Author's Note: At last, a new story for this series arrives! One that I've had in mind for a long time too. This story is centered on Jerec, the hot-headed Daein lancer who debuted in Ashes of War and reappeared in its sequel, The Secret Sword. He was originally created by Falchion1984, and more depth/development/characterization added by me. If you liked him a lot, you should enjoy this story! :D Here, we dig more into his past as well as his family and he ends up battling his feelings over things his father, Bryce, has done. And maybe, just maybe, someone will capture his heart too. If you've played FE: Path of Radiance, you may remember Bryce as one of the four Daein Riders. The way he talked and all, I always saw him as a rather depressed guy with a troubled past. So this tale builds on that with his son handling the knowledge of this. I'm posting two parts right away because it was originally just one chapter. I just had to split it up. Also, there's a Leonard Nimoy reference somewhere in one of them, though that was done by Falchion1984. I never watched Star Trek. But my late grandma and stepdad both loved the show, so I'm cool with a reference being here. Especially since I was really close to the former. Falchion also created Shea, while I created Blake, btw.
Conflict of the Heart
Part 1: The Letter
A seaborne breeze whistled through the air, light but cold. The wind gained strength as it blew inland towards the nation of Crimea, rippling the grass of the fields and rustling the leaves of the scattered trees. The afternoon sun also shone overhead…or, at least, one supposed so. The sky was a mass of gloomy clouds which spanned the horizon, allowing only for one to guess at the bright orb which must be hiding behind the leaden gray curtain. Birds chirped and squirrels and rabbits scampered about, though, like those creatures in Crimea who spoke and wore clothes, these seemed either subdued or fretful. The meadow was quite beautiful, even in such gloomy weather, and likely would've had some visitors eager to enjoy the fresh air and the beauty of its many patches of wildflowers. Yet, only one had entered its sylvan folds.
And he hardly seemed the sort to spend time smelling wildflowers.
He was a young man, a vagabond judging by his weather-beaten appearance, sprawled out amidst a corona of green spring grass that was almost knee deep. Bedding down so far from civilization was an uncommon thing for honest folk to do and, coupled with his unkempt features and worn clothing, this might've caused one to believe him some squatter, or scavenger, or even a fugitive. But, one who was willing to venture closer might see that this specimen was very different. The sunlight, though scant on this overcast day, shone off of his dark red hair, an uncommon trait in Crimea, as well as the crimson scruff that was encroaching upon his jaw line. A dark brown cloak was draped over his form, but did little to conceal the sinewy frame beneath. His head rested upon a suit of black plate armor, which had been tightly and securely packed with a deftness that bespoke long practice. If his physique and improvised bedding did not suggest that this young man was no stranger to combat, the silver lance next to him certainly would. The weapon had clearly seen a great deal of use, but had also been lovingly maintained. A length of sturdy rope, all but lost in the tall grass, linked it to the knapsack lying next to the slumbering vagabond, making it quite difficult for someone to steal either without making quite a racket and rousing their forbidding owner.
No, this was not a drunken vagrant nor a common highwayman.
He just snored like one.
Which might very well explain how he had been found so far from civilization.
Muttering something about gratuity, a lanky man in light clothing and with a leather knapsack across one shoulder approached the small campsite which, to his ears, sounded more like a bustling sawmill. The lanky man was still grumbling about how much he was getting paid to chase down this wanderer when something round and hard suddenly caught his foot and sent him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, stepping loudly on several dry twigs, and turned a wary eye on the vagabond.
Those who bedded down alone and in the wilderness often employed such counter-measures to warn them of intrusive folk…
…and, judging by that silver lance, "intrusive" had a way of swiftly becoming "dead."
Yet, to the lanky man's amazement, his blundering into the vagabond's traps didn't even interrupt the raucous snores.
Dumfounded, and wondering why he couldn't get that old saying about poking bears out of his mind, the lanky man fished an unbroken twig out of the grass and began warily prodding the sleeping man's stomach.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised, but was when the man only rolled over in his sleep and muttered something about fluffy bunnies. And, even though the lanky man continued his nervous prodding, the vagabond still slept soundly.
Idly wondering if anything could rouse the man from his nap, the skittish visitor decided to change tactics.
"HELLO?! Sir JEREC?!" he shouted as loudly as he dared. "I was told by the tavern keeper in Mitox that I could find you here?! SIR JEREC!"
"Aw, Dad, just a few more minutes…" Jerec mumbled, still snoring despite the shouting.
Moments later, the owner of the other masculine voice noticed Jerec slumbering in the grass.
"…What in tarnation? That tavern keeper wasn't kidding when she said this guy is hard to wake up," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Well, I seem to be running out of options, so here's hoping I don't lose my pay for this…"
The man then knelt in the grass and, trying to avoid staring at the silver lance, took Jerec by the shoulder.
"Hey! SIR JEREC!" he called again, giving Jerec's shoulder a shake.
"Waaaah!" Jerec finally blurted, springing into action.
With a speed and suddenness that defied the man's earlier languidness, he vaulted to his feet in an instant, snatching up his silver lance and leveling its blade for the kill. His purple eyes, though bleary, shot wide open as he registered the lanky man curled into a whimpering ball at his feet.
"Please don't kill me!" the man squeaked.
"Ah, damn it, I did it again!" Jerec said irritably as he lay aside his lance and offered his hand to the shaken man. "I'm quite a heavy sleeper, and most people who'd be prodding me awake out here wouldn't be friendly."
"I…I understand, Sir Jerec," the man replied in a shaky voice, taking Jerec's hand and allowing the lancer to pull him back to his feet. "The tavern owner back in Mitox warned me that you wouldn't be easy to rouse when I asked where I could find you. I didn't quite expect you to sleep through me crashing through your rocks and twigs, though!"
"Heh…" was all Jerec could say, his cheeks reddening. "You must mean the fetching Miss Shea and her brother, Blake? They're good friends of mine. How about we keep that little mishap between us, and you tell them I said you've earned a good tip?"
"I like the sound of that."
"Good. This was kind of embarrassing, and I'd hate to think what their patrons would've made of it… Anyway, you found me, so what can I do for you?"
"Oh, yes, I was hired by Shea and Blake to deliver this letter to you," the man replied. He then dug into a sack hanging from his shoulder and produced a rolled up scroll.
"Huh, I wonder who this could be from…" Jerec commented absently, though his stomach was already coiling into a leaden knot.
As his bedding down miles from the nearest town might suggest, Jerec was hardly a socialite. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had few friends in this corner of the world and not even many acquaintances, apart from Shea, Blake and those who paid him for his work as a mercenary for hire. And, though he'd garnered some reputation as being worth every copper, even those who'd provided him with repeat business knew very little about him.
