Scene #4743: A Fair Bit of Weather

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Saber	Summer in Dun Realtai had given way to the chill of autumn, though there were the periods of warm, dry conditions and clear skies. Such days were eagerly welcomed by the populace, when much of the harvests had already been gathered and stored, permitting a short respite in their busy lives. Children played games in the now-dormant fields while the adults looked on with cider or summer ale in hand. It was not the festival of a few days prior, but rather a time to enjoy the weather before the winter drove them into their now comfortable homes. It was easy for even the perpetual workaholics to stop and take advantage of it. One such workaholic was the lady of the land, the once-king of Britain entrusted by Dun Realtai's winter guardian with care of the land and its people. She and the lord she in turn had appointed had taken to the task with vigour, their ceaseless dedication born from both their natural need to work as well as a wish to help the downtrodden denizens of the ravaged land. Even when much of the work had already been accomplished and the pair reassured the villagers that they were more than welcome to break from their work, they would more often than not be found still attending to their own. It would hardly do for them to set poor examples for their charges when the defining principle of their rule was that leaders were not above the common folk. Yet, this day was as close to a holiday as a day could be without being an annual festival, and there was nothing in the way of work which could not be accomplished once the pleasant weather had passed. Thus, Arturia Pendragon rested in what was a casual manner for the always-proper King of Knights, seated beneath a tree situated between the village proper and field bathed in gold, a wodden flagon of mulled cider in one hand and a book in the other. She was dressed in modern clothing today, in a grey cable-knit turtleneck sweater, blue jeans, and black leather boots, her heair bound up in its customary braid-encircled bun. The feyhound who had become a constant companion for the lord and lady lay curled up at her feet, and to judge by his posture seemed to be similarly resting casually. Perhaps even napping, if such a creature even needed to. It might have been an affectation, but for all the world the ethereal hound was little different than a normal greyhound but for the obviously otherworldly features.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Samhain had been a festival to remember. It had been rather perfect, in fact. It wasn't a holiday they had at home, but it almost seemed like it could have been with mead and cider, a bonfire, and the spirits lingering close. A very pleasant day indeed, and it seems another one today. Inga had been surprised to find that it was fairly warm outside when she left her cottage and headed down to the village to make her rounds, her usual basket packed with the usual remedies and treatments some of the people in the village needed on a weekly basis. Turned out to be a good day for it, as most people are enjoying the weather and relaxing before winter truly grips the land. Inga has her cloak slung over the saddle behind her as she walks Jodis toward where Saber was relaxing with Kepas. Beneath she wears a blue sweater with winding cables and a long grey skirt, still managing to look old fashioned despite wearing more modern attire. She smiles, surprised to see Saber there. "Good day Lady!" she calls, raising a hand to wave.
Sir Bedivere	Now that the fields are fallow, they make excellent practise arenas for activities that need a lot of space. Practising with throwing spears is a good example, and that's what the land's steward is doing today. Specifically, he's practising his spear-throwing from horseback, with a number of wooden targets set up. Some are high, some are low; some are big, some are small, and they're all varied to provide challenge. Bedivere has had his familiar armour augmented with fur lining in preparation for winter weather, and his cloak billows behind him as he thunders down on the range. The hooves of the Black One are the size of dinner plates, and they kick up bits of straw and sod; to go by how his head is thrown up and his tail flung behind him like a banner, he's enjoying this wild ride. The knight moves with practised ease, a case of javelins buckled to his hip. He retrieves them one at a time, flinging them with impressive strength of arm... and impressive accuracy, considering how fast he and his steed charge past the targets. A javelin is left quivering in his wake inches from the centre of the target. Gradually, the Black One slows to a rolling canter, and finally a slow trot; fallen leaves are kicked up as he slows to a halt, squinting to gauge his work. <This one thinks you are out of practise,> the Black One points out primly, prancing in place and tossing his head. He wears a halter (grudgingly) but no bit (because screw that noise, having iron in his mouth); he wears a blanket and saddle, but they're minimalistic even by the standards of Bedivere's time, made more so his armour isn't chafing the creature than for the rider's comfort. Bedivere's grimace suggests he's thinking something along the lines of 'frigging faeries, why do these things keep flocking to me.' So he does what comes naturally, and ignores the faerie's jibe, glancing up toward the tree where Saber's reading her book. Everything seems to be fine, and in fact that looks like Inga arriving, so he turns the Black One about and wrenches the javelin from the target before starting back over toward the tree. "Pride is a sin," Bedivere points out. "I think mayhap you had a little too much attention yesterday." <Nonsense. This one hails from the hollow hills of Eire and--> "Shush," Bedivere says, serenely. For once, the pooka actually shuts up, ears flicking disdainfully as they return to the others. "Good afternoon, Wisewoman; my lady." Bedivere offers a nod to each, a half-smile for the former, and an actual smile for the latter. "A fine afternoon for a ride--" The Black One snorts and Bedivere ignores him, "--and just as fine for a day off from one's duties. What brings you up the hill, Wisewoman...?"
