When Myria Met Saber
Who: Myria, Saber
Where: Church of the New Dawn, Militarized Zone - Northwestern Warzone
When: 14 September
What: A goddess meets a king. Apparently, one with a familiar name...
It is an awfully busy scene. Crowded, no--There weren't very *many* people here, admittedly. Perhaps just shy of a dozen. But that little fact did not make the scene any less *busy*, for those who were here were those easiest to call to such a task: Those who enthusiascially answered the call for volunteerism and charity, those who had no qualms with putting in a few hours of hard work clearing out the various chunks of debris that still littered the grounds around the old but lovely church, and the shattered clutter of what remained within.
It was a small group. But all important things start such, and all worthy things grow.
For now, they were mostly focusing on clearing out the grounds outside the church--The old gardens, the old lawn--which were now pocked with remains from the neigh-endless battles at the border of the Militarized Zone. Everything from broken glass to great hunks of shattered concrete still laid scattered here, though there was certainly still *progress*.
And throughout those working here drifts a tall and slender figure, a woman who looked... Well, a *bit* less lovely for the fact her short-sleeved blouse was stained with dust, and her ankle-long skirt had grass stains at the knees. But no amount of hard work could make her look less out of place (and, of course, goodness forbid what one might think if they could the *magic* about her. No matter.) But if she seems out of place, she seems oblivious to it, for this golden-haired woman weaves between the crowds with nothing but gentle smiles for everyone, as she plainly directs the work. Gesturing here, pondering this. And always, always busy.
Well, it did bear repeating: All important things started small, and clearing a garden was still a worthy task.
Among those who had caught wind of the need for volunteers to help restore the church was a deceptively fragile-seeming young girl with an expressionless mien. Nearly everything about her outward appearance suggested that she was incapable of lifting more than a few pounds, though her tiny body likewise hinted at a nimbleness and fleetness of foot. Anyone who laid eyes on her might have suspected she was an Olympic gymnast, no older than fifteen years of age. However, anyone with even a slight gift in the arts of magic would immediately sense that the most recent volunteer to answer the call was much more than she appeared to be.
In fact, to anyone with the slightest ability to follow the ebb and flow of the world's magical energies, the young girl would have been at once a maelstrom of such energy and yet an irresistible vacuum for such energies. Moreover, while she was not dead, she was neither wholly alive -- as if she walked the line between the living and the dead, or was simply an astral projection of someone still living. But even this belied the raw strength she possessed, able to wield a heavy sword as if it weighed no more than a feather. She employed that strength even now, channelling prana into her arms to help lift rubble out of pathways. Yet, she was careful; the girl positioned herself to make it seem to others that those who appeared stronger were bearing most of the weight.
The woman known as the King of Knights was far from tired, and her reserves of prana were far from depleted, yet she stopped to rest. She would arouse too much suspicion if she simply continued to work, and the Thermos of tea that her Master had packed for her promised excellent rose-flavoured tea.
Well, of all the things an Endless might or might not be, they were *not* oblivious to the great tide of magic that cuts through the world. And when the, ah, fifteen-year-old girl and shown up and offered her assistance, Myria had turned, wide-eyed and a little taken aback, at the magic in the air. A surprise that faded immediately to a sweet smile and a gracious thank-you for dropping by, and an invitation to help with any of the too-long list of things that needed to be cleared. Surely, just surprise that someone so young would volunteer, right? The golden-haired organizer certainly did not pay her any special attention otherwise, other than the same occasional and gentle guidance she gave everyone as she wove her way through the group.
But it was a curiosity. And if anything might lure Myria from her oh-so-important goal of restoring herself a church, then the aura of power, of strength, that haloed around an unnatural soul... Well, hopefully one could forgive her the curiosity.
She approaches on light and airy steps. And then, quite as soon as she is in arm's reach, pats the young-looking girl on the head.
"You are not working yourself too hard, are you, dear?" Myria asks, her voice muted but oh-so-kind. "Though I cannot say how happy I am for someone like you to be offering me your help," She says, because presumably 'someone like you' could mean age, and not whatever else this woman feels like. "There are certainly other things to clean up if you think you might tire yourself out carrying all these things out of the garden."
Kind words, hidden curiosity. It does not matter that Myria is an absolute font of barely muted magic herself, a constant low-level hum of trembling power that, no matter how she might mute it in this human form, could only be lowered to a hum, and never silenced.
Though Saber harboured something of a complex regarding her eternal youthful appearance, she was nothing if not a pragmatist. The fact that she was, essentially, trapped in the 'body' of a fifteen-year-old had numerous advantages. Not only did it expertly hide her identity -- something she was reluctant to disclose even where secrecy was unnecessary -- but it likewise caused some enemies to underestimate her in battle. And so she was forced to admit that Avalon's powerful healing with its side-effect of anti-aging was ultimately advantageous.
