853/Matters of the Heart

Matters of the Heart
Date of Scene:	26 October 2014
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	To protect something he holds dear, Bedivere strikes a bargain with Loros, to protect in turn something of value belonging to the Wizard...
Cast of Characters:	303, 346, 482

---

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
It's a blustery evening in the lands of Dún Reáltaí, with rain flung by gusting winds and a persistend, bone-chilling damp. The weather's been foul for weeks, now; a foul autumn, harbinger to an even fouler winter. Yet the village has been made secure against the wind and weather – and for now, the lord of this realm could not ask for more.

Although there's been no flooding yet, Sir Bedivere of Dún Reáltaí had spent the early afternoon patrolling where he can in spite of the wether, personally assuring himself and the villagers that no damage was don.

The keep's door bangs open, and in comes Bedivere from his latest patrol, streaming water. A well-timed kick shuts the door against the howling gale, and he staggers over to the hearth, shivering and stamping.

He's at least dressed warmly in mostly modern clothing, if wet. Either he's had a cloak commissioned somewhere, or convinced someone to repair the mantled cloak of office – white and blue-grey, like the last, lined in (thoroughly sodden) fur. Fortunately, he has the good sense to stay put before the hearth for a few minutes...

...or maybe he just knows Arturia will appear and scold him if he doesn't make some token effort to dry off and warm up.

They're expecting guests at almost any time, at this point – there are quite a number of people with standing invitations to the castle. But for the moment, Bedivere seems happy enough to stand in front of the fire for a few minutes, and coax some kind of feeling back into his hands.

Loros (303) has posed:
A few minutes after Bedivere slams the door shut, it thumps open once more letting in a blast of wind and wet - and admitting another figure. Loros is wrapped in a heavy cloak with a high collar, and he's traded his usual dapper hat for a wide brimmed thing of dark leather that drips even as he slams the door shut behind him. A few gestures with his fingers seem to squeeze water out of the cloak in the antechamber with a ripple of magic.

"Delightful weather, this time of year," he mutters softly as he moves into the greater hall and towards the fire. Reaching up he doffs his hat, giving it a shake to let most of the water off it. Settling in near Bedivere, a good arms reach away before he inclines his head towards the knight and lord.

"So. You have something you wished to discuss with me, Sir Bedivere. And here I am, risking chill and fever to hear you out." His wide grin makes his chiding words a lie, although a polite one. Still, he raises his hands towards the fire appreciatively as he awaits his host's response.

Saber (346) has posed:
As if summoned – or perhaps hearing the loud sound of the door closing – that very person who would otherwise scold the lord of Dún Reáltaí made her timely appearance. Already armed with warm towels, Arturia couldn't help but sigh. True, it was a necessary endeavour, and at least he had finally been persuaded on the merits of more modern clothing when it came to (perhaps foolishly) venturing out into the seasonal downpour. And their situation would most likely be reversed later when she ventured out on patrol. At least she had no need to worry about catching a cold.

Yet, she did not so much as scold him, even if Bedivere would know even from her muted expression how she was of half a mind to fuss at him. But even were she about to, the appearance of another in their hall rendered it a matter for another time.

"Good evening, Master Loros," she greeted politely, even offering one of the towels should he choose. While the Servant hardly trusted the wizard, that was no reason not to be polite and a proper hostess.

Her expression did not so much as shift as he got straight to the point. It was a subject she and her knight had already discussed and agreed upon, even though both had similar reservations about it. Still, it was their best option.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
According to some, it might be delightful weather, but the knight who keeps watch over this place prefers more sunny and dry climates. The constant cold and wet wears on the nerves after a time, and there's always the ever-present threat of illness that accompanies conditions like this. Fortunately, modern insulation and other conveniences protect the people of the village... but not their bull-headedly stubborn lord.

Bedivere reaches up to unclasp the sodden cloak, peeling it off his shoulders and shaking it out, leaving a puddle beneath it as he does. Tossing it over a chair, he sighs and mutters under his breath, though by tone it's probably a curse of some sort in an ancient form of Gaelic. He rakes his fingers through his hair, about to sit down–

The noise he makes isn't too far off from the abrupt hiss of a startled cat, whirling on his heel and tensing at the sudden appearance of Loros, for he hadn't noticed the Wizard coming in through the door behind him, assuming the wind had just rattled the door on its frame.

