Part Two

The year 646

Jill

Home. It was a strange word, being associated with a country she no longer felt a connection to. She watched for familiar landmarks as she flew overhead, the land only a remnant of the home she remembered. It was not long ago she had come to Talrega as a soldier. But she had shed that skin when King Ashnard was defeated. She returned a simple Daein girl. She didn't even carry a weapon.

Her heart twisted when she spied Talrega in the distance. It hadn't yet been restored after the flooding and the land was a dark, muddy brown. She wondered if it would ever be the same, this backwater town in a defeated country. Begnion would soon be on the move to occupy it. She prayed they would forget about Talrega. Better to be poor and dirty than under their rule.

The irony made her wince. She recalled bits and pieces of her father's tales growing up, about their escape from that corrupted country and a promise of a better life.

Father.

The graveyard wasn't hard to spot; there was only one in town, beside the chapel. She landed in a field behind the cemetery, far from civilization, and trudged uphill until the gravestones came into sight. They were simple affairs. Many of the older ones were blank, their names eroded down from harsh winters. But the one she sought was fresh, easy to find, its engraving still new.

Shiharam Fizzart

601 - 645

Jill fell to her knees. She knitted her brows, willing the tears to fall, but her tears were spent. She had passed enough nights alone in her tent; she felt there was nothing left. The one place she wanted to cry, and she couldn't.

"Welcome home." She didn't look up; she knew that voice anywhere. From her peripheral vision she watched as his feet materialized beside her, and eventually he settled cross-legged in the dirt. She was glad that he decided to sit at her right. At least she could see his good eye from this angle, could tell if he had fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. Again. But his eye was wide open, staring at the headstone.

"This is my fault," Jill said, for lack of anything better to say. It was a stupid comment. During the war he told her time and time again that she couldn't be blamed. She unfolded her legs from beneath her, hugging them to her chest.

"Jill—"

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "You don't have to tell me again."

Haar stretched an arm behind him, and she expected it to settle across her shoulders. But it didn't. "You did what was right. Your father was proud of you; you formed your own set of values." He paused. "The right ones. You understand we couldn't do that for you, right? That there were things we couldn't do, living in this country?"

"Yes." But he hardly heard, her voice muffled in her folded arms.

"Before he died—"

"I don't really want to talk about it," she said abruptly, hugging her knees tighter. "Can we just... sit here a while?"

Haar nodded. "Of course."

She scooted over to rested her head on his shoulder. He had already removed his armor, and the worn fabric of his shirt was soft against her temple. Her own armor suddenly felt suffocating. She was dying to pull the breastplate off her chest, to release the straps around her thighs.

Jill was startled to feel an arm around her waist, the only place the armor didn't cover. Her exposed torso provided for increased mobility in battle, but she wondered now if it didn't have another purpose—a purpose after the war. Haar's hand hovered awkwardly at first, but he eventually tightened his grip to actually hold her, providing the comfort she needed. She smiled when the tears began to fall, groping for the hand on her waist. She was certain it would disappear the moment she started sobbing.

"Hey now," Haar said. "What are you... crud."

"No, it's okay," she said, wiping her stained cheek on his arm. She couldn't explain why she laced her fingers between his, but she liked the feel of his calloused hands against her skin. It was obvious who had been the soldier longer, who had fought more battles.

"Do you remember when first moved to Daein?" Haar asked, and she shook her head against his shoulder. He started talking about Begnion, when they saddled up for departure and she insisted on riding with him.

Jill didn't know much about their lives in Begnion. Her father didn't discuss it often, saying over and over that Daein was their home. But she picked up the pieces. There was a lingering sadness under the surface. Was he ever really happy in Daein? Had Begnion been all that bad? Having been to Begnion herself now, she started to understand his reasons for leaving. Ike and the Greil Mercenaries had exposed much of the senate's corruption, but she sensed this wasn't the end of it. Her father left Begnion so many years ago; surely it would take more than this to fix that country's wrongs.

Haar was telling a story of a ten-year-old Jill who was determined to go on her own sub-human hunt. The mental image of her younger self running around with a spear was amusing, but she felt guilty. She let go of his hand, and he stopped speaking. His use of the word sub-human boiled within her, but she wasn't angry with him. She now understood what her father had been doing all those years as she was growing up.

She felt the weight of Haar's head on top of her own, and she was grateful that he had stopped telling stories. It wasn't like him, talking for the sake of talking. His hand dropped from her waist, and his body leaned heavily against hers. She didn't have to hear his light snoring to know he was asleep.

For once, she didn't mind. Jill scooted backward, slowly, grunting when the weight of his head fell onto her lap. She rested a hand on his clavicle, feeling the slight rise and fall of his breathing. He almost looked peaceful. She wished she could sleep.

He rolled over, facing toward the graveyard, slinging an arm around her legs like they were a pillow. She brushed the hair from his temple and was surprised by how soft it was. She desperately wanted to wash her own hair, still grimy from battle.

