[@Breo]

[center][h1](Cocles Protector)

The Bridge[/h1][/center]

[color=fff200]“Hmm.”[/color] What should have been a mere and quiet contemplative rumination instead came out as a resonating roar. The lion that stood with the pride of the king of the wild craned his head forward in the contemplation of a man as he held a hand to his chin. 

He had noted already that his master had no strong input in the shaping of these battle plans, nor did she give him any orders out of the ordinary. For the girl whose direction seemed to along the lines and rails of what was said by others to ask him for his input first and foremost before offering any ideas of her own, or even comment on the time and work that would be wasted by abandoning the bridge. She was annoyed as a matter of fact, but for one who carried the noble bearing of an aristocrat she seemed strangely demure. She was clearly bothered in other ways, although he could not quite get a read on why exactly. Perhaps it was the notion that her sister was heading to the church, if so was she then worried about the safety of her kin? If that was the case her question to Saber was even more worrying. To him it seemed as though her statements of what they should and were to do were framed like questions that sought confirmation, like an unsure student called out for an example. 

If Saber could put a word to their relation so far it would be awkwardness. A sense of awkwardness that seemed to exist in place of the tension that came with the risk to one’s life that the conflict. It did not even feel as though he were simply being treated as a familiar, or a weapon, simply that his master had little to say.

But it was the last bit of her request that truly made him consider. She herself said that she needed input. This wasn’t the matter of requesting the expertise of a soldier, or the instincts of a hero. To be a paragon of a society was to be its virtue and guiding light, so the idea of guiding a person despite being in the subservient role of a familiar did not seem so strange to him. He knew himself that his story was of inspiration, unfortunate as it was that the sense of inspiration was that of shame, and of the idea that virtue shines greater when surrounded by its opposing sin. But deciding for one and inspiring one were two different things. Even if he might disagree with her decisions he could not help but feel more discomforted by the lack of decision in the first place.

What did she want to fight for, and how strong a passion would she muster? Without knowing that he felt lost on their own chances of victory. The war of soldiers and commanders was different from the war of heroes who pursued their desires and virtues to beyond the limits of normal humans. Even if the masters were human themselves the difference in conviction could just as easily lead to the defeat of their side, as much as any misstep in their plans. The enemy fought to defend what they made, and their homes. What then did his master fight for?

[color=fff200]“The bridge, the church. Both are important locations and steps in the plan we follow, but what is important to you, master? As of now we do not have anything. We are at a severe disadvantage in that we have no holdings in contrast to an enemy that is well-entrenched. This is their home, their land, and they hold all the advantages. On one hand to abandon this point is to abandon our attempt to balance the scales. On the other hand especially because we are at a disadvantage we cannot afford to lose anything. If we do not have anything yet then there is no loss if we leave.”[/color]
In the end he wasn’t sure if the master could truly understand what sort of a servant he was..

[color=fff200]“Master, are you afraid?”[/color] he asked bluntly, his singular eye staring down at her.[color=fff200] “If so, of what? To be held accountable for a failure or loss depending on what you choose, of the loss of your sister, or for the loss of the war?” [/color]

He turned and moved away from his master, yet the weight of his attention did not fade from the woman. Saber walked to look towards the city and in the direction of the church before craning his head over his shoulder. His figure basked in the light that fell upon Fuyuki and the bridge gleaned not with the light of the sun or moon, but instead that of a hero. By no means was Saber the greatest hero of the grand empire that united the world, and it was hard to say that he was a famed hero in the modern day. Yet the feelings that he brought for ill or good. The courage that he embodied to the point that his flesh took form beyond that of a simple man. Together they gave him the brilliance of a hero, the brilliant light that scorched into others, revealing how paltry they burned in comparison. A light that did not coddle, a light that illuminated faults that hid in the darkness. But it also formed a beacon in the darkness, showing the beauty in the virtue, showing an ideal to strive towards. To call it a light that cursed the cowardice of humanity was an insult to it, ascribing it a spite that it should exist separate from.
[color=fff200]
“I shall let you decide, master. I gave myself for Rome, even if Mercury in the end did not spirit me away, bless Tiberinus for his aid. I love Roma, and Roma in return gave its love to me. To be brave requires purpose, and a hero without purpose is simply a wayward vagabond who misunderstands the nature of heroic deeds. Heroism flows from purpose, and the deeds that are born come from that purpose. To simply act as a hero is a sham. One can do heroic deeds but not be a hero. If such an element exists for heroes, then why not of masters who seeks to wield heroes. Will you do what a master does, or will you be a master?”[/color]