Straightening, he blinks somewhat owlishly at that respectful tilt of the head.

Ah, that's right.

He'd had something to discuss with the pact-mage.

"I did." He inclines his head. "However, it can wait until I've brought you something hot to drink. Please, be seated. In front of the fire," he clarifies, gesturing to the empty chairs. With that, he'll stalk off to the kitchen, and return a few moments later with a tray laden with teapot, cups, a small pot of honey, and cream – modest, perhaps, but at the moment the best they have to offer guests.

Settling into a chair himself, he regards Loros evenly, though there's a hint of tension around his violet eyes.

He is no fool. No matter how calm he might seem, the Wizard terrifies him. He knows enough to know that he doesn't know anything about Loros, and while the unknown as a concept rarely frightens him, it certainly does in this instance.

Probably he would be a fool not to feel that fear. Or dead.

Bedivere clears his throat, marshalling his scattered thoughts. "Yes, I did." His voice sinks, as though he were reluctant to even say the words.

"I... I have a favour to ask of you, Wizard."

His tone of voice suggests he knows better than to do this – and that he doesn't believe he has a choice.

Loros (303) has posed:
Loros turns and bows slightly to Saber. Before shrugging out of his cloak - he's dressed a bit more practically than his usual mein beneath the cloak, a heavy woolen tunic and vest. Still in his colors, and his silver eye pin is upon his breast instead of his tie.

He doesn't reply immediately, instead moving to hang his cloak and hat near the fire on pegs intended for just that purpose. Only then does he accept one of the warm towels offered, scrubbing damp from his face before resting it on his shoulders.

Settling himself into one of the chairs in front of the fire with a soft sigh, he settles back before sticking his booted feet out in the direction of the fire. "Good evening, Lady." The avoidance of using her Name or her... job his actually quite possibly an attempt to be polite on his part. Taking up a cup of the offered tea, he's just starting to sip when Bedivere finally says why he invited Loros. He doesn't -quite- sputter the tea, but there's a moment of surprise all the same.

"A favor. I was given to understand you trusted me far to little to give me leverage like that over you, even with the hedging about I'll accept from a true Knight. Just what sort of 'favor' do you require?"

Saber (346) has posed:
It did not take any special insight for Arturia to glean that Bedivere had been in a rather cranky mood. Though the weather was rather familiar – not entirely unlike Britain this time of year – it certainly did not agree with the knight. Whether it was because his recovering health made him more sensitive or he had simply hidden it well all those years in Camelot, the end result was the same: a very unhappy marshal.

Yet, he would carry out what he perceived his duties to be, regardless of inconvenience, discomfort, and sometimes even health. The former two were not much of an issue, but the flaxen-haired knight would continue to nag him over the latter. Even the, she would still offer what comfort she could, smiling faintly at a man who was more to her now than simply a knight and marshal.

Silently, she took a seat beside her Master with the customary practised grace of her former station. Like Bedivere, her expression was calm, yet carried with it a solemnity which betrayed that this would be the proverbial 'deal with the devil.' But it was true; they had little choice.

She caught the concerned flicker, but her response was perhaps more familiar than it had been when last they encountered the wizard. The Servant reached out, covering his right hand with her left. However, she remained silent, though to him she 'spoke' in their customary way. Remember, you do not have to do this if you are having second thoughts. If need be, we will find another way.

Though what other ways there were, Saber couldn't fathom.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Gratefully, Bedivere takes one of the towels offerd him once he's seated and situated by the fireside. Scrubbing his face much like Loros, he then throws it over his shoulders, hunkering down a little and sighing in relief at the dry warmth. The knight casts a brief, grateful look to Arturia; with warmth and familiarity, and perhaps a ghost of a smile, for more than just knight and king.

It fades quickly as his attention returns to the matter at hand. His expression is once more solemn, and perhaps just a little melancholy. This is a foolish thing to do, so foolish... but he has no choice.

