I tried to write this once before, but I was rather sick when I started it and it just did not go the way I had hoped, so I scrapped it at the time. I just like the idea, so here's attempt number two.

The sun was beginning to sink in the sky as General Zelgius and his men came across an inn. He halted their march by holding up a hand. He could continue their trek back to Begnion for hours, but his men could not. Would they try? Yes, if he asked. They followed his lead with little objection. He also knew, if he asked, they would say they were not exhausted, they did not mind camping, and there was always game to hunt, but even the most hardened of soldiers liked a roof over their head and a hot meal in their belly.

Inns often had trouble with the military. Soldiers misbehaved and overstepped, so some were reluctant to host a platoon of troops. Zelgius's men were quite behaved, but if they were turned down, they accepted it and left to make camp.

They were rarely turned down.

It looked as though that night would be one of the rare times they were denied. The owner of the inn was an older man, short as it was but his stooped posture made him appear even smaller, who regarded them with great scrutiny as he squinted at the large amount of people before him. He began to make the usual excuses, kind at first. "I'm not sure if we have enough rooms for all of you," soon became "and I'm not fond of hosting rowdy military types..."

"Forgive us for troubling you; we'll be on our way." General Zelgius raised his hand and started to gesture for his men to be on their way when the old man tottered forward to get a better look at him.

Zelgius looked down at the old man, who barely reached the tall general's navel, and waited to see what he would do. 'His eyesight is poor,' Zelgius realized. Did he need to bend down for the old fellow to get a better look? Or would he take it as a slight?

He did not have enough time to decide or not if it would be offensive. The old man started to bob his head up and down. "I know you!" Zelgius heard it often, but the sound of those three words strung together always made his blood run cold. "Well, of you," the man corrected himself. "You're General Zelgius, aren't you?"

"I am," the general admitted. His outward appearance was calm, but on the inside he tried very hard to stop his heart from hammering.

When people realized, as this old timer did, that he was, in fact, General Zelgius, there was suddenly enough room for them all, with a hot meal to follow. Of course, they were often warned, "It might be cramped." Many would have to share a room, but there was always an empty room for the general himself. Sometimes he would wonder to himself if that empty room happened to belong to the owner, but it did not matter. They were always gone in the morning, with everything paid for and, more often than not, nothing broken.

It did not take long for the sounds of small talk and the smell of cooking food to waft through the inn. Four women, the wife of the owner and their daughters, or perhaps granddaughters, were gathered to help serve and clean. As Zelgius sat down near the fire, he caught sight of movement near the doorway. He turned and locked eyes with a very small girl, perhaps three or four. She peered around the door to see what all the noise was. When she saw Zelgius, her eyes widened, then she ducked out of sight. Were it not so noisy, he was sure he would have heard the pattering of her footsteps as she retreated.

His gaze swept the room as he took in the relaxed attitude of his troops. A dice game had started at one of the tables. Another group of men burst into laughter at the story one had just told. He shared a table with Levail and three others. He listened half-heartedly to their conversation and gave the occasional nod of his head.

Zelgius was quick to note of the young women who served them, there was one who was turning the most heads. She was of average height with a shapely build. Unlike many of the men who followed her with their gaze as she flitted from table to table, Zelgius realized she was much more skilled around men than the other women. A wink here, a laugh there, the occasional brushing against someone as she placed or removed something from the table. It was enough to ensure several men would be leaving the inn with lighter pockets, and she might not be alone in her bed that night if she could sneak it past the old man.

When she reached their table, she refilled their cups and smiled shyly. "Dinner will be ready soon. Can I get you anything before it's done?"

Levail started to speak, but the young woman had turned her vibrant green eyes on a bigger prize. She gave Zelgius a brighter smile than she had given the rest of the table, along with an inquiring look. He shook his head and told her they were fine, but she would be back.

They always were.

"She's really pretty," Levail remarked as he watched her go.

"Best not to even try, boy." The older man leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table. He inclined his head towards Zelgius. "Girl's done set her mind on the general here."

Geir was right. The entire room would know it if they all had heard. The knight had often seen it happen in inns and villages. He knew how the night would play out. There was no point in trying to change it, so why not sit back and watch?

The woman must have claimed their table as hers, as she was the only one who returned to it that night. She made certain they were served their meals first, and she was quick to clear away any empty plate. Zelgius tried to ignore her, but her presence made that difficult. She never lingered, but she was right there if she spotted anything on the table that required her attention.

