Wayward Son

by Gunlord500

Renault, the Burdened Bishop of Valor, is one of Fire Emblem 7's most mysterious characters. This is but one account of his immensely long, tumultuous life.

35. Celebration

::Previously, on Wayward Son!::

Garl Vinland stared at his killers, not with hatred—not even for Khyron—but instead, with resignation, and when he spoke his last words, there was only that same emotion in his voice.

"Dearest Astraea…I have failed you."

He slumped forwards, forcing him to go down on his hands and knees.

"Saint Elimine, I have forsaken your path."

His elbows began to buckle.

"I deserve no forgiveness."

With that, his strength finally gave way completely. The hero of the Western Isles fell dead to the ground, his blood pooling around him as it would a common soldier. The axe next to him glowed brightly for a moment—and then fell silent.

Against all odds, the Autonomous Company has prevailed and killed Garl Vinland, causing the Rebel assault on Caerleon to fall apart. Now, the entire countship is celebrating its amazing victory, but of course, things won't be as merry for our heroes. What will they make of all this? Read on to find out!

35: Celebration

Braddock still couldn't believe it, even though the evidence was all around him and in his firm grip.

Granted, it may have been because he and his comrades had been so exhausted by the battle that they could barely stand, but even so, the commotion around them was enough to keep them conscious for at least a little while. The rebel forces had retreated, though not in disarray, leaving the royalists to enjoy their victory. All around the Autonomous Company, their allied soldiers were rejoicing, the ground almost shaking with their cheers as soldiers gleefully raised their weapons, hugged each other, and, of course, looted as many dead bodies as they could find. The scene was almost as chaotic as the battle itself had been. Ironically enough, however, the actual heroes of the day found themselves more than a bit excluded from the festivities.

Braddock hefted his newfound Basilikos to the ground in front of him, standing it on its head—it was big enough that he could lean on it like this. Renault plopped right down on the ground next to him, and around them their friends did the same. They didn't have the energy to join in the cheering—they were just too tired. They did, however, expect at least a bit of praise to come their way, and when a couple of smiling young soldiers rushed over towards them, looking as if they wanted to hoist one of the Company on their shoulders and parade the person through the streets, Braddock and his friends thought that they'd finally be getting a bit of well-deserved credit for their accomplishments.

Of course, it was not to be.

"Hey, you're the ones who killed Vinland!" called one of them. "You're heroes! Let's—"

He was stopped by his companion, who was now looking at them with a much less pleased expression. "Hey, be careful! Don't you know who those people are?"

"Huh?"

"They're the Autonomous Company! A band of murderous demons who'll kill absolutely anyone they're ordered to! Why do you think they were assigned to take out Vinland? They'll use any kinds of tactics to get their enemy. You saw what they did with that magic, and then there was what happened at Elram's Citadel, and even earlier…I heard they were involved with Scirocco!"

"But they said Trunicht did that!"

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but I'll be damned if I know. The only thing I'm sure of is that Commander Gafgarion sure knew what he was doin' when he sent them against the enemy leader, but I definitely wouldn't hang around them too much. C'mon, let's get outta here 'fore they start targetin' us!"

Casting glances behind them that were now suspicious and frightened rather than elated and grateful, the two soldiers headed away, searching for either some other group to celebrate with or some other bodies to loot. Now, Braddock and his friends finally realized why none of the jubilation seemed to have reached their little portion of Caerleon's central square, despite how everyone else around them was so very happy.

"I…I can't believe this," said Renault, though he was too tired to speak with anger rather than resignation. "We killed Vinland by ourselves and saved this whole damn city, and our allies STILL think we're criminals! How the hell does that make any sense?"

"It probably doesn't make any sense to them, either," said Harvery dejectedly, who was leaning against the face of the fountain, not caring that he was getting wet. "This whole damn war's seen so many crazy rumors floating around from both our side and the rebel's. Nobody knows what to believe anymore, so they've just stopped caring. We're the heroes of Caerleon…and the murderers of Elram's Citadel. The saviors of Thagaste…and the villains of Scirocco. At this point in the war, finding the truth's less important to people than surviving the next battle."

"That's the only thing that should matter to us, too," said Braddock dejectedly. "Not the worst thing we've ever had to deal with, anyways."

They could all agree on that. So, after having taken this small break, the Autonomous Company didn't mind not being praised for their victory, or excluded from the festivities breaking out all over Caerleon. They simply picked themselves up and headed for the castle, knowing that it would at least be open to them, and that at least their beds wouldn't reject them. They were too tired to muse over the changes in their armory—Kelitha's loss of the Rex Hasta and Braddock's gain of the Basilikos—too tired to join in the looting, and too tired to wait for whatever their next commands would be. They simply marched to their respective quarters, tossed away whatever armor they had on, and slept.

-X-

Paptimus sighed when he heard the knocking on the door to his personal chambers. He had heard of Vinland's death not even a day ago, so naturally he knew this confrontation was coming. He had previously been more concerned with Meris' studies. Indeed, as the girl was clearly showing, now, Paptimus had begun to step up her lessons in dark magic, whenever he had the time—he knew that one reason magical talent was often inherited from a child's mother was because the energies she used herself often suffused into her womb. Thus, before the knocking had commenced, Paptimus was teaching his apprentice about the finer points of the Nosferatu spell. As the noise grew louder and more insistent, however, he had to sigh, put the book down at her disappointed expression, and head to the door after a quick apology to her, as she continued to watch him with an uneasy expression on her face.

Just as he expected, Glaesal was standing before him. However, there was something about the almost-sixty-year-old man's demeanor he was certainly not expecting.

He was deathly calm. He stood in his simple tunic and loose pants (Glaesal had eschewed the expensive doublets and pantaloons he used to wear for some time, as a way of showing solidarity with the Revolutionaries who wished to abolish noble privilege), but contrary to what Paptimus was used to, his face wasn't twitching or trembling, and his eyes evinced a cool, calm state of mind. Paptimus had been preparing himself for an outburst of panicked paranoia, but upon seeing Glaesal so composed, he was so surprised that he could do nothing but stand back as his old friend invited himself in and promptly sat on the couch in front of Meris.

"We have to talk, Paptimus."

Again, the Dark General sighed, this time having regained his footing as he took a seat next to Meris. "Indeed we do. You've heard the news as well, I presume?" He reached out a hand towards the trusty bottle of wine he always kept in his room for occasions like this, but Glaesal simply waved him off.

"Not now, Paptimus. I've come here to tell you one thing, and one thing only:

"This war must end. Immediately."

Paptimus remained silent for a long moment, staring evenly into Glaesal's cold, calm eyes while Meris gaped. "You realize what you're saying, Glaesal?"

"Yes, I do, Paptimus." Now there was a hint of a tremor in his voice, the old paranoia Paptimus recognized. "You've given me many promises, old friend, and kept none of them! The war would end when we took Aquleia! The war would end when we held Thagaste! And now, the war would end when Garl took Caerleon! But he's dead, Paptimus. We've suffered defeat after defeat! All your plans have ended in failure! But perhaps that was—" He stopped himself, attempting to reign in the dark thoughts flying through his mind. "No, no…I…I remember how I shamed myself earlier. You've always been loyal to me, Paptimus, yes? You thought this was for my best interest, for the people's best interest, and I went along with you. All this isn't your fault, yes? Yes?"

He looked at Paptimus, almost pleading, and on cue, the turncoat Prime Minister nodded. "Of course, Glaesal. No-one is unhappier than I am about this. All my efforts…the destruction of my reputation…everything seems to be for naught." He ran a hand through his purple hair—indicating to his friend how it had lost its luster and become increasingly disheveled as of late. "I have done nothing but my best for you, Meris, this country, and Elibe as a whole. To see everything I've strived for come to nothing hurts me every bit as much as you."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Glaesal, a bit relieved. "But wasn't it I that taught you that good intentions and good efforts mean nothing unless they end in good results? We tried our best, Paptimus, and we have nothing to be ashamed of. But the people cannot suffer anymore! The war is essentially lost, Paptimus! Nerinheit's coffers are going dry, Vinland has withdrawn from the war effort after the Count's death, and your personal fortune is running out! Inflation is rampant all across our lands—a single loaf of bread costs over a hundred pieces of gold in some areas! Our soldiers' morale is dwindling, and the mercenaries who joined us doing the first ambush against Exedol so many months ago are growing suspicious of our cause. We're already having trouble paying them, and they're the core of our army! More and more of them are deserting each day! Of course they would, what did we expect! They're loyal to nothing but gold, not our cause! Only the most devoted of our soldiers remain. Granted, they've gained much experience by this time, and Trunicht's re-established Red Shoulder Battalion is a force to be reckoned with, but it's not enough. Any prolonging of this war will be utterly futile, and only hurt the people even more. We have to stop it. Now!"

"So then what do you propose we do, Glaesal?"

The Count of Nerinheit took a deep breath, indicating a great deal of determination and forethought and also why he had seemed so strangely calm when he had first entered.

"We have to surrender, Paptimus. We tried, and we failed, and we must take responsibility for it—not our people. We have no choice—there is no other "right thing" to do. Let us tell our men to lay down their arms, and hand ourselves in personally to the Royalist forces. If we do that, they may show our soldiers, our supporters, and the people of Northern Etruria some mercy."

"N-no! You can't!" Meris blurted out. "What will become of you?! Of Paptimus! You know what they'll do to you! I can't…you're my friend, Lord Nerinheit! And Paptimus is the father of my child! You can't—"

"Remember what we said about calling me 'Lord,' Meris?" Glaesal chuckled sadly. "But Meris, if we don't do this, think of what they'll do to you. And your child! If we take responsibility for our actions, they'll understand that you were nothing more than a loyal servant, and thus not to blame for our mistakes. You and your child will live, Meris. Aren't our lives a worthy sacrifice for that?"

"Will that truly be the case, though?" asked Paptimus. "Glaesal, I am no coward. If I thought sacrificing my life would bring us victory—or even alleviate the suffering of our people, or even give them mercy—I would do it in a heartbeat. But you know the kind of men the King and his cronies are. They're full of rage—misguided rage, but rage nonetheless. They won't stop at our deaths—they will take out their anger on our people as well. Northern Etruria will suffer under "reparations" and "retribution" from the King's men for years, if not generations. Look at how he treated you as a loyal servant! Look at how he allowed Exedol to mock you, simply because he could! And you were a noble! No, my friend, I doubt he will treat the common people much better."

"Yes, yes, that lying, adulterous vermin!" Paptimus still knew how to play off his old friend's hatreds and resentments. "You're right, Paptimus. Blackhearts such as they know nothing of honor! But they are the ones with the advantage in this war! For the sake of our people, what can we do to—"

"How about a cease-fire? A peace treaty?"

"Eh?"

"We wanted to gain control over all of Etruria, this is true. However, we can still maintain control of a new, independent nation. Even if we couldn't accomplish all we wanted to in our lifetime, our new rebel nation will serve as the glowing torch of liberty which will someday spread its light to all of Elibe. We cannot allow it to be snuffed out! The Royalists have begun to grow weary of this war as well. We could ask them for a peace treaty, ending the war so long as they recognize the independence of the regions still under our control. We need not give ourselves up to their hands so long as we agree to lead our new nation on a peaceful path…at least for now."

"Paptimus, that's unrealistic! We're in no position to ask for something like that, given the advances the Royalists have made!"

"Ah, but all those advances are due to one thing—the Great General they have. What would he do if he disappeared, I wonder?"

