart that many a night hath given such thanks." Starts the rat. "King of Knights, was thine title, correct? Dame Saber. Ye wear it well with such words. Truly. Were Burmecia given such a King of thine calibre? Mayhaps I aught not hate mine own 'liege' so. But I shan't burden ye both with mine own Kingdom's history overmuch. Allow this rambling, long winded priest to get to the Faram-damned bloody point." His heads tilts. He's curious, and gentle. "Can a single mortal person, be they Nezumi, human, bangaa..viera...ye name it? Can any simple mortal be so pure as to offer the true purity of God to all whom they rule, in HIs Name?" Questions the rat. "I say nay. Allow me to offer mine own opinion. A singular ruler, a singule mortal? Doomed to Heresy, failure, and strife upon their homeland. Best to raise the best of all...common blooded, high blooded? Irrelevant. Aught that matters is strength, faith, and talent. Raise a single talented ruler above all, and below? Shouldst they fall to Heresy? A pool of those barely beneath, to take their place immediately, and ensure rulership, for the meekest of all. /THAT/, mine dear Ser Bedivere, Dame Saber, is mine true single dream of Utopia. The single insane miracle of the faithful." Faruaja gives a light, but serious, smile to the pair. "...I am but rambling. Truly. Truly. Well? Am I insane, or true? Speak it. I respect ye both enough to ask." Asks the rat gravely as he stares at both.
Saber	Arturia nodded, agreeing with her marshal. "Indeed. It is a most welcome gift, and we are most humbled by it." 'We', she said. But the meaning is much more than simply knight and king, or even lord and lady. Theirs is a bond which extended far beyond titles or conventional understanding. Quick glances and subtle gestures with nary a word spoken as they 'spoke' to one another attested to that, in addition to the unusually intricate command seals on Bedivere's left hand. Such a bond was only possible between those of nearly complete likeness of mind and soul. As it was, their dedication to the Virtues was equal, reinforced by the other. As she spoke of the duties of the king, he spoke of the duties of a knight. Each complemented the other. The Inquisitor earned a rare sound from the flaxen-haired knight: a soft chuckle. "Ah, well. We shall look forward to winter and autumn visits, good sir." Plae eyebrows lifted slightly; it was one thing for those of her world -- or a similar version -- to know of her legend, as unworthy as she believed herself to be. It was another matter entirely for one of a completely different world to take an interest in it. "In truth, the telling is grander than the reality, with certain...differences." Most notably, that king Arthur had been a man. "But we would welcome any service you might render," she added with typical modesty. However, she hid her true expression quickly and ruthlessly behind her mask; while death was an inevitability, it was one she wished to avoid thinking about. It was only an expression, and one which might have otherwise been bandied about in the days of Camelot often enough. But her reaction now was a reflection of what the violet-eyed knight had felt after the battle of Camlann, after he had cast Excalibur into the lake for the Lady to reclaim, sending her body adrift upon her passing. Merely the thought itself troubled her, but he had been forced to endure it. But the moment passed quickly enough, and Arturia's smile carried a slight note of more than simply pride, but of fondness. "I do, indeed," she replied, "And of being reunited. I have prayed each day to find my knights once more, and I have been blessed for what reunions He has granted me." The knight-king nodded slightly. "Aye, that is indeed my title, though merely within the auspices of the War for the Holy Grail, long since concluded." Her expression turned slightly puzzled before the faintest hint of the sorrow she continued to carry flickered briefly across her face. She had always believed that she had lacked the necessary strength that the people needed, her one duty had been to save the people regardless of the cost to herself. "It is true...a king must be strong. Else, the kingdom falls, regardless of noble intentions or even strength of will. Yet, those who possessed the strength did not believe themselves to be servants to the people." She paused for a moment, as if internally sighing. "It is a dilemma for which I have no simple answer. Only....that utopia is naught but a place where the people no longer suffer, were they need fear neither war nor famine. The duty of a ruler is nothing more than the pursuit of that."
Faruja	Faruja rubs his head and fur alike. "Autumn and winter?" Questions the Inquisitor. He pauses slightely. Faruja laughs weakly, as though trying to equal meagerly the bond of knight and king true. The Inquisitor draws a breath and sighs. He fails in that, and he knows it. A sight. Faruja Senra, pauses, and sighs. He looks upon Saber, and rubs his forehead. "'Those of noble intentions or even of strength of will. Yet those of who possesed the strength" He offers, sighing. "Utopia. The single wish of us all." Faruja sights. Then, he nods. "A Kingdom of God. Whatever ye wish. Fraam. God. True. Utopia. That is what I desire. That is all. Please. I beg ye both. That, alone, is what I desire. Well? What doth ye think?" Questions the rat, looking at the pair quietly.