This was, however, out of necessity rather than aloofness.
Jerec was not from Crimea, and should his heritage become widely known, he shuddered to contemplate what might result. Thus, he avoided socializing much, lest he unwittingly say something that might arouse suspicion. Though Jerec looked very much the part of a rootless wanderer who'd simply found Crimea an agreeable place for his meanderings, the truth was vastly more complicated. He was originally from Daein. In fact, his late father, Bryce, had been one of the country's Four Riders, who were the most distinguished generals and strongest warriors in the Daein army. Ever since the conflict known as the Mad King's War, where Daein had declared war on Crimea and brutally ravaged the nation, hatred for the Daein people ran deep amongst the Crimeans. And, though Crimea had won the war, and even found itself fighting alongside Daein following the awakening of the mad goddess Ashera, the wounds of the Mad King's War were still fresh and bled all too easily.
Could someone have uncovered his secret and begun spreading rumors? Some of the Crimean nobility were aware of his identity, as he had been sent to the castle in the past to petition then-queen Elincia for help against Arius, the self-proclaimed king of the wolf laguz who'd sought to carve out his own kingdom in Daein. Those nobles who were aware of Jerec's origins likely weren't pleased that Elincia had heard his request at all, to say nothing of how they must've reacted when she'd obliged, and it was quite possible that they could've tried to take some action against him.
Though Elincia had known of Jerec's identity, Jerec hadn't any clue whether Renning, her uncle who'd taken the throne after her abdication and departure, might also be aware. Renning seemed to share Elincia's views and beliefs, for he had also been a staunch advocate of building peaceful relations with the laguz. Jerec couldn't imagine that Renning would want to prosecute him, but he was forced to admit that that hardly guaranteed his continued safety. Between Ike's self-imposed exile from Crimea and Elincia abdicating her throne to seek out the wayward hero, Renning had inherited the crown of a deeply troubled realm. And, while his country's present difficulties surely weighed far more on his mind than past grudges, it also meant that any nobles seeking to make mischief behind his back would have the advantage. Could the letter be some sort of summons for him to appear and undergo an investigation, or even a warrant for his arrest? Such could have been concocted by the uppity nobles, especially while Renning was too mired by other crises to intervene.
Jerec's troubled introspection felt like it had lasted for days but, when he shook himself back to the present, he saw that the messenger was still there. Thankfully, it seemed the lanky man had not noticed either the clench of Jerec's jaw nor the sweat beginning to dot his brow.
"I haven't a clue, I'm afraid," the messenger admitted. "The message was passed to me by Shea, who'd received it from another, who'd also mentioned that he'd received it from another. It seems the sender wanted very much to remain anonymous. Whatever this is, it must be something important or personal, maybe both."
"Hmm…" Jerec murmured as he took the scroll. "Well, thank you. And tell Shea and Blake that I said you've earned a good tip."
"No problem! Thank you, and see ya around!"
With that, the messenger took his leave, and Jerec was left to regard the scroll with a wary eye. The lancer, pausing to mop his brow, unknotted the string which kept it coiled up and with a shaky breath, unrolled the scroll. Inside, he discovered two sheets of parchment, one roughly half the size of the other. The larger sheet was likely the letter that the messenger had been talking about. The smaller one, however, looked much older. The parchment was yellowed and cracked around the edges, and some of the ink was quite faint. Perplexed, but with curiosity now prevailing over his earlier trepidation, Jerec decided to read the letter first. He sensed that the messenger was right about this letter being important, and he wanted a better idea of what he was getting himself into.
Jerec,
I'm sending you this important message from Daein. I know you have left the country and have neither reason nor desire to return, but I'm afraid I must ask you to do precisely that. Believe me, I would not be making such a request unless I was certain that the need was great. I would have rather sought you out myself and discussed this matter in person, but I was unsure if I could find you, and even less certain if I could convince you. You see, I was a friend of your father's, and some years ago, he had entrusted me with very sensitive information about his past. This secret weighed heavily upon him, though he took great care not to show it. I suspect he'd wanted to tell you during the Mad King's War, so that you could put the matter to rights if the war took him before he could do attend to this matter himself. However as you may already know, he fell to Sir Ike's blade before he had the opportunity.
Now, I don't expect you to make your decision immediately, for I suspect this information will come as a blow. That is why I urge you to come to my home in Daein, so we discuss this matter face to face. Hopefully, I will be able to make what you will discover easier to take in. I do wish you could have learned about this sooner, and that I could've done more for your father. As much as I would wish to say more in this letter, I know all too well that I must keep this message anonymous and its contents oblique, lest I expose your own secret and put you in danger. I suspect it's hard enough for a Daein to live in Crimea as it is. But, I trust that you can glean my identity nonetheless. I know that what will be revealed will be difficult to accept, but I urge you not to react too rashly, nor to think ill of those others involved. Your father was not a perfect man, but he was a good man who I happily counted as a friend. And, I hope I can do honor to his memory by how I help you and those others affected by this secret.
I hope to see you soon,
T
When he saw the calligraphic "T" signed at the bottom of the letter, Jerec's eyes pulsed wide with dawning comprehension. Only one of his father's friends used such a distinctive mark, and he recognized it in an instant.
"Blast it… There's only one person who could've sent this," he deduced. "General Tauroneo, I never thought I'd hear from you again. But what is this all about?"
That the letter was replete with cautionary words about judging too harshly left Jerec more than a bit wary as he turned his attention to the smaller, older sheet of parchment. As he squinted at the faint text, he could make out the words "Certificate" and "Bryce," the latter of which being written on a line next to "Name of Father."
"Uh… This looks like my birth certificate," the lancer mused, perplexed. "I don't get it, why would Tauroneo be worried about this getting me riled up? …Wait a minute."
As Jerec took another, closer look at the birth certificate, he saw something peculiar. He had assumed that the birth certificate was his own, but a look at the date of birth revealed that that could not be so. The child, whoever he or she was, had been born several years after Jerec
"What the hell?!" was all Jerec could say upon this revelation. "Th-This can't be possible! I…I have a sibling?!"
Indeed, it hardly seemed possible. Jerec's mother, who had been a frail and sickly woman, had died while birthing him. He remembered that, as a younger man, he'd spend hours at her grave, speaking to her and hoping she could still hear him from wherever her gentle spirit now rested. He also remembered that his father had never remarried.
Yet, the only way Bryce could've had another child after Jerec was if he had, nonetheless, been involved with another woman.
This realization sent Jerec staggering back as if it had been a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs and then sending him falling over backwards as he treaded upon one of the stones with which he'd ringed his campsite. This could not be happening; indeed, what he'd seemed to have discovered could not be reconciled with his memories of faithful and forthright man his father had been in life. Jerec remembered that his father had always been loyal and dedicated to his wife's memory, despite her tragic death. He was always the same with Jerec as well. The idea that he would father another child, presumably out of wedlock, and hide it from his son left Jerec's head spinning far more than his earthward tumble could have.