"I…well, obviously it would be a crushing blow to them. They don't have anyone else as skilled as he, either with blades or tactics. But why the devil are you even talking about this? That General can't be defeated on the battlefield. What, are you planning on assassinating him?"

Paptimus sighed. "As dishonorable as it may be, yes, I am, Glaesal. I know, I know—it's below us, it's something that Exedol would do. But he wouldn't do it to save our people, as I am. If we can kill this Great General of theirs, it will put a halt to their war effort and make them willing to come to the negotiation table, and even if it doesn't by itself, without their leader their forces will be weak—we'll defeat them when they make their next uncoordinated, leaderless move and force them to negotiate."

"Even aside from the low-handed nature of your plot, Paptimus, killing such a man is virtually impossible! You know how he fights. Only the Red Comet of Lycia would possibly be his equal! For all we know, they could be the same man! How could we possibly assassinate him?"

"We? You mean I, Glaesal."

The man remained quiet at this, not at all certain of what Paptimus was getting at.

"You've heard how the Royalists were able to defeat Vinland, yes? By Warping him away from his men and into an ambush they set up. Why can we not do the same?

"Perhaps I am not as strong as their Great General, but you have seen my magic, Glaesal. I am no easy prey, either. If I cannot stand against this warrior alone, I will be able to with allies. A tributary of the Tiber river runs right to the strait separating the Western Isles from the mainland—the Shield of Durbans. There is already a pirate captain willing to send a ship through this river to infiltrate Thagaste.

"He and his men, however, are a distraction. While the pirates occupy the rebel forces, a team will infiltrate the city at the same time, aiming for the Great General himself. This team will consist of the best soldiers in the rebel army—Yazan, Trunicht, and several others—and will be led by…me, personally."

After a moment's silence, both Meris and Glaesal burst out incredulously. "Paptimus, are you serious?" Glaesal sputtered. "M—Paptimus! That's no better than surrender!" Meris cried. "What if you die? What will we do then? What will I do then?"

"I'll die anyways if we surrender," said Paptimus calmly. "As will you, and Glaesal, and everything we hold dear. Even if I die at Thagaste, we at least have a chance to hold out. Besides, I'm not the leader of this struggle, Glaesal is. Even if I perish, so long as I take the Great General with me, we will not be defeated."

This reasoning seemed to convince the suspicious former Count. "I…Paptimus, I don't want to see you die," he said, "but…I never knew you were this dedicated to our cause…or this courageous. I can only curse my age; for otherwise I would accompany you. But as it is…"

"G-Glaesal!" sputtered Meris. "You're going along with this?"

Paptimus laughed. "Do you truly have that little faith in me, my dear? And I mean genuine faith, not that religious nonsense. After all, I have demonstrated my abilities many times before. As strong as the Etrurian Great General may be, surely I have at least a chance of victory, do I not?"

"Well…yes, but…"

"Can you think of any other solution, given our position?"

She bowed her head. "N…no."

"That would settle it, I believe. But…" Paptimus paused contemplatively, looking fondly at both Meris and Glaesal. "I don't think we made a mistake. We fought for what we believed in. We fought for what is right. Do we have anything to regret?"

After his own thoughtful pause, Glaesal said, "…No. No, we don't. This war has brought great suffering across the land, yes, and you've done immoral things, Paptimus. Things which you made me be a part of. But in the end, what the King has done outweighs the sins we have committed. I don't regret rebelling, and I don't regret joining you, my old friend."

"Indeed." Paptimus smiled. "When all's said and done, no matter what the outcome of the next battle may be, what the outcome of the war may be, I know this—I'm honored to have served a man such as you, Glaesal. And I'm glad to have a woman like Meris by my side. Even if I die in the upcoming operation, I'll die with more satisfaction than most people lived with."

"M…Master Paptimus," mumbled Meris, blushing.

"Well, enough of this. Glaesal, how about a drink? It may be the last one we ever have together."

"I can't argue with that, Paptimus."

The big man nodded in satisfaction, standing up and walking over to the table on which his fine wine was set, as Glaesal conscientiously engaged Meris in conversation, asking her how both her studies and her pregnancy were proceeding. He was genuinely concerned for the girl, so he didn't look at Paptimus closely, nor did he care that the man had actually stood up to get them a pair of glasses rather than simply levitating them as he usually did.

It would come back to haunt him later. Because he didn't notice that before Paptimus poured the wine into his glass, he deftly reached into the folds of his robes and produced a tiny vial, out of which came precisely three droplets of a strange, blackish-red substance. He quickly returned the vial to its hidden pocket in his robes, and then poured the fine wine into the infected glass.

With a broad smile still on his face, he walked over and held it out to his friend.

-X-

In all the time he had spent with the Revolutionary army, Dougram was never angrier than he was now.

It wasn't that he couldn't understand Trunicht's reasoning at all. The Black Knight's forces had almost completely shattered and fragmented after Vinland's defeat. Garl's personal militia was heading straight back to their home countship. The "conscripts" from Solgrenne had either surrendered or ran off immediately. Of the rebels themselves, many had deserted upon hearing of the death of one of their heroes. At the moment, the rebel forces had maybe a thousand loyal men still at their command.

Even so, however, Dougram thought they ought to do something. Specifically, something for Solgrenne, and the regions they held in the north.

Trunicht had ordered their forces to make a full retreat, but not to Solgrenne—they were skipping over the city entirely and instead heading for a region near the middle of the country, north of Thagaste.

What this meant was that they were essentially leaving Solgrenne to burn. The city would be in absolute chaos, with its women and children dead and its men disorganized, demoralized, and leaderless. Considering they had caused such a situation, did they not have a responsibility to alleviate it somewhat? Dougram very much thought so. Trunicht, however, disagreed—he said it was "orders," but the Nabatan was convinced he was just a coward.

Thus, on the second day of their march away from Caerleon, before they crossed the repaired Bingham Bridge, Dougram fully intended to give the sinister Black Knight a piece of his mind. As the ragtag army set up camp for the night, the Swordmaster found his friend Serapino, telling him what he wanted to 'discuss' with Trunicht. The young mendicant readily agreed, and together they made their way to the commander's tent.

Neither of them expected what they'd find there.

Dougram and Serapino didn't even bother to announce their presence as they barged in. The man was sitting on the ground with his back turned to them, seemingly concentrating on something very important. He started—but just very slightly—when he heard their footsteps behind him, and promptly closed the lid on what he was looking at—Dougram realized it was a treasure chest of some sort.

"Ah, how good it is to see you again, Brother Dougram," he said with just a hint of sarcasm. "What brings you here today?"

"What's in the chest?" asked Dougram suspiciously.

"Nothing, nothing much. At least nothing for you to worry about. Surely that can't be the reason you're here, yes? While I appreciate you talking to me, neither of us has that much time to waste. So please, let's get down to business?"

"…fine," said Dougram, still very suspicious of what Trunicht was keeping in there. "I want to talk to you about Solgrenne. It's—"

Trunicht rolled his eyes. "Not this again. I've already given you my reasons for "abandoning" the city, as you so gracelessly put it, and you've never once put forward any rational explanation for why we shouldn't! I'm not having this out with you again, it's—"

"But we just can't abandon them! We're the ones responsible for their situation!"

"There's nothing we can do," he replied, with a hint of frustration coming through this time, "we—"

He was interrupted by an unexpected and unfortunate arrival—his friend Yazan.

"Hey, Trunicht!" called the Bernite as he stepped through the tent's flap, "How much d'you think we can sell this White Gem for? I dunno where the mayor got it from, but it sure looks like it'd fetch a good price." He then stopped and looked at Dougram curiously. "Hey, why're you here? Trunicht didn't promise you a piece of the loot too, did he?"

"Loot? LOOT?!" Dougram was now not only suspicious but angry. Before the Black Knight could react, the Swordmaster pushed him aside and opened the chest he had been examining, eyes widening as he beheld its contents.

It was full of gold, gems, and other expensive things. Where had Trunicht found all this? Certainly not from Caerleon, since they'd retreated in disarray. That meant…

"T-TRUNICHT! YOU SCUM!" Dougram stammered in disbelief. "DID YOU STEAL THIS FROM SOLGRENNE'S COFFERS?"

"Steal is such a harsh word, brother Dougram. I liberated it!"

The Swordmaster was completely shocked, and Serapino, standing next to him, seemed to be equally so. "S…Solgrenne has some really big problems now," he said dumbfoundedly, an understatement if there ever was one. It was bad enough that the Rebel forces had left Solgrenne with nearly all of its women and children dead, but they had raided its coffers and stores of money as well. The city was absolutely doomed.

And even worse, Dougram could tell, judging from how Yazan was acting, that the money from those poor people wouldn't be going to any worthy causes.

He couldn't take anymore. Boiling with rage, Dougram gritted his teeth, tensed his legs, gripped his sheath with one hand and the grip of his sword with the other, and prepared to launch himself at the evil Black Knight.

Just as he was about to leap, however—and his attempts didn't even begin to wipe the smile of the Trunicht's face—he found that he couldn't remove his Killing Sword from its scabbard! Yazan, not wasting a moment, had dropped his White Gem, darted up behind him, and grabbed him by the arms.

Trunicht, for his part, had lost his patience. "Dougram, I'd be happy to discuss this matter with you like a civilized man. But for someone who claims to be so rational, you are very quick to resort to force. Sheath your sword or we'll have to have this out while Yazan is pinning you. And he's quite a strong man, he can hold you like that all day."

The Swordmaster realized his emotions were getting the better of him—if they weren't, he wouldn't have been so careless as to have been caught by Yazan—and realized the truth of Trunicht's words. He relaxed his muscles and Yazan let him slip out of his grip, still keeping an eye on him. "Better hope this gem isn't damaged," he grumbled, stooping down to pick it up, "Or else I'm takin' it out of your pay! And that's low enough as it is!"

"There, isn't that better?" said Trunicht. "Honestly, if I knew you'd get this angry over a just a little bit of 'revolutionary requisition.' I can't fathom why you've chosen this moment to vent your misguided, moralizing rage. After all the 'questionable' things we've done up to this point, you choose a little bit of money to pick a fight over? At a time when we're in full retreat from the rebel forces?" His smirk grew wider. "Is this the straw that breaks the camel's back? Have we finally become so horrendous to your sensibilities that you think to betray us now? I daresay that you should have left with Renault and Braddock, then. As it is, we'll kill you long before you can set foot away from here. Even though we've only a thousand men, it's still more than what a single Swordmaster could deal with, no matter how skilled."

"I…I'm not going to betray the Rebel cause!" Dougram growled. "The only ones I'm standing against are you and Yazan! Your offenses against justice have continued for long enough! Making you pay won't be betraying the rebels! It'll clean out our ranks, and it'll strengthen what we stand for!"

Trunicht didn't get offended by this—no, instead, he laughed, long and hard, surprising even Dougram as Yazan joined in again. "You naïve fool," chortled Trunicht. "For someone so "rational," you sound like you're one of little Serapino's colleagues.

"You don't understand, do you? Yazan and I, we ARE what the Revolution stands for."

He let out another chuckle. "Despite your protestations to the contrary, my dear Nabatan, you're not nearly as rational as you'd like to think you are. You're still bound by the chains of the old, traditional morality. Whether they're vestiges of whatever they worship in the desert or of your own making, they're still relics of an age which has now passed. Men like Yazan, men like me, we've risen above such primitivism. Our conduct is governed by reason. No more, no less."