Saber	Saber looked up from her book, smiling slightly before closing it, setting it aside, and greeting the wisewoman. "Greetings, Lady Inga," she replied. "I hope the day finds you well, particularly with the pleasant weather." It would be a waste of a perfectly good Indian summer for their usual tasks, but injuries and illnesses were an unfortunate reality even with the subtle modernisation Dun Realtai had undergone. She hoped that there weren't too many -- ideally none at all -- that demanded Inga's attention. Even the medical staff needed the occasional break, especially on a day with agreeable weather. Her smile became subtly brighter at Bedivere's arrival. "Good afternoon, my lord," she replied before sea-green eyes flicked to the towering black-haired fae. "And to you as well, Black One." Even if the Tylwyth Teg weren't extremely particular about proper protocol and manners, Arturia was never one to be rude. At least, not unless one was an ancient Mesopotamian king who had enjoyed making her life miserable. "It seemed a waste not to enjoy the day while it lasts." Tomorrow would in all likelihood be cold, wet, and otherwise miserable, though such days were not without their benefits when there were solid and leak-proof rooves overhead, warm hearths, and hot spiced drinks. But the rare fair days were ones to enjoy to the fullest. "Indeed," she mused with a soft chuckle. "It has been quite a while since I have taken the liberty to be truly idle...perhaps I should ride as well if the weather continues later into the day."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga watches Bedivere with some amusement, hands Jodis' reigns resting lightly in her hands. The horse hardly needs much direction. They have an understanding. Jodis carries Inga, Inga gives Jodis all the apples she could possible want. It is a good deal. Inga dismounts, sliding down from the saddle slowly and a little awkwardly, but she manages, before turning back to Arturia. "It does--and it finds most of the villagers well too. Just my usual patients, but even the elderly are feeling better today," she comments with a smile. Inga smiles to Bedivere in full, even if he only has half a smile for her. "Good day Bedivere. Oh, I was just going for a ride after making my rounds in the village. I am pleased to report everyone is doing fairly well," she informs him. "It is good to get some sun while there are still a good number of hours in the day." "And greetings to you, Black One," she says, reaching into her pouch for an apple. She tries to always have a few on hand. Of course, if Black One gets and apple Jodis must as well. "You should my lady. Tomorrow will not be so pleasant," she says, sure of it.
Sir Bedivere	The pooka snorts, breath fogging in the chilly air, but he does toss his head up and perk his ears as though in greeting to Saber. He at least acknowledges her entanglement with the Otherworld. One imagines it's the only reason why he's polite to her. <Greetings.> There's a hint of smugness in the pooka's tone, and he carries his head and tail high with each step. Apparently the dry weather has him in high spirits. Bedivere shifts on the minimalistic saddle, resting the javelin against his leg. "Aye. I won't have an opportunity to ride, tomorrow, or the next day. There's a storm coming. The wind rises, and the clouds always race across the plains quickly, here." "You should, my lady." The silver-haired knight's eyes are practically sparkling, at that. "I would enjoy nothing more than a ride across the plains with you. Ah, Lord God, I forgot what it was to feel the wind in my face like that." <Do try to contain your enthusiasm.> "Hush. You enjoy it as much as I." <Well, when you put it that way...> The pooka flicks an ear as though indifferently. "You are getting on well with Jodis, then, I trust?" Bedivere's gaze turns to Inga's horse, with the delicate face and large eyes; the silky mane and dappled coat. A fine beast, and one to command a king's ransom had she been to the horse fair in Camelot. "She certainly looks healthy."