"I do trust you far too little to ask a favour of you, but I am left with little choice." He snorts, glancing away; eyes closing for a moment in a bitter expression. "Betwixt hammer and anvil, I am, or I would not ask anything of you." One eye opens to half-mast, fixing on Loros; an almost luminant violet thanks to the light of the fire. "I am wiser than that, Wizard."

Oh, yes. That's right. He knows Loros is trouble, and he has no qualms admitting it. After all, he can do so and still be perfectly civil, and in keeping with the ancient laws, can't he?

Instead of answering, Bedivere raises his right hand, baring the intricate knotwork of his command seals, lurid red against his pale skin.

"I would have you teach me how better to use these, if we may reach an accord on the cost of such a thing." His hand lowers. "Believe me, had I options, I would not be asking this of you. But..."

The knight is betrayed, momentarily, by the flicker of concern that crosses his face; the way he glances briefly to Arturia.

He sighs, shaking his head.

We have no alternatives.

Raising his violet eyes to Loros, he regards the Wizard calmly; it says without words that he's prepared to do this, and does so with full deliberation... come what may.

Loros (303) has posed:
The favor requested is declared, laid out before the Wizard.

And the Wizard smiles. Widely. Laugh lines crinkling at the edge of his eyes as something gleams out of them, before he leans back and lets his eyes fall into shadow for a moment.

"Very well. I can teach you to use them, and more besides." His voice is calm, and there is no sign of that dark glee of the smile in it. The tone is one of dead seriousness. "And I will teach you in a way you both can tolerate. No dark paths or tormented visions beyond those that are the very nature of your magic." A hand is lifted from his lap, held at chest height, fingers open as though cradling an orb, or a heavy pouch.

"But then we come to the matter of Price."

Leaning forward again, his fingers flick to the hands laid atop each other and then to the face of the Knight and his Lady. "I will give you three Choices. Should you refuse them all, you will need to find another teacher. And yes, you may hear and examine them all and ask me of them before you decide."

The outstretched hand flips over and is held palm out, with one finger raised. "One. You owe me a Favor, to be called in at the time and place of my choosing. The task required will not involve the violation of your Oaths, Duties or Code, but is otherwise to be of my choice."

Saber (346) has posed:
The mirth was certainly not a good sign...probably. Perhaps he had heard is so rarely, or perhaps the idea that proud knights who served good so completely would agree to such a pact. Either way, even the King of Knights was unsettled. She had faced Loros in battle before, and while her Magic Resistance as a Saber-class Servant had protected her well enough, the wizard possessed magic which was not so simple to deal with. Dealing with a dragon was still dangerous whether it was a natural dragon or a transformed wizard.

And then, there was the matter of her honour; she could not go against chivalry. Once she gave her word, she was bound to it.

They were reassured no dark paths or torment, which was well enough; Loros knew his own limits when it came to the knights of Camelot. But of course, there the matter or Price. She only prayed that they would not be ones that would become more terrible than what they might first appear to be.

The first two had been what she had been expecting; a favour – which she already owed by her own code of honour – or a task. The last was one which she and Bedivere both would not agree to, as they both preferred to deal with knowns rather than unknowns.

Jade eyes flicked to blue-grey ones. It is your choice to make, my lord. I do not believe the third is wise, however.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
That side smile is given wary regard, but the knight says nothing in response. He even forces himself to watch as the pact-mage's eyes fall to shadow, swallowing through a throat suddenly gone dry. What exactly does he find so amusing? Does he even want to know the answer to that question?

"I require no more than a minimum. I would know only what I must to prevent a Servant from fading." Bedivere shakes his head. "I will ask no more services or favours than that which I require."

In other words, he isn't stupid. A greedy man might pile on the instruction, but that would also scale proportionately to the cost, and pile up the favours owed. Yet, even establishing that he's only interested in the bare minimum... it doesn't feel like it's enough. Why does he have the sinking sensation that the horse he's just climbed aboard is a kelpie, hell-bent on dragging him into the deep water? In response to Arturia's reassurances, the look he casts her is suggestive of a man adrift at sea who just realised he doesn't know how to swim.