Now it was Dougram's turn to laugh. "What a load of hypocritical, self-serving tripe! Maybe you're the traitor here, Trunicht! I couldn't imagine anyone lending more support to Royalist propaganda than you! It's as if you're a villain from one of those morality plays the Elimineans are so fond of, dedicated to show the faithful the horrors of unbelief! Do you really expect me or anyone else to take you seriously?"

"What fancy words, desert-dweller." As Trunicht said this, the girl next to Yazan whimpered quietly and seemed as if she wanted to make a move to get away, but the Wyvern Knight laughed and wrapped a restrictive arm around her, intending her to see the show. "Tell me, then. On what rational basis do you condemn what Yazan and I are doing?"

"Are you stupid? You're stealing! That's a crime in and of itself, and not only that, you've condemned the people of an entire city to penury and privation! You murdered their women and children and ensured that Solgrenne will never recover!"

"Haven't you done similar things? You've never killed a woman or a young soldier in all your years of wandering?"

"Th…that's different!"

"How so?"

"I never fought or killed anyone for my own personal gain!"

"You do know you're a mercenary, right?"

"Yes, but I always fought for the people! For justice! You're just stealing for yourself!"

"Ah, so killing is moral if it's done for a 'just' cause, yes? You're right—we're not Elimineans, after all, we can see nuance. However, stealing is just as moral when it's done for a just cause. And our cause is just, is it not? The money we've "liberated" from Solgrenne's coffers will be used to support the Rebel war effort, whereas if we hadn't taken it, it would have been misused by the Royalists. Yes, it's unfortunate that the people of Solgrenne may suffer, but their suffering is outweighed by the good this money will be put to."

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that," retorted Dougram in disbelief. "What kind of cretin would argue that stealing for personal gain causes less suffering than leaving people alone?"

"Ah, but that's the nice thing about rational morality, isn't it?" Trunicht chuckled. "After all, how difficult "happiness" or "well being" or "justice" are to measure! Is a quart of happiness worth a pint of fairness? If this money can bring me only 5 stones worth of pleasure, does it outweigh the hundred stones of suffering the people of Solgrenne have if it is of a more refined, higher quality?

"We rationalists truly have accomplished something. Sacaens must appeal to the unverifiable whims of Father Sky and Mother Earth, while the Elimineans must resort to the endlessly vexing mysteries of their Scripture. You can justify virtually anything by resorting to either, but it's so much easier if the only thing you're concerned with is "happiness!" Who doesn't want to be happy, after all? Who doesn't want to reduce suffering? Who would oppose the greater good? That's all you have to do, Dougram! Simply tell yourself "it's for the greater good," or "I'm alleviating their suffering" and you can join us, my friend, in doing absolutely whatever you want. After all, nobody can prove you wrong. It's easier to count the number of angels dancing on the head of a pin than it is to measure how much "happiness" or "suffering" any given action will produce, especially in the long run.

"Remember, I can easily argue that the people of Solgrenne would have misused the money I've 'liberated' from them. Perhaps they'd return it to the Loyalists, for instance, which would prolong the war and increase suffering. They probably would, given the evidence about them we're already aware of. So really, how can you condemn me for causing "suffering?" From my assessment of the evidence, it's you who would have brought more misery to the people of this country, because your moralizing and weakness of will would do nothing but slow the advance of the Revolution."

"This is nothing but hypocritical self-justification, Trunicht," Dougram spat, "You know what you're doing is wrong! All human beings are born with moral instincts. Stealing is wrong in Sacae. It's wrong in Lycia. It's wrong in Etruria. Isn't that one of the ways Revolutionaries can see that all religions are incorrect? We don't get our morality from any of them, we get our morality from ourselves! If you deny this, you're denying the truth!"

"No, my dear Nabatan, I believe it's you who's denying the "truth." Humans have plenty of"natural instincts," few of them laudable. The Etrurians hate the Bernese, both look down on the Lycians, who disdain the Sacaens, and everyone hates Ilians. God didn't put it there, though I don't know what did, but it doesn't matter—racism is as much a part of the "universal human condition" as the desire for truth and justice and whatever else it is you prattle on about. By this token, perhaps I do have some inherent compunction against thievery—and murder, and deception, and all the other crimes I…no, we, have committed in the name of a better world. But I realize that these instincts are, in certain contexts, as stupid and misguided as the hatred and mistrust between races that seems just as universal as our inborn abhorrence of murder and theft. Yet you demand we follow those instincts and reject the other ones. Why? Your 'rational' assessment of which instincts will most minimize suffering?"

"That's exactly it!"

"Most excellent, then! See, it's the exact same moral process I have undertaken! The evidence has simply led me to a bit of a different conclusion. You see, my friend, terror, fanaticism, and hatred…these aren't inherently bad things. Emotions aren't necessarily irrational in and of themselves, after all, only when they're misdirected! In the service of a nonexistent God they're evil, of course. But our Revolution uses terror to bring the people to the path of reason, fosters hatred of irrationality (and I suppose hatred of the irrational themselves is an unavoidable side-effect), and uses fanaticism to crush the death-grip priests and kings have always held upon this country, and all of Elibe!

"Thus, then, the destruction of Solgrenne was no sin at all, yes? 'Twas unfortunate we had to kill all of its women and children, but the suffering that caused was outweighed by the benefit of damaging the reputation of the Royalist cause, which would reduce suffering by allowing us to win the war with ease. And when that didn't work, stealing from Solgrenne was still the right thing to do, because we rescued all that money from either going to waste or worse, furnishing the coffers of the Royalists! Truly a victory for the minimization of suffering all across Elibe." He gave Dougram a mocking smirk. "There now, my Revolutionary brother. Doesn't that make you feel better? I'm sure I've addressed any concerns you had. Now—"

Dougram wouldn't be swayed by his sophistry. "There's only one thing I need to prove you wrong, Trunicht. It's how people will react! If you're genuinely kind to others, they'll be kind to you in return. But if you do evil to other people, they'll do the same to you. You think it's okay to steal from the people of Solgrenne? What's to stop them from doing the same to you? Unless you want to live in a world where everybody steals from everybody else, and where everybody kills everybody else—"

"Sounds like heaven to me," said Yazan, who by this point had wandered off from behind Dougram and took a seat next to Trunicht on the ground, poring curiously through the contents of his chest. "More fun than how most people live, anyways!"

"What the hell do you know, you madman?" Dougram retorted. "You've never lived anywhere but the battlefield! Who would listen to a lunatic like you?"

"Nah, that's not quite right," grunted the Bernite. "You think I was always a Wyvern Knight? Nope!

"I was the third son of a mountain goat herder in Bern. Before I turned 15, the closest I ever got to battle was chasing wild wyverns away from the herd. My old man was pretty wealthy for a farmer, and you'd say we didn't have a bad life. Certainly never had to risk it, in any case."

Dougram was shocked at this admission—he could never imagine Yazan as a peaceful goatherder. "So…so then why are you here?"

Yazan laughed. "Simple! 'cause it was boring as hell! I was with my dad when he died—his sons at his deathbed, a smile on his face, thinking he was "content." I know what you're gonna say—what's wrong with that? I'll tell you what's wrong. He never lived at all!

"My dad lived 'till he was 60, and what did he ever experience? NOTHING! He spent his whole life up there on that mountain with his goats, and he probably stuck it in them more than he did my mother! Same way his father did, and his father before that, and every god damn slave who's ever picked up a hoe or shovel in the history of Bern! He never saw anything! He never experienced anything! He never accomplished anything!

"I haven't even lived half as long as he did, and look at me! After he died I signed up to join the Wyvern Knights, and it's been nothing but upwards for me ever since! Rising through the ranks 'cause I was so good at killing, then getting sent to prison because I was too good at killing, and then breaking out and flying, slaughtering, and screwing my way across Elibe…I wouldn't change any of it, not for the world! I'm not even 30 and I've seen more, done more than my family ever did! My old man and my brothers never felt the joy of watching your spear plunge through an enemy's chest! Of feeling a different woman under your body every week, whether they like being there or not! That sense of accomplishment, of victory you feel when you're the only living man amidst a sea of corpses!

"Nobody's gonna remember my father after he dies—my brothers've probably forgotten him already, and that's only if they haven't died and been forgotten themselves! And why shouldn't they? There's nothing that set him apart from every other worthless shepherd who ever lived. Me, on the other hand? They're gonna be talking about me long after I go out laughing with a spear through my gut. There's no afterlife, right? This world is the only thing that matters. So I might as well make the most of it! I slaughtered my way through Bern and now I'm cutting a swath through Etruria. Even if I die tomorrow, I'll always be remembered as one of the deadliest men who ever rode a Wyvern! If this life's the only one I've got, I'd rather spend it having fun than pissing it away like my father did!"

"Not surprising, coming from you," snarled Dougram. "And you've never given the least bit of thought to the people you've hurt, have you? You're going to get your comeuppance someday, you vermin! If not from me, then from someone else!"

"Oh yeah? Hey, Trunicht, mind if I take some of that wine?" Still smirking, the Black Knight shook his head, at which Yazan reached into the chest and took out a large, half-century bottle of Solgrenne's finest, also apparently pilfered from its cellars. After taking a great swig, he said, "Maybe you're right. And guess what? I don't mind a bit. What you do to others, you do to yourself," Yazan sneered. "Isn't that what the Elimineans say? I think you've been spending too much time with your dumb little friend over there. But hell, what was I sayin' again? Ohh, yeah. See, if that's the "Golden Rule" or whatever, then I'm the most moral man on Elibe. 'Cause I've been followin' it ever since I became a soldier!

"I think the strong should be able to do whatever they want to the weak, and that applies to me, too. If I meet someone strong enough to kill me, then I deserve to die!" The grin on his face grew wider and more manic. "If someone wants to do to me whatI've done to his daughters, let him try! If I'm ever too weak to defend myself, I don't mind givin' a bit of pleasure to anyone worthy enough to take it! I'd rather die on the battlefield than waste away on my bed like some kind of pathetic worm! Getting' raped and murdered'd be more satisfyin' than living as one more stupid dirt farmer or fat nobleman, who've never experienced anything but the same old drudgery day after day after day! Better to live a life filled with pain than a life filled with nothing at all!"

"Might makes right? Is that the only thing you have to offer, Yazan? You're not just crazy, you're stupid!"

"Am I? You're good at insultin' me, but you haven't actually proven me wrong. Unless you believe in God, what else matters?"

"Wow, that's what Bishop Monica always told me!" chirped Serapino, who had been following the conversation in his typically clueless manner.

"Serapino, you're not helping!"

The Bernite laughed. "Hey, Serapino, maybe you're not as dumb as you look. I think you need a lil' reward!"

"H-huh?"

"THINK FAST!"

In a swift movement, Yazan hurled the bottle towards the unfortunate mendicant. It would have smashed him clean in the face if Dougram hadn't reached up and immediately grabbed it.

"Nice way to prove my point," laughed the cruel Bernite as Serapino began whimpering. "Your friend's weak, you're strong. What would he 've done if you weren't there? You can talk about "truth" and "justice" all you want, desert boy, but it's meaningless if you don't have the strength to back it up."

"You have no idea what you're implying, do you?" Dougram tossed the bottle to the ground, not caring about how expensive it was. "The only thing "might makes right" leads to is anarchy!"

"Haven't you been listenin? I'd love anarchy. Failing that, though, I'll just follow whoever seems to be havin' the most fun. In this case, I guess it's the rebels. Trunicht's no anarchist, but he's close enough for my tastes!" Another hoarse laugh.