Sir Bedivere	The pale-haired knight gradually circles around the chairs until he can stand at Arturia's side, though he certainly feels no need to defend her. Faruja is a guest, trusted to adhere to the ancient laws and to his own spiritual codes... no, it seems to have nothing to do with mistrust. He just seems to prefer standing close to her, if the opportunity presents itself, positioned at her left side as he had done throughout her reign. Bedivere rests his hands over the back of an empty chair, regarding the rat a little blankly. It looks like he still hasn't woken up yet. While he can follow the conversation, there's a slightly glazed quality to his eyes, and a weariness to his features that suggests sleep recently interrupted. He has the sense not to interrupt when Faruja addresses Arturia directly. Faruja's offer of Holy Confession seems met with uncertainty, from the marshal. In the days of Camelot, he had avoided such a thing, in spite of how much he might have wanted it. He had borne secrets, destructive secrets, that he had fully intended on taking to his grave. They would have been the end of the kingdom, and the end of its king. There were other ways to express the virtue of Pietas, and he had simply had to make do with finding other means. No; as tempting as the offer is, he's grown used to solitude, but he would not be so rude as to refuse it outright. He leaves the handling of it to Arturia, whose judgement he trusts. So wrapped up in his thoughts is he that he doesn't notice Faruja's approach until the rat gives him an affable slap across the back of the shoulder. "Hghk--" The knight lurches forward at the force of the blow, more from being taken unawares than from actually being hit so hard. There's no mistaking the way he tenses, something blank and almost fearful in his eyes for a moment. He forces himself to relax, but Arturia might note that fleeting instant of bowstring-taut tension. To Faruja's words of death and dying, he merely shakes his head, mutely; there is a certain pain in his expression as he does. He's trying valiantly not to remember what it was like to lay his king to rest. "Aye," he murmurs, grateful for the distraction, when Faruja continues on to say he stands by his king. Gradually, he manages a faint smile. There's no mistaking a fondness in it that has nothing to do with duty. "I stand by my king. At her side is where I belong, and I thank the Lord God that I am once more given opportunity to be there." He falls silent, then, looking down to his hands over the chair's back, falling half-closed as he mulls over the rat's words on kingship. "You speak of something not unlike the Round Table, save that we had no need of taking our king's place, nor would we presume. Yet we were the pool of those barely beneath, although ostensibly we were equals at that table." He frowns, considering. "That is the dream we shared with our king..." To kingship, though, that isn't a subject he seems comfortable offering conjuecture on. He is no king, and he barely accepts himself as a lord... although that's changing, with patience and effort from Arturia. "What of it?" He tilts his head, then, gaze turning to Faruja. "Utopia. Aye, 'tis the dream we all share... it is what we sought to build in Camelot, and failed. Yet we have a second chance, here." He bows his head, as though embarrassed; glad for once that his hair is unbound -- usually a nuissance, but now a convenient way to hide the colour touching his face. "It is my hope that we may try, and that Dun Realtai become what we could not build in Albion... though hardly do I feel worthy of such a second chance..."
Saber	"If indeed this land is similar to Britain," the petite king explained, "then I imagine that you shall find the weather during autumn and winter most agreeable." Her smile spoke of a heavy burden which had been lifted from her shoulders, a sorrow she no longer needed to endure. "The current era is a miracle, in many ways; once the winter was something to dread, for there were always lives lost to cold and starvation. But we are well-prepared, and the people here should be able to remain inside, well-protected and well-fed." Even a more modern form of a winter festival might be possible; in the Britain of her day, they had been simple affairs, as many villages and homesteads had been isolated due to snow and other forms of harsh weather. Once it was clear she would have to go out into the village again and inquire about the people's local customs, even if they seemed startlingly familiar to those of the homelands of the two knights. Though subtle by the standards of most, Arturia's smile for her marshal would seem strangely indulgent to any who were accustomed to her usual stoic demeanour. Her smile was not a terribly rare thing nowadays, but it was always subdued. Her left hand slowly lifted to rest over one of his over the chair; perhaps an insignificant gesture to many, but for the otherwise proper King of Knights, it was telling. And none too soon; the friendly slap to his shoulder startled the knight more than it otherwise would. Arturia could tell he was tired, not nearly as alert as he otherwise would have been. Moreover, he had always been especially conscious regarding his personal space, though only recently she had learned why that had been. Though he no longer needed to in most situations, it was a habit that was difficult to break. Her hand squeezed his lightly, reassuringly, as she gently guided Bedivere into the empty chair in front of him. Fortunately, the servants would not so much as bat an eye over the lady doting on her lord...even if that was not what they truly were. "Sit," the petite knight-king did not so much as command as implore. "It will do little good to lose your balance and reopen that wound." As talk turned towards the dream they had shared, and the priest's own vision of a similar dream, she rested her hands on the back of the chair. "Mm. Pietas, the Virtue of piety, loyalty, and sense of duty. Each of the Virtues is based in the truth of God, and to heed Pietas is to obey His commandments in the chivalric code. It is not merely a means, but an end in itself." She paused sombrely for a moment before continuing. "In truth, I failed in my duty to my people to realise that dream," she admitted, though the Left Hand of the King would vehemently disagree. "But unworthy though I may be, perhaps we might bring something of that dream to these lands. Perhaps God in His infinite mercy might grant my wish for these people."