Moreover, the woman meant no harm in it.
What concerned her, on the other hand, was the beacon of magical energy that a Servant could not ignore even if he tried. It should not have been surprising -- the multi-verse boasted many such beings from different worlds. And for the denizens of many such worlds, magic was commonly accepted and understood. Still, Saber considered, would this woman be able to sense that the Servant was not, in fact, human?
Keeping her face in its flawless neutral expression in spite of her inner musings, Saber shook her head faintly. The loose wisps of pale hair swayed slightly with her movement, and the sea-green eyes closed momentarily. "I am not, but I thank you for your concern. It is the very least I can do."
But her words were curious, indeed. Perhaps she could see the petite blonde for the vessel of prana that she was, just as Saber could easily see it in the other woman.
"Then I'm very glad to hear that. Everyone has been working so very hard--I'd be heartbroken if anyone pushed themselves too hard. But now that I've said that, you'll be careful, won't you? Not to push yourself too hard, and to tell me if you would rather do something else?"
It really did not matter whether or not this young lady was, in fact, a young lady at all. Myria would hav said just the same if this strange volunteer was middle-aged or built two tons strong. Not, of course, that the knight could have known that.
But Myria settles down in a graceful settle of skirts all the same, right beside the 'young' lady, with those kind words apparently excuse enough to open a conversation. Even if, oddly, she is quiet at first. Her pale blue eyes look out over the church grounds with silent fascination, watching the volunteers as they work--Most boisterously, yelling this or that across the yard, or talking happilly while they worked. It was beautiful, truly. Important. Signs of people with very worthy souls.
But it could not be helped if Myria was actually musing about the odd flavor of magic beside her. How odd, really. A thousand different types of magic in this Multiverse, all so unique and strange. And yet something seemed slightly familiar about this brand of power? How odd.
"It will be beautiful, don't you think?" Myria asks, finally, as if that was all she had been thinking of. "Once everything is restored, it will be incredible. I just hope it can become something worthy of that: A beacon of hope in a dreary land. But that people have already come to help is, I think, a wonderful sign."
Little more than a year ago, Saber would have looked at Myria in astonishment; she was a Servant, and as such was little more than a tool to win the Holy Grail. Her well-being had only been important insofar as being able to defeat all other Servants. However, since arriving in the multi-verse and entering into a contract with Sakura, she had grown somewhat accustomed to her new Master's fretting. It took a concerted effort to reassure the girl that she was all right, really. The concern of others was not so unusual, especially when she was not seen as simply a temporary weapon.
"I will be careful."
The last question, however, was a little puzzling. Her answer is matter-of-fact, yet it carries with it the hint of nobility that was necessary for her reign. "Nevertheless, I would not be here if I did not choose to be. There is a need here, and so I will lend my strength."
She sipped thoughtfully at her tea, pausing to trail a steady gaze up the spires. A rare, faint smile graced her lips. "Indeed."
An unguarded moment slips through her careful mask, revealing the inner fires that lay beneath that façade. "It will be what the people make of it, through their own strength."
And at the young lady's assurances, Myria turns her attention finally away from the busy grounds to offer Saber a smile: Thoughtful, somewhat-sad, sincere. Of course, if the power that rested in the little Servant was any sign, there was no reason for Myria's concern at all. And yet, couldn't Myria know that and *still* fuss? There was never a *bad* time to be concerned, after all.
Besides, warm words and well-wishes were what normally earned her what she wanted: Conversation. The chance to learn more about some one. An opportunity.
She listens in perfect silence, absolutely attentive, through the young woman's responses. And after Saber's eyes wander up toward the spires and, despite her smile, answers with only that... Well, Myria cannot help herself. "Oh, you are very efficient with your words, aren't you? Few, but very well chosen. That's very charming." As if, really, Saber herself were somehow more interesting than her responses. But just a small tilt of her head. "But I'm glad all the same. You're welcome to help as much as you'd like, as long as you'd like, of course. I'm very grateful."
But Saber's last words are... special. The small shift in her eyes, even if her strong voice never changes. It makes Myria pause. "...Oh. I do hope that will be true. The most beautiful things people have are those that they forge through their own strengths--Of faith, of truth, of conviction. If but this church could be one of them."
But really, her curiosity right *now* is not quite on the church. So the woman hooks her hands around her knees. Leans forward just a touch. And watches Saber then, with absolutely curious eyes. "You have much hidden strength yourself, my dear. Would you mind telling me your name?"