"That is fair," he responds evenly, to the matter of Prices. His head cants slightly to one side, expression only slightly apprehensive as he listens to the first of the terms. To owe a Favour on the Wizard's terms is what he had originally expected, but to be offered a choice is intriguing. "Will it involve the violation of my oath to the Union?" He snorts, softly. "I understand we are at war. But I would not suffer my well-intentioned allies in berating me for a foolish choice as treating with one such as yourself. I know already the consequences, and as I have said, there are no more suitable choices."

"Still. I would hear your second Choice. Go on."

Lord God preserve me. He flicks a subtle but desperate glance to Arturia. I'm not going to like these, am I...?

Loros (303) has posed:
"No. I will teach you everything you can learn, to the extent of your abilities and potential. I will not teach a student who will be holding himself back. Down that path leads a lack of control, weakness, and ultimately failure or death. If we form this agreement, we will do it -properly-." Loros' voice is almost the crack of a whip as he snaps that out, his shoulders straightening as the shadows in his chair seem to gather more deeply for a moment and a flicker of red flashes deep in his shadowed sockets, and then it's gone again and the tone is once more amiable.

His tone goes back to the amiable bargainer moments later. "The Favor will not require you to voilate any Oaths you have made. Including that to the Union. Ask about the Favor I tasked Dame Agrias with, once upon a time to gain an understanding of what I may ask of you."

The second finger is raised. "Two. Pay It Forward. You take my teachings, and look for a pupil. One who deals honorably and follows the Laws, but if you find one with potential who may go on to use the teaching for dark deeds, you teach anyway." A soft chuckle escapes him. "Of course, you may always charge them a Price much like I am laying before you."

And finally, a third finger is lifted and the grin grows wider. "And the Third. I will lay upon you the duty of Keeping something of mine safe from those who would do me harm with it. Or do any harm with it, or otherwise abuse it." His other hand falls back into his vest and comes back closed around something tightly. Turning his palm over, he unfurls his fingers to reveal a sphere of black glass or obsidian, faceted slightly here and there. About the size of a child's fist, deep within it something glows redly. Pulsing, and the faintest sound fills the air.

Lub-tump. Lub-tump.

"A piece of my Heart. One of seven."

Saber (346) has posed:
Unfortunately, merely supporting a Servant was what Bedivere was already doing, but only just. Arturia's power had been significantly reduced, and if she had need to unleash Excalibur's full power, it might risk both their lives. No, what he needed was to learn how to properly use his magic circuits, at least enough to provide her with more than the trickle of mana she drew from him. She was even willing to forgo the valuable healing skill than most Masters possessed, a crucial skill in the Holy Grail War, but not so vital in an organisation with numerous healers.

To his choice, Arturia simply squeezed his hand lightly. It is dangerous, but it will likely prove necessary. Though she was not liking it already.

pale eyebrows lifted slightly at just what Loros had deemed instruction. Of course, he was right, she reluctantly admitted. A little knowledge was a dangerous thing; better to instruct him fully, lest he accidentally tap into magic beyond his control and cause himself harm. "Hm. Yes, you are right, Master Loros," she admitted.

As he ran through the choices, Saber suppressed a forming frown. A Favour owed was a risky proposition, given the unknown...but then, each of their potential choices carried dangers. At the second, she glanced at her marshal. I do not recommend this one. A dishonourable pupil would compromise us. At the third, however...

Saber could not completely keep the subtle expression of not-quite horror from her face. She had seen a great many horrors over the years, but this was another matter, entirely. It was an indescribable feeling, at its core. It was evil, to be sure, something that might very well bring them misfortune if they dared accept.

The knight-king managed to properly compose herself after a moment. "Why this?" she asked calmly. "It seems dangerous to leave with us."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
...Yipe.

In the face of those terrible shadows, Bedivere sits stiff and straight; stoic and determined even as something deep inside him is gibbering in primal terror. The blood seems to have drained from his face, though, and it marks his fear to the stranger as much to his companion. He swallows against a dry throat once more, trying to maintain a brave face in light of that subtle display; one that would probably dissolve anybody else into speechless horror.

Oh, he's frightened. Make no mistake about that... but he's determined not to disgrace himself by showing it.