Jill craned her neck to look out at the main road. She could remember rushing down this road in her Sunday best, beating her father to chapel. Captain Haar would join them, though he fell asleep in service so often she wondered why he bothered. But it was a rare moment the captain didn't accompany her father, work-related or not. Haar had been with him until the end, until his final battle, before she witnessed his defeat.

She shook her head and unconsciously squeezed Haar's shoulder. He woke with a jolt.

"Jill? What is it?" He rolled over, seemingly unsurprised to be lying across her lap.

"Hmm? Nothing. Sorry to wake you."

He frowned. Sorry to wake you? Ordinarily she would poke him in the side during one of his many afternoon naps, shouting in his ear to get up. But he said nothing as he sat upright, scratching the back of his head. "I assume you haven't eaten anything." She smiled slightly as she stood, brushing dirt from the back of her pants.

They received a hero's welcome, having survived the war. The town elders doted on Jill especially, reminiscing over how great a man her father was.

"By the goddess, I wish they'd stop reminding you all the time," Haar growled.

"It's fine, Captain," she would reply. "They need to talk about it, too."

"Will you stop calling me Captain already?"

Once they were settled, they started up the wyvern delivery service Haar had mentioned during the war. Jill hadn't been certain it would happen, but it was a relief to have something to do during peacetime. There was no way she could sit around idly and stare at her father's grave all day. It was time to start a life, a new life, just as her father had all those years ago.

Her home felt empty without him. His scent still lingered, the house having been shut up since his defeat. There were still papers strewn over the desk, and clothes in his closet. She stood in his bedroom doorway, staring at the pristinely-made bed. There wasn't much else in there. Whatever they had they shared, thus most of their belongings were stored in the common room. There was a knock on the front door, and she sealed off the bedroom before answering.

"Haar?" she said, opening the door. "Everything okay?"

His lips lifted in a half-smile. "Sure. Busy?"

She stared at his back as he passed by, at the contours of muscle beneath his shirt. He didn't wait for an invitation to take a seat, though she would have offered, anyway.

"Isn't this cutting into your sleep schedule?" Jill said, sitting across the table. She was only half-joking.

"Yeah." He yawned, the eye patch lifting slightly off his cheek. "Jill, I've been thinking." He paused, briefly. "It's stupid for you to live here alone. Come stay with me."

"Haar!" She sat up straighter, twisting her hands in her lap. "I..."

"Not like that," he quickly added, watching her cheeks flush. "I promised your father I would take care of you."

"So that's it, then?" She slouched. "A command from my father."

"At first," he said with a shrug. "But you know that's not all."

Suddenly she wanted to be back at the cemetery, visiting her father's grave, holding Haar's sleeping face in her lap. Guarding that grave had been their common bond. But now, staring at him across the table, she sensed he no longer saw her only as Commander Shiharam's daughter. Yes, she still was. She always would be. But during the war, she had become her own woman with her own view of the world. She had changed. But Haar was still here, still offering to protect her.

"I can't deny my father's orders," she said. "But I would like it better if you came here instead."

"Stubborn as always," he said with a smirk.

It was peculiar at first having Haar occupy her father's bedroom, but she was glad that they had bedrooms. She would never have been able to sleep if they shared the same room. Her father may have been gone, but she still felt his presence. She wouldn't give up that house. When Jill returned home after the war she hadn't bothered to change anything, but Haar better understood the need to revamp it.

"I won't let you live in a dusty shrine," he had said, dumping old papers from the desk. Perhaps he was right.

They took turns with deliveries, so it was seldom they were home at the same time during the day. But she smiled as she tucked into bed at night, knowing he was nearby. Slowly, the heaviness of her father's absence began to dissolve as the house became hers—theirs.

When Haar was summoned for a delivery to Begnion, she was surprised how empty it felt without him. She had quickly grown accustomed to cooking for two, to coming home at night to him sleeping—whether he made it to his room or not. But the work didn't stop, and she kept herself busy transporting cargo across Talrega. She tried not to worry about his extended absence.

One morning, Jill found herself with a shipment to be delivered outside Talrega. She stared curiously at the packing label—Nevassa. Haar would usually manage the out-of-town orders, but he had yet to return from Begnion. It felt like ages since she had last visited Daein's capital, tracking down a king who had long deserted his country. But in a way, she wanted to go to Nevassa. News of Begnion occupancy had reached all corners of Daein, and she was curious to see how much the city had changed. She smiled, preparing her beastie for the trip.

As much as she loved being home, there was nothing like the freedom of flight. As her beastie rose to the sky, she closed her eyes briefly. She squealed in delight as her heart dropped from the nervous excitement of blindness. Talrega was far below now, only a pinprick on the vast expanse of Daein soil.