Tauroneo was right about this news coming as a blow; in fact, it seemed he'd understated the case a little.
"But how…? Why…?" Jerec stammered, barely able to get words past the sudden lump in his throat.
This certainly explained why Tauroneo had placed such emphasis on not reacting rashly or harshly, as well as hinting at just who "those others affected" might be. But, that still left open the question of why Tauroneo would reveal this now. Indeed, why would he reveal it at all?
Just…Dad, what the hell did you do?" he wondered in a helpless, confused tone.
Indeed, that was quite a question. And, the prospect of learning the answer was daunting. One fist tightened around the two pieces of parchment, both crumpling in his iron grip, while he clenched his other hand into a fist drove it into the ground. He discovered yet another one of his concealed rocks in this way, and the pain of the impact helped to snap him back to reality. The idea of his father having kept such a secret from him for so long was, indeed, overwhelming. And, Jerec could now see why Tauroneo wished to meet with him. Jerec could not possibly figure out how to handle such news by himself, and meeting with someone who could help him to put this matter in perspective would surely be wise. But, lingering questions nagged at the Daein vagabond. If Bryce had become involved with another woman at some point, who and where was she? And, who was their apparent child?
And, for that matter, why had Tauroeno chosen this moment to reveal such a secret? He'd surely had other opportunities over the nearly five years since Bryce's death. Could something have happened to the woman and her child? Given the tumult that had been so prevalent in Tellius after the Goddess War, that was a distinct possibility. Or, maybe the reason was far simpler. Tauroneo had said that he'd known this secret for some time, but maybe he'd only now unearthed proof that the story was true? That was possible. And, it was also likely that Tauroneo simply hadn't had the chance to pursue the matter. After Ashnard's death and Begnion's annexation of Daein, Tauroneo had joined the Dawn Brigade and fought for Daein's independence. Later, when Ashera had awoken, Tauroneo and the other heroes of Daein had reluctantly joined their former enemies to fight the maddened goddess. And, after that, Tauroneo's skills had surely been needed to help cement Sothe and Micaiah's newfound rule over the battered nation.
As trite as it might sound, Tauroneo might simply have been too busy.
Jerec mulled over several other possibilities, but then realized such was pointless. He knew he would never learn the rest of the tale unless he went back to Daein to investigate. And, as frightened as he was to delve into this matter, he simply had too many questions; questions, he suspected, that only Tauroneo himself could answer. If he shied away from this news, he would be left pondering all of this for the rest of his life.
"As if I'm not crazy enough already, what with how I sleep out in the wilderness and am always talking to myself," he opined to no one in particular. "…Alright. You win, General Tauroneo. I'll return to Daein as soon as I can clear my head a little. I can't really say no to my old mentor anyway."
The journey to Daein would be a long one, and he doubted it would be pleasant. For now, however, Jerec chose to return to Shea and Blake's tavern and get a few glasses of liquid courage before preparing for his journey. Despite his resolution to see Tauroneo, he was still out of sorts from what he'd discovered and was hoping that a libation or two would cool his lingering anger. He was also hopeful that Shea and Blake might be able to offer some advice. The two of them were probably the closest thing Jerec had to friends amongst the Crimean people. As he'd said to the lanky messenger earlier, Shea was a very fetching woman and, though he knew her to be at least eight or nine years his senior, one would never guess that from her attractive features, laughing eyes, and merry personality. Blake, Shea's older brother, was a towering bear of a man, but who was even jollier than his sister. Jerec hadn't, and probably couldn't reveal his heritage even to them, but he could hopefully ask the pair for help without arousing suspicion. As he placed the now mangled parchment inside his knapsack and began heading to the tavern, Jerec found another old friend he hadn't seen in years springing to mind.
They hadn't exactly met under the best circumstances and, to put it mildly, their friendship was an ironic one. But, Jerec found himself fervently wishing he could speak to him right now.
"Yeah, me and half the continent," he groused. "Ike, I think I get the appeal of boldly going where no man has gone before, but your timing is just terrible."
Indeed, Sir Ike, the former commander of the Greil Mercenaries, was just the man that everybody was eager to turn to in such trying times. Once a simple sellsword, Ike had been catapulted into the limelight when then-princess Elincia, had entered his life during the first days of the Mad King's War. From then on, over the course of five years, two wars, and many adventures, the name "Ike" had become all but synonymous with such words as "heroic," "daring," "indomitable," "courageous," "handsome," "alluring," and Ashunera knew what else. Practically everybody on the continent knew Ike's name, many of them had followed his exploits devoutly, and practically every unmarried woman wanted to know him on, as they put it, "a more personal basis."
Yet, this admiration of Ike, this overwhelming confidence in his abilities and the fervent belief that no crisis would endure so long as he was around, had spiraled well and truly out of control.
Ike had gone from an obscure sellsword, to a hero, to a veritable guardian angel.
And, when he'd left Tellius, it was as if everyone had had their hearts torn out, leaving behind gaping chasms brimming with despair.
Jerec missed Ike too, but for far different and more personal reasons. He had known Ike, if briefly, and knew that Ike was everything the legends said he was. But, more than that, Jerec knew that Ike would understand his situation, maybe even be able to help. Ike's own father, Greil, who had once been another former Daein Rider known as Gawain, had also kept a dark secret from his son. And, as the case apparently would be with Jerec, Ike had only learned the truth after his father had been taken from him by the war. Jerec knew bits and pieces of the story; namely that Greil and Ike's mother, whose name Jerec did not know, had stolen Lehran's Medallion from Ashnard and had tried to take the dangerous artifact beyond the Mad King's reach. But, while evading Daein's pursuit, Greil had unwittingly touched the medallion and its chaotic energies had driven him mad. The strongest and most skillful swordsman of his generation, the maddened Greil had easily cut his pursuers to pieces and went on a rampage in the surrounding town. Ike's mother had ultimately gotten the medallion away from him, thus snapping Greil out of its blood-lusting trance, but this act of bravery and love had cost Ike's mother her life.
By the time Jerec had met Ike and learned of these events, the young sellsword had seemed to have overcome the shock of these revelations. The flood of disbelief, anger and sadness seemed to have passed, leaving behind a man who had managed to come to terms with what, for most, was the unthinkable. How Ike had achieved that, Jerec couldn't even guess. In fact, upon reflection, Jerec found himself puzzled as to what had prevented Greil from being driven into a still deeper madness by what he'd unknowingly done. Yet, Greil had not only kept his sanity, but had even raised his two children and founded a mercenary company which was regarded as the stuff of legends.