Faruja	A look from loyal Bedivere, to Arturia. "Bloody well lucky to hath a man such as this, ye know?" He has no doubt it's been said before, but Faruja will say it again. He can't help a hint of envy there, at least until he thinks on his own Acolytes. Then, he smiles silently. Yes, he too has been blessed. And then the topic turns to politics. Just where he likes it. The rat taps his chin, thinking on the proper words. He'd not want to insult, but yet, he has a point to make. "Mayhaps our worlds art different...however, /that/ may well hath been thine fatal flaw." Mentions the rat lightly. His biases come out in full force. His hands open. "Mortals art fated to die inexorably. A single mortal leader, once felled, shall lead to naught but chaos and infighting. Or, barring that, the inevitable weakening of talent for the position in a dynasty that lasts over generations." A hand waves. "Kingship, to my view, is a flawed and dangerous way of ruling." States the rat quite bluntly. In Ivalice, he'd easily lose his head for such treasonous words. His voice is quiet, here, gaze glancing about in paranoia. There's a smile to Arturia. "Honor and duty for its own sake. Good. Such words and actions keep codes of living alive. Still. A dead knight is a useless one." Here, Bedivere gets a Priest Look (tm). Squint! His point wavers just a bit as the pair mention utopia at his own words, and he falters just a moment. "You humans have a saying, something about gift horses and mouths. If I may, do not punish thineselves overmuch. Rather, put that energy into what ye art doing now. Seeing that dream once more made a reality. After all, if ye were truly unworthy, would the Lord have presented ye both with this opportunity?" Then, he goes quiet. He looks to both. "...Ye know, being a priest is difficult." He begins. "Holding others secrets, while having to keep one's own...it eats at ye. I consider ye both persons of great honor and integrity. I...would like to share a dream with ye both. Mayhaps a foolish one, as foolish as any mortal's might. Will ye both keep it secret?" He gently implores, before his eye goes serious. "On your honor. Let us just say, mine desires may well cost me mine life, were...certain parties to become aware."
Sir Bedivere	"The weather is similar, but I have no memory of so much rain." Bedivere sighs, glancing briefly to the front door. He would have preferred more temperate weather, sunny and warm. "Sometimes I wonder if the whole of this place might be washed away. But, as my king says, we are prepared for the winter. The buildings have been made fast against the wind and weather, and there is food to last until the next harvest." Arturia might be considering a festival, but Bedivere is more serious in nature. No doubt he's mentally reviewing the stores available to them, performing calculations on how much food will be consumed and how much will be left. At least it won't need to be rationed. That would have ruined morale-- He blinks a little owlishly at the smile she gives him; almost unconsciously, he turns his hand when hers covers it, lacing his fingers with hers. A simple and insignificant enough gesture to many, but for as reserved as both king and knight are, it speaks volumes. Steered into the chair he'd been standing behind, Bedivere mumbles half-hearted protests in Gaelic, but he's already sat down before he has a chance to protest too much. He doesn't argue once he's seated, but he winces at the jostle to his shoulder. Bedivere sighs, though, content to stay there. He's a little more tired than he might like to admit, and it's good to sit down. The king might notice her knight bristling subtly when she admits her failure, but through willpower alone he doesn't comment. After a moment he bows his head and sighs, resting his elbows over his knees and slumping. "Perhaps. Dun Realtai is a second chance, for both of us, that we might achieve the work we had failed in with Camelot." May this one not end in burning ruin, he adds silently. Lifting his gaze to Faruja, Bedivere makes no move to rush the priest, instead waiting patiently as Faruja tries to find the right words. There is no chiding from him; no argument over that observation on mortality and kingship. That Priest Look is returned blandly. His own sense of self is warped. He'll risk his life to help even strangers, and he'll consider it worth that price if it saves just one person. Hypocritical, but that's how he's always been. He's actually gotten better in the multiverse. "We do," he says softly to Faruja's chiding on taking second chances for granted. "The Lord God knows we do. Dun Realtai is a second chance. Mayhap I do not know /why/ we were given such, but I do not doubt that it is." Silence again, and he regards Faruja thoughtfully. His eyes slide briefly to Arturia, and for a moment, there's something almost mirthful in them. Can he keep a secret? He's done nothing but keep secrets for the entirety of his service as the Left Hand of the King. Great secrets, small ones, things that would have killed him and ruined Camelot. It never fell for those secrets, not in all those years. The knight actually chuckles, softly, though there's a bitterness to it. Let Arturia reassure Faruja how well he can do that; he's busy finding the bitter irony in that. "On my honour," he says instead, still trying to control himself. Hopefully Faruja doesn't take his bleak amusement the wrong way.