"Do you think anyone else agrees with that?! The only ones who believe as you do are freaks and madmen! If the Revolution were to follow your moral example, you'd be the only one fighting in it!"

"So tell me, buddy. You're big on "reason" and "truth" and all that crap, right? Riddle me this, then. Is something true just 'cause a bunch of people believe in it? Is Eliminism true because everybody believes in it?"

"No, but that's because everybody DOESN'T believe in it! I don't, you don't, and neither do people all across Elibe!"

"Yeah, well, I think the "morality" you follow is a load of shit. So does Trunicht, and apparently, so do a whole lot of other people in the Revolutionary Army. What're you gonna do about it?"

"What am I gonna do about it? I'll show you!" Dougram had had enough. He grimaced, and put a hand to his sword—before Trunicht stopped him.

"Ah-ah-ah, my hotblooded friend. Why don't you use that rationality of yours and think about your actions a little bit? After all that about not betraying the Revolution, have you changed your mind so quickly? If you have, you might do well to reconsider the wisdom of your actions. Even if you were able to kill me and Yazan—much easier said than done, I would add—where would you go? You're surrounded by our troops, and even a swordsman as skilled as you won't be able to escape. It's not as if you have anyplace to go, either. What are you going to do, defect to the royalists? You don't have any plans or information which they'd find useful, which means you have nothing to bargain with. And besides, they're worse than we are. Yazan and I may be 'evil men,' in your view, but at least we share some of the same views. You have absolutely nothing in common with the Royalists. After all, they've done even worse things than we have, just under the name of the King instead of reason."

Dougram desperately wanted to refute this argument. But all he could do was grit his teeth and clench at the grip of his sword.

"So please, stop wasting our time and go back to your tent, my dear Nabatan. I'm sorry, but there's just no escaping from us. You've noplace else to go."

"D…Dougram…" whimpered Serapino, feeling immensely bad for his friend. But there was nothing he could do to help.

"You'll pay for this someday," Dougram spat. "Both of you!" He turned and stormed out of Trunicht's tent, with Serapino and the mocking laughter of both Yazan and Trunicht following him. His loyalty to the Revolutionary cause had been severed. But unfortunately, as he fully realized while he and Serapino were walking back to their tent, under the present circumstances there was nothing they could do.

They just had to wait for the right opportunity.

-X-

Braddock hated to admit it, but he was lost.

He couldn't really be entirely blamed, since he had never before spent any great deal of time in Caerleon—it had been three days after Vinland's death, and he was still feeling a little fatigued from the battle. However, he should have known how to get straight to Exedol's personal sanctuary, considering he'd been there before. Only once, though, and not from his personal dormitories. He'd apparently taken a wrong turn somewhere, and the stairwell to the second floor he'd passed to had deposited him near a room which was similar to the sanctuary, but much larger. It was, however, filled wall to wall with bookshelves, which was a reason he was confused. He realized, however, he was in the castle library, not Exedol's personal study. Since the study was where Gafgarion had told them to meet, he knew he was very much in the wrong place.

Thus, it was to his great relief that he found a familiar face—which meant a friendly one, given how the citizens and his fellow soldiers in Caerleon seemed to distrust him and his comrades. She wasn't expecting him, and gave a slight yelp when she saw him.

"S-Sir Braddock!" exclaimed Keith, hopping back a bit. "You surprised me! What're you doing here?"

He laughed. "Got lost, found myself in here. What about you? I don't think you were looking for reading material, huh?"

She blushed and looked down. "N-no, I…I got lost too. These castles are so big in Etruria! The only buildings of this size we have in Ilia are in the capital. And I haven't spent much time in Caerleon, so…"

Braddock laughed again. "I know. Nobody's holdin' it against you, Keith. So how about we try to find out destination together? Two heads are better than one, right?"

She heartily agreed to this, and together, the two friends made their way out of the library in search of their actual destination on the second floor.

They didn't go too quickly, though. From the tone of voice of the messenger who had informed them, the orders were important, but not urgent; i.e they wouldn't have to set out within the hour. So the sauntered through the halls at a leisurely pace, looking at the surroundings—Exedol was apparently a very cultured man, and the walls were adorned with all manner of exotic and beautiful artwork. Aside from the views, the two also thought they could enjoy each other's company.

"Hey, Keith," said the Ostian, still smiling, "I just remembered. You did really well back there in the fight against Vinland. Holding off those Wyvern Riders as well as Yazan himself? You do your country proud, girl!"

She blushed and smiled back. "It's all because of Sir Renault's training. And because of you, too! Since you're an armored axeman, watching how you move and attack taught me to anticipate how enemies with your stuff would move too!"

"Hey, still with the 'sirs,'" he chuckled. "Anyways, though, that's great, Keith. Being able to observe both your allies and your enemies like that is the mark of a skilled, experienced warrior." His expression darkened a bit at this. "Sad that you're so good at your age," he mumbled to himself.

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"U-uh, nothing! Didn't mean to insult you or anything like that," he stammered. "It's just that…I mean, you're what, 15? When I was your age, I was just getting in trouble and fooling around with my fiancée. But you're already killing people and risking your life. I…just think it's kind of sad, I guess."

She shrugged. "I'm an Ilian. If I don't kill, my people starve. If I don't die, my people die. Just like my mother and my sisters." She then looked at Braddock curiously. "But, sir—I mean, Braddock, you have a fiancée?"

"Had," he corrected gently and sadly. "She's…gone, now. Been gone for seven years."

"O…oh." Keith recognized this was a sensitive subject, so she tried to change it. "Seven years? How old are you, Braddock?"

"27. Why?"

Her eyes widened. "27?! Really?"

The Ostian's expression soured just a bit. "Hey, I'm not that old!"

"Er…yeah! I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you! But…" Keith, though blushing, looked a bit thoughtful for a moment. "In my country, it's rare to see Pegasus Knights keep fighting over the age of thirty. My mother was one of the few who did. Most of the time, veterans who live to that age return home to train new recruits and pass their wisdom on to the next generation. I guess I can see why you'd think it's kind of sad I'm fighting at my age, but isn't it just as sad that you're still fighting at yours?"

"Hah, hah! Again, perceptive of you. I guess it is. But just like you, I don't really have much choice, either. At least for now. I'm gonna kill Paptimus, no matter what happens. Maybe I can settle down after that, but at the moment, the battlefield's the only place I belong, right beside my friends." He grinned. "I mean, somebody's gotta look after Renault, right?"

Keith nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! He's taught me so much! I'm never gonna let anything happen to him!"

Braddock's grin widened into a smile. "Well, with both of us on the job, he'll definitely make it through this war. And you will too! Renault n' me won't let anything happen to you. You can count on it!" He reached out a hand to ruffle Keith's short green hair affectionately, a gesture she accepted with much pleasure. And as fortune would have it, while they were chatting they'd manage to happen across a smaller room with its door open, from which familiar voices could be heard. They'd reached their destination, and with smiles still on their faces, entered to hear what their next duties were.

-x-

"Everyone here?"

Gafgarion said this as Braddock and Keith entered the room, looking cheery, and since he could see everyone else, he knew it was just an afterthought. The two new entries were a little late, but it didn't matter, given the contents of the letter he'd received today.

"Well, let's get down to business. Landez, c'd ya hand me the report?"

The nervous steward hastily did so, fishing a piece of parchment from a nearby table and handing it to the Cavalier, as the assembled Autonomous Company watched eagerly. Gafgarion looked it over and began to read.

"Directly from the Great General himself," he said. "Good work defending Caerleon."

It wasn't even a sentence, but it still managed to draw an impressed whistle from Braddock. "Wow, a compliment from Henken? We really did accomplish something back there!"

Gafgarion and the rest of them chuckled a bit at this, but not for long. He continued, "The rebels don't have enough men to keep pressin' the eastern front. This is an ideal time to take the initiative, go on the offensive, and put an end to this war. I want Gafgarion and the Autonomous Company to return to Thagaste. They'll accompany the rest of the Royal Army as we head north, straight to the Fortress of Spears. 'S the most powerful stronghold the Rebels have open to them. Once we take that, we can push past Austros, through the Lurkmire Forest, and take the city of Nerinheit. The Autonomous Company'll be an important part of this plan."

"That all?" grunted Roberto, surly and impatient as usual.

"Nope. Th' army's gonna be th' largest assembled so far in this country, and it needs to be organized and outfitted for a siege like that. It'll take about three weeks for it to be ready. So until that time, I can give you folks a few extra days of rest before we head back to Thagaste." He grinned, seeing the relieved expressions on his friends' faces. "Now, don't think I'm just bein' nice to ya. We never know what th' rebels might be up to, so I've got to do some reorganizin' m'self. Need to repair this city's defenses and set up a standin' garrison in case the rebels come back or somethin'. So, sorry, Khyron, but you're gonna have to help. Wish I could—"

"Don't patronize me, commoner!" replied the Sage. "A good servant of the crown never rests!"

"Ain't that the truth. For th' rest of ya, though, fightin' Vinland musta taken a lot out of ya, so you can enjoy y'r time here for a while longer. Heck, the people are plannin' a celebration for their victory…lots o' dancin' and all that. Might be good to relax and unwind with that while you can. Or not," he shrugged, "doesn't really matter. It'd also be good to spend this time repairin' y'r arms and armor. You especially, Renault. It's startin' to look mighty banged up."

"I know," said Renault. "I tried. But there's not a blacksmith in this Podunk countship that can look at the mechanism in its shoulders!"

"Did you just call my countship 'podunk?'" said Khyron indignantly, but before another argument could erupt, Harvery quickly piped up with, "Hey, don't worry about it! I know there's a master artificier in Thagaste. He's the guy who maintains Henken's armor. He'll surely be able to look at yours!"

Good enough for Renault. "Great. So until we get back there, can I go back to sleep?"

Gafgarion nodded, and the mercenary hastily made his exit, followed by his comrades.

-X-

As every soldier knew, keeping good care of one's weapons was of the utmost importance, and archers were no exception at all. Apolli sat at a table in the guard's quarters painstakingly re-stringing his Iron Bow. It was getting pretty worn down, and he'd probably have to replace it soon, but he intended to get as much use out of it as possible. Engrossed in his task as he was, though, he was still alert. When he heard soft footsteps coming up from behind him, he turned and saw Rosamia coming in.

He smiled. "O-oh. Hi, Rosamia. You doin' alright? There anything you need?"

She smiled back. "Hello, Apolli. It's nothing much, though it may sound strange…ah, may I see your tunic?"

"Huh?" He was confused, but without a second thought he took it off, rendering himself bare-chested, and handed it to Rosamia. She peered at it for a few moments, a somewhat sour expression on her face. "Just as I thought! Apolli, how long have you been wearing this?"

"Wha-? I wash it as much as I can! It shouldn't be that dirty!"

"No, I mean it's too small!" She looked at him with exasperation tinged with affection. "I'm sure it must be tight for you, and besides, it's wearing down, especially around the arms." She smiled. "You've grown a lot stronger, after all. But in any case, I really should repair this. There's a spare sewing kit in storage somewhere, I'll just—"

"Y-you?" Apolli stuttered. "Uh, you don't have t' take the trouble, Miss Rosamia. Really, it's fine! I mean, sure it's a little tight, and maybe a lil' rough around the edges, but…"

"But what?" she asked. "If you're going to be wearing it, there's no reason it shouldn't be as well-fitted as possible."