Levail had asked her for her name, and once ever Geir had done so. She either had not heard or wanted Zelgius to ask. It did not matter. They found it out when another woman about her age called for her.

"Fern, come here a minute, we need an extra set of hands!"

She smiled as she called, "Coming, Violet!" but Zelgius caught her expression as it flickered momentarily to one of annoyance. She hurried out of sight. There was little doubt in Zelgius's mind that Violet would get an earful.

When Fern returned, she was back to her cheery self as she offered them a variety of hand pies for dessert. "My mom makes them. I can, too, but they never turn out like hers."

Levail looked around at the dining room. Most of the men were full and back to their games, talking, or yawning. "Why don't you sit with us for a while? Unless you have some chore...?"

Fern laughed and shook her head. "The old man would have my head if he caught me sitting on the job. I've got dishes to clean." Her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second before she returned to the kitchen.

"Told ya, boy."

Levail flushed a light shade of crimson. It was then Zelgius decided to retire for the night. He stood and reminded those within earshot to not stay up so late. They would depart early the following morning.

As he reached the door, Fern was just leaving it. Zelgius had seen that, before as well. He caught her to keep her from falling as she acted flustered and apologized for not paying attention. He steadied her and let her go. He told her it was not her fault, it was his, even if he knew she did it on purpose.

"Since I'm here," she said after she accepted his apology, "I'll show you to your room." His room was on the far end of the hall, close to the stairs that led to the second floor. It was large enough for several of his men, but Zelgius did not share a room for his own reasons. No one questioned him. At the rank of general, he had the right to it.

Fern offered to bring him water so he could wash up. He accepted the offer and waited for her to return with it. He looked around the room. The furnishings were meager, but it was homey with its large overstuffed bed and colorful handwoven rug. Had Fern or one of the other women made it? He did not see Fern as someone who worked with her hands. Her skills were more tricking men out of money and attention.

When she returned, she was surprised to see he had not removed any of his armor. He thanked her and waited for her to leave, but she did not go immediately.

"If you need anything else, ask. My sisters and I share a room off the kitchen, so we're not too far away." She ended the question with a hopeful note in her voice. Zelgius merely told her good night.

She turned away with a pout, bidding him good night as well. She pulled the door shut behind her.

Zelgius waited a few seconds as her footsteps faded down the hall before he crossed the room. Even though he was a large man and wore heavy armor, he moved quietly. The door had a lock. He bolted it. It was a simple action, but one that brought relief to the general. The nights when he could not secure himself safely behind a locked door were restless ones. He did not fear for his life, as only a madman would try to assassinate him. He feared for other things.

Now that he was able to do so without worry, Zelgius slowly began to remove his armor. Long ago, it took a good deal of time to remove it himself. He had become skilled at putting on or removing his own armor over the years. It was something the army had noticed, but no one really said anything about. He had never heard anyone assume he was hiding anything. If he overheard anything about his tendency for privacy and no one touching his armor, it usually boiled down to "modesty."

He walked over to the rounded table where Fern had left a pitcher, basin, and cloth for him. The smaller pieces of his armor were placed on the table. Larger pieces went on the floor.

There were nights when he would go without bathing as well. Very little people he had come across in his life liked to smell of dirt and sweat by the end of the day, but sometimes it was simply not safe to bathe. It felt good to have warm water on his face.

As he begun to scrub the dirt of the road off himself, he heard approaching footsteps. He did not worry about them. The door was locked. There was always time to cover that blemish if someone needed him. He stopped, wet cloth to his face, and listened as he heard voices.

" - all about honor," one voice was saying as they neared his room. "I kind of find it admirable. I'm a bit too old to have that rub off on me, but some of these youngsters, they could take a lesson or two from him."

"Yeah, but it's kind of hard to remember to be honorable when you have a pretty girl all but sitting in your lap." A fit of loud laughter followed. It sounded to Zelgius as if they had stopped outside of his room. "I'll be fair," the second voice continued, "the man has some great self control. Did you see that one? She all but asked to share his bed!"

There was a squeak of hinges as a door opened. "The general, he's not going to dishonor a woman..." The rest of the sentence faded from his hearing as they entered their own room and shut the door behind him.

"Honor." Zelgius spit the word into the cloth he had been using to clean with. He shook his head, his wet bangs sending droplets of water onto the table. There was that word again. In his many years, he had come to dislike it. He had been told once to embrace it. If people wanted to see him as an epitome of knighthood, then so be it. It worked in his favor. He was the honorable general, beloved by the people, an example that they could live by.