Saber	Arturia nodded, almost just a suggestion of movement, and smiled. "He has been at my side for over two decades," she explained. "I had never expected to be reuinted with any of my knights, yet what the Holy Grail did not grant, God has through the multiverse." Though, that was not entirely true; she had feared reuniting under the malevolent auspices of the Holy Grail War. She had already come across Lancelot twice...though at least the second time had proved well enough for reconciliation. As a Servant, the rain and cold did not affect Saber as much as it did Bedivere, though for his sake, she often found herself wishing the weather was more mild and agreeable. Britain could be dreary at times, but she never recalled it being quite this cold and wet. In such miserable weather, the people would need something to lift their spirits, particularly following the more recent hardships. In the Britain of their era, far too many had been lost to the winter months, and now, armed with innovations from the current era, she would see to it that all would live through it. Artuiria's fingers entwined with Bedivere's, and her smile never wavered. She knew that he was as determined as she to see these people through until the spring. And ideally, perhaps Alaia would allow them to make this their permanent home, at least as citizens. It might surprise the priest that the King of Knights did not so much as bat an eye, much less seem offended. "That had created a number of problems," sje confessed. "Though Avalon prevented me from ageing, hence bestowing limited immortality, it was a complicated matter." One which continued to this day, in fact. Instead of going into the messy details, Saber simply described their situation in Britain. "In utopia and in heaven, there would be no need for kings or rulers. But in that era, Britain was besieged by the Saxons, and the absence of a strong king plunged the kingdom into chaos. Many lives were lost, and the people despaired." In other words, Uther had left a power vacuum after his passing, and Arturia for many years had been fighting to pick up all the pieces. "The people of our kingdom wished for a king, in our era. Or perhaps...they wished only for someone to save them. Either way, my purpose was to serve the people, in whatever way they wished for." She did not need to so much as even glance at her marshal to know how thoroughly he disagreed with her admission of failure...but then, had their situations been reversed, he would be the one blaming himself and she would be the one refusing to agree. Sea-green eyes blinked in mild surprise. He did have a point there. "The people here...they are somewhat different than the people of Britain. They are independent, though loyal. They look to a leader, but are not so dependent upon one..." Actually, now that she thought about it, the people of Dun Realtai were not very different from their temporary lord and lady. "In truth, I never would have dared dream for such a second chance," she said quietly, the humility in her voice unmistakeable. "The purpose for my existence as a Servant was another matter, entirely." Namely, to kill other Servants and obtain the Holy Grail. The petite knight nodded. "On my honour." She and her Left Hand were, naturally, very good at keeping secrets. "Not the least of these had been keeping the truth of my sex concealed so well that few in the current era know of it." To say nothing of certain /other/ secrets...
Faruja	"If properly constructed, ye wouldst be surprised how difficult 'tis to wash away buildings. Burmecia has stood for over two hundred years amidst that makes /this/ weather seem like a summer's sprinkle!" Cue more chest puffing. Faruja might not show much pride in himself, but he sure does has one massive nationalistic pride. The little interlacing of fingers isn't lost on the rat. There's tilt of the head, a braised brow, and more evidence is piled into a corner. Why, perhaps knight and king are a touch more? He politely looks away after a moment. The lack of argument from Bedivere does put the rat off slightly, clearly having expected otherwise. There's a growing smile once more. "Your dear Marshal, Dame Saber, doth not rise to obvious challenges." Pause. He listens to her own response. "Nor doth ye. Mmm. Not something I am used to, admittedly. I am glad ye two were not Ivalician rulers." Seems he's lumped them into the responsibility. There's definite respect in his voice for the pair. HIs tail lashes lightly. "Forgive me, I spend far too much time baiting and goading my 'betters' in Ivalice to try to get them to crack when it comes time to negotiate terms. 'Tis become habit. I aught not treat ye both so. Ye art not them. Still. Those are mine thoughts on the matter." Shrug. Yay politics. He listens, however, to their situation. He ponders. "People ask for many things, but rarely for what they /need/. Still. I see why a King was necessary at the time. Or a strong leader, at the least." It's said a bit begrudgingly. The rat clearly has some deep-seated issues on the subject. But he doesn't press the point, either, simply nodding to Arturia. "Good. Ye understand these people. If I may...go amongst the people when the weather improves. Find the wisest amongst them, and ask what their people need in leadership. Then, form an advisory councel from them. Give these wise men a voice. Those whom prove themselves hale and sharp of mind deserve to be heard. I believe that shall do much to ensure your rulership here shall remain stable." He'd rather not see chaos befall this place. He likes Dun Realtei. But then it's his turn, and he sighs. Gripping his cross, his head tilts to a window, looking out. Doubts assail him. Should he really draw these two in? Then he remembers his little gift. They're already involved.
Faruja	"Good. I shall speak bluntly. Ivalice is a land of sickness. We fight a war with two powerful nations, held back only by the skin of our teeth and the intervention of Union and other Elites. Cults and other groups seeking to topple the Church rise daily, nay matter how many we put down. Shrines to Espers are corrupted. Dukes Larg and Goltana see the throne, currently sat upon by a mere child, as something to be fought for as soon as the Archadians and Alexandrians show signs of weakness. Civil war is inevitable. The crown's advisors do nothing as the war is fought, and the Corpse Brigade's numbers grow ever-greater as discontent grows with the Crown and Nobility alike. The nobility, of course, do naught but seek their own power as civil war looms amidst these conquering nations, back-stabbing as usual." A growl escapes him, frustrated and frightened to his core as he recounts how his country is falling apart around him. "And here is mine dilemma, my friends. Bluntly put? The crown and nobility alike art unfit for rulership. The Corpse Brigade has the right of it. They aught be wiped clean, and Ivalice reborn anew." "And yet, ye both know well the fires of rebellion and the blood it spills. Nay. So much as I agree with their aims, 'tis their methods I disagree with. Especially now, though Ser Folles, the Brigade's leader, hath more than enough sense to work together against common enemies." He pauses, and devours tea with indecent haste. His gaze once again peers about in paranoia, and even rubs his neck. "But that is not the greatest of mine problems." Another pause, and he steels himself. "'Holy Ajora and his Disciples possessed stones emblazened with the stars from the night's sky. Holy artifacts that gave them the strength to destroy demons, and turn aside all but betrayal from within." He sits, here, before the fire. Notably, he doesn't look tot he pair. Simply staring as flames crackle.