The concern the woman displayed might have once put Saber on edge, cautious as the tiny king tended to be. But the Grail War was behind her even before she had the chance to realise her dream, and while she still harboured the prayer of saving her kingdom within her heart, Saber resolved that she would find another means. Yet with Heaven's Feel a fading memory, the King of Knights had little reason to be quite as guarded as she had been. Those who were friendly were no longer held at proverbial arms-length, and even though she remained as reserved as she always was, it had been due to Saber's private nature as opposed to a Servant's caution. Anyone who displayed more concern than was customary was simply met with a slight ghost of a smile.
In fact, she seemed to be smiling more often than she had when she first fell through the Gate, and was far more conversant. Perhaps there was something of her friends' doing in that.
But if she was more interesting to Myria than what Saber was regarding, it escaped the petite knight's notice. As far as she was concerned, the golden-haired woman was simply making an observation. "Hm. Perhaps that is so. I had never thought of it that way."
She nodded her head, a slight yet firm movement. "I believe it will be. The people here know peace, and even the invasions are not an everyday occurrence."
The jade eyes become distant for a moment, seeing into her past across a thousand years. She would have given anything to save her people from the constant threat of invaders from across the sea; already, she had given everything she could to make their lives as peaceful as possible. Though the Hub was hardly the Utopia she sought to bring to her people, it was far more than what she could accomplish with her tiny strength. "They do not starve and want for little. They can lend their strength to what they believe in. And what they build will be greater than before."
The moment passes, and the stoic mask reasserts itself. But this time, she does not fail to notice the woman's curiosity. Puzzling, but perhaps she could sense her magical nature, after all. "I am called Saber."
'Perhaps that is so.' Oh, yes, Saber might just muse mildly over an observation like that, but how silly that it just made what Myria said all the more true: She truly did chose her words with the sort of solemn, spartan intention that, in other times and places was surely a sign of nobility--Here and now, perhaps, in the early autumn warmth of a fading day, it more just makes the out-of-place young woman seem far more serious than someone who looked so young ever should have. It amuses the woman of the church. She smiles, softly, at it, with a barely audible, "See?"
But, well, she was clearly not a normal young lady in any sense. Not that it seemed to matter--Even if Myria could see that magic about her as clear as day, even if Myria all but /said/ that she saw it in her last line, it does not in the least bit stop her overly sweet and casual responses.
"Oh, do you think so? That's very nice of you to say. But... Hmm." A thoughtful noise, a mild glance off to the side. "Well, people may not want for food or comfort or money in this odd little Hub, but that hardly means they have the strength to survive, or to live well. But that is why I am here, restoring this place at all. There is always a need. A very /desperate/ need, for people always need something far more important. Peace for the soul is quite different."
But, well. Grand declarations and vague handwaving at Giant Goals aside, Myria *did* ask the young woman's name. Out of curiosity, really, because Myria did so love to meet people. But she hadn't really expected to hear *that* name. Because, against all logic, Myria had barely been unlocked for a matter of weeks, and she had already *heard* that name. Repeatedly.
".../Oh!/" A gasp of sincere surprise, as Myria turns to look, really *look* at Saber then, staring at her with a wholly different sort of curiosity. "Oh, /Saber/... That's a very unusual name. Oh, but I have /heard/ of a Saber, and... Well, you might not be her, of course, perhaps it is not as unusual a name as I think. But." And a tilt of her head, and a bright little smile--Amused. Gossipy-amused. Thinking-something-is-terribly-cute amused. "If you are, of course, you are very much admired."
...well, if Myria had heard it from any of the knight's many friends, it'd be true.
She couldn't disagree, truthfully. From her perspective, the vast majority of the people of the current era had most of their needs met. There was poverty and suffering, but nothing like that which her people had known. Families losing young children to disease or a particularly harsh winter or entire villages starving to death after a brutal famine were tragic but at the same time were unavoidable realities. If she could have brought this level of comfort to Britain, perhaps her rule would not have been the failure she believed it to be. And yet, at times it seemed as if there was an emptiness in the lives of many. Perhaps they searched for some meaning, or perhaps wanted to achieve great things for one reason or another. And there were others who were simply content with their lives, something Saber would have longed for herself had she not buried her personal desires for the sake of her people.
"It is. But I believe such things are something a person must find on his own."
Pale eyebrows raised slightly. She had not anticipated being recognised by name... had she spoken to Agrias or even Sakura? Still, she would not have expected to be spoken of in such a way. "Ah... well, I have met some good and noble people upon my arrival. They too are very much admired," she answered modestly.
On their own? Really. That, too, just earns a small and thoughtful, "Hmmm."