He let out a grunt that rattled both his throat and mane as he presented this challenge to the girl. If he could say himself what sort of courage held the most it was the courage to chase after what was valuable despite the consequences. 

[color=fff200]“What do you want? “[/color]

[h1][center][b][u]--========--[/u][/b][/center][/h1]
[@Over Illusion]
[center][h1]Cocles (Survivor)

Shinto[/h1][/center]

[color=00aeef]“To think that representations of dangerous and frightening beasts would become the common toys of children.” [/color]The bewilderment in his mental voice was clear, although there was a touch of amusement as well. Humanity’s distance from the exhibition of power of beasts, and the danger that they presented grew further and further. With that lack came the view of animals as curiosities. Perhaps it was natural to find animals cute and funny as a given when one was exposed primarily to the ones that were brought up domesticated as pets. Or maybe he was looking at it the wrong way? To innocent children the idea of a soft doll as a companion was a reassurance, a guardian that they carried as friend and toy around so they would feel safe and not be alone.

...With that train of thought he wondered if it was more than just a whim or coincidence that someone like him was with a master who was currently focused on such things. 

[color=00aeef]“I wonder if I’d be seen as something like one of these if I were to walk around corporeal. Master, is it possible that you summoned me in pursuit of a doll?”[/color] While said in jest, the strange and erratic behavior she at times did make him wonder… No, even if she was at times a hard to predict oddity the competence of his master was not in question. 

His thoughts flowed towards the topic of his master, and he considered how strange they both were when it came to the topic of the body. They were both people with bodies changed from what was a normal man. He was changed as a result of his own legend, but she was changed as a result of her own work. In his body he had pride, as it was the coin that paid for the safety of Rome, but he also could not deny that he felt frustration in his life, that despite the meaning infused into his body now as a hero that he would have wished for a way to have replaced himself like his master did. But despite the frustration he held an acceptance for the price of his selfishness of grasping for life even after charging into a story where death was the end.

Even if he escaped with his life, the injuries from his heroics left him maimed for the rest of his life. But it was okay if he was crippled, it was okay if he was hurt. For it was proof that he was not yet dead, it was proof that he escaped. He offered himself as a shield, but he did not accept death. To simply accept death as a consequence was to stain the value of what he wanted to protect. To simply throw away life as an option and reduce it to a mere tool, a mere weight to balance an exchange. Life was too precious, and Rome was too precious for them to be boiled down to such a crass evaluation. To want to live so much some might say seemed contradictory to one who charged forth against insurmountable odds with bravery, but to him the answer that rectified the two was simple. To survive as a person, to survive as a hero. That was what he valued most of all. A selfish lack of compromise to live as a functioning piece of flesh, a lack of compromise to die for his ideals. In a way his courage was the courage to be able to so shamelessly declare his selfish desire to hold onto everything.

When the news from the church came, requesting the aid in establishing their claim upon the once-neutral ground Saber made his way out of the shop, mentally asking his master to follow to somewhere he could materialize for their departure. Scooping her up later into his arms, he found himself staring at her limbs for a moment despite himself. Her body was overall more durable than a normal master, and yet to go at his full speed was still unwise. But more than that he found himself wondering about the fragility of her as a person. Was she simply eccentric and driven, to do as she did? Or?... 

Saber decided to stifle his speculation on the topic. He would trust his master and treat her as though she were Roma. Leaping into action, the shop that held stuffed animals with perhaps some resemblance to Saber was swiftly left behind. The mane that stood with pride, not deforming and refusing to be pushed back by the winds that buffeted him in protest of his speed seemed to brush against his master as though it were the presence of a assuring doll.