Faruja	"...I could go on, but that is not material to ye two. The legend...I do not know the truth of it. However, I do know they exist, as do the Lucavi that these stones were used to fight. So too do I know that one of these stones is utterly and irrefutably corrupt, at least. And I hath suspicions of others. The first is the stone held by Folmarv Tengille, High Templar and leader of the Holy Church's military order. He is in fact a Fell Lucavi. Possessed, or merely wearing Lord Folmarv's skin? I know naught. But I can feel the stone's corruption." "Demons, Ser Bedivere, Lady Saber, art corrupting the Church I swore mine life to. In the highest of offices! And he is /smart/. This is nay slavering beast. I am one of the few to know, and yet live. By all rights, I shouldst be dead. And I hath a suspicion why." Then he reaches into his robes, and pulls out a blood-red stone, emblazened with the symbol of Cancer upon it. "The cancer stone. Remember those documents I sent ye and told ye not to open them? /This/ is explained amongst them. 'Tis why I wish to tell all of this to ye two. Ye deserve to know what ye carry." He hefts the stone, looking into it as the fire reflects. The rat /shivers/, and a feral grin takes up his face...before he looks away and quickly pockets it. "It, too, is corrupt. It whispers to me in mine dreams. Only mine faith, and the love of Ainsley hath kept me from succumbing to the wrath it wishes me to give into. To judge and slay all I deem unworthy without a thought for morality and restraint. And yet, I cannot toss it aside. If it might be purified..." A long, world-weary sigh. "And obviously it cannot be known I possess it. The High Confessor would take it, and some other poor fool would fall under its influence. I am stuck with the thing until I figure out how to make it hale, or whether it was ever anything less than corrupt in the first place. Worst of all? The lucavi controlling the High Templar knows /I/ know he is corrupt. We play a shadow game. All smiles to one another, and daggers waiting for the first sign of weakness."
Sir Bedivere	"My king speaks truly." Bedivere bows his head, but it seems more a gesture of modesty than anything else. "I was her first knight, and I was also her last knight. And so I am once again in the multiverse. I swore an oath of service in Camelot, and even here I would not forsake that oath save were it her wish." He merely closes his eyes for a few minutes, basking in the heat of the hearth as she explains the events and the battles that had shaped Britain. A king was necessary, and in his biased opinion, she was the finest fit to the job. No man could have ruled half so well as she did, even in the earliest days of her rule. The marshal lifts his gaze to the priest when complimented, but he doesn't smile. "I knew my service would cast doubt on my king's reign. You see, I was never a native of camelot. I was a foreigner, and obviously so. I come from a land much further north. I was never fully trusted in the courts, and so I could not afford to rise to challenges. I could not lend credence to their suspicions and complaints." As to the compliment of his king's even temper, the knight merely smiles a small, knowing smile. Of course. She's the king. Hmm. So, the priest would have them form a council of some kind? That isn't a bad idea, although it isn't their place to do so. After all, they're only temporary guardians. The situation will change once winter solstice arrives. He only shakes his head mutely, but listens in silence to Faruja's explanation of Ivalice. He is silent all through that long-winded explanation of rebellion and strife. When the Cancer Stone is withdrawn, his eyes snap immediately to the cursed thing, something cold and hard flickering in his gaze. He can't say what it is that he feels when he sees that thing, but it immediately puts him on his guard. Somewhere in the multiverse, Agrias Oaks feels a sudden upwelling of vindicated satisfaction, and finds herself laughing bitterly. Back in Dun Realtai, Bedivere's gaze slides away from that wretched stone, and he frowns. "I am sorry. I do not certain how to advise you with such a thing, for I have no experience with such things myself." His frown deepens at that feral grin the rat shows for a moment, violet eyes narrowing slightly. He himself tenses for a moment, but the moment passes from Faruja as he pockets the stone, and the knight likewise relaxes. Purified? That might be a possibility, though if it were that simple, it would have been done by now. Worse still, his Church's hierarchy knows he has it in his possession, and that can't bode well. Politics in a situation like that are universally terrible, no matter where and when someone hails from. "All we can do in this case is to offer our support, and offer the support of Dun Realtai," Bedivere states, voice and expression solemn. "I have no specialty in such things; I am no /filidh/, no magician. But we will offer you what support we can manage, in whatever form that may be. I am sorry I can offer you more than that, but I do not know what would be best, in this situation." The pale-haired knight reaches up to rub at his jaw, thoughtful. "First would be to discover whether the thing may be salvaged at all, aye. Until we know that, I fear there is little we can do."