Zelgius, however, knew the truth of it, as did the man who said those words to him. His honor was false, formed by mere coincidence as he worked to hide the Brand on his back. If he left himself vulnerable around those who served Begnion alongside him or a pretty, young woman who would love to brag that she had spent a night with General Zelgius, or even chose to reveal the Brand himself, the people who admired him would turn against him.

He would no longer be loved and admired. He would be ostracized, perhaps even executed. Branded such as himself were shunned by society, no matter what good they had done before they felt comfortable to show who they were. They really had no place anywhere, as they were not considered beorc or laguz, so neither would claim them.

It was a constant burden, and even if Zelgius found the rare moment that caused him to forget his Branded status, something would happen that snapped him out of his calm state. He dropped the cloth in the wash water and slowly walked to the bed. Each step was slow and heavy. There was a soft flump as he sank onto the mattress and a bit of stuffing oozed out of a hole at the end, but Zelgius did not care.

He stretched out on his back and stared at the ceiling. If he slept, the morning would come quickly; he was uncertain of how fast sleep would come, however, as his emotions were getting the better of him. He could not leave and go for a walk to clear his head. Zelgius did not like to leave whatever room he was staying in once he had settled for the night. He would, in case of an emergency, but it left him feeling exposed even though he would never leave a room half-dressed.

At least he was full. There had been the occasional night such as this, where he had left with the excuse of not being hungry, only to find himself unable to rest due to hunger.

He was also clean, or as clean as he could get without requesting a bath. There was a roof over his head, as well. Even he could not say no to such comforts. Thinking of those things helped to calm his mind a little. He would not feel fully at ease until they left the inn the next morning. Everything had started with a simple sentence from the old man. He had been on edge since then, and the woman, Fern, had escalated it.

Zelgius had laid in the bed, thinking and not at the same time, and lost track of time. He was unsure of when he had nodded off, but the next thing he knew, sunlight was peeking through the curtains. He sat up and stretched, feeling somewhat better than he had the night before. Though he did long to leave quickly, he dressed slowly, not wanting to deny those who might be awake before him a warm breakfast.

When he entered the dining room, he was greeted by a chorus of "good mornings," ranging from half-asleep to downright chipper. The food smelled wonderful, but he chose to ignore the toast, fresh fruit and jams, porridge, eggs, and bacon for the time being.

"Did you sleep well, General Zelgius?" Levail asked as Zelgius approached. He had just finished his own meal and had begun to rise from the table he was seated at.

"Well enough," Zelgius replied. "Will you check that everyone is awake?"

"Certainly."

He thanked Levail and went to find the innkeeper. He wanted to be sure everything, including this second meal, had been properly paid for. When he found the old man, he was bent over a desk, counting coin given to him by Tal, the willowy young man who was in charge of their funds as well as serving as a bowman.

"Everything is paid for," Tal announced to him. The innkeeper agreed and appeared surprised at how much the military had paid for one night in his inn. He would not object, however, to the gold that littered the desk.

"Good."

He and Tal left the elderly man with his coins.

"I'd like to leave within the hour," Zelgius told Tal once they were out of earshot. Tal nodded, then asked if he could leave to buy a few supplies for the road. Zelgius gave his permission. When Tal left, Zelgius returned to the dining room. He knew he needed to eat, but he was not very hungry. He would likely regret the choice of skipping breakfast later.

Levail had managed to do as asked. Bleary-eyed soldiers greeted him as he passed. Several ended their greetings with yawns. He told them when he wanted to depart. No one seemed too thrilled, but there were no objections. As he spoke, he decided to wait for them outside. He might even be able to catch up with Tal.

Zelgius would not find a moment of solitude, nor would he catch up with the young archer. He was stopped just outside the door by Fern. "Did you sleep well?" she asked quietly. She held a bucket of water, both hands tight on the handle, trying her best not to spill.

"Yes, thank you." It was difficult to see her struggling. He offered to carry the bucket for her. Her relief appeared to be genuine. She complimented his strength as he took the bucket with one hand. She told him her sisters needed the water in the kitchen and led him there.

As Zelgius followed her to the busy kitchen, he came to a realization. Not all actions he took were born from lies. There was a sense of honor within himself that had nothing to do with shielding who he was. He did not enjoy seeing others struggle, and that had nothing to do with the Brand on his back. What amazed him more than the conclusion he had come to was that it come from a simple bucket of water.

Zelgius wanted to laugh, but doing so in front of Fern and her sisters would have made him seem mad. Instead, he simply asked if they could use more help after the chorus of thanks he received.