Jerec wracked his brain for even the smallest hint as to how the two men could have done this, but he came away with only a throbbing skull for his efforts. He knew Ike had faced down the revelation of his father's unwitting actions, and had somehow come away tempered rather than broken by that knowledge. Yet, how Ike had accomplished this, Jerec couldn't even imagine.
"Damn it, Ike… What would you do in my place? Hell, what did you do in my place?" Jerec wondered despairingly. "If only I could find you and ask… Why did you have to leave?"
Only the chill wind answered Jerec's question, but that hardly mattered. In truth, Jerec had a pretty good idea of why Ike had left the continent he'd fought for and saved twice.
After all, what was sword or armor or muscle against the pain of a broken heart?
Jerec had been one of the few people to know that Ike and Elincia had been sharing a secret romance. While unexpectedly aiding Ike in the hunt for Ettard, which had once been Greil's sword, Jerec had gotten more than a few laughs at what fawning lovebirds those two could be. They were, however, wise enough to know that their love would not be easy. Elincia had her duties at the castle which, considering she'd never been groomed to occupy the throne, seemed to be an endless series of crises and political infighting, ultimately culminating in Duke Ludveck's ill-fated attempt to depose her. Ike had also had his obligations to the mercenaries and, since his taking care of the company was part of his father's last request, that had been a weighty obligation. And, as if that wasn't enough, the two were further separated by the vast gulf between their bloodlines. Even though Ike was already hailed as a hero, that would not have stopped certain people from disapproving of the idea of the queen marrying a low-born commoner. Yet, Jerec also remembered the iron forged determination the two shared, that they would find a way to be together regardless of the obstacles between them
When Jerec had first heard the announcement that Elincia was to be wed to General Geoffrey, he'd been bewildered. Granted, he hadn't seen Ike or Elincia in years, but the notion that one or both of them would give up on their love seemed unthinkable. On the heels of that came the news that Ike had departed along with one of his close friends, bound for another continent which had somehow survived an apocalyptic event known as the Great Flood over eight centuries prior.
Many months later, the Daein vagabond heard tell that Elincia and Geoffrey's marriage had been annulled and she'd also left for the newly discovered continent to seek out Ike. A punchy grin had tugged at the corners of Jerec's mouth, for he'd immediately determined that he'd been wrong to think to think that Ike and Elincia had admitted defeat and that, given a little more time, the two lovers would soon be together and happy at long last. Someday soon, the young lovers would sail back to Tellius with smiles on their faces and wedding bands upon their fingers. Of that, Jerec had no doubt…
…until he.d learned that Elincia had abdicated her throne before leaving.
That news had left the Daein vagabond stunned. But, in hindsight, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Before Jerec had cut his ties with his former homeland, he'd been involved in Elincia.s unsuccessful efforts to help get Daein back on her feet and mend fences between the two northern nations of Tellius. Elincia had hoped to involve Crimea in rebuilding Daein and to prevail upon Begnion to change their heavy handed policies regarding Daein.s citizens. Sadly, the effort had been doomed from the start. With the deep seated anger towards Daein, convincing any Crimean to support her efforts had been all but impossible and, with Begnion bankrolling Crimea's own reconstruction, Elincia wasn't in any position to do more than ask politely and hope for the best.
During that time, Jerec had quickly gleaned that Elincia was her own harshest critic. Even on those rare occasions when one of her endeavors turned out well, she was always certain that she.d far delivered less than her people needed of her. Jerec also knew that, prior to her birth, Elincia's uncle, Renning, had been the presumptive heir to the throne, and he'd received years of grooming to bear the crown. Yes, in hindsight, it did make sense that Elincia would want Crimea to have a better ruler after her many blunders. Still, the news had shocked him. Jerec's knowledge of politics was scant, to say the least, but he suspected that an abdication wasn't something one could just "take back." And, her and Ike's decision to leave had sparked quite a few ill feelings…
…which left Jerec wondering if either of them would be returning to Tellius at all.
With an effort, Jerec shook himself back to the present. It was painful that Ike and Elincia had left, but it was their decision and he had his own problems to worry about. And, as he turned that thought over in his head, he realized that trying to track Ike down and ask his advice would be a fool's errand. He knew nothing about the continent they'd reportedly journeyed to and, even if he could find them amidst that strange land, Jerec would likely have to travel very, very far. Time was also a problem. Jerec would have to spend weeks on a ship sailing to wherever Ike and Elincia had gone, and then once he'd arrived, he would need to seek them out, which could take months. After that, he'd need to spend several more weeks sailing back to Tellius, and then he'd need to spend another several weeks traveling to Daein, as it lay in the opposite direction of any likely ports where this long odyssey would begin. There was no guarantee that Tauroneo could wait that long, especially if some misfortune threatened his half-sibling and his or her mother.
"No offense, Ike, but there are some things which are more trouble than even you're worth," Jerec said with a resigned shrug. "Besides, if we do have to learn to get on without you, it'll have to start somewhere."
With that, Jerec pressed on and eventually reached the town of Mitox. It was a small but busy community of craftsman and traders; the sort of people who worked with great dedication, took pride in their wares, and struck honest, if hard bargains. Though Jerec looked and acted the part of a rootless wanderer, this town was probably the one place he frequented, and he'd had taken jobs fairly often while in the area before visiting Shea and Blake at the tavern. After sauntering through the town for a few minutes, during which Jerec mulled over what and how much to say to Shea and Blake, he approached the stone building which was his destination. It was fairly deep in the town, cunningly positioned so that anyone passing through the town was certain to notice it and consider stepping inside. Still uncertain of what to do when he entered, Jerec paused to force in a deep breath and turned his gaze upon the sign above the door. The words "Bullhorn Tavern" were painted upon it in large letters, and below these was the pained shape of a bull's head, its horns curving upwards to frame the tavern's name. Besides the Greil Mercenaries' base of operations, the Bullhorn Tavern was the only place where Jerec truly felt welcome, despite his secret. It also helped that it was a reputable establishment; well maintained, run by honest folk, and where room and board was reasonably priced.
Taverns like the Bullhorn struck quite a contrast to others which could be found in the more unsavory places of the world, which were run-down, overpriced, and where opiates and favors from loose women were sold more often than the beer.
That notion stopped Jerec as surely as if he'd wandered into a solid wall. Could his half-sibling have come into being in such an unseemly fashion? He tried to shake off the notion, shook until his neck ached, but the cold suspicion persisted. In some such seedy establishments, women of high ambition and few scruples would often arrange to entrap men of means, especially ones who were married. After coaxing their prey into a night of passion, they'd blackmail their quarry, who would then face the dilemma of either risking public humiliation or risk paying for the woman's silence for years to come. Some of these women even went so far as to deliberately get pregnant so that they'd have that much more leverage.