"Indeed..." His agreement with both is soft, and he's inordinately proud of himself for keeping his voice so level.

His expression shifts to one of concern as he mulls over the three options. Not one of these three are attractive to him, and he seems visibly torn over the predicament.

Of them, he's least inclined to tutor somebody else in a thing he himself barely understands. Never mind that there's always the possibility that they might well turn out to be a force almost as terrible as the Wizard himself. No, that seems like it might have the most potential for unwanted complication; though that's not to say that the other two are any more attractive, under threat of oath.

Favours owed were the first thing he had assumed; that he might have a choice in the matter wasn't something he had originally anticipated. While the tactical side of him bristles a little that he hadn't foreseen that detail, he knows, logically, that it's almost impossible to know the mind of a creature like Loros, whatever he may truly be. At the same time, it also means he doesn't know what that Favour might be, but any concerns he might have had over the nature of it seems to be soothed by that answer.

Lastly, a thing to guard until the end of time, or perhaps just the end of his mortal days. With such magic at his disposal, Bedivere has to wonder what sort of thing Loros would actually have any use for a guardian for. Couldn't he use magic, and build a better defense than the guardianship of such a mortal man as himself; more shamefully, the weakest among Arturia's knights? He's not even a Servant–

He doesn't recognise the sound until the second beat.

There's no mistaking the sharp breath drawn in by the knight, through his nose; the way he recoils a bit in his chair from that pulsating, drumming thing. Is this the Wizard's heart, then? One seventh of it, if his words are true, although he wouldn't have a particular reason to lie. Yet at the same time he would have every reason to. After all, he's under no compulsion to speak truly. That isn't part of the price.

Even so, he tighten shis hand over hers, however slightly; a silent gesture of thanks for her reassurance. And, maybe, an outlet for his nerves.

I mistrust the second option most. If it comes to it, I would accept owing him a favour. That price is what I expected to pay all along, he muses silently, with a brief glance to Saber. But...

"Indeed. I would hear the answer to my lady's question, before I offer my choice." Interesting. He calls her 'my lady,' and not 'my lord' or 'my king.' Perhaps he's still a little rattled. "Why this? Why trust such a thing with people you might well consider enemies?"

Loros (303) has posed:
"First, I would trust that King and The Loyal Knight to abide by their word to keep it safe, and not to give it over to my enemies, if they so swore. Secondly, it is a place where those who are inclined to do me harm would not think to look. And lastly.." Now he leans forwards as his fingers close back over it. "When you have learned, you will be sufficiently formidible to keep it safe, should aught come seeking it."

Leaning back, he cradles the small sphere in both hands. "Not all who seek to end me are allied with the forces of Justice, Light and Goodness." His smirk widens. "In truth, those most likely to seek something like this out are looking for an edge in dealing with me. Or those who I've cast into the Outer Dark, as they seek to Unmake all things."

He shrugs slightly. "Or perhaps it is whimsy. I am, after all, quite mad."

Saber (346) has posed:
Arturia's hand never moved from Bedivere's. She knew quite well that even Merlin had frightened him at the core. It was somewhat ironic; for a knight so accused of witchcraft due to his foreign blood, tactical genius, and rare berserker rage, the Left Hand of the King feared it, at beast heavily mistrusted it. The only reason he had even submitted to forming a contract with her had been for the sake of his king and her previous Master.

And, though no design nor fault of his own, he had been dragged into the middle of one such world. And the one responsible was the king he had vowed to follow to the end of his days. True, she had given him a renewed purpose, diverted his path from one of self-destruction and bitter loneliness, but the price was to become embroiled in the witchcraft he had dreaded for years.

The sea-green eyes closed in what might otherwise be a thoughtful gesture, but one Bedivere would be able to interpret. Or rather, he would understand what she was thinking. A favour is an unknown, though with perhaps a more manageable impact than the second.

The petite swordswoman was not especially surprised that a number of Loros's enemies were not those she would consider good nor honourable. Though she and her knights adhered to chivalry and were for many the very definition of 'good', she understood all too well that such black and white distinctions were not the greater reality. Evil and good both fought within themselves as much as with each other. And then, there were the strange sort of alliances they now found themselves in.