Saber	The smile never left the petite swordswoman's face as she answered. "That is most welcome news. It would seem this weather was much-needed for more reasons than a simple respite...though that too is welcome." After the hell the people -- not to mention Alaia and the other native fae -- had been forced to endure while the previous lord had unleashed tainted magic on the land, mild weather and a day of rest were more than deserved. Particularly so for the elderly and infirm. Alas, the next day would not be as pleasant, if the previous years were anything to go by. "Quite so," she agreed. Perhaps she should take one of the new mares and do a little exploring. "It will rain, I should think...and bring with it a chill unsuitable for spending time outside." While rudeness typically rubbed Saber the wrong way, she seemed to tolerate it to a certain extent with the fae. In truth, it was not really fair to hold them to the human standards she held even Servants to, as they had once been human themselves. But the fae existed outside the World in a way even beings worshipped as deities were not, and their perspectives were wholly different. But even then, the Black One wasn't especially rude. Arrogant by human standards, perhaps, but hardly infuriating. "I trust the days have been agreeable for you, as well?" Considering just how much fun he'd obviously had on the ancient eve of a new year the Britons had observed before the coming of the Romans, that seemed a safe enough question. As Bedivere observed the same weather patterns as she had, Arturia nodded with a faint smile. Truly they had more than adapted to their new environment and lifestyle. "I believe that I shall, then. Perhaps after lunch." The knight-king suppressed another smile at the pooka's feigned indifference. "Ah, well. If you find yourself at a loss for other entertainment, perhaps you could join us?" she offered in a way that the Black One wouldn't be forced to sacrifice his pride.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga reaching up to smooth Jodis' mane, smiling softly. She is a beautiful creature. "She is doing quite well. I have a nice stall build for her now and she seems comfortable there. I will see how she does when it truly gets cold, but it should be warm enough. It must be quite convenient to be able to shapeshift," she says with a smile toward Black One. He'll be turning into a cat and curling up beside the hearth before long. "Well, we could indeed go for a ride I think...surely you could ride with Bedivere upon Black One for the time being," she suggests with a too-innocent smile. Were they comfortable enough with their relationship for such just yet, she wonders? And would Black One consent?
Sir Bedivere	Thankfully, the troubled history of Dun Realtai is now years past, and neither the people nor their steward seem too inclined to dwell on it overmuch. It's just a nice autumn day like anywhere else in the multiverse, as long as you don't go too far past the mountains. (Then, beyond the ranges, it's just snow. Forever.) "Take any horse you please, my lady. I have no specific plans for any of them in particular." Bedivere waves a hand, as the Black One looks up to watch a tree losing the last of its leaves, feigning indifference. At least, until he's addressed. The Black One turns his head and tilts it at the same time, ears flopping a bit as he regards Arturia. <Well enough. This one has been in worse places.> Much worse, probably; he has scars, even if they can't be seen by mortal eyes. "Good. I look forward to it." <Of course this one will,> the Black One scoffs, to Arturia. <There is no finer steed than a pooka. Those mortal nags cannot compare.> Not even Jodis, descended of ancient desert blood. "Is that so? Good, good. If ever you require better lodgings, however, do not hesitate to stable her with the others, on the low plain. I am having the stables reinforced to withstand the snow that will inevitably fall." He glances over his shoulder, to the distant structures in the southern fields. "I suspect they will be buried for some of the winter, and we will have to remain vigilant about digging out the doors." Shifting in the saddle, Bedivere leans over. "What are you reading, my lady...?" The Black One, meanwhile, stares at Inga. His stare is pretty inexpressive but she might still get the impression of a droll look that just says, 'really?' <This one can carry up to three. The Once and Future King weighs no more than a leaf, and the Left Hand is hardly more.> Hmph.