Saber	@emit Unbeknownst to the Inquisitor, knight and king were far more than simply their stations now, especially since their previous meeting with the Burmecian. Arturia thought their simple gestures were innocuous enough, but the two were often embarrassed how easily others read them. They were no longer as adept at concealing their true feelings as they once were. But those subtle gestures were such that only those keen of eye would be able to read into them...or those with something of personal experience. Particularly a priest with a sweetheart of his own. Arturia titled her head slightly, blinking a few times; some might have found her quizzical expression cute. In all fairness, there was little she knew of Ivalice in spite of all the time she had spent in Agrias' company and even a brief trip to the holy knight's homeland. That there were power struggles was obvious, but the intricacies of the politics behind them were another matter. She had never asked, understanding the sensitivity of the topic. But more than that, there were very few instances which goaded her into losing her temper, many of them only possible from one person in particular. "In truth, there are occasions where my temper is not quite so even," the little king admitted. "But few seemed inclined to insult my honour as a knight, or cause wanton slaughter." Though she had not let go of the silver-haired knight's hand, her grip tightened ever so slightly. She would never turn him away from her service; how could she, when finding her knights once more had become her new wish? Bedivere had always been on her side, an ally she could trust completely -- cut from the same proverbial cloth in temperament, ways of thinking, and ideals -- when she could trust no one else, not completely. The Knights of the Round Table were good men, but none other than the marshal possessed the stoic, even temperament so vital to his position. Perhaps it was thus inevitable that they would be drawn to each other on other ways. "I believe that neither a king nor a leader would be necessary once the kingdom became utopia," Arturia revealed. She rarely spoke at length about what hr vision for Britain had been specifically. Her quest for making her kingdom into a land where the people neither starved nor were terrorised by war was common enough knowledge. But the particulars were things she had rarely shared. Many simply assumed that her vision was a vague ideal, not something specific. Such people were mistaken. "In a peaceful land without want, the people would have no need for kings, leaders, or rulers. Each would be free to pursue his own path for his life. Even knights would be unnecessary; the people would no longer need to be defended." The little blonde shifted slightly, suggesting an internal sigh. "But for now, such guardians are a necessity, even in the multiverse. The people remain vulnerable...though fortunately, a simple temporary lord has sufficed. The land is not large enough to warrant the need of a king."
Saber	And then there was the other point. "My only concern would be, were we to be more than merely temporary caretakers, the formation of nobility. One man might be wise, and his son after him...but soon a position would be assumed to belong to that family's line rather than the individual exhibiting the necessary traits. That is what had happened in Britain well before my birth, forcing the need to deal with nobility entirely unfit for their positions yet hungry for even greater power." It was a situation that Faruja would no doubt be intimately familiar withy The flaxen-haired knight tapped the index finger of her right hand on the table as she mulled over possibilities. "Perhaps a rotation, where a position is only held for a period of time before shifting to another..." She stopped, realising she was getting ahead of herself. "Ah, but that is not a decision for us to make. The decision should be between the people and the winter guardian of the land." The conversation turned back to Ivalice once more, and this time, Saber admitted her lack of anything but surface knowledge. "Though I spent a great deal of time in the company of Dame Agrias, I know very little about your homeland. I did not ask, as it seemed to be the cause of a great deal of bitterness and pain. Likewise, she asked very little concerning Britain." It might have seemed strange, but the two women had been almost ridiculously respectful of each other's boundaries. The petite knight was not entirely certain she was comfortable with the idea of allowing a kingdom to metaphorically burn to the ground and be rebuilt from ashes. Once, it symbolised a kind of failure. Second, innocent people always seemed to be caught up in the process, neutrals who simply wished to be left alone in peace. Though it required two sides to fight a war, the alternative was a one-sided slaughter if one was set on violence. If there was to be reform, it should be peaceful, just as she had tried to do during her reign. But if the entire ruling party was so hopelessly corrupt, what other choice was there if a kingdom was imperiled? "Then, perhaps," she mused after a thoughtful pause, "The troubles of Ivalice are directly related to the demons corrupting the Church. The demons would appear to use it as their seat of power, tainting all else from their position." it would not surprise her if Faruja and Bedivere had come to a similar conclusion.
Saber	As a creature of pure magic, Saber could easily feel the corrupted power of the Cancer Stone. A frown furrowed her brow as she studied it before the Inquisitor pocked it once more, noting the grin borne of its influence. "If these Stones were created to battle these demons, then it would appear that they have absorbed enough of their power to become corrupted." At least, that's how it worked in her own universe. The Servant was quite familiar with tainted artefacts of power. Folding her arms, Arturia closed her eyes as she mulled over the possibility. The grail had been irredeemable, only its destruction could purge the relic. But the rules of the Burmecian's universe were different, to say nothing of the fact that even the rules of hers could be bent or circumvented after Unification. Above all, Faruja was in a precarious position indeed; not only from the corruptive threat of the Cancer Stone, but the lucavi seeking to possess it. The High Templar was waiting for a moment of weakness to strike, that much was abundantly clear. Arturia nodded to the violet-eyed knight as he spoke. "Indeed. For what it might be worth, you have the support of Dun Realtai. It is the duty of knights to render whatever aid we are capable of, but it is more than even that. We shall never turn away a friend."
