oddsandends | 38th ♫ | No time like the present! Let's set out on a quest!

[Yes. She's passed all that's past. She's faced the whole of her life once more and still stands--and what's more, Time has witnessed. Time understands what and who Arturia Pendragon is.

Only one figure remains on the stairs winding above her, and when he drops lightly to the platform, his black cloak billows around him, revealing winking stars within the lining. He alights and they vanish once more within the cloak's folds, shrouding him in lightless night.

But they're nothing compared to the naked sword in his hand, bright and perfectly made, almost shining or singing to recognize her. The boy looks down on it, face unreadable, and raises it.

But it's only to hold it out, hilt in one hand and flat balanced in the other, to her. The rising disk slides to a stop. The tower is silent.]

Guess this is yours.

[He watches the reflection of her face in the steel instead of meeting her eyes.]

[Arturia is taken with the image for a moment, though with her fatigue it only shows in her eyes. She sheaths Carnwennan and in an instant her cloak drops its dramatic flair, now just blue and velveteen like a King's cape. Arturia takes a few steps toward Dave, but she does not immediately reach for the sword.

When she is before him she drops to a knee and bows her head humbly, knuckles bracing the ground. Though her chest still heaves a bit as she calms her breathing, she attempts to direct it into something less graceless.]

My dearest thanks for protecting her. I am in your debt.

[The bow takes him entirely off-guard, sword jumping minutely in his hands as, startled, color rises to his face.]

Uh.

[He's never been thanked before. He stares at Arturia, lost for words, before lifting the sword a little more. Come on, take it.]

It's. Literally what I'm here for. Whole... purpose in life, form and function, the destined shebang. Um. You can fill out a customer satisfaction survey at the end of your visit, we're always looking for ways to improve our service.

[?//?/??]

Y...you can take your sword now.

[Arturia looks up for just a few seconds, eyes a bit more childish than before as she observes Dave's reaction-- and then, as though recognizing it as a bit embarrassing, clears her throat and lowers her head again. Quickly, eyes off, don't make him uncomfortable.

...Except what he says next throws her off. What a strange bird. She looks up again with those same curious, almost wonder-filled eyes on Dave and reaches out her hand to take the sword by the hilt.]

[Yup. It's a sword.

It's her sword, and they both know it--all three of them know it, the sword somehow signaling its gladness to be united with its lord at least, though no sound comes from it, no light, just a strange, sourceless happiness.

As Arturia takes her sword, the boy's hands fall away empty, and the ticking clock that lives on in the true clocktower strikes the hour.

BONG.

BONG.

All around them, the winding stairs begin to turn to rust and sand, the dregs of time. Even the marble disk beneath their feet starts to erode, starting at the edges and working its way in. Arturia's sword shows her a way out: a window, above, just below the face of the clock. A way back out into the world.

The boy doesn't move, just stands there sadly as his world wears away. The sword has come to its rightful hand. The destined shebang is over.

Bong.

Bong.]

[For all of a moment, as Arturia absorbs the path ahead of her, it would seem as though Dave is forgotten. Her sword feels right in her hands and eager to guide her away, but Arturia hesitates. Something doesn't feel wholly finished.

Arturia turns her head to the boy to address him once more.]

Come.

[She orders.]

[He looks up, surprised.]

Uh. What?

It's your choice.

[She clarifies, and then makes it all the more confusing--]

If you wish to follow, we take our leave now.

[He shifts his weight nervously.

Bong.]

I. Can leave?

[This appears to be news.]

[Arturia extends her free hand to him from under her cloak, palm turned upward.]

You are the one who decides that.

[Bemused, like he isn't even sure what he's doing, his own pale, slender hand comes out from the folds of his cloak and touches hers.

OKAY CAN WE GO NOW? is the sentiment more or less expressed by Arturia's sword, a clear, urgent alarm, as the final strike for dawn sounds.

BONGGGggggg...]