Yes, well, for all her many sins, Myria is not *terribly* preachy. Some small sound of polite disagreement will have to be enough. It was not the time, anyway: There were times to explain how people Needed Guidance, and how they would die without, and on the steps leading up to a battered old church, while the grounds were crowded with volunteers... Was likely not it. Besides. This was fascinating.
"Oh, and you are /modest/, too." Myria almost coos, as she briefly reaches the small distance between them to pat the knight on the back of the hand, "I think I can see a little of why you are spoken of so highly. Well, modesty is a fine trait, as is cherishing your friends, so I wouldn't think to protest. But I am very pleased to meet you in person, all the same, and you're most welcome here whenever you would like."
Of course, if Saber knew *who* spoke endlessly about her to Myria, this would be a far more uncomfortable conversation. As it is, Myria can leave it off with a charming smile, still looking oh-so-terribly amused, before she raises that hand to her own chest and adds, "I am Myria."
An awfully direct introduction, for all she's been chatty otherwise. Perhaps she's just used to that one word meaning so much more.
In some ways, Saber would have agreed; the people had needed a King to protect them from the forces which threatened their kingdom. But Rider had been right: she might not have lead them properly, so focused was she on becoming their saviour, the one to take all their burdens upon herself. She had not so much guided them as tried to save them, only to be repaid with distrust and rebellion. She harboured no resentment at how she had been repaid -- as far as she was concerned, she had earned their enmity for her failure -- but she could not be a tyrant. She had only accepted the mantle of the King of Britain to save her people, not to rule over them. Even as they had cried out for a saviour, their destinies must be their own. That was what bringing Utopia meant: giving them the freedom to shape their own destinies.
There was a slight tilt of her head in what was for the dignified King of Knights a shrug. "Modesty is simply one of the virtues of chivalry," she explained. "It is the only suitable way for me to live."
Indeed, the diminutive swordswoman could not comprehend abandoning her path. She had wavered once and lost something precious to her, but more importantly, the chivalric path was as much a part of her identity as her names. But she bowed respectfully, as her code dictated. "I thank you, then, as I wish to continue to be of service."
Another slight, increasingly less rare smile. "Well-met, Lady Myria. Again, I am pleased to be of service to you."
Strange, really, the small little ways these two might have agreed with each other, if only either had known. But fate did bring strange people together, and introduce them in the oddest ways--Even if neither of the women gathered on the steps of the church might never know, really, that they both once led kingdoms, and lost them, and ached for them, and came to frightfully different conclusions in their wake. ...But, well, that was good enough, because it these were, for now, two perfectly normal-looking women, doing the perfectly normal and banal thing of volunteering their time to restore a building, and such faciful absurdities made no sense at all beneath that veil.
The Multiverse was a very odd place, all the same.
But that left Myria with a rare smile her own--Not sad, not ponderous, not burdened with guilt--just amused and pleased, even if it wasn't obvious /why/ she found this all so delightful. "And chivalry, too. I've not heard anyone speak of chivalry in years and years, outside of fairy tales. But you do mean it, I can tell." Hundreds, likely, though she wasn't going to say that. "You are a very unique young woman, aren't you?"
And with that, she pushes herself back up to her feet, dusting her skirts off lightly. Not that it did much good, considering how a full day at work left the dust too deeply engrained. But with a polite little smile, she adds, with a hint of small reluctance in her voice, "In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you, too. I fear I may have kept you long, anyway--My apologies for my curiosity, dear child. I would love to talk more later, but for now, there's very much work to do." Which could now be done with at least a name and a small /knowing/ of what the odd pocket of mana in the back might be. At least in the smallest of ways.
Though chivalry seemed to be thought of much more highly than what Saber had experienced when she was first summoned to the modern era, it never failed to warm her heart to hear it with her own ears. She may not have agreed with the hero-worship her legend had incurred, but she was quite pleased with how the knightly code was remembered. "Truthfully, there are others here who walk the same path as I. I will admit that I have been very happy to find them."
It was true, wasn't it? Arturia had cast aside her femininity and whatever hopes she had for a normal life in order to come to Britain's rescue, but even then she had been raised as a boy would have been by one of Uther's trusted knights. Even if she had not ascended the throne, she would have probably become a knight in service to the king.
Saber carefully suppressed the tortured expression that threatened to break her mask. She would have been a loyal knight of a worthy king who would have saved her people.
"My life has been most unusual," she admitted cryptically.
Finishing off the remainder of her tea without breaking her regal composure, Saber replaced the Thermos cap and likewise stood. "Indeed. It will take some time, and so the more that is done today, the sooner it will be finished. It was nice to meet you, my lady. I hope that we shall be able to speak again soon."