Faruja	"Ye art a loyal man, Ser Bedivere. Something that methinks is yet becoming a lost art in Ivalice." Oh, what he could /do/ with a score of men such as the one before him. 'Mere' human or not, it's that invincible honor and duty that he can't help but admire in the utter picture of a knight. No wonder these two are called legends in their own lands. Faruja smiles tiredly to the pair. "And to which I must decline, except as I may find rest within its walls. Ser Bedivere, ye art a kind soul, however I shan't bring such horrors to thine doorstep. Thine blade, faith, and honor, however? Shan't be turned away when the time comes. The Daemon that hath consumed the High Templar hath already attacked Mullonde itself, and methinks things shall only grow more violent and perverse as time goes on. I shall need strong knights and kings, and most importantly, /friends/." "But ye speak truly. I must find an expert. One talented, and discrete, removed from Ivali..." Pause. A vague memory of his readings into the pair's tales comes to mind. "I hate to dig into old memories, however, was there not a mage of great power ye both were familiar with? Nay doubt trustworthy and with impeccable honor, given ye both were his ally!" Merlin and a zodiac stone. What could possibly go wrong? The looks between the two might as well be declarations of love. So much so, that the priest looks away every now and then out of politeness' sake. Oh yes, he can read the cards here, but is simply too much of a gentlerat to say anything. Saber has a good point on politics. "Then we come 'round to the age old question once again: what government best leads to such Utopia. But 'tis not the point." The mere /mention/ of Agrias has the rat literally snarling. He might respect her in his own fashion, but there's still little love lost between knight and Inquisitor. "Nay doubt she hath had /interesting/ things to say." "Ye truly think it wouldst be..." Starts the rat, before he goes silent. It would make /perfect/ sense. He knows well the Church's power, a spider's web in every noble house, merchant's city, and knightly order...and less reputable organizations. He'd helped, in his own way, to make it so. "For once, mine duty is at least clear. Purge the corrupt and Daemonic. And if something may be absorbed, it may be cleansed." There's the slightest hints of desperation in his voice, as though he's trying to convince himself. Such a legend, so holy in his country, being false would be unthinkable. Surely this is a test from the Lord! Then, he stands, and bows before the pair, very nearly touching nose to floor. From the wincing, it hurts like hell. "Friendship is the greatest thing ye two couldst offer. Mine spirit, shouldst it falter, wouldst lead nay doubt to the downfall of all that is good and righteous in Ivalice. There art not words. 'Tis a debt I cannot repay. God bless ye both." Then, with much help from his cane, he's standing again. And he manages a smile. "Right then, enough of this gloomy talk! I shall make ye both dinner. TO THE KITCHEN, IN THE LORD'S NAME! Sit down, both of ye! But half an hour, and ye shall know TRUE CUISINE!" Then? With a haste spell, the rat excuses himself to make them dinner. Faruja, it turns out, is an excellent cook. And his wine isn't bad either.
Sir Bedivere	The silver-haired knight remains silent throughout most of Arturia's answers, letting his faded eyes hood as he regards the hearth-fire. Its warm, orange glow lights the room, or at least the side of the room the hearth is built into. Torches line the other wall, but the sheer size of the enormous communal hearth guarantees a fair amount of light and warmth. Neither has that latter part escaped him, either. Bedivere is but mortal, while his king and brother-knight are superhuman Servants; he is still subject to feeling the rain and the cold, and those things affect him more severely than they once did in days past. Perhaps he's thinking of what the ideal Britain once might have been. Under her rule, that might have been possible, if internal strife hadn't crumbled its foundations and brought the kingdom down around their mutual ears. No. He'd been forced to bury that dream, along with his king and the remnants of his broken spirit. Yet he listens to their bandying about the ideal kingdom, and files that information away. He might seem as though he were nearly drifting, regarding the fire with sleepy-eyed vacancy, but he hears and files away every word; every concept. Bedivere is a man of few words, at times, and it's only that he feels he has nothing to contribute to the discussion. He is no ruler. He barely accepts the position that has fallen into his lap. Demons, though; enemies to be fought -- he is yet Marshal of the Realm, even if that realm is no more. War is his specialty, both logistics and personal combat. He pays a little more attention, head tilting just slightly, as though to focus on Arturia's musings. "So it would seem." Indeed he has come to the same conclusion, that the demons misuse the Church as their seat of power. "Why would they not? If Ivalice is anything like Britain, the Church would guarantee them dominion over, or at least knowledge of, nearly any event of import." He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair, thoughtful. "And if they are so skillful at concealing themselves... I do not envy you the task before you, Sir Senra, and I am sorry indeed that it falls upon your shoulders."
Sir Bedivere	He falls silent, then, only nodding when Arturia again pledges the support of Dun Realtai. It is indeed their duty as knights to offer their aid, and it would be not only reprehensible to turn away a friend in need, it would be a clear breach of otherwise inviolable Brehon Law. Slowly, his eyes fall half-closed, though his gaze lingers on the fire. His mouth is set into a hard line, as though he were considering the situation, turning it over in his mind; seeking the solution that seems so evasive to all of the parties involved. Yet even he can find none. At least, none that would be satisfactory. "You shall have friends," he says instead, softly. "And you shall have allies as well." He listens in silence as Faruja pitches a few more ideas, and apparently one of them is enough to draw a sour expression even from the even-tempered Bedivere. The knight scowls as though he'd bitten into an unripened citrus. "No. No, I think not. Master Merlin is undeniably the best magician I have ever heard of, but your Stone is safer in your keeping. He would do you no favours, I think." After a few moments his eyes close. "No. It will be better for you if he were not involved." They open, slightly, at the hateful tone of his voice, and the open snarling. Is there so little love lost between them? Yet he doesn't comment on that. What little he had been told of this knight suggests that he owes her a great debt, and that her intervention had done a great favour to the King of Knights. Without such intervention, it may be that king and marshal may not have ever been reunited. Truly, if such is the case, he owes that unknown woman a greater debt than he could ever pay. He remains silent through Faruja's open display of vitriol. One has to wonder what the woman must have done to the rat to aggrieve him so, but even so, Bedivere holds his tongue. He doesn't have all the details. Indeed, he's never even met the woman, although Arturia's high praise of her suggests much of her character to him. Arturia is no fool, nor does she suffer the company of fools lightly. Bedivere blinks slightly at the rat's low bow, offering a faint, if slightly troubled, smile in return. "We offer only what we may," he murmurs. "If it be not sword, than may it be word; if it be not word, than we shall keep you in our prayers, Sir Senra." The rat is gone, then, excusing himself to the kitchen -- and paving the way for a rather fine dinner, afterward; an evening of merriment as though to forget all the sorrow and difficulty of Ivalice or other places; even if only for a short while.