She was determined not to stop for a break, but since the respite from the war her wyvern was unaccustomed to long trips. "You're getting lazy," she said with a laugh, stroking his neck. "Come on, beastie, let's take a rest." They set down in the first village she spotted.

Her wyvern curled up on the outskirts of the village, protecting the cargo. She had no plans to eat or make any stops at all; she was mostly curious to see how much had changed.

Even this far from the capital, it was obvious how much control Begnion had. There weren't too many foreign soldiers around, but it was enough to make Jill feel uneasy. Their presence made the village feel like another world, one outside Daein, even they were still within her borders. It felt eerily similar to being in Begnion proper. Jill had been a Daein girl all her life but she suddenly felt like the foreigner, like she didn't belong there. She quickly turned back.

"Hey, you."

She hoped the rude command was not directed at her, but she knew she wouldn't be that lucky. A hand grabbed her arm.

"Excuse you!" She whipped around, jerking her arm from the soldier's grasp. A few surrounding villagers noticed the outburst, stopping to watch.

"I don't recognize your face," the soldier said, scrutinizing as he inched closer. "What is your business here?"

She backed up several steps, appalled by his close proximity. "I run a delivery service," she said venomously. "I'm making a delivery." She swept an arm to the village border, where her beastie watched them curiously. The villagers close by chuckled, but the soldier was too preoccupied staring her wyvern down to notice.

"I'll have to inspect that," he said, eying the cargo, but she stepped in front of him when he tried to advance.

"I am unauthorized to deliver this to anyone but its intended recipient."

"You're not delivering it," the soldier said, "I said it was an inspection."

"And I said no."

Before he could grab for her again, she turned and bolted. It wasn't often she had to run; all her battles were in the air. She propelled herself forward, and she could hear the cheers of the villagers behind her. It mattered not that she wasn't a local—she was a proper Daein citizen. They would stick together.

Her wyvern was already prepared for flight before she jumped on, as if knowing his master needed to flee as soon as possible. Jill didn't even have time to grab the reins before they were in the air, scrambling for them as they whipped in the wind.

She laughed when she finally caught the reins. It was a stupid move, she knew. That soldier could have been a flyer as well, but he wasn't. She was blissfully alone. Jill rubbed the side of her wyvern in gratitude. "Let's get going," she said aloud. "Nevassa's going to be a lot of fun." He snorted.

Jill almost didn't recognize the capital from overhead.

She slowed down, hovering over Nevassa in search for a place to land, but was distracted by the crowded streets. She couldn't remember so many homeless before, or so many soldiers crawling the alleys. None were Daein militia, of course; she had expected as much. Even from up high, she could hear the shouting and berating of Begnion soldiers. She almost didn't want to set down, but finally found a spot to land at the end of an alleyway. She had work to do.

She peered down the narrow path when she jumped off her wyvern, but no one seemed to notice their arrival. It was unlikely anyone would bother her beastie here. She started to untie the shipment, but the sudden approach of footsteps made her tense up.

"Hey, Jill!"

She turned, surprised. "Zihark! Fancy seeing you here after all this time."

"Likewise!"

Jill's anxiety over being in Nevassa lessened when seeing the familiar face. She hadn't even known through most of the war that Zihark, too, was Daein born and bred. But how had he been so comfortable around the laguz, when they had had a similar upbringing? She never had a chance to ask.

"Decided to come back here on a whim," Zihark continued, helping her unpack the cargo. "How've you been?"

She smiled. "I'm just dropping off a few packages for Haar."

"Ha!" Zihark smirked. "How's the old man these days?"

Jill flushed as she turned away, wiping her hands on her pants. "He's fine." She pulled a stack of delivery papers from her bag, flipping through to confirm all was accounted for. Zihark peered over her shoulder.

"Say," he said, casually pacing around her, casting the occasional glance, "have you had the chance to look around?"

She avoided his eye, scanning the cargo list instead. "No... why?"

"Things are bad, Jill." He stopped pacing, standing so close beside her that their shoulders nearly touched. He kept his voice low. "It's worse here in Nevassa, but you can see it everywhere. Worse than they were with Ashnard, even."

She gripped the papers in both hands, creasing the sides of the pages. She sighed. "I know that."

He nudged her shoulder with his own, studying the side of her face. She didn't look up. "We could stop it."

She immediately thought of the soldier who harassed her, of viewing the dirty Nevassa slums from overhead. She was no fool; she knew what was happening. It wasn't likely to get any better, unless someone made a move to change it. She finally looked at Zihark, who was grinning expectedly. Was this all it took, two war buddies looking to start a revolution?

And her father, all those years ago, moving to Daein for a better life. But in some twisted way, Begnion had followed. Her blood pumped angrily in her veins.

She had to write a letter home. She didn't know the next time she would be there.

A/N: Jill/Zihark dialogue used with permission from Krad-Eelav at deviantART, from her fan-comic Uprising. (You should read it.)