And with that, the King of Knights returned to her work.
Where: Church of the New Dawn, Militarized Zone - Northwestern Warzone
When: 14 September
What: A goddess meets a king. Apparently, one with a familiar name...
It is an awfully busy scene. Crowded, no--There weren't very *many* people here, admittedly. Perhaps just shy of a dozen. But that little fact did not make the scene any less *busy*, for those who were here were those easiest to call to such a task: Those who enthusiascially answered the call for volunteerism and charity, those who had no qualms with putting in a few hours of hard work clearing out the various chunks of debris that still littered the grounds around the old but lovely church, and the shattered clutter of what remained within.
It was a small group. But all important things start such, and all worthy things grow.
For now, they were mostly focusing on clearing out the grounds outside the church--The old gardens, the old lawn--which were now pocked with remains from the neigh-endless battles at the border of the Militarized Zone. Everything from broken glass to great hunks of shattered concrete still laid scattered here, though there was certainly still *progress*.
And throughout those working here drifts a tall and slender figure, a woman who looked... Well, a *bit* less lovely for the fact her short-sleeved blouse was stained with dust, and her ankle-long skirt had grass stains at the knees. But no amount of hard work could make her look less out of place (and, of course, goodness forbid what one might think if they could the *magic* about her. No matter.) But if she seems out of place, she seems oblivious to it, for this golden-haired woman weaves between the crowds with nothing but gentle smiles for everyone, as she plainly directs the work. Gesturing here, pondering this. And always, always busy.
Well, it did bear repeating: All important things started small, and clearing a garden was still a worthy task.
Among those who had caught wind of the need for volunteers to help restore the church was a deceptively fragile-seeming young girl with an expressionless mien. Nearly everything about her outward appearance suggested that she was incapable of lifting more than a few pounds, though her tiny body likewise hinted at a nimbleness and fleetness of foot. Anyone who laid eyes on her might have suspected she was an Olympic gymnast, no older than fifteen years of age. However, anyone with even a slight gift in the arts of magic would immediately sense that the most recent volunteer to answer the call was much more than she appeared to be.
In fact, to anyone with the slightest ability to follow the ebb and flow of the world's magical energies, the young girl would have been at once a maelstrom of such energy and yet an irresistible vacuum for such energies. Moreover, while she was not dead, she was neither wholly alive -- as if she walked the line between the living and the dead, or was simply an astral projection of someone still living. But even this belied the raw strength she possessed, able to wield a heavy sword as if it weighed no more than a feather. She employed that strength even now, channelling prana into her arms to help lift rubble out of pathways. Yet, she was careful; the girl positioned herself to make it seem to others that those who appeared stronger were bearing most of the weight.
The woman known as the King of Knights was far from tired, and her reserves of prana were far from depleted, yet she stopped to rest. She would arouse too much suspicion if she simply continued to work, and the Thermos of tea that her Master had packed for her promised excellent rose-flavoured tea.
Well, of all the things an Endless might or might not be, they were *not* oblivious to the great tide of magic that cuts through the world. And when the, ah, fifteen-year-old girl and shown up and offered her assistance, Myria had turned, wide-eyed and a little taken aback, at the magic in the air. A surprise that faded immediately to a sweet smile and a gracious thank-you for dropping by, and an invitation to help with any of the too-long list of things that needed to be cleared. Surely, just surprise that someone so young would volunteer, right? The golden-haired organizer certainly did not pay her any special attention otherwise, other than the same occasional and gentle guidance she gave everyone as she wove her way through the group.
But it was a curiosity. And if anything might lure Myria from her oh-so-important goal of restoring herself a church, then the aura of power, of strength, that haloed around an unnatural soul... Well, hopefully one could forgive her the curiosity.
She approaches on light and airy steps. And then, quite as soon as she is in arm's reach, pats the young-looking girl on the head.
"You are not working yourself too hard, are you, dear?" Myria asks, her voice muted but oh-so-kind. "Though I cannot say how happy I am for someone like you to be offering me your help," She says, because presumably 'someone like you' could mean age, and not whatever else this woman feels like. "There are certainly other things to clean up if you think you might tire yourself out carrying all these things out of the garden."
Kind words, hidden curiosity. It does not matter that Myria is an absolute font of barely muted magic herself, a constant low-level hum of trembling power that, no matter how she might mute it in this human form, could only be lowered to a hum, and never silenced.
Though Saber harboured something of a complex regarding her eternal youthful appearance, she was nothing if not a pragmatist. The fact that she was, essentially, trapped in the 'body' of a fifteen-year-old had numerous advantages. Not only did it expertly hide her identity -- something she was reluctant to disclose even where secrecy was unnecessary -- but it likewise caused some enemies to underestimate her in battle. And so she was forced to admit that Avalon's powerful healing with its side-effect of anti-aging was ultimately advantageous.