"Er…uh…aren't ya busy?"

"Not really. Aside from studying, Khyron's too occupied with setting up this city's defenses for when we leave that he hasn't asked me to do anything. I know there's the great celebration tomorrow, but…" her expression darkened. "I know how the people look at us whenever we go outside. Suffice it to say I don't think we'd be very welcome."

Apolli nodded—he couldn't deny that. "Y…yeah. But even so, you? Sewin'?"

"I'm not bad at it. I always patched up your clothes while you and Gafgarion were with us, don't you remember?"

"I know, but…it's weird, now. Y're a Sage and everything. A real great mage! Isn't it…I dunno, uh…below ya? I-I guess?"

At this, Rosamia couldn't stifle a chuckle. "Apolli, why should that matter? Regardless of who I am, I should still take care of you, and even being a mage as great as Athos himself wouldn't change that. Besides, I hardly mind it, and it'll give me a nice break from my studies. "

"But it…it's not a burden for ya?"

"Not at all. The seamstresses of the city are almost all occupied with other important jobs, so I might as well do my part. And besides, It's not as if I had any siblings growing up, so I suppose I hardly mind being like a big sister to you."

Apolli blinked at this, and Rosamia blushed, realizing what she'd just said—she apparently hadn't been thinking too much. "B-but enough of that! May I sew this up for you or not?"

"O-of course!" Apolli nodded hastily, smiling. "I'd be more'n happy to see it fixed up!"

"Well, that's good then." She smiled again at him and turned to leave, but then he called out to her.

"W-wait, Rosamia!"

"Hm? What is it?"

"I..uh…thank you." He wasn't blushing, but he was looking at her with great sincerity in his soft blue eyes. "Me n' Gafgarion…we…we're grateful f'r everythin' Lord Khyron's done for us, of course. Lettin' us serve him and givin' us a roof over our head…but Rosamia…it's you who's made this place like a home for us. And…and we never thought we'd have that again. Not since Yulia died. So…so…thanks."

"A…Apolli." The young woman stood there for a moment, taking in what he had said. Then, almost faster than he would have anticipated, she stepped up to him, still holding his tunic, bent down and gave him a light kiss on the forehead. And with that, she turned and made her exit for real this time, leaving her friend to sit and stare after her in wonder for a few moments. But just a few. He softly rubbed his forehead, then turned back to his table to work on his bow—this time with the widest smile he'd had on his face since that fateful journey to Scirocco, so long ago.

-X-The Night of the Festival-X-

The great celebration had been going on all day, and it was continuing tonight. Renault didn't care a bit, though. First off, he was never particularly big on parties or celebrations. He much preferred the din of the battlefield to the mindless chatter of crowds. If this was a city like Thagaste, he might have taken pleasure in admiring the architecture, but the best building in this countship was the castle itself—aside from that, the buildings were modest and functional, comparatively austere next to the cathedrals and great patrician's houses of Thagaste. So there was nothing outside the castle walls that would have appealed to him, even under the best circumstances.

And these definitely weren't the best circumstances—Renault had other reasons for staying inside. He had ventured out into the town proper a few times after his briefing with Gafgarion, simply for basic things like a better sword—even if they couldn't help with his armor, the blacksmiths could at least do that.

And they did—but not cheerily.

As he walked through the streets, people hushed and turned to stare. When he got to an armory, the proprietor had turned pale and gaped at him for a few moments before he simply tossed a heavy bag of gold at him, along with his old Iron Sword, and left with fine, shining new Silver Sword.

All around him he heard the people whispering:

"Hey! Isn't he supposed to be a hero?"

"Would a hero bury the people of Solgrenne?"

"But I heard he was the one who killed Vinland himself!"

"Yeah, and I heard he was the one who carried the poison that killed Scirocco."

"Well, one thing's for sure—there's a reason they call him Renault the Impervious. Best to just stay outta his way!"

The stupid townies still believed those stupid rumors. Hell, they didn't even know what to believe. Renault had clenched his fists, wanting to lash out at them, but he remembered how well that course of action had served him so long ago in Thagaste, his first homecoming to that city. Thus, he simply made his way back to the castle stoically, doing nothing more than giving the common, foolish people equally hostile glances in return. If they really wanted to stay out of his way, that was fine with him—in fact, it was all he wanted.

He didn't need them. And he sure as hell didn't need their stupid celebration. When you got right down to it, all he really needed was right in Castle Caerleon itself.

Sitting across from Kelitha at a table in Exedol Caerleon's great library—which Braddock and Keith had surprisingly "discovered" the other day—Renault couldn't keep himself from breaking out in a grin. Kelitha, like all the other members of the Autonomous Company, was just as distrusted by the populace as Renault was, except, of course, she had to deal with them calling her and her sister "vultures" as well. Thus, she'd kept herself to the castle, which meant she had an opportunity to spend time with Renault, which neither of them minded in the least.

She very much wanted to see Exedol's library, given how she'd heard tales of his great skill with magic. Since she was so interested in the subject, Renault was happy to oblige her, just as long as she didn't appear too curious about Light magic, which she took care not to do. At the moment, they were poring through what seemed to be a biography of the most mysterious of the Eight Heroes, Bramimond of the Darkness. It was written by a Sage, so it was naturally fairly distrustful and condemnatory, but not as much as it would be if it was written by a clergyman, for which Renault was thankful. He was even more thankful for the view Kelitha provided to him, though. As strange as it sounded coming from a battle-hardened mercenary like him, even though she was a fellow warrior, he couldn't help thinking that, looking over the book so intently, taking care to brush her green hair away from her green eyes every now and then with such a serious expression on her face, she looked…cute. Endearing. As if this was where she truly belonged, not the battlefield.

"So they really know almost nothing about Bramimond's appearance or personality?"

"Hm?" Renault was broken out of his reverie by the voice of the woman he was admiring.

"I mean, this is a biography of Bramimond, right? But it just describes the battles he fought in and the terrible power of the Apocalypse spell. I mean...after reading this, I'm not even sure Bramimond was a 'he!' "

"Maybe it's the nature of dark magic," said Renault thoughtfully. "I don't think you can blame the author for this one—he's a lot more objective than a priest would be, right? Doesn't it say at the end of the book the Bramimond became "a master of darkness?" But he quotes Bramimond himself as saying, "to master the darkness, you must lose yourself to it." Maybe he gave up his body, his appearance, to be able to use Apocalypse? That would explain why nobody knows what he looked like or where he came from, because any records of his life before he "lost himself to the darkness" would have been lost in the Scouring."

"I guess you're right." Kelitha crinkled her nose. "Jeez, even if we weren't fighting them all the time, I'd find black magic scary. How could anyone use spells like that? "

"I see where you're coming from, but you can't deny it worked well for Bramimond. Despite Apocalypse being his tome, this says he could draw out power from all of the Divine Weapons. Then again, if that sort of thing came at the price of losing everything that made you…well, you, maybe the darkness really is overrated."

"I think so too. Anima is so much nicer."

"Hah! You're an anima sort of girl, eh? I figured."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've never met a dark mage who wasn't creepy. You, on the other hand, are precisely the opposite!"

"Um…you mean…cute?"

Just like Apolli had done yesterday, Renault blushed when he realized what he'd said. "Uh, yeah, sure," he stammered, not denying the compliment (which would make him look bad) but heading straight for a change of subject. "But anyways, you said you liked Amina magic? I think there's a biography of Athos in here somewhere. You wanna read that?"

"Sure!"

It didn't take them much searching to find it—Exedol had kept his library very well organized, and they knew where the section on Anima magic was. The problem was that the bookshelves were fairly high—even Renault couldn't reach their highest levels. Kelitha, seeing the large tome on the highest shelf near the western wall, attempted to grab for it, but of course failed utterly. There should have been a step or stand somewhere in the room for this sort of thing, but none seemed to be around and she didn't want to damage the expensive-looking chairs by standing on one of them.

"Come on, you could face off against a giant wyvern but can't grab a single book?" Renault muttered impatiently.

Kelitha blushed. "I wasn't made a Falcoknight because I was tall!"

"Okay, okay, fair point. Don't get mad, I wasn't thinking. Here, let me help you, then."

"Hey, what're you—"

Keith didn't have time to finish asking before she found herself swept up in Renault's arms. Before she could protest, when she felt her body being lifted she instinctively righted herself, and then tensed her legs before she could fall. She realized she was mounted securely on Renault's shoulders, and making it somewhat uncomfortable for him.

"H-hey, ease up!" he gasped. "I've got a hold of you"—and indeed he did, his hands were over her knees—"you don't need need to be this tense! We're both gonna fall over if you suffocate me!"

"S-sorry!" She immediately loosened her grip, causing Renault to sigh in relief. "But what do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you get that book!" he grumbled. "Now, do you wanna read it or not? I mean, I can give you a piggyback ride if that's what you really want, but then why'd you drag me all the way up here to the library?!"

Giggling, Kelitha had to stop herself from actually asking for a ride, if for no other reason than to tease Renault. She really did want to read that biography of Athos, though. She plucked it off the shelf with ease this time, and Renault promptly set her down. The two of them re-took their seats, within a moment forgetting their previous exchange and losing themselves in the world of the Scouring.

This was a much more in-depth biography of the Hero than Bramimond's had been. Describing in detail his youth in what would become Etruria, along with his friendship with the woman who would be known as Saint Elimine, his many heroic battles in the Scouring, all up to the time he finally retired to the desert of Nabata and faded from the pages of history.

"I can see why Lord Athos retreated to Nabata after he did," said Kelitha contemplatively as they flipped through the pages of the heavy tome. "After a war as harrowing as the Scouring, who wouldn't want tranquility and solitude? This war alone's made me wish I'd never have to leave this library!"

"I can understand that," said Renault. "It'd be nice if this break lasted forever. Just our luck, though, it's probably gonna get even harder after this. Especially now that Yazan has our Rex Hasta…"

"Yes…yes." Renault had intended that as just an off-hand comment, but it seemed to cut Kelitha deeply. "It's my fault. I erred, and gravely. I'm very sorry…"

"What? Aw, hell, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I mean, look, I'll admit I was angry at first when you lost it. It's definitely a powerful weapon, and we had to kill that berserked Vyrleena to get it! And we always told your sister to keep a good grasp on her spear, remember? But I know Yazan, and he's a hell of a sneaky bastard. If anybody could get it away from you, it'd be him. He didn't steal the Basilikos as well, so I guess we should be grateful for that."

"Heh…I suppose so. Thank you, Renault," and she gave him a genuine smile. "After hearing this, I don't feel as ashamed of myself."

"Well, don't get used to this sort of thing," replied the swordsman, scratching his nose. "I'm only nice like this to special people, you know. Like Braddock!"

"Well, you've really been looking out for me and my sister for these past few battles." She cast him a wry grin. "I guess we're pretty special to you, huh?"

Renault was caught, fair and square, and he couldn't wriggle out of this one easily. "Well, uh, sure! Like, you know, comrades. I mean, you saved my life and Braddock's a bunch of times. Of course I'd look after you! We wouldn't even be half as strong without you!"

She seemed a bit disappointed—Renault thought she was pouting. "So, just comrades? Nothing more?"

It was time to get serious. "Well…maybe. But now's really not the time to think about that sort of thing, you know? We have a war to win. After this is all over, there'll be plenty of time for thinking about that sorta stuff. But it's no good if we die before then, right? So let's just concentrate on winning for now. Then we'll see where we go from there."

