At twenty-seven, Jellal didn't consider himself old but he did appreciate his age. He'd reached a place in his life where he had just enough control to know the day belonged entirely to him. He chose to give his time in service of the gods and their temple. The monotony of toiling with the land and his prayers eased him in a way he'd never thought possible. As a child and young man, his time had never been completely his own to give. Now, he cherished every moment he spent doing what he chose – even if his choice was that of service and very little self.

Summer had long heaved her final gasps and the leaves were slowly giving into the bite of winter. Jellal loved the crawl of the seasons now that he had time to watch and appreciate each one as a separate entity. From his spot on the north side of the garden Jellal could see the road leading into the nearby village. This far north the roads were not much more than hardened paths of dirt and, in more populated areas, packed gravel. His eye caught on a group of cloaked travelers and something in Jellal's gut twisted. The trio was nothing out of the ordinary – by the looks of it, two women and a man – but the sight of them brought unease. Jellal's grip on the fence post tightened and he ignored the sharp sting of a splinter in the palm of his hand. When he turned and ripped his hand away from the post, a drop of blood stained the dirty pants of his garb.

He didn't like the look of that either.

The onset of winter brought with it certain seasonal worries. Food, mortality, and the eventual plummet of temperature were all concerns of the lay folk. Jellal had spent enough time brushing against the upper echelons of society to know where these concerns dropped off in favor of more frivolous things like parties and things that sparkled. He'd been all up and down the ladders of wealth and had found what he could call finally call peace on the bottom rungs.

Twice a week his young acolyte trailed him from one needy location to the next distributing the yield they'd dug from the temple's gardens themselves. On any other day Jellal would've taken a quiet pleasure in delivering food to those who had very little but he felt eyes on his back. He hadn't tapped into his skillset for deception and stealth in many years but he slid into them like fingers into a perfectly tailored glove. His acolyte thought nothing of the lie and carried on his business. Jellal took a path between two wood frame buildings and knew he would never make it to the next street over before finding himself no longer alone.

The other man was quick as a serpent and had a scar crawling over one ruined eye to match. His face was passive. Jellal folded his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. The man's scar crinkled when he grinned.

"That getup doesn't suit you," he drawled, leaning against the stack of barrels that lined the side of the building. "Father," he said in a sarcastic tone.

"Tell her I'm not interested," Jellal said flatly.

"I'll tell her I knew this would be a waste of my time."

"Just so long as you tell her." Jellal stalked past the other man and didn't look back.

"I'll be headed home now," the acolyte said. He stood in the doorway of the small rectory shuffling his feet. Jellal glanced up from his scrolls.

"Was there something else?"

"I think tomorrow we should pull the radishes. The frost will come early this year."

"Of course." Jellal raised one eyebrow. "But that isn't what you wanted to say, is it?"

"There's a woman in the temple," he said in a hushed tone. "She's just…" The acolyte threw an uncomfortable look over his shoulder. "She's just kneeling in there with the incense."

Jellal sighed. "I'll see to her. Go on home."

"Goodnight." The acolyte bowed and disappeared out the door and down the path leading toward the town.

He shuffled his scrolls and papers. He stacked and restacked his books. He lined the inkwells symmetrically along the edge of the desk. Finally, Jellal snuffed his oil lamps and made his way toward the temple. There would be no more putting it off. As much as he didn't care for her presence in the temple, he was glad she hadn't approached him in town.

Rows of candles lined the temple floor. His robe whispered around his ankles as he blew each one of them out for the night – all except the lamp on the altar. The temple was empty, which meant she was elsewhere. Jellal sighed again and decided not to seek her out. She'd always done everything on her own time anyway.

The kitchen was on the backside of the rectory with one window overlooking the flat expanse that separated the temple from the woods that led to the mountains. Jellal prepared his tea as he would any other night.

He knew the moment he was no longer alone.

"You frightened my apprentice," he said softly. "It was unnecessary."

"I disagree," she said with a laugh. "He looked like he could use some excitement."

Jellal sighed and turned to her. "He's never been off the mountain. Don't be cruel."

She watched him with shrewd eyes that didn't soften for a long moment. "I always hoped we'd see each other again," she whispered.

"Ultear –"

"Did you find what you were looking for out here in the wilderness?"

"This is hardly the wilderness," he grumbled.

"You always did like to suffer," she said with a fond grin.

"Why are you here?"

Ultear sighed dramatically and let the hood of her traveling cloak fall away. Her hair was still black as midnight and she'd lost none of the posh luster that lured more than one trusting from the comfort of their window.

"Do you believe me when I say I wish I wasn't here at all?"

"Only a little."

She grimaced but a smirk glittered beneath. "You once accused me of peddling pretty lies. Now that I come to you peddling honesty, you still don't believe me?"

"I believe you want to be honest," he said, studying her harshly. "But I think your ego demands the game."

"Fair enough." Ultear leaned her hip against the edge of the table. "I need you."

"No."

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't unavoidable."

"No."

"Jellal –"

He set aside his tea and allowed a very old, very thick anger bubble to the surface. "I've earned this wilderness, Ultear. I will not follow you back into whatever spider's web you've got yourself caught in. I can't."

Jellal ran his hands over the front of his robe and tried to will his hands from shaking. Ultear had the decency to not mention it.

"I'm sorry you wasted your time," he muttered, edging past her to leave the kitchen for his bedroom.

"It's not my web," she whispered. "I would never have come if it was just me. I know better than that, at least."

Jellal froze. His eyes slid closed and he tried to wall away his thoughts.

"I wouldn't have come for anything less than a royal edict."

His heart pumped violently and his hands balled into tight, painful fists. Even with his eyes squeezed shut he saw nothing but red. Not the same red as the poppies that grew in the valley below the town. Not the same red that painted the sky at sunset. Not even the red of the blood he'd left on his work pants the day before. This red was singular. Scarlet.

When Jellal turned to face the kitchen again, it was empty. The folded parchment with its crimson wax seal stood out against the unfinished wood tabletop. He didn't need to cross the room to know the shape of a bleeding heart would be stamped into the wax. The Queen was ever dramatic.

The chill of the morning bit into his fingers and the pain of it kept him sober. Only Meredy smiled when he joined the group of three at the mouth of the road south.