Moreover, the woman meant no harm in it.
What concerned her, on the other hand, was the beacon of magical energy that a Servant could not ignore even if he tried. It should not have been surprising -- the multi-verse boasted many such beings from different worlds. And for the denizens of many such worlds, magic was commonly accepted and understood. Still, Saber considered, would this woman be able to sense that the Servant was not, in fact, human?
Keeping her face in its flawless neutral expression in spite of her inner musings, Saber shook her head faintly. The loose wisps of pale hair swayed slightly with her movement, and the sea-green eyes closed momentarily. "I am not, but I thank you for your concern. It is the very least I can do."
But her words were curious, indeed. Perhaps she could see the petite blonde for the vessel of prana that she was, just as Saber could easily see it in the other woman.
"Then I'm very glad to hear that. Everyone has been working so very hard--I'd be heartbroken if anyone pushed themselves too hard. But now that I've said that, you'll be careful, won't you? Not to push yourself too hard, and to tell me if you would rather do something else?"
It really did not matter whether or not this young lady was, in fact, a young lady at all. Myria would hav said just the same if this strange volunteer was middle-aged or built two tons strong. Not, of course, that the knight could have known that.
But Myria settles down in a graceful settle of skirts all the same, right beside the 'young' lady, with those kind words apparently excuse enough to open a conversation. Even if, oddly, she is quiet at first. Her pale blue eyes look out over the church grounds with silent fascination, watching the volunteers as they work--Most boisterously, yelling this or that across the yard, or talking happilly while they worked. It was beautiful, truly. Important. Signs of people with very worthy souls.
But it could not be helped if Myria was actually musing about the odd flavor of magic beside her. How odd, really. A thousand different types of magic in this Multiverse, all so unique and strange. And yet something seemed slightly familiar about this brand of power? How odd.
"It will be beautiful, don't you think?" Myria asks, finally, as if that was all she had been thinking of. "Once everything is restored, it will be incredible. I just hope it can become something worthy of that: A beacon of hope in a dreary land. But that people have already come to help is, I think, a wonderful sign."
Little more than a year ago, Saber would have looked at Myria in astonishment; she was a Servant, and as such was little more than a tool to win the Holy Grail. Her well-being had only been important insofar as being able to defeat all other Servants. However, since arriving in the multi-verse and entering into a contract with Sakura, she had grown somewhat accustomed to her new Master's fretting. It took a concerted effort to reassure the girl that she was all right, really. The concern of others was not so unusual, especially when she was not seen as simply a temporary weapon.
"I will be careful."
The last question, however, was a little puzzling. Her answer is matter-of-fact, yet it carries with it the hint of nobility that was necessary for her reign. "Nevertheless, I would not be here if I did not choose to be. There is a need here, and so I will lend my strength."
She sipped thoughtfully at her tea, pausing to trail a steady gaze up the spires. A rare, faint smile graced her lips. "Indeed."
An unguarded moment slips through her careful mask, revealing the inner fires that lay beneath that façade. "It will be what the people make of it, through their own strength."
And at the young lady's assurances, Myria turns her attention finally away from the busy grounds to offer Saber a smile: Thoughtful, somewhat-sad, sincere. Of course, if the power that rested in the little Servant was any sign, there was no reason for Myria's concern at all. And yet, couldn't Myria know that and *still* fuss? There was never a *bad* time to be concerned, after all.
Besides, warm words and well-wishes were what normally earned her what she wanted: Conversation. The chance to learn more about some one. An opportunity.
She listens in perfect silence, absolutely attentive, through the young woman's responses. And after Saber's eyes wander up toward the spires and, despite her smile, answers with only that... Well, Myria cannot help herself. "Oh, you are very efficient with your words, aren't you? Few, but very well chosen. That's very charming." As if, really, Saber herself were somehow more interesting than her responses. But just a small tilt of her head. "But I'm glad all the same. You're welcome to help as much as you'd like, as long as you'd like, of course. I'm very grateful."
But Saber's last words are... special. The small shift in her eyes, even if her strong voice never changes. It makes Myria pause. "...Oh. I do hope that will be true. The most beautiful things people have are those that they forge through their own strengths--Of faith, of truth, of conviction. If but this church could be one of them."
But really, her curiosity right *now* is not quite on the church. So the woman hooks her hands around her knees. Leans forward just a touch. And watches Saber then, with absolutely curious eyes. "You have much hidden strength yourself, my dear. Would you mind telling me your name?"