Her impassive expression did not so much as waver. "Madness is not a word I would give to the forces of nature," she intoned. Something beyond her understanding, that she would let alone so long as no harm was done to those she protected.

And they were still left with the dilemma. A favour...or guardianship of something which unsettled them both? But then, if it was guardianship, they might not have had a choice, after all.

Her eyes flicked to Bedivere's again. If we are presented with guardianship, can we refuse? Chivalry might have decided for them.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The pale-haired knight cants his head slightly to one side as he mulls over the answer. He frowns, not bothering to hide his thoughtful expression. On one hand, the favour is something he had already expected going into this situation. Ironically, it's beginning to sound like the least disastrous option out of the three. It's a known factor, and the other two are very much unknown.

As to the matter of the heart-shard, even he isn't certain there would be a place worthy of its keeping within Dún Reáltaí or its environs. Such a thing is no doubt dangerous; he would not tempt fate by endangering these people with such a thing. Furthermore, he won't be the lord of this place forever – come the equinox, the winter-witch will no doubt thank them for their service, and perhaps send them on their merry way.

That wouldn't be acceptable... but...

Blood and damnation. Although he doesn't actually curse, he might as well, to Arturia; the subtle twitch near his right eye betrays his frustration. You are right. It is guardianship, and we are honour-bound guardians... no matter the nature of that which we are guarding, under oath.

Chivalry compels him to accept the least attractive option. They are at their heart protectors.

The Heart it is, then, my lady.

"Tch."

It's a soft, subtle sound, one of frustration. Bedivere doesn't like feeling as though he's been backed into a corner, but that's exactly what this situation is starting to look like. Did Loros know that he could manoeuvre them into accepting guardianship, knowing how they operated? Chivalry makes them predictable, and he finds that he's been outwitted, when he had been the one trying to stay ahead of the curve.

But that's not surprising. Indeed, he'd expected that out of Loros. He's ancient, probably, and Bedivere's reasonably certain that he probably hasn't been human for a very long time. If, indeed, he ever was.

On the other hand, it's also a tactical advantage. Even if they're bound to guard it, to keep it secret from those Loros might consider enemies... if they're ever called on to end him, that's one piece out of seven that likely has the power to do that.

Bedivere's mouth twists into a hard line, but eventually, he sighs, bowing his head.

"We will keep safe the shard of your Heart, Wizard. Know that I do not do this lightly. Any of this." He lifts his eyes to Loros, expression dubious. "But you have my thanks. I would not do this if it were not very important, indeed, to me..."

Perhaps the Wizard might see the way his hand tightens, almost imperceptibly, over Arturia's hand.

Very important indeed.

Loros (303) has posed:
"I know. It is, in fact, why I let you Choose your Price. It is not in my nature to do anything without a Price, but at least you can say you picked up your burden with open eyes."

Leaning forward he sets the fragment of his heart on the table between the three of them and settles back again. Turning his attention to Saber, he sighs. "A force of nature? Once, perhaps, I would have accepted that as my due, but no. Prideful I may still be, but I no longer indulge in hubris. I have seen -real- forces of Nature and of the Unnatural, and to them I am still what I was born - a man. A dangerous one who knows too much, but still mortal enough."

In truth, Loros did not know the rules of their Chivalry well enough to expect them to take up the guardianship - he meant the Choice to be a very real one. Steepling his fingers he turns his attention back to Bedivere. "Be ready, Student. When I have had a chance to prepare, and to make a safe space, I will send you an invitation to my tent. I'd invite you to the Bastion, but I think neither you nor your Lady are prepared to step willingly into my place of power."

Saber (346) has posed:
Arturia didn't so much as see the frustrated twitch as sense it; not something a Master-Servant pair was capable of, but the bonds the two shared went much further than that. The command seals, much more intricate than was standard, were proof enough of that. In part, that was because she felt that frustration, as well. While this may very well have been a true Choice, neither of the knights necessarily knew that. But even if hey had, acting as guardians was their calling as knights, regardless of who or what. Many of the Virtues of chivalry coalesced into that singular task; to protect. Indeed, that was the singular purpose of their swords, wielded strictly in defence.