Again, Jerec found himself wondering if that could've been how he'd come to have a half-sibling. He tried to deny it, to tell himself that Bryce was neither unfaithful to his wife's memory nor foolish enough to blunder into such a trap…
…yet, upon reflection, he could not think of another explanation for how Bryce had fathered another child after his wife's passing.
And, the possible implications of that unsettled Jerec greatly.
"If I didn't need a drink before, I sure do now," he muttered, opening the door.
The little bell above the door gave a jingle as Jerec entered and made his way to his usual spot at the bar. The tavern was a small but well-kept establishment, housing less than a dozen wooden tables scattered about the common room. Hunting trophies adorned the walls while bear skin rugs and a crackling fire in the fireplace helped to ward off the chill from outside. The Bullhorn had few customers there at the moment either, likely because lunch time was over and dinner was still a few hours off. Yet, fond though Jerec was of this place and the people who ran it, he could not keep a melancholy sigh from parting his lips as he sat down. Shea and Blake seemed to already be prepared for the dinner crowd and, of course, they noticed the bell's jingle and turned to face him right away. Blake was a man who had to be at least in his mid-thirties, though he had a tall, broad-shouldered frame that many a younger man might envy. His dark green hair was cropped short, but was nonetheless unruly, while a thin beard lined his chin. While Blake looked very much his age, Shea looked much younger than she truly was. Shea was a slight woman, more than a foot shorter than her brother and a good few inches shorter than Jerec. Like Blake, she had dark green hair, but hers was quite long. She habitually coiled it into a functional braid, not unlike those used by female Royal Knights. Both siblings were clothed in white long-sleeve shirts, brown trousers and aprons. Blake also had his sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, likely to give enough of a view of his brawny limbs to dissuade any troublemakers that might darken his doorstep.
Though, Jerec suspected that both siblings wearing stout wooden cudgels on their belts provided the clearer warning.
Despite the impression their weapons might cause some, Jerec knew the tavern keepers to be kind and sociable people who worked hard to satisfy their customers. They'd quickly gleaned that Jerec was without family, the news he'd received that morning notwithstanding, and that he had few friends and little money. Sympathetic to his situation, Shea and Blake allowed him to work for them on occasion. In return, Jerec could bunk in one of the rooms of the tavern's inn for free. Jerec had been quite amazed by this generosity but had been most grateful, especially when he had trouble finding work elsewhere and his coin purse was growing light.
He treasured Shea and Blake's friendship, but could not suppress the nagging doubts about how they'd react if his secret were to be exposed. And, given his earlier musings, he was still uncertain if he should say anything at all.
"Heya, Jerec," Blake greeted as he rounded the bar to approach the troubled lancer. "I was wondering when you'd get back."
Shea also rounded the bar and, as was her custom, brought up one hand to ruffle Jerec's hair in a show of nearly fraternal affection.
"Did you get caught in the middle of your nap?" she wondered teasingly, well aware of the Daein vagabond's sleeping habits.
Normally, such a jibe would've gotten a spluttered denial or a blush out of Jerec. But, when the lancer didn't even seem to notice Shea's words, she exchanged a concerned glance with her brother. The oblivious Jerec remained silent, but his silence likely betrayed his melancholy, for the two siblings pressed in closer and Blake snapped his fingers to rouse the lancer from his reverie.
"Oh!" Jerec blurted, startled. "Sorry about that. What were you saying?"
The Daein vagabond had made a fumbling attempt to keep his tone neutral but, judging from the glances the two siblings shared, they'd had little trouble hearing the gloominess in his voice.
"What's the matter? You seem to have a lot on your mind," Blake observed. Jerec snorted humorlessly at that supreme understatement, but could not argue the point. He did have a lot on his mind, so much so that his head felt as though ready to crack under the strain of holding it all in. Gnashing his teeth against the pain, he tried to sort through all the inner tumult which Tauroneo's letter had stirred in him…
…and, he was having little success.
He had no idea who this woman was that his father had been involved with. His father had made no mention of her at all, which considering his earlier ruminations, was not reassuring, and Tauroneo hadn't divulged her name or where she lived. He knew even less about his apparent half-sibling. Bryce had never taken Jerec aside to admit the truth to his son, another lapse which the lancer was hesitant to dwell on, and Tauroneo's letter hadn't contained any clues as to his half-sibling's name or whereabouts. Jerec had no way of knowing if Bryce had had any contact with the woman over the years, but the fact that they were never married caused his heart to clench.
Jerec liked to think that he would've understood if his father had remarried, maybe that he'd even have liked having a little brother or sister, but something in the core of his being kept Jerec from believing that.
Maybe Bryce had felt the same, and that was why had never married the mother of his second child?
Or, could there be some truth to Jerec's musing about women who had affairs with men they later blackmailed?
If that's it, then to hell with both of them! he mentally spat.
He'd been about to wash down the notion of seeking out the pair with a tankard of stout, but paused when something else occurred to him. If Bryce's second child had been conceived simply for a scheming harlot to use as bargaining chip, then why would Tauroneo bother to send his summons? Bryce was dead, and his estate was likely considered the property of the crown, since Jerec had no interest in retaining a collection of old, empty halls. That left no one for the woman to blackmail, nor any money to pay her off with…assuming she even was blackmailing anyone at all.
My head hurts! Jerec inwardly fumed, feeling near to madness pondering the endless list of if's.
And, Jerec's next line of thought did little to ease the pain. Even if there hadn't been any blackmail involved, it still didn't explain what had gone on between Bryce and the mother of Jerec's half-sibling. But, though he weighed all manner of notions of what could have happened between them, one terrible question still rose above all others.
Had his father truly been unfaithful to his mother's memory, or had he simply been moving on with his life?
Unable to answer, Jerec let his head fall into his upturned hands and sighed.
Suddenly, he felt slender but toughened fingers rustling through his hair, bringing him back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes to see Shea staring back at him, her expression telling him that he had her undivided attention. Over her shoulder, Jerec spied Blake with his brawny arms knotted across his chest, and the lancer knew he was stuck.
His long introspection and gloomy demeanor had aroused quite a bit of interest in the pair, and they weren't about to let him leave without plumbing his secrets.
"A stout and an ale, please," he requested, already bracing himself for a long inquiry.
This was a mistake, he told himself. I can't tell them much, and this isn't their problem.
When his drinks arrived and he tried to convince the pair of his earlier conclusion, they were less-than-receptive.
"Oh, you're not getting off that easily," Shea remarked in a tone that, for all its coyness, brooked no disagreement.
And, as if that wasn't enough, the bear of a man who was her brother was now leaning against the door, effectively barring the lancer's escape.