The concern the woman displayed might have once put Saber on edge, cautious as the tiny king tended to be. But the Grail War was behind her even before she had the chance to realise her dream, and while she still harboured the prayer of saving her kingdom within her heart, Saber resolved that she would find another means. Yet with Heaven's Feel a fading memory, the King of Knights had little reason to be quite as guarded as she had been. Those who were friendly were no longer held at proverbial arms-length, and even though she remained as reserved as she always was, it had been due to Saber's private nature as opposed to a Servant's caution. Anyone who displayed more concern than was customary was simply met with a slight ghost of a smile.
In fact, she seemed to be smiling more often than she had when she first fell through the Gate, and was far more conversant. Perhaps there was something of her friends' doing in that.
But if she was more interesting to Myria than what Saber was regarding, it escaped the petite knight's notice. As far as she was concerned, the golden-haired woman was simply making an observation. "Hm. Perhaps that is so. I had never thought of it that way."
She nodded her head, a slight yet firm movement. "I believe it will be. The people here know peace, and even the invasions are not an everyday occurrence."
The jade eyes become distant for a moment, seeing into her past across a thousand years. She would have given anything to save her people from the constant threat of invaders from across the sea; already, she had given everything she could to make their lives as peaceful as possible. Though the Hub was hardly the Utopia she sought to bring to her people, it was far more than what she could accomplish with her tiny strength. "They do not starve and want for little. They can lend their strength to what they believe in. And what they build will be greater than before."
The moment passes, and the stoic mask reasserts itself. But this time, she does not fail to notice the woman's curiosity. Puzzling, but perhaps she could sense her magical nature, after all. "I am called Saber."
'Perhaps that is so.' Oh, yes, Saber might just muse mildly over an observation like that, but how silly that it just made what Myria said all the more true: She truly did chose her words with the sort of solemn, spartan intention that, in other times and places was surely a sign of nobility--Here and now, perhaps, in the early autumn warmth of a fading day, it more just makes the out-of-place young woman seem far more serious than someone who looked so young ever should have. It amuses the woman of the church. She smiles, softly, at it, with a barely audible, "See?"
But, well, she was clearly not a normal young lady in any sense. Not that it seemed to matter--Even if Myria could see that magic about her as clear as day, even if Myria all but /said/ that she saw it in her last line, it does not in the least bit stop her overly sweet and casual responses.
"Oh, do you think so? That's very nice of you to say. But... Hmm." A thoughtful noise, a mild glance off to the side. "Well, people may not want for food or comfort or money in this odd little Hub, but that hardly means they have the strength to survive, or to live well. But that is why I am here, restoring this place at all. There is always a need. A very /desperate/ need, for people always need something far more important. Peace for the soul is quite different."
But, well. Grand declarations and vague handwaving at Giant Goals aside, Myria *did* ask the young woman's name. Out of curiosity, really, because Myria did so love to meet people. But she hadn't really expected to hear *that* name. Because, against all logic, Myria had barely been unlocked for a matter of weeks, and she had already *heard* that name. Repeatedly.
".../Oh!/" A gasp of sincere surprise, as Myria turns to look, really *look* at Saber then, staring at her with a wholly different sort of curiosity. "Oh, /Saber/... That's a very unusual name. Oh, but I have /heard/ of a Saber, and... Well, you might not be her, of course, perhaps it is not as unusual a name as I think. But." And a tilt of her head, and a bright little smile--Amused. Gossipy-amused. Thinking-something-is-terribly-cute amused. "If you are, of course, you are very much admired."
...well, if Myria had heard it from any of the knight's many friends, it'd be true.
She couldn't disagree, truthfully. From her perspective, the vast majority of the people of the current era had most of their needs met. There was poverty and suffering, but nothing like that which her people had known. Families losing young children to disease or a particularly harsh winter or entire villages starving to death after a brutal famine were tragic but at the same time were unavoidable realities. If she could have brought this level of comfort to Britain, perhaps her rule would not have been the failure she believed it to be. And yet, at times it seemed as if there was an emptiness in the lives of many. Perhaps they searched for some meaning, or perhaps wanted to achieve great things for one reason or another. And there were others who were simply content with their lives, something Saber would have longed for herself had she not buried her personal desires for the sake of her people.
"It is. But I believe such things are something a person must find on his own."
Pale eyebrows raised slightly. She had not anticipated being recognised by name... had she spoken to Agrias or even Sakura? Still, she would not have expected to be spoken of in such a way. "Ah... well, I have met some good and noble people upon my arrival. They too are very much admired," she answered modestly.
On their own? Really. That, too, just earns a small and thoughtful, "Hmmm."
