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Caritas | Sunday

After the brunch, John decided he was in need of his weekly visit to the bar. He'd made no promises about staying sober tonight and besides, there really was no place safer than within Caritas' charmed walls.

Also, there was beer there. Glorious, glorious beer.

"Don't look at me like that," John chastised when he caught Tino watching him revel in his ~~shitty~~ beer. "This is the best beer in the world."

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"Lady Morgana is a lovely walk by a lake compared to most of the women of my acquaintance," Mat said. "She's never once tried to kick me in the head, and still possesses a full head of hair."

"I'll let her know you said that," he replied, amused. "She'll be flattered, I think." A pause. "Or disappointed because she's never tried to kick me in the head, pointless as it would have been."

"Well, if she tries, Merlin's handy to have around to avoid the impact," Mat said, finishing his ale and signaling for another round. "I suppose it'd would be too much to hope that time has sped up beyond all sense in my world and the circus would be gone when I return?"

Arthur snorted softly. "Your people do need you, Mat, much as it pains me to admit it," he said. "I don't think you really want them to be gone, either."

"Maybe just some of them," Mat conceded. "I can only imagine the anthill I just kicked by taking the Daughter of the Nine Moons away."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, lifting his newly acquired pint, "I doubt that went over well with the Seanchan. Remind me why that was a good idea, again?"

"Panic," Mat admitted. "It's not every day that you meet prophecy and it tries to kick you in the bloody head."

"Destiny," Arthur muttered, halfway to himself. "Kick in the head covers it."

"Bloody Aelfinn," Mat groused. "They always speak the truth, which means the other two bits they told me will happen too." He was blaming the ale on the loosening of his tongue. Normally he never spoke about what he'd seen behind the twisted door. "Being prophecy, they're, of bloody course, depressing."

"What did they say?"

Arthur was well into his third - or was it his fourth? - himself, and it was fueling his curiousity.

"Well, the first bit is to marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons," Mat said, taking a hefty sip from his ale. "The rest is to die and live again, and live once more a part of what was, which makes no bloody sense." Unless you counted the memories of other men in his head, which he wasn't drunk enough to admit to just yet. "And the final part is to give up half the light of the world to save the world, which sounds really bloody depressing."

"Prophecies," Arthur muttered, sympathetically, and swigged his ale to push that point across. "Clarity is not their strong point."

"At least I don't have a whole bloody book of them about me," Mat said. "Rand is pretty screwed."

Brilliant. "Don't talk to me about books," Arthur said, and apparently it was his turn to sound like ennui had descended upon him. "I'd almost forgotten how in this place I wouldn't be able to move a foot without being reminded of bloody books."

Mat took another deep swig from his drink. "Sorry about that," he said, offering a sideways apology for his brilliant plan to get the Aes Sedai out of custody.

"I can't believe they bought that," he muttered into his ale. "I'm hardly a legendary figure."

"Oh, I know that," Mat said. "I also know you don't look the slightest thing like Artur Hawkwing." Who'd been dead for two thousand years. Careful, Mat. "He was a complete pain." He smiled. "You're only half a pain."

"Well, that's a relief," Arthur replied. He felt he'd had about enough ale to justify rambling aimlessly. "Most of the time, Merlin's just Merlin," he confided. "Then other times-- it's all destiny and magic. And even before the magic, I just couldn't--"

He shook his head.

"Couldn't what?" Mat asked, looking as interested as a slightly blearly-eyed man could.

"Understand it, I suppose," he said, finishing up the last of his ale and signalling for another without even looking up. "He's stupidly loyal and I don't know why. And then he keeps talking about destiny, and I come here, and it's just... I can't be that."

Was his next ale here, yet? He could use it.

Mat slid the ale down towards Arthur's elbow. "It's hard enough to be you without having to worry about being a bloody legend too," he said sympathetically. He'd seen this look in Rand's eyes before--colors flashed in his mind's eyes as he thought of his friend and he quickly shook his head to dispel them--when the weight of what it was supposed to mean to be the Dragon Reborn had started fully settling on his shoulders. "What I've learned being near Rand is this: you'll make your own choices, and let destiny do as it will. Trying to force something to happen will trip you up every time."

That sounded Quite Profound to a man pretty deep into his cups.

Which was why Mat was terribly lucky that Arthur was about in the same state, and therefore, he simply picked up the ale and took a swig, rather than make fun of him or reassert his masculinity in the face of feelings.

"I hope so," he muttered. "Much like I dearly hope that whole 'half the light of the world' business turns out to be someone smashing your window in, or the like."

Mat nodded vigorously. "Shutting out my candles. I don't want to be bloody blinded, thanks."

"You think that's what it means?" Arthur asked, looking at him blearily.

"I have no idea," Mat said, taking another long drink. "Half the light of the world? It's not like I can shoot out the bloody moon or something."

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