"Not exactly subtle, are you?" Jerec asked the pair resignedly.
"Can't even spell the word," Blake joked, though his jovial expression quickly sobered. "I'm guessing that letter we relayed to you must've really been something."
"You could say that. It's…not easy for me to explain. Hell, I'm not even sure if I should talk about it at all."
And that uncertainty, he reminded himself, was just one more on a seemingly endless list. Yet, as he mulled that over, something came over him. What is was, he could not say. Perhaps he was simply tired of pondering unknowns and he wanted answers, however painful they might be. Or, maybe he wanted to find those answers to prove that the dark musings he'd fallen into about his father could not be true.
And, quite possibly, after years of wandering alone and keeping his secrets bottled up inside of him, he just wanted someone to talk to.
"I received news…" he began, a heavy sigh punctuating his sentence. "It was about my father."
"Your father?" Shea wondered, perplexed. "But, didn't you say he died years ago?"
"Yeah, he did. That's part of the reason I left…home, I wanted to get away from the memories. But a friend of the family wrote me with some news that's hard to take."
Here, Jerec paused to take a breath. He hadn't meant to reveal this much, but now that he had, he realized that the pounding in his skull and the tightness in his chest were subsiding. Perhaps he ought to tell them more, at least enough that they might understand his situation. Even if they couldn't help him, maybe just the act of talking to them about it would help to calm his inner tumult.
He likely wouldn't have another chance until he met Tauroneo…and, that wouldn't happen for quite some time.
As if he'd heard Jerec's thoughts, and sought to underscore the point, Blake came back over to the bar and lay one large hand on the Daein vagabond's shoulder.
"It must really be something indeed, if it's got you this troubled," the towering man deduced. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious, but I do think you should talk to someone about it."
Shea silently accentuated the point by coiling her fingers around Jerec's hand and giving him a reassuring squeeze. The lancer nodded gravely and, after a fortifying swig of stout, he took the plunge.
"I just found out that my father had another child…after my mother's death."
"I don't remember you saying that your father remarried," Blake said.
"That's because he didn't."
Two pairs of dark green eyebrows shot up at those words, and Jerec couldn't blame them. Even after a day spent turning the idea over in his head, he simply couldn't reconcile the idea of his father, the man who'd been faithful to his wife beyond death, siring a child with another woman. Yet, somehow, voicing it had seemed to dull its edge. He still felt his confusion and frustration burning deep in his gut; if anything, it seemed hotter than before. But, it was as if the choking haze of smoke had dissipated, allowing him to breathe again. And, with one long breath, he gave voice to his fears.
"It just doesn't make sense," he admitted. "My father never showed any interest in remarrying, he never went more than week without visiting my mother's grave. But, he fathers a child with another woman who I've never even met? I've been trying to wrap my head around it all day, but…"
His words trailed off as he threw up his hands, obviating any further explanation.
"Damn," Blake opined after a long pause. "That's rough. I can't say I know how you feel or what I'd do in your place. But, I can see why you're so glum. So, you didn't learn anything about your half-sibling?"
"No," Jerec admitted sourly. "But, that might've been because my father's friend didn't want to put something so sensitive and personal in a letter. Not everybody keeps things in confidence as well as you two."
That much was true. Though secrets were divulged quite often when enough ale, wine, or beer had been imbibed, Shea and Blake had never been known to trade on the trust which their customers had shown when they were desperate to get something off their chests. And, indeed, the weight of this secret might very well have proven crushing if Jerec hadn't opened up to his two friends.
"Aren't you the sweet one for saying so," Shea opined, ruffling Jerec's hair again. "What are you going to do, though? You already said you have no idea where to look for this woman or her child."
"The only thing I can do is go meet with the man that sent me the letter," Jerec replied, inwardly affirming that he would do just that. "He says he'll be able to explain everything. Here's hoping he's right."
"You trust him?"
"With my life. I've known him since I was a boy, and he was like a mentor to me."
"And, you aren't easy to impress," Blake chimed in. "But, how did you know the letter was from this friend of yours? The messenger who passed it to us said it was only signed with one initial."
"Yeah, but the sender left me hints, and I recognized his…handwriting."
"Makes sense," Shea opined. "So, when do you plan on leaving?"
"As soon as I can. It's a long trip to see my friend, especially since I'll likely have to go on foot. And…I might need the time to brace myself for what I find out."
Hearing the grim anticipation in his voice, Shea lowered herself onto an adjacent stool and draped her arm around Jerec's shoulder.
"Let me give you some advice before you leave," Shea began, once more using the tone that brooked no argument. "I know you won't tell us any more than you already have. Heck, I probably would've said a lot less in your place. But, over the years, you've told us a fair bit about your father. And, what you have told us says that he was a good man. When you're ready to knock on that door, you will learn things that will be hard to swallow. But, it may not turn out to be as dim as you might think. If he raised someone like you, he's earned the benefit of the doubt. Remember that, and I think you'll do fine."
From the creaking at Jerec's back, he gleaned that Blake must've settled into the stool behind him. When a clap to the back nearly sent him sprawling to the floor, Jerec was certain of it.
"Why don't you have a meal before you go?" Blake suggested. "You must be hungry, and it sounds like you've a rough time ahead of you. It's on the house. Think of it as our way of giving you a send-off before you go on your little mission."
"Oh, much obliged," Jerec replied, despite the sudden crick in his back.
"Not at all. Good luck on your search, and I hope you'll be back to tell us about it."
"Sure thing!"
With that, Jerec placed an order for a lamb shank, a loaf of bread, and some soup. As Blake and Shea headed to the kitchen at the back of the tavern, Jerec let his mind wander. As Shea had pointed out, he'd said quite a bit about his father, though with some strategic omissions. They knew he was a distinguished soldier in the army, though he avoided saying whose army, and that his wife had died in childbirth some years ago. They knew he had been a dedicated father and his honor and loyalty had been unwavering right to the end.
Even to those who didn't deserve it, Jerec mused, mentally spitting on Ashnard's grave.
Even so, despite all Jerec had kept from them, Shea and Blake seemed more than sincere when they voiced their opinion that Bryce had been a good man. Maybe Jerec was simply a good storyteller, or maybe the tavern keepers were great judges of character; indeed, they'd have to be if they could glean such from a few anecdotes. Still, their affirmation did make Jerec feel a bit better. Maybe the answers he found would prove that their assessment, and his own, were right. And, even if that did not happen, Jerec promised himself that he would give his father the benefit of the doubt.
As the smell of savory lamb tickled his nostrils, Jerec idly wondered how Ike would react if he learned about the lancer getting a free meal. Ike was well known for wielding a sword with unparalleled skill and for having a magnificent physique that a berserker could be impressed with. However, those who knew Ike personally were also aware that one of his most famous characteristics was his monstrous appetite.