Yes, well, for all her many sins, Myria is not *terribly* preachy. Some small sound of polite disagreement will have to be enough. It was not the time, anyway: There were times to explain how people Needed Guidance, and how they would die without, and on the steps leading up to a battered old church, while the grounds were crowded with volunteers... Was likely not it. Besides. This was fascinating.
"Oh, and you are /modest/, too." Myria almost coos, as she briefly reaches the small distance between them to pat the knight on the back of the hand, "I think I can see a little of why you are spoken of so highly. Well, modesty is a fine trait, as is cherishing your friends, so I wouldn't think to protest. But I am very pleased to meet you in person, all the same, and you're most welcome here whenever you would like."
Of course, if Saber knew *who* spoke endlessly about her to Myria, this would be a far more uncomfortable conversation. As it is, Myria can leave it off with a charming smile, still looking oh-so-terribly amused, before she raises that hand to her own chest and adds, "I am Myria."
An awfully direct introduction, for all she's been chatty otherwise. Perhaps she's just used to that one word meaning so much more.
In some ways, Saber would have agreed; the people had needed a King to protect them from the forces which threatened their kingdom. But Rider had been right: she might not have lead them properly, so focused was she on becoming their saviour, the one to take all their burdens upon herself. She had not so much guided them as tried to save them, only to be repaid with distrust and rebellion. She harboured no resentment at how she had been repaid -- as far as she was concerned, she had earned their enmity for her failure -- but she could not be a tyrant. She had only accepted the mantle of the King of Britain to save her people, not to rule over them. Even as they had cried out for a saviour, their destinies must be their own. That was what bringing Utopia meant: giving them the freedom to shape their own destinies.
There was a slight tilt of her head in what was for the dignified King of Knights a shrug. "Modesty is simply one of the virtues of chivalry," she explained. "It is the only suitable way for me to live."
Indeed, the diminutive swordswoman could not comprehend abandoning her path. She had wavered once and lost something precious to her, but more importantly, the chivalric path was as much a part of her identity as her names. But she bowed respectfully, as her code dictated. "I thank you, then, as I wish to continue to be of service."
Another slight, increasingly less rare smile. "Well-met, Lady Myria. Again, I am pleased to be of service to you."
Strange, really, the small little ways these two might have agreed with each other, if only either had known. But fate did bring strange people together, and introduce them in the oddest ways--Even if neither of the women gathered on the steps of the church might never know, really, that they both once led kingdoms, and lost them, and ached for them, and came to frightfully different conclusions in their wake. ...But, well, that was good enough, because it these were, for now, two perfectly normal-looking women, doing the perfectly normal and banal thing of volunteering their time to restore a building, and such faciful absurdities made no sense at all beneath that veil.
The Multiverse was a very odd place, all the same.
But that left Myria with a rare smile her own--Not sad, not ponderous, not burdened with guilt--just amused and pleased, even if it wasn't obvious /why/ she found this all so delightful. "And chivalry, too. I've not heard anyone speak of chivalry in years and years, outside of fairy tales. But you do mean it, I can tell." Hundreds, likely, though she wasn't going to say that. "You are a very unique young woman, aren't you?"
And with that, she pushes herself back up to her feet, dusting her skirts off lightly. Not that it did much good, considering how a full day at work left the dust too deeply engrained. But with a polite little smile, she adds, with a hint of small reluctance in her voice, "In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you, too. I fear I may have kept you long, anyway--My apologies for my curiosity, dear child. I would love to talk more later, but for now, there's very much work to do." Which could now be done with at least a name and a small /knowing/ of what the odd pocket of mana in the back might be. At least in the smallest of ways.
Though chivalry seemed to be thought of much more highly than what Saber had experienced when she was first summoned to the modern era, it never failed to warm her heart to hear it with her own ears. She may not have agreed with the hero-worship her legend had incurred, but she was quite pleased with how the knightly code was remembered. "Truthfully, there are others here who walk the same path as I. I will admit that I have been very happy to find them."
It was true, wasn't it? Arturia had cast aside her femininity and whatever hopes she had for a normal life in order to come to Britain's rescue, but even then she had been raised as a boy would have been by one of Uther's trusted knights. Even if she had not ascended the throne, she would have probably become a knight in service to the king.
Saber carefully suppressed the tortured expression that threatened to break her mask. She would have been a loyal knight of a worthy king who would have saved her people.
"My life has been most unusual," she admitted cryptically.
Finishing off the remainder of her tea without breaking her regal composure, Saber replaced the Thermos cap and likewise stood. "Indeed. It will take some time, and so the more that is done today, the sooner it will be finished. It was nice to meet you, my lady. I hope that we shall be able to speak again soon."
And with that, the King of Knights returned to her work.