[Clear or not, the moment his hand touches hers, the choice is made. She grips his arm and tugs him along, more of a guide than dragging, fingers locked and forearms braced against each other's. With this support she flees for dawn, her sword guiding the way for their hurried flurry of footsteps.

It's strange; she isn't sure this is the right decision, but there's something about this boy. Something worth bringing with her to the light, even if it means passing through that light with barely a moment to spare.]

[There's a strange resistance only at the first tug--not his, he doesn't pull back, but it's as if something that was holding his feet in place gives way once Arturia seals his choice.

The tower fades all around them as they run, not into the dilapidated interior of the clocktower Arturia entered, but into darkness, and as they finally near the top of the stairs it's the boy who takes the lead, guiding Arturia's way as sure-footed as if it weren't dark at all. The patch of light that is the window is pale, the first stirrings of dawn and there's no glass in the way as the boy hops onto the sill and pulls Arturia through--]

Come on!

[And they're out.

It's day.

It's a short tumble to the ground--for all that, the window was on the first floor--and the boy lies in the dirt on his face, not even daring to breathe as the beginnings of sunlight touch his pale hair.

The sword makes its satisfaction known and then quiets, content, ready to come to Arturia's aid when she calls.]

[Arturia is surprised by the sudden lead but follows him confidently, until-- until they're in the air, and Arturia's sword seems much more happy about it than she is. Neither of them hit the ground with much grace, but Arturia is at the very least quick to (magically) sheath her sword and get on her hands and knees rather than, say, on her face. She looks to Dave and raises a brow, because, well--]

Are you alright?

[It takes him a moment to gather himself enough to answer.]

Totally. Just. Making friends with the ground, here. I'm gonna acquaint the fuck out of myself with this fine, loamy soil. Gonna play patty-cakes with the earth and tell it all my deepest secrets. I'm down to get me the dirt on dirt.

[He's. Fine? Sure. He doesn't make any move to get up.]

I... See.

[She doesn't. But, uh, her magic teacher was similarly weird, so. he's probably fine? Maybe it's a crow thing.]

Are you... injured?

[Maybe that's a better question.]

...Nah.

[He finally stirs, turning his head first, then making sure his feet still work. Slowly, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, face stunned blank. He looks back at the old clocktower, somehow smaller in his cloak and black clothes out in the blossoming light of day.]

...

I'm outside.

Have you never been before?

[Arturia asks, watching the way he moves. He is a bit birdlike in how he takes things in, isn't he? Fixing up her armor and cloak, Arturia continues to observe.]

When I was a brainless corvid, yeah.

[Without further ceremony, he gets to his feet and shakes his cloak out, still staring at everything around him like he can't believe it's real. After a moment, he walks over to the tower wall and touches it, then jerks back when the rough stone proves solid.]

Hopy shit.

[As Arturia's mare worriedly trots up to her and gets a welcoming pat, Arturia gets to her feet and watches Dave.

...By the gods, is he strange. But it must be so for tower-locked guardians.]

Well, it is no longer limited to you. You are free to leave as you wish.

[She waits, though, patting the horse's neck.]

[He glances quickly at her, as if startled, then slowly lets his hands fall to his sides once more.]

Guess there's not much worth wasting time on here, huh.

That's up to you.

[She mounts her horse then-- which, despite the grace of all her other movements, still seems somewhat awkward considering her small stature-- and takes its reigns, taking a few paces toward him. Her posture, though proper, is still somewhat relaxed, and she leads the horse to turn to the side so she can look at Dave properly.

Tell me-- what is your name?

[He's not afraid of the horse, but he doesn't move towards it, just staying where he is with his unreadable face. His hand brushes the inside of his cloak, where the night sky lies hidden.]

Dave Strider.

[He answers quietly.]

That's what she named me.

[A nod.]

Then rise, Dave Strider, and if you wish, join me.

There is danger ahead no matter your choice.

[A solemn warning, but not a distinctly unkind one. She's a bit robotic, though...]

[Blink. After a moment, he tilts his head.]

Join you and go. Where.

[I mean, speaking of robotic.]

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