Well, maybe "infamous" would be more appropriate, Jerec inwardly snickered.
Indeed, Jerec had witnessed what ensued when Ike was at the table, and the spectacle had truly boggled his mind. Much to Ike's chagrin, his eating habits had inspired quite the running gag amongst the other Greil Mercenaries, as well as Elincia. When the two of them had talked about the future they hoped to secure for themselves, she would tease him about how, if their baby inherited his appetite, she would end up the size of a house by the time she gave birth.
I wonder if that's already happened, Jerec silently wondered, with another inward snicker. I know Ike doesn't have a malicious bone in his body, but I think he'd get a good laugh if Elincia's teasing came back to bite her.
It took the Daein vagabond a moment to swallow his laughter but, once the hilarity subsided, he found himself hoping that Ike and Elincia were indeed together and happy. Turning his mind back his earlier musings, he decided that Ike would be quite envious of Jerec enjoying free food. Yet, the first café or tavern owner to offer such a luxury to the hero of Tellius would likely soon regret it.
But needless to say, this imagery gave Jerec some much needed cheer.
The lancer was shaken back to the present when Blake returned with his meal, as well as a glass of wine to wash it down. The fare was simple, and patrons of the glitzier inns located in the big cities would likely have turned their noses up at it. But Jerec found it much to his liking. Of course, that might've been because of how he'd go for weeks at a time hunting, fishing, and/or foraging for his own food. During his time in the Daein army, he'd learned many techniques for finding food when supplies were running low or had been cut off altogether. But game and fish were scarce this time of year, and the birds whose eggs he'd sometimes appropriate for breakfast had migrated for the season. That left Jerec with only berries, wild fruit, nuts, and edible roots for sustenance.
Suffice to say, he much appreciated this rare and free treat of civilized fare.
Especially since, at any other time, civilized fare would cost civilized money, which he was always short of.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Blake spoke up again. "You might want to pack some supplies before you go, huh?"
"Ah, right. I should have enough medicine and water, but I am rather low on food," Jerec recalled. "The hunting and fishing is very bad this time of year."
"Yeah, I know. But, as it happens, you dropped by at just the right time. The hunting may have been bad, but the harvest was a big success. The nearby market has more fruits, vegetables, cheese, bread, and smoked meat then they know what to do with. So, you should be able to get what you need there easily enough."
"Oh, that's good to hear, thanks."
"Heh, no problem!"
With that, Blake returned to the kitchen and Jerec turned his attention back to his meal. It was certainly an improvement over those roots which had too often passed for sustenance of late. But, though he would never admit to it, the tavern's food wasn't the best he'd ever had. It was more than good enough to satisfy him, of course, but he couldn't deny that he'd had better meals elsewhere. In fact, as the modest fare passed his lips, he once more found his mind wandering back to years gone by. During his brief friendship with the Greil Mercenaries, he'd made acquaintance with one of their members, a knight named Oscar. As had been the case with all of Ike's strange, merry band, Jerec's first impression of Oscar had been less-than-flattering. Granted, the fresh grief of his father's death had likely colored his judgment, but the lancer had found Oscar's perpetual grin and permanent squint to be unaccountably sinister. Still, Jerec had to admit that, in addition to being an outstanding cavalier, Oscar had a talent for cooking that was second to none. Jerec recalled that Oscar had been teaching Ike's younger sister, Mist, how to cook when the lancer had last met with the Greil Mercenaries, and that Oscar had left the company after the Goddess War to rejoin the Crimean Royal Knights.
Now that I think about it, didn't I hear that several others left the company as well, Jerec considered sadly. It really is too bad. As if Ike leaving wasn't enough of a blow.
Indeed, the splintering of the Greil Mercenaries had likely been as heavy a blow as Ike's departure. Even before Ike's name had become a household word, Greil had forged a mercenary company that could give even the Royal Knights a run for their money. As far as Jerec knew, barely half of the Greil Mercenaries he'd met years before were still part of the company, which left it a pale shadow of its former self.
They still carried on as best they could, fighting off the ever greater numbers of bandits and other villains that plagued Crimea, but it wasn't enough.
Indeed, many believed that, with Ike gone, these dark times might never end.
The lancer shook himself from this grim reverie, turning his thoughts to some of the others he'd known amongst the mercenaries. Mist quickly sprang to mind, and he found himself wondering how she'd been getting on with her family now scattered.
Probably better than most, Jerec mused. She's made of sterner stuff than her looks would suggest.
She'd had to be, especially considering what she'd learned about her parents during the Mad King's War.
That train of thought brought Jerec up short, his eyes pulsing wide in dawning comprehension. Ike's sister!
"What's up?" Shea wondered. "Why are you gaping like the catch of the day?"
Despite her seeming flippancy, Jerec could detect a hidden note of sincere interest in her tone. Likely, she suspected that he'd stumbled upon some solution to his dilemma.
"I just thought of something," he said, his tone turning sheepish as the words to come took shape in his head. "I…think it's no secret that I've held back quite a bit from you and Blake."
"It's about as obvious as how badly you need a shave, but I've never held it against someone to have their little secrets. You have yours, your father had his."
Well, there's nothing "little" about his secrets, or mine, Jerec mused, but he offered only a nod in response.
"In this business, you can hear a lot from your customers," Shea went on. "Some will tell their tavern keeper just about anything, others hold back a little, and some keep their secrets. When they choose to talk to us, we listen. When they don't, we respect their decision."
"And, I've always been glad that you've respected mine," the Daein vagabond continued. "I really appreciate you and Blake giving me an ear. And… I would like to tell you more than I have, but I think it might cause problems. There are some people who'd react…badly."
"Aren't there always? Seriously, though. Do you have someone else you can talk to? Someone you don't need to be so reserved with?"
"Actually, I think there is someone else I can talk to."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. It'll add some time to my trip, but that family friend I mentioned already knows it'll take me days to reach him. So, another day or two won't make much of a difference. Once I finish my meal, I'll get going."
"Sounds like a plan, but there is something you ought to do first."
With that, Shea withdrew a small mirror from her sleeve and turned it toward Jerec, revealing that tramping through the wilderness for days on end had left the Daein vagabond looking rather unkempt…
…to put it mildly.
"By the Goddess' left boob, I look terrible!" he groused, gingerly fingering the mass of red scruff on his jaw.
"And, I'm guessing it's been a while since you've had a bath?" Shea added, pointing to the door leading into the room Jerec had used in the past. "Get in there and, for the love of Ashunera, don't come back out until you're a little more presentable."