She couldn't refute that. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. Reading that biography of Athos must have turned me into a silly romantic. It's just that…"

"Just what?"

"Look at Athos' childhood. At least assuming the biographer was accurate, he lived a peaceful life with his parents before the war came. He even studied magic with Elimine in the Great Library before the dragons turned it to ash." She sighed. "I wonder, is this how the rest of the people in Elibe live? Centuries after the Scouring, and Ilians like me still don't know anything except war. From the time my sister and I were little girls, we were told we had to fight, and that sharpening our skills for the good of Etruria was our greatest—and only—purpose. I…I never had time to make friendships with anyone aside from my sister and our comrades, and I obviously never got close to any boys.

"Elimine…I guess I envy her. Studying magic together with a man like Athos, hours upon hours in a library even bigger than this one…it's the only thing I've ever wanted out of life. But here I am, as a Pegasus Knight, my life tied to my spear and my mount. They and my sister are the only things I have…the only things I've ever had. Nobody's ever looked at me like Athos looked at Elimine, when they were younger. I've never even had a kiss from anyone except my mother and my sister.

"Why is this so? Why could Elimine, even a thousand years ago, have what I can't? She talked so much about God, didn't she? That was one reason her path parted from Athos. But God doesn't love Ilians like he loved her? Like I always told you, Renault, I can't really believe in a God like that. Of course, since the Gods of my people don't seem to care much for us either, I don't put much faith in them either. But then why? What's the reasoning behind our suffering? Are we simply destined to spill our blood for the sake of our frozen homeland?"

This was quite a soliloquy from his friend, and Renault was taken aback for a moment, absorbing everything she said. From the way Kelitha looked at him, it seemed she thought she must have overwhelmed him or offended him or something like that, so to immediately dispel her fears, Renault did his best to rise to the challenge she set. "Well, there's no God that sets out the course of our or anyone else's lives, we both know that," he said, and then thoughtfully added, "You might call it fate, but I don't believe in that much either. What I do believe in, though, is luck. Random chance, or maybe you could say that if there is such a thing as fate, it's so capricious as to be totally unpredictable.

"I'm an Etrurian and I've never been kissed, either. I had a decent, peaceful life, too—stoneworking might not be your passion, but I bet you'd like it better than fighting. But that's all behind me, now. Not because of where I was born, or who I was born to, and definitely not because I was condemned by my parents to fight. It's just…life never really took me that way. My path parted from Henken's because of who I was and what I believed in. If it's fate, I had a hand in it too, and I made my own decisions. And a kiss? For whatever reason, I never had anyone like that growing up, and I never met a girl who could make me feel that way," and at this, he grimaced slightly and thought, Much to Lisse's dismay.

"But in the end," he continued, "it is what it is, and wondering why won't do anyone much good. If it's "fate" I've never been kissed, then it's also "fate" that I became a mercenary. That would mean it's "fate" I met Braddock. And also "fate" that I met you." Now it was his turn to give her a disarming grin. "So if you wanna talk about fate, what's the point of complaining? If it's "fate" Ilians have to fight, that you never had anything like Elimine and Athos had with each other, it's "fate" you have a sister like Keith and friends like Braddock and me. Take what it gives you and make the most of it."

She blinked, staring at him curiously. Getting a bit nervous, he said, "Well, uh, what, was that too much verbiage? Don't take it too seriously, then. I'm just a mercenary, not a sage!"

"Well, maybe you're a bit of both, Renault. That was one of the most perceptive things I've heard anyone say in a long time. I really do feel better now, after hearing it. Th…thank you."

"Heh, it's what I do." The red on Renault's face belied his attempt to act nonchalant. "So, uh, anyways, it's getting late. Are you feelin' hungry? I know I am." He knew there was no need to invite her to partake of the food undoubtedly being enjoyed by the participants of the celebration outside. "Apolli might be cooking something up. Wanna go see?"

"Why not?"

As they exited the library together, Renault grinned as he followed his friend downstairs. Given how much he was beginning to enjoy Kelitha's company, he anticipated their meal would be just as pleasant as their time in the library had been.

-X-

As long as he lived, Apolli thought to himself, he'd always be grateful for the time he spent in Caerleon. One reason for that was the many wonderful recipes he'd learned over the course of his stay in this countship. Though he'd always have a soft spot for the cuisine of Sorveno, he had to admit that Caerleon's foodstuffs were much more varied. Back at home, given how poor their village was, whenever people wanted to eat meat they made do with rabbits, boars, or pheasants—whatever they could hunt, basically. They didn't have much in the way of livestock beyond a few chickens and some cattle. At Caerleon, however, there were not only chickens and cows but also pigs and sheep (the sheep in particular being valued not only for their meat but also for their wool, which the busy seamstresses of Caerleon used to make clothing and textiles so valuable to the economic life of the region—no wonder none of them had time to spend on his own clothing, then!). Thus, the man found a great degree of pleasure in cooking up all sorts of savory meat dishes folks back at Sorveno could only dream of having. Tonight's entrée was a great slab of roasted pork, seasoned with the herbs Apolli remembered from his hometown. It'd definitely be something none of his friends had ever tried before.

Of course, even the greatest chefs (though Apolli didn't consider himself to be one) needed good assistants, which was why Lisse was beside him, helping him tend to the meat. He had noticed that she had been looking much healthier over the course of their travels together. She no longer seemed as frail and bony—she'd put on some flesh (in the right places, he couldn't help but notice) and her arms were sturdier and more muscular than they'd been the first time he'd seen her in Thagaste, so long ago. Her hair seemed shinier rather than stringy, though it was still far from being as lustrous as Rosamia's (and hers wasn't even the best he'd ever seen either), and her face seemed to indicate less of the privation she'd displayed in her hometown; her worry lines seemed to have receded and her eyes seemed brighter. It was very ironic—while the war had taken away so much from the rest of them, it seemed to have done a lot of good for Lisse. Not that he could blame her, of course. The truth of the matter was that she'd almost certainly been eating better since she joined up with the Company. Their rations alone would have been more consistent than what she had to eat back at Thagaste most of the time, and Apolli on his own had been making very sure that she ate a little extra—since he'd been teaching her how to cook better, it followed that she was eating better as well, especially since he always made a bit more, just for her.

And she learned well, too. The meat roasting on the spit in front of them had been cooked to perfection, neither burnt nor too raw, and her choices of seasoning had been perceptive—they'd definitely be eating well tonight. When Apolli nodded to her, he didn't even need to tell her what to do—together, they carried the meat from the kitchen's cooking pit and set it up on the table and plates in the castle's Great Hall, where they'd be setting it up for their comrades, who'd probably be coming to eat within a few minutes. In addition to all the pork, the two of them had also whipped up some exquisite delicacies—specifically, a batch of small, delectable cheese tarts topped with apples, a Caerleon specialty that Apolli had wanted to share with his friends for some time now.

Apolli thought they'd be able to sneak in a few bites before everyone else arrived, but Lisse would be having none of it. "We can't eat now!" she snapped at him, noticing he was reaching for a tart. "Wait for Renault and everybody else!"

He hastily withdrew his hand, withering under Lisse's glare. "Okay, okay, I got ya. We'll wait, then." He smiled. "Just's well! I bet he'd really love these lil' tarts. Assumin' he hasn't already stuffed himself at the celebration outside!" Apolli laughed, trying to make a joke, but he saw that it seemed to bring Lisse a bit of concern rather than mirth.

"If any of us were out there enjoying ourselves, we wouldn't be eating here, right?" she said sadly.

He couldn't argue with that. "Uh…yeah. Y'r right, I guess…"

"I can't even take a single step outside the castle!" she continued indignantly. "I can't believe the people of Caerleon! All they do is spout lies about Renault! "Renault the Impervious poisoned Scirocco! Renault the Impervious destroyed Elram's Citadel!" They don't know Renault at all! Not like I do! It makes me sick!"

"Aye, I c'n see why."

"And I heard all kinds of nasty things about you, Apolli! They were calling you the "Phantom Arrow" and saying you were caught up in all of Khyron's schemes! Can you believe that?! How could anyone think you were caught up in something nasty? You're so sweet! You'd never do anything like that!"

Did she just call him sweet? "Uh…um…y, yeah."

"They're so ignorant! I can't stand them, Apolli!"

"W, well, don't be too hard on 'em, Lisse," he said sadly. "Think of it fr'm their eyes. I mean, if y' didn't know Renault n' me as much as y' did, you might be sayin' the same things. These folks have suffered a whole lot over the years. Their friends n' family have been sent off t' war, a gold piece don't buy nearly as much as it used to…I just can't blame 'em if they can't figure out the truth about not even a dozen men and women. We're just a tiny part of all the concerns they're havin' t' deal with." He laughed. "Then again, maybe it's like Khyron says. Maybe I'm just a dumb country bumpkin."

"I guess you're right, Apolli. Being angry at the rumors won't make them go away. And don't call yourself a bumpkin! You're just as good as anybody else! You're on Renault's side, right?"

"Heh. Yeah."

She sighed. "I really miss him, you know? I'm glad he likes my cooking, but we barely talk these days. I…I should be seeing him as much as I want! We're together almost every day since we're both in the Autonomous Company, but he's always busy. Training, or fooling around with Braddock, or risking his life in battle…I just want everything back to the way it used to be! Before Scirocco, before this horrible war…just me and Renault, with the Ruby Tortoise…"

Apolli put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I hear ya, lass. Believe me, y'r not the only person who feels this way. What I wouldn't do to be just a regular Sorveno lad, with Yulia, and Roberto, before Scirocco and everythin'…"

"You miss your old life, Apolli, just like I miss mine," Lisse murmured contemplatively. "I wonder if it was similar?"

"Huh? Y'mean, like th' same? Well, I dunno 'bout that. You ran a lil' tavern in a big city, but me an' Roberto were jus' country boys.

"But Sorveno…it had its own charms. Th' winters were cold, but y' could always bunk down with a neighbor if ya needed. The summers were hot, but there was a big lake jus' to the east where y' could cool off if we needed. Me n' Roberto spent a lotta time there, horsin' around in the water while Yulia watched an' laughed. And every fall we'd have a harvest festival…kinda like the celebration we have now. Ah, I wouldn't give that up f'r the world. Th' music, th' dancin'…th' happiest times o' my life were when I was spinnin' Yulia 'round the town square, Gafgarion watchin' an laughin', and Roberto givin' us music with 'is reed pipe. The smile on Yulia's face…for me, 'twas brighter'n any of the stars in the sky."

"She sounds like she was quite a woman," said Lisse sadly. "I'm sorry I never had a chance to meet her. I remember when you first came to Thagaste it was just you, Roberto, Braddock, and Tassar…"

"Aye. She was with the Mage Corps, so Khyron had to pay f'r her lodgings, but since we were jus' mercenaries, he didn't wanna pay for the rest of us. Guess some things never change, huh?" He laughed, and Lisse giggled with him.

"Those harvest festivals sound lovely," she said. "I wish I had a chance to experience something like that. Oh, there's so much across all of Elibe I'd like to experience…but I never had the chance. I wonder if I'll ever be able to. If it wasn't for Renault, I wouldn't even know those sorts of things existed!"

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. My parents were too poor to travel, of course, but they also couldn't afford any books. But Renault…he knew so much. He'd always tell me stories of life in other lands, that he learned from the books in his father's library. The winters of Ilia, the deserts of Nabata, the cantons of Lycia…it's like he took me to a whole other world with the stories he told me! For a little while, at least, it was like I wasn't even living in a slum anymore…"

"Yeah. It's not like most folks c'n travel 'round like that. If I hadn't joined up w' Khyron, I sure wouldn't. F'r most of the world, stories're the only way anybody can get a bit o' life outside o' where they were born.