Perhaps he wizard had truly intended for it to be a choice, as the heart-shard was as much of a burden as a favour. But it was a burden they were tasked with, regardless of whether it was taken in exchange for tutelage. Had Loros merely asked, they would have had no choice but to accept, regardless of an even exchange.

But then, few followed the code of chivalry precisely because it was a difficult and oft-times thankless path. Which was why Arturia clung to it all the more; if not her, then who? It had been the same reasoning which led her to accepting her heritage, claiming Caliburn, and ascending the throne of Britain as King Arthur. It was the only thing she could ever be...and, by extension, the only thing her knights could ever be.

Flaxen eyebrows raised in surprise. Strangely, that unexpected admission of humility was not something she had ever heard even from Merlin. It might have been that her mercurial, mischievous tutor had not thought of himself in those terms, either. Yet, he had never admited as much, perhaps to keep everyone guessing. Still, it was unexpected.

Saber nodded in agreement with Bedivere's decision. "It is as my lord says," she likewise swore. "Upon our chivalry, we shall undertake this guardianship."

But perhaps the most valuable thing the wizard might have found was the affirmation of what he had sensed upon his first visit to Dún Reáltaí, that there was a very powerful leverage against the lord and lady there. One against which both were utterly powerless...but it was, like all others, a double-edged sword.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"And in turn, it is not in my nature to do things without open eyes." Bedivere's mouth twists, but his smile is bleak. "You could have entrapped me into a disadvantageous bargain if that was your wish, yet you did not. I thank you for that, Master Loros."

Violet eyes drop to watch the fragment of heart. There's no mistaking the wariness in his regard, as though at any moment he expected the thing to leap up and bite him, snaggle-teeth and all. Absurd. It's only a hear, isn't it? Or is it? He has no way of knowing what this thing truly is, beyond its seeming and the description of it already given.

His gaze lifts marginally. When he hears Arturia affirming his choice, they close.

Forgive me. I only hope that I have not condemned us both.

When they finally open again they settle on Loros. While he seems unafraid, the fleeting smile he shows is obviously forced and uneasy.

"I will be ready, then. But if you wish for me to be a worthy pupil, Wizard, than I will take my leave, and see that I do not catch ill after the wind and weather." He rises to his feet, with a faint squeeze of Arturia's hand. Once he's straightens, he draws himself up to his full height, and he bows formally. "Thank you for the opportunity, though I suspect that by its end I will be cursing you, rather than thanking you. Still. It is what it is out of necessity."

He does so hate showing weakness... but in this case, he has no choice. Loros has all the leverage he might possibly need over this fair knight. The Wizard likely knows that. Love is a double-edged sword that way, isn't it?

"I will prepare myself, in turn, and await your summons. But for the moment, it would be better that I rest." Turning, he glances back at Loros from the corner of his eye, and the fragment of heart left on the table, frowning. Reaching for the hem of his sweater, he neatly tears off a strip of cloth, binding the orb until its subtle, planed surface isn't even visible any more. Once that's done, he ties off the cloth, and clutches it in one hand. "It will be made safe. But for its sake and yours, I will not tell you where it is, or in what manner I choose to guard it. If you do not know, neither do your detractors."

He has an inkling of what to do with it already.

Turning, he makes his way to the staircase, but stops one last time.

"Mind the weather outside, Master Loros," he adds, tossing his chin to indicate the front door. "The wind is fierce tonight."

With that, he'll make his way along, slowly; though he keeps to one side of the staircase, as though expecting Arturia to fall into step beside him – he doubts she'll let him go alone. Or without a scolding for tromping around in such foul weather.

As to their guest, though... ironically, Bedivere trusts him not to threaten the hall, unsupervised. There's nothing here Loros could possibly want. The rusted greatsword over the hearth? The moth-eaten scraps that hang from the ceilings; once-bright banners, now unrecognisable strips of tattery cloth? No, the Wizard adheres to the old ways, and so he trusts him to see himself out without fault.

For now, he'll have to sleep, and consider what to do with this small, yet immeasurably weighty, burden... and of course prepare himself for what he's going to assume will be one of the most grueling trials of his life.