Since Shea was drumming her fingers on the cudgel at her belt, Jerec decided that arguing the point would not be wise. He knew from prior experience that, despite her slight build, Shea was a scrappy fighter and was more than adept with that cudgel. During one of his previous visits, the lancer had seen a drunken patron display an ungentlemanly interest in Shea's hips, as well as being utterly incapable of keeping his hands to himself.
Jerec had been about the give the drunk a piece of his mind, but Shea had beaten him to it…and left the drunk spitting teeth.
"Okay, okay, I can take a hint," the lancer said, knowing better than to argue.
As Jerec finished his meal and then went upstairs to clean himself up, he reflected upon his earlier realization. In hindsight, he was bewildered that he hadn't thought of it sooner. Mist would indeed know exactly what Jerec was going through since she had faced the same shock and disbelief as Ike when they learned their father's secrets. He also recalled that she was one of the kindest and most understanding women he'd ever met. More than that, though her looks and cherry demeanor might make one think otherwise, she had every bit of the gumption one would expect of Greil's progeny. Jerec didn't know how good she was at giving advice, but decided that it was worth a try. As he'd said to Shea, Tauroneo surely knew that the lancer would have a long road to reach Daein, and surely expected that it would take time for Jerec to arrive. If the time spent finding the Greil Mercenaries helped to prepare Jerec for whatever happened when he met Tauroneo, he was certain the old general would consider that time to be well spent.
Still, the idea of visiting the current base of the Greil Mercenaries did present some complications. Jerec had learned that Titania, who had been the company's deputy commander under Greil and Ike, was now commanding the mercenaries in Ike's place. This wasn't surprising, but Jerec wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of seeing her again. Jerec had not gotten along well with the red-haired paladin and, during their last encounter, he and Titania had had an argument which had escalated into a fight. Jerec had managed to punch her in the face; though thankfully, an illness he had been suffering from at the time prevented the scuffle from getting any worse.
"OUCH!" Jerec exclaimed, uncertain if he was referring to the prospect of Titania punching him back or the shaving cut which he now spied in the mirror.
Dabbing at the cut with a rag soaked in hot water, the Daein vagabond mulled over what news he'd heard of Titania since he'd last seen her. He knew that, although she now led the Greil Mercenaries, she still called herself the deputy commander for some reason. Perhaps she didn't want to feel like she was replacing Ike entirely, especially since, in theory, Mist was next in line to lead the company. How Mist might fare shouldering such a weighty responsibility, Jerec could not say. He was certain, however, that Mist was too young and inexperienced to take over as of yet.
As he set aside the shaving blade and warily tried to cut his bedraggled mop of hair, Jerec reflected further on his short but memorable partnership with the Greil Mercenaries. During their search for Ettard, they'd stumbled across Jerec in the nation of Gallia after the lancer had made an ill-fated attempt to rescue an elderly laguz from bandits. Jerec hadn't realized it at the time but, during his jungle excursion, he'd contracted the illness known as Brain Fever. The illness had been killing him, and every beorc doctor who'd sought to find a cure had failed. Yet, by an incredible stroke of luck, the mercenaries had learned that the beast laguz shamans living at a nearby retreat could cure him, and they'd brought him there just in time. He owed the mercenaries his life.
That recollection, however, gave Jerec pause. He still wanted to ask Mist for advice, but was he really in a position to be doing so? Though he'd fought alongside the mercenaries, he'd sometimes felt that he had never truly repaid their act of kindness. And, of course, it hadn't helped that Jerec had been less-than-cordial when he'd first met them. He had been sent by Daein to petition Crimea for help against Arius, which had been enough of a blow to his already wounded pride. But, he'd regarded fighting alongside the same people who, at the time, he blamed for his father's death as insult on top of injury. He'd clashed a great deal with Ike in particular, especially over their differing attitudes towards the laguz. Time, however, had taught him better, and he now had great respect for the mercenaries and the laguz. But, even so, he now desired their help yet again when he'd done too little in return
I have no choice though… I don't know how the hell to deal with this on my own! Jerec blurted mentally.
After quick soak, Jerec decided that he could not waste any more time. He did not relish the prospect of journeying to Daein, which might take weeks, without someone helping him ease his mind further. Once his appearance was somewhere near acceptable, he redressed, shouldered his knapsack, and headed back downstairs.
"Well, I'm going to hit the road now," Jerec called to his friends.
"Okay, good luck, Jerec," Blake replied with a smile.
"And remember," Shea called out. "You know you can always come back here when you need a meal or a place to rest."
"Thanks," Jerec replied, smiling back. "I don't know how long I'm going to be away, though. I have to go quite far to reach the man that sent me the letter. Even if I leave as as soon as I'm finished talking with that friend I mentioned, it'll be a long trip."
"Ah, no worries. Just come back in one piece. We know how things can go when you've been fighting bandits and all. But, here's a piece of advice: next time, have your hair cut by someone who actually knows what they're doing."
Jerec couldn't say he was surprised by Shea's well-meaning jibe. While his hair had been cut and washed clean of grit and grime, the crooked and irregular work he'd done with the scissors would make him look quite ridiculous to anyone who gave his handiwork more than a passing glance.
"Heh, is that an offer?" he wondered teasingly. "Sure thing. Well, good bye for now."
"See ya!" the two siblings replied cheerily.
With that, Jerec hurriedly exited the tavern. He angled towards the market where he parted with most of his ready coin for enough smoked meat, dried fruit, and leavened bread to last a week, perhaps more with careful rationing. After that, he retraced his steps back towards the field where he'd bedded down the night before. From what snatches of news he'd heard, he knew the small fort which the Greil Mercenaries now called home was in the same direction. And thankfully, it would not be too far of a trip, even on foot. After half of the original members of the Greil Mercenaries had left the group in the wake of Ike's departure, the big fort they had used as their base of operations was too large for the remaining members to maintain. They had sold it to a group of Crimean scholars and historians, who had converted it into a museum dedicated to the mercenaries as well as the recent wars. Jerec had thought it a fitting gesture, and a way to keep alive the memory of those who'd given their lives in the wars. He'd even visited the museum on one of those rare occasions he'd had coin to spare, and had been most impressed.
Sadly, not long ago, Jerec had learned that it had been burned down. Quite a few people had been most dismayed by that ill turn, especially people who'd lost friends and loved ones in the wars and looked toward the museum as a living tribute to their memory. Jerec had been truly enraged but, as much as he'd wanted to find the culprit and slice his throat out, he couldn't find any clue as to who had been responsible. Still, he kept his eyes and ears open for any clue that he might chance upon. He owed the mercenaries his life and, being a veteran of the wars himself, Jerec loathed few things more than those who would defile a tribute to those who gave their lives in service to their people. If ever he did discover the person behind that crime, he would make them pay for it dearly.