Saber	While there had been a very specific reason for Bedivere's loyalty, Arturia was nevertheless grateful for it; that loyalty had been one of the few proverbial rocks she could rely on, and her trust in him was absolute. He had been there from the very beginning, becoming one of her first knights...and was there at her side in the end. It had taken a considerable toll on him, and the King of Knights understood there was no possible way she could ever truly repay that steadfast loyalty and service. While the knight himself cared nothing for his own glory, his king was exceedingly proud of him and his legend. Not that she wasn't equally glad for the underlying reason itself, something which had become more than simply a reward for a near-lifetime of dedicating herself to her people and her kingdom. At times, it seemed selfish to her to ask one more thing from him, to act as her anchor to the material world as a Master. But if he was content with simply being her lord, well, she was more than happy to grant something they both wished for. And having a true home was something neither of them had ever expected. At the priest's refusal of taking on that particular burden, the petite blonde could only acquiesce. At the very least, they could offer their support in other ways. It was a relief to her that there was something they could do as opposed to simply standing by. Their pride as knights didn't allow for it; the entire purpose of wielding sword and shield was for just such a purpose. Friendship, however, was entirely new. That was something the two knights -- forced to isolate themselves for the sake of the kingdom -- had only been granted in the multiverse, at least so openly. Silently, she nodded at Bedivere's own pledge. Friendship was a powerful thing, not one which was as powerless as it might have seemed. She had learned that lesson many times over after Unification. There was a subtle, involuntary twitch of a flaxen eyebrow at the Inquisitor's train of thought and what it lead to...or specifically, /who/. For all his wisdom -- at least, what he had deigned to reveal to her -- and power, the wizard who had once been her tutor and advisor was not someone she would want involved with anything as serious as the question of the Zodiac stone. She could not deny that, in his heart, he was a good person with benevolent intentions...probably. But that hardly meant that Merlin was completely trustworthy. He might stir up some trouble for amusement and claim it was to 'test' her and her allies. "My tutor is...how shall I say this...a mercurial spirit. He finds amusement in 'testing' others, even if such things can be beneficial. And he does not think in what could be considered rational terms. Like a force of nature, if you will. It is as my marshal says, it would be best not to involve him."
Saber	For all her lofty visions of ideal kingdom, however, Arturia had found that much of what she had chased after existed in some form or another in what was their distant future. Wars and violence still happened, sickness and starvation had not been entirely eliminated, but the general peace and lack of suffering so many took for granted now were things she never could. Such an otherwise mundane life was far closer to the dream of utopia than Camelot had been, regardless of the legends. She would have willingly traded them to bring the peace and comfort to her own people that those of the modern era enjoyed. "This era, far into our own future, is much closer to what we had envisioned. It is far from perfect, but there is greater peace now than there had been in our own era. Many diseases have been cured, the massive starvation and deaths in the chill of winter have largely been eliminated, water is safe to drink throughout most worlds...all miracles, as far as we are concerned. Whatever way has brought about such things must surely be the most suitable." In the end, for all her belief in being the ideal king for the sake of the people, what mattered were the results. For all her chivalry, Arturia was, at the core, nothing if not practical. Once it had been explained to her, the King of Knights understood the vitriol a little better. It had not been so much Agrias herself as much as that she had simply been the one to show the Burmecian how the Church had been infiltrated by the dark forces of their land. Perhaps she would always be a bitter reminder of the task Faruja now faced. But for the Servant Saber, Agrias was her saviour, her fellow knight, her sister-in-arms, her friend. The holy knight had helped with her own bitterness over her Master's betrayal, renewing her faith that chivalry was remembered still and that purpose remained for knights such as they. Even within the Union, their allies had needed a few reminders of what it means to follow the path of chivalry. "I have faith that, through both your efforts, Ivalice will once more be a land of virtue," Arturia insisted. Priest and holy knight would probably never be friends the way the two women were, but she prayed that their bitterness over the misfortunes of the land would one day dissipate, as Saber's had over Kiritsugu's treatment of her. Jade eyes flicked to Bedivere in silent agreement before returning to their guest, surpressing a frown at the wince. While it was her nature to fuss, to do so when he had taken the trouble to offer them such heartfelt gratitude would have been a terrible insult. "I believe your efforts will one day be rewarded. And I shall pray for you on your journey." In all her years as both knight and king, in service to the people of Britain, Arturia had never asked anything for herself. In her heart, she truly believed that she existed to become a vessel for the hopes and dreams of all the people, to lead them to the utopia she had dreamed of. But there had been a few of life's pleasures that she could not deny, among them being a well-prepared and properly-seasoned meal. Yet, there was something she had discovered in recent years which was even more pleasurable: such a meal in the company of friends, those who shared her ideals and beliefs in some form or another. This was an oasis, if only for a little while.