[h2]Rider, Eastern Fields[/h2]

“Ah, I didn’t mean to offend you at all, sorry, sorry,” Rider’s answer was delivered with an odd mix of sheepishness and amusement, perhaps at the situation. After all, to be able to laugh at others, one should also learn to laugh at their own blunders. “It’s just, y’know, how the expression goes, and I really don’t like standing around, no offense. Perhaps if you had summoned the me of a different time, maybe it’d have been more bearable for him but. . .” His rambling, akin to a stream of consciousness, continued on for a bit before he trailed off again. Perhaps someone who was listening, rather than merely hearing, would notice his odd habit in terms of speech – one moment, the man was attempting to sound educated and dignified, whereas the next he would break the façade and slip into rougher patterns, and back again, as if he was sometimes unsure about the proper way to conduct himself.

As his Master continued his explanation, however, the Servant remained quiet, soaking in the explanation, as well as the man’s reaction to his slip. For a few seconds, he let a comfortable silence stretch between both of them before breaking it once more, talking with the same upbeat tone he had carried until then—though there was something else to it this time, a hint of the same wistfulness.

“So, you liked my tale? Well, I suppose that is also a good reason—and I think it might speak well about its continuation into modern times, honestly,” He let out a small chuckle at the thought, finding the conversation to be a rather comfortable one. “Well, do not worry, for you have summoned quite the spirit to show you those bygone heroics you spoke about, and I hope I will not disappoint.” He would admit that he was getting enthusiastic himself. Perhaps, however, he should also address some of what his Master had apparently found odd.

“That said, Master, were you honestly surprised about my outburst?” He asked. It was rather easy to tell that, had he been corporeal, he would have been smiling. “Did you perhaps think that legendary heroes and love do not mix? Considering my own tale, and those of various others, one would think you’d have been disabused of that notion long ago, if you are so fascinated by it.” The words carried no bite, merely what Sigurd considered to be a small ribbing in good fun.

Perhaps it was the relaxation, perhaps it was the boredom getting to him, perhaps he was simply one of those fellows that wore such emotions on their sleeve, he seemed rather comfortable as he addressed the man and told him about that flame in his heart.

“I think love at first sight defined it pretty well. Or maybe that was just lust at first,” He chuckled, reminiscing of a time long past, a time when things had been so easy and so clear, only for it to end so abruptly. “You could bring me a thousand women from all corners of the world, none would have been more beautiful than the one I set my eyes upon that day, and I guarantee you, none would even approach her in either prowess or fierceness. She was. . .a goddess. An ideal. Perhaps others would say I exaggerate, but. . .at the very least, that is how I saw her. And then, I got to know her.”

He lost himself in memories of happier times.

“Idyllic, really, but all good things come to an end. She warned me, I did not listen. I left on yet more adventures, arrived at that court and drank the potion, and then those moments were lost, and Gudrun became my wife,” By the looks of it, he seemed to carry no grudge towards her—if anything, he sounded exasperated with himself, rather than anyone else. “She was a fine woman, and I’m sure she could have been very happy but I. . .never really saw her that way, much to her disappointment. She was dear to me, but not like that. And then the tale continued,” The emotions carried by his words had yet to slip into anger or any other that would be expected, considering the event he was surely talking about. If anything, he seemed more resigned about it than anything. “Gunnar asked me to take his place, I agreed, and the rest is history. But you know, Master? While before I saw her I just felt that the ruse left a bad taste in my mouth and was an insult to her dignity. . .I was never so tempted to betray my Lord and the vows I had exchanged as when I saw her face for what felt like the first time.”

But he had not. He could not. And that was that—he had made his choice, and so, he had had to live with it.

“Our tale was always destined to end in tragedy, thrice-damned potion or not, I suppose,” His words now were no longer directed towards the soldier that kept him company, but perhaps they were more of a simple declaration. “A Valkyrie loving the very Hero she should carry to Valhalla? Madness. Yet, at the same time. . .even if I had died in her embrace a thousand times, I would have never considered it an unfair price for what she gave me,” It was corny, childish and altogether a foolish notion—for who would be so steadfast in their love towards their own killer, who would consider their life to be so small a price? However, apparently nobody had ever bothered to tell Sigurd that he had to adhere by the standards of common sense. “And yet, as my life was ended, I did not even know. I had forgotten, and that potion was the culprit.” And there was the anger, though perhaps the object of it was different than what some people would have guessed. He sounded enraged, certainly, but apparently that anger burned not towards those who had made him drink the potion, nor towards the woman that had killed him. But rather, towards himself.

“I could not tell her, Master. And that is the one thing I carry on my shoulders, why I wish to see her once more. To say now what I could not say before. I pride myself in not having any regrets, and surely, if it were just for my sake, I would not feel like so. . .but it is also for hers, Master. To answer her honestly like she deserves.”

He let the silence stretch on for a bit after he had spoken the last word, solemnity taking over wistfulness and washing away the anger. Perhaps there was also a touch of sorrow in his tone, but he apparently attempted to not allow it to get to him. Regardless, he was soon brought out of his musings by the news of what Brauer and his own Servant, as well as his Master’s own analysis of the situation. While he was indeed disgruntled about the fact that they would not interfere—his standard persona quickly overriding the side he had shown moments prior, as though it had been a dream—he understood his Master’s reasoning and, for better or worse, he was a loyal man, even if he disliked the orders.

“Understood,” He answered. “If we are to remain here, then, I will continue guarding while you set up the Bounded Field—might as well make this a worthwhile investment of our time if we are not joining in on the fun. Though,” Once again, judging by his tone, one could not help but feel that his expression, had he been corporeal, would have been a crooked smile. “Do not begrudge me if I kind of want someone to come crashing against us at some point, Master. I do want to stretch my legs.”