"But y'know, I gotta wonder. Where d' stories come from? I mean, real stories, not th' ones that're made up for fun. You'd have to travel to Lycia, or Nabata, or wherever to write about 'em. So that means somebody actually did travel t' all those places. And when y' think about it, isn't that what we're doin' now, Lisse? Sure, this war's been horrible. But we've been all across Etruria 'cause of it. A few years ago, did ya ever think you'd see Aquleia? I know I sure didn't. Even now, I can't help but wonder if that big ol' city was just a dream! And then we took you to Caerleon, to th' Bingham Bridge, and then we'll be takin' you all th' way t' Nerinheit. Even if y' can't listen to Renault's stories any more, seems like y' can make a few of y'r own, right? Least when it comes to Etruria!"

She looked at Apolli curiously, smiling as she took in his words. She was apparently found them quite convincing. "You…you know, I think you're right. I was born and raised in Etruria, but I never once set foot outside of Thagaste. I never realized how beautiful my country was. But now I've seen Aquleia, the green fields of Caerleon, the great Bingham Bridge…I've got to see for myself all things Renault told me about!"

She looked down. "Well, some of them, at least. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see the world outside of Etruria. Sacae, Bern…well, maybe not Bern, 'cause I don't think they like Etrurians very much. But Lycia? I can't imagine what it's like to run a group of cantons, like Renault said they do. How'd I'd like to see it someday…"

"Now that's a mighty fine dream, miss," came a man's cheery voice from behind them. "Etruria's great and all, but Lycia's the best. Most beautiful land on Elibe, in my view!"

Both Apolli and Lisse gasped, startled, and turned back to look at who was talking. To their relief, they found it was only Harvery.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you," he laughed self-deprecatingly as he ran a hand through his scruffy brown hair. "I guess I'm just good at surprising people, y'know? If I wasn't, I'd be a hell of a poor Assassin!" He chuckled again, but this time it was forced, and the expression on his friends' faces told him his joke had fell extremely flat.

"Um…yeah. So, anyways, I was just putterin' around the armory when I smelled something real delicious and decided to see what was up. Sorry if I was, uh, eavesdroppin' on you or anything."

"Nah, it's okay," said Apolli, inviting him to take a seat next to them. "Y' were talkin' about Lycia. Did ya live there?"

"Sure did. For a while, at least. As a, uh, information-gatherer for the Crown, they sent me to the country to keep tabs on its internal politics. 's how I met Great General Henken, don'tcha know! And while I earned my keep, honestly, it was like a vacation for me, in a lotta ways."

"I c'n see why," said Apolli. "I remember the view from the mountains when we went t' fight Barbarossa. That sunset sure was beautiful…"

"Yep. The rest of Lycia's like that too. Nothing in the world's like the sea breeze you can get on a beach in Badon. You'd have to see the flowers of Cornwell in the springtime if you wanted to believe 'em. The forests of Ostia and Araphen are like portals to the land of the fairies we hear about in those plays! Being such a good, uh, friend of the marquess of Cornwell sure had its perks. They were the ones who showed me all that while I was, um, guest in their canton.

"And that's another thing. The people of Lycia were the finest I ever knew. That is a country which takes freedom seriously! It's hard for us to understand, livin' under a king and all, but even though they follow Ostia in times of war, when it's peaceful you can't believe how fiercely each individual canton guards its distinctiveness and its right to do things however it wants. The Lycians don't bow down to anybody—as they always say, "only a man of Roland's caliber is worthy to rule over all of us!" They're mostly Eliminean, but they let anyone worship what they please so long as they keep the peace. They don't believe in huge armies to keep a boot on the people's back, and they're not interested in these imperialistic games like Bern and Etruria are.

"And they know how to have fun! And I mean, really have fun. Lemme tell you, Apolli, you've never been with a woman till you've been with a Lycian woman. Wow-ee! "Wild" doesn't even come near to describin' it. There was this one milkmaid in Cornwell named Meris—she was a redhead, and they have a lot of superstitions in Lycia, like how a girl with fiery hair will give you fiery children or something—and I don't know about all that, but she had a personality to go with her looks. I mean, it wasn't just that she had one of the nicest chests I'd ever seen—and I've seen a few in my time—but that laugh! She loved to sing, she loved to dance, and every time she did so she'd be laughin' with me, and even in the dead of winter it seemed like it was spring. And rest assured, it was hotter'n summer when we went to the hay—"

"H-Harvery!" stammered Apolli, as both he and Lisse looked at him incredulously with beet-red faces.

"Oh, yeah. Too much information, I guess? Whoops." He grew a bit sadder now, and not because of his faux pas. "It's not as if it really matters much now, anyways. The civil war probably got her." He shook his head and then looked back to his friends. "But enough o' that. You know what's one thing they really like in Lycia? Music! I heard you talkin' about that harvest festival in Sorveno. They have things like that in all the cantons back in Lycia, too, with dancing and singing and all that. I could play you a tune if you want?"

"Oh…uh, sure," said Lisse, still a bit red. "It's not…dirty, is it?"

"Nah, nah, nah! You can't get very dirty on one of these!" With a swift movement he brought a hand to his belt and unlimbered what Apolli initially thought was one of his daggers. When Harvery stopped to show it to them, however, he realized it was something much more innocuous—a small reed pipe.

"Just listen!" Tapping his foot on the ground, Harvery brought the instrument to his lips and began to blow. It was a short, sprightly song, with a quick an upbeat tempo. Lasting just barely a minute, its quick notes and sharp pitch evoked, at least for a short while, the image of a group of people dancing happily in a meadow in the minds of its listeners.

When it had ended, both Apolli and Lisse smiled and clapped, at which Harvery stood up and made a small but theatrical bow. "Like that? It's called a "tarantella." Real popular for couples to dance to in Ostia."

"Nice," said Apolli. "Y…Yulia woulda loved it."

"Yeah, real nice," said Harvery, and once again his voice was tinged with a bit of sadness. "Y'know, it was the Marquess' son who taught me how to play this. Char of Cornwell. Not that he's around anymore, heh. But he also taught Br—I mean, Maxim of Ostia how to play, though he was never any good at it. The moment he put a pipe to his lips it sounded like a cat was dying! But still…" he sighed. "The three of us had some real good times together."

"I c'n imagine y' did," said Apolli, feeling more than a bit of sympathy for the man.

"Ah, well, no point dwellin' on the past. But hey, that reminds me," said Harvery, "Speakin' of Lycians, where's Braddock? I bet he's hungry by now. So's everyone else. We don't want all this to get too cold, do we?"

"R-right!"

"I think I know where Braddock is," said Lisse. "He was ascending the stairs to the second floor the last time I saw him. Maybe he's in the library, or if not, he might've gone up to the castle balcony. The stars are beautiful this time of night and I remember Renault telling me Lycians believed in astrology or something…"

Harvery nodded. "Could be. Let's see if we can find 'em!"

Their plan now set, the trio dashed off for the stairwells, leaving their meal to cool.

-X-

Braddock wished Renault could be beside him at the moment—neither of them had much interest in the festival, after all (he didn't mind his friend being called "The Impervious," but wasn't sure how he felt about hearing "The Blue Comet" whispered behind his back all night), but it was a beautiful night out anyways. They could have enjoyed watching the stars together. But the swordsman mentioned he'd wanted to spend some time in the library, and since Braddock knew who he wanted to spend that time with, he knew better than to insist on anything too heavily. Thus, he ascended to the open roof of Castle Nerinheit alone, expecting to spend an evening stargazing alone.

When he climbed the stairs to the castle's top level and exited out onto its roof, however, he was surprised to see an indeterminate shape in front of him, next to the ballistae. It had long hair which was blowing in the night wind. Was it Rosamia? "Hey, who's there?" he called out, just a bit suspiciously—mercenaries had to be wary of being attacked at any time, after all. However, much to his relief, when the figure turned and he moved a bit closer, he saw that it was indeed his friend Rosamia.

"Hey!" he smiled, and she smiled back. "I wasn't expecting you to be up here. Enjoying the view, huh?"

"Indeed I am," she said, and then looked downwards at the vista beneath her, sighing somewhat mournfully. "Just look at it down there." Though Braddock had been more interested in stargazing, he walked up to his friend and peered over the roof. Beneath them, tiny points of light flickered all over Caerleon, piercing the darkness of the night—Braddock realized they were the torches of the revelers. The brightest of these was an orange bonfire so large he could see individual licks of flame emanating from it even from where he was. It was the festival's central attraction—he could hear happy voices and joyful singing coming from where it was. Traveling bards had already come up with songs extolling the virtues of the people of Caerleon and their epic triumph over Vinland (carefully omitting any mention of the team which had actually killed him, Braddock gathered from what he could hear. Though he couldn't see them clearly in the darkness, he could just make out moving shapes around the bonfire—couples dancing to the songs, he realized. After all, what festival would be complete without dance?

He looked at the woman next to him and saw that she was leaning on one of the castle's ballistae, gazing downwards at the tiny dancing celebrants with a singularly wistful expression on her face.

"Wish you could join 'em, huh?" Braddock asked sympathetically.

She blinked, then smiled at him. "Perceptive as usual, my dear Braddock. If you weren't, you wouldn't have come over to our side in the end, right?"

It wasn't a malicious joke, and both of them shared a chuckle at it—she had apparently more than forgiven him for initially betraying her side at the beginning of the war. It was a chuckle that soon turned into another wistful sigh from Rosamia as she looked back down. "But yes, you're right. I'd like nothing more than to join them down there."

"And you can't, for the same reason me, Renault, and the rest of us can't." Braddock let out a sigh of his own. "Seems like we can never catch a break, huh?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly it." Braddock had intended that to be just an off-hand comment, but it had apparently affected the woman greatly, much to his surprise. "H-hey…" he stammered when he noticed the change that had come over her. She was now standing ramrod-straight, her hands clenched at her sides, looking with a great deal of focus at the stone of the rooftop below her feet.

She drew a deep breath, and it sounded like she was choking back a sob. She took another deep breath, though, and that seemed to be enough for her to compose herself. Steadying herself on her feet, she quickly wiped at her eyes. "Ah…I'm sorry. It's…nothing. Sorry."

"Hey, Rosamia, you know you don't have to put on airs with me. I mean, uh," and Braddock scratched his head nervously, "it's not 'cause I think you're weak or anything. Don't get that idea! I know how much your pride means to you. But, I mean, you're my comrade. Hell, you're my friend. When you're not on the battlefield—and that's a rare thing these days—you don't have to be strong every minute of every hour, right? So…uh…look, I'm just saying, I'm not gonna condemn you if you want to talk about your feelings a bit. Not that I'd be much good with that sort of thing, but hell, I'd be better at it than Khyron, right?"

At this, she couldn't help but break into a very amused giggle, and for a moment a smile spread across her troubled face. "Well, there's certainly no arguing with that. Thank you, Braddock. It's not something I'm used to doing, though. I'm a member of the Mage Corps, and my gender's no excuse for showing weakness."

"Heh, well, like I said, only if you want to. Far be it from me to force you or anything! I just thought…who knows, maybe talkin' about it would make you feel better. I don't have anything better to do than lend a sympathetic ear, and aside from fighting I'm not good at a whole lot else."

"Well…" She looked up at him, pondering his handsome face. As she locked her eyes with his, he realized how…tired hers seemed to be. "Alright, Braddock. At the very least, maybe getting this off my chest will keep me from getting distracted during battle later on."

She turned back towards the festivities below, leaning on the balustrade of the roof, and gazed down contemplatively. "Braddock…have you ever wished you were just…normal?"

"Well…I wish I could answer, but I'm not really sure what you mean. Normal in what sense?"

"I mean…maybe 'normal' wasn't the right word. But have you ever wished that everything would just end? Or at least just pause for a little bit?"

"End? Pause?"

"It's…" She sighed, and hung her head over the balustrade. Her long, beautiful green hair cascaded over her forehead and her shoulders, and close up, even in the darkness Braddock could see how disheveled it was. Much like his own long blue hair—none of them really had time to take care of it until fairly recently, and even then, the stress they were under wasn't doing much for their appearances.

"Braddock, it just seems like bad things happen to us, over and over again, one after the other, without the slightest reprieve. First there was the debacle with Barbarossa, then the Reaper's Labyrinth, then the Battle for Aquleia. Then we faced Yurt at Thagaste, and then the tragedy of Elram's Citadel..Vyrleena's horrible death, and all those innocent people dying. And even after that, even after we managed to survive everything, even after we managed to save Caerleon…my master's reputation has been ruined. My reputation has been ruined. Our reputation has been ruined. We finally have a small break…except it's not a real rest at all. Yes, we aren't fighting, but it's as if we're in enemy territory, even though we're residing within the city we saved with our own hands. It's as if we're always in the wrong place at the wrong time. At Scirocco, at Elram's Citadel…

"I pray to God every night I can, and I don't want to believe He doesn't hear me. But even so…" She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. "Braddock, I'm not a coward. I'm going to see this war through to the end. But God help me, I just want to rest!" In a rare burst of emotion, she slammed her fists on the railing. "It's been like this my whole life, Braddock! I've always been fighting…fighting against something. When I first joined the Mage Corps, my classmates looked down on me, not only because of my gender but because my parents weren't great nobles like they were.

"I could never enjoy festivals like this when I was a child. My classmates would snipe at me behind my back, and I couldn't endure the nobles doing the same with each other. So I just watched them dance, and satisfied myself with creating dancers of my own, out of water or wind…and as the years passed, I found I didn't mind so much. But now look at me. The people of this city are down there enjoying themselves, and we…despite the fact that we saved their city…here we are, trapped in the castle, distrusted and reviled by the people we saved. It's as if…as if nothing's changed at all since I was just a raw recruit at the Academy.

"Is this all there is, Braddock? Is this the only thing I have to look forward to? Risking my life in battle after terrifying battle, for the sake of people who don't understand me? Who distrust me, who despise me? I…I won't say I can't bear it, because I can. I'm strong enough to bear it. But why do I have to? I haven't seen or heard from my parents since I left them at Aquleia. Is this what they wanted for me? Mama…Papa…"

Her shoulders rose and fell, as if she was stifling another sob. Hesitantly, Braddock reached out and put a hand on her back, and much to his relief, she didn't jerk away or become angry. So he took the opportunity to take the initiative.

"I think it's a good question, Rosamia. And the longer this war drags on, the more I start to feel the same way. But you know the saying—no matter how cold the winter, spring comes ever after.

"We're winning this war. Vinland's dead and the Rebel forces are growing weaker and weaker every day. It's not gonna last forever. In fact, it's gonna be over soon. You just need to have faith—I guess it's strange to hear from an irreligious guy like me, but it's the truth. Once we kill Paptimus, there won't be any more battles. When the war ends, even if it takes years to repair the damage is done, the people will see who you really are eventually. They'll realize how Paptimus and Trunicht and all those other scumbags were lying to them, even if it takes a long time. Someday you'll get all the rest you want, Rosamia. Hell, I believe that you'll get the reward you deserve someday, too. So until then…you just have to hold out."

"Hold out…" She sighed. "It's as if I've been "holding out" for something my whole life."

"Well, that's not a very long time, is it? You've still got a lot of life ahead of you. Who knows if things won't get better next year? The year after that? There's no way this war will last even that long. Why not wait and see what it has in store for you? At the very least, you'll be able to deal with whatever the future holds. You've more than proven that you're strong enough already."

"Have I?" She looked up at him and her lips turned upwards in a smile, making her look just a little less tired than she'd been before. "Well, who am I to disagree with the assessment of an expert mercenary? I suppose you're right, Sir Braddock," and at this, the Ostian couldn't help but break out into a silly smile of his own. "I just can't understand you, sometimes. For a big lunk of a two-timing mercenary, you always manage to make me feel better."

"H-hey, don't be mean," said Braddock, blushing visibly. "But, uh, y'know, that reminds me. You really wanted to dance, right? Wouldn't that make you feel a lot better? Well, if the folks down there won't have you, screw 'em." He raised his arms to gesture to the roof around them. "We don't have a bad dance floor right here. Wanna give it a try?"

She tried to hide it, but her eyes verily lit up at the suggestion. Braddock took that as a 'yes,' and the dance was on. He quickly bowed, and she quickly curtsied, and then he took her hands in his and they were off. Together they stepped back, together they stepped forwards, Braddock twirled her around, once, twice, thrice, and then hastily reached out to grab her when it seemed she might topple over. The move apparently went much more smoothly than he thought, because she didn't seem the least bit perturbed at either of their clumsiness. Instead, she just held on to Braddock and laughed, the loudest and most sincere he'd heard her laugh in a very long time. Needless to say, this little slip-up didn't stop them from continuing their attempts. They sashayed to and fro across the entire roof, slipping up every now and then (especially since she hadn't danced in a very, very long time—their meeting in Aquleia several years ago being the last) but still having a great deal of fun. They were having so much fun, in fact, that they scarcely noticed when a couple of visitors arrived.

"WHOOOO! NICE GOIN', BRADDOCK!"

"W-what the hell?"

Braddock was just in the middle of giving his friend another twirl when he heard the loud voice calling out from the stairwell behind him. He would have dropped her, tripped over himself, and falling right on top of her in a very compromising position had his warrior's instincts not taken over—he quickly stopped his feet and pivoted, keeping a firm grip on Rosamia's hand, and then gently but quickly and surely shifting her body (she was too surprised to resist) away from the source of the voice, on the other side of her partner's body. When he glared back to see who his unexpected visitor was, though, he remembered that the voice wasn't at all unfamiliar—and thus, neither was the man standing in the door to the stairs, with a pair of giggling faces behind him.

"H-Harvery!" yelled Braddock. "What the hell're you doin' up here?"

"I dunno," said the spy innocently, "I think I could ask you the same question!"

"E-eh?" Braddock paused for a moment, and then looked at Rosamia, realizing that it seemed as if he was holding her in a somewhat 'intimate' grip. "G-GAH!" Both of them released each other within a moment, flushing brightly.

"It-it was nothing illicit!" said Rosamia. "Please, don't blame him for anything. He…he was just teaching me how to dance!"

"Dance?" Harvery looked distinctly quizzical.

"Y-yes. The people of Caerleon below seemed to be having so much fun, so…"

"Ah, I understand." Now the Assassin looked more sympathetic than mischevious—at least for a moment, until the twinkle of mischief reappeared in his eyes. "Well, isn't that convenient? I was just teachin' a couple of kids a little about music myself. Apolli, Lisse, get out here!" As swiftly as one would expect of him, he hopped backwards and in the same movement shoved the two other eavesdroppers out of the stairwell and into the clear view of the clearly amused Braddock and Rosamia.

"Uh—ah!" grunted Apolli. "Hey, what'd we do t' deserve that?"

"It's time for you two to do some learnin', lad! Don't your legs still work? Hey, Braddock! D'you still remember the steps of the Tarantella?"

"Tarantella?" A cloud passed over his face, and Rosamia thought she just barely heard him say, "That was Pamela's favorite…" After this, however, he looked straight back at Harvery, determination in his eyes, and said, "I sure as hell do!"

"Well then, why not teach it to Lisse and Apolli, huh? Your friend can help you, and I've got the music!" With that mischevious expression, he whipped out his trusty reed pipe.

"You've still got that," said Braddock in astonishment, "I can't believe it!"

"What can I say? I always hang on to things like this—never know when they may prove to be useful. So, c'mon! Let's dance!"

He brought the pipe to his lips and began playing the same jaunty tune Apolli and Lisse had enjoyed just minutes earlier. This time, however, they had a dance to go along with the song. "I'll show you how to do it, it's not hard at all!" said Braddock excitedly. Hopping up and down, one leg after the other and clapping his hands, he motioned for Rosamia to do the same, and she couldn't deny his request. Following his lead, she did her best to copy his movements. They hopped apart, then closer back together, then apart, then together again, and Braddock reached out and twined his arm with hers,and they spun around clockwise, and then counterclockwise, all the while laughing with the happy tune Harvery was playing.

"Hey, Apolli! Come join us!" called Braddock as he danced, and the younger Sniper couldn't help himself. He looked at Lisse, who still seemed a bit unsure, and then decided to take a risk and just grabbed her. Letting out a small gasp of surprise, the smaller, frailer girl offered little resistance and soon enough, the two of them were hopping and twirling just like their taller friends, all to the upbeat tempo of Harvery's reed pipe.

The five of them were having so much fun that they could very well have stayed up there all night. Of course, that was only until Apolli remembered that they'd forgotten why they'd come up here in the first place—spurred on by his rumbling stomach.

"I think we're startin' to get tired," laughed Harvery after several minutes of this. "You wanna—"

"Aw, hell!" Apolli said, turning pale and suddenly stopping his twirling with Lisse. "I remembered why we came up here?"

"Huh?" Braddock and Rosamia had stopped their own dancing as well, along with Harvery's music.

"Dinner's ready! We wanted to come get you!"

"Oh, right!" said Harvery, quite embarrassed. "Hell, it's cold by now! Let's hurry down!"

And just as hastily, though not with their good cheer forgotten, the five friends rushed down the stairwell and to the castle's Great Hall.

-X-

"Bout time you showed up!"

Renault laughed as he saw Braddock, Rosamia, Harvery, Lisse, and Apolli burst into the Great Hall, breathing heavily. He'd taken his place at the table several minutes ago with Kelitha after they'd got her sister, and the sullen, quiet Roberto had found his way down here not long after. He'd promptly started digging in, though Renault and the Pegasus Sisters wanted to wait for their friends. They couldn't wait forever, though, and when Khyron showed up, looking disgruntled as usual, they just shrugged their shoulders and started. The former Mage General, for his part, just looked at them, the food, and back again, and then took a seat at the far end of the massive table and began his own meal. The Great Hall was intended to accommodate a large group of people, not just the Autonomous Company, so there was more than enough room for Khyron to enjoy the repast by himself at the other end even after the other members of the Company made their entrance.

It was because of this that his underlings thought they'd be able to have an interesting conversation about him without his knowledge. It wouldn't go quite as they expected.

"Hey, where've you guys been?" Renault nudged Braddock as the latter took his seat beside him.

"Ah, just havin' a bit of fun," he grinned.

"Without me?"

He glanced at Kelitha and winked. "Didn't wanna interrupt you," he said quietly.

Chuckling, Renault let it drop at that and continued plowing into his own plate—he was almost halfway done already, but knew Braddock would catch up to him soon.

"I gotta wonder," said Renault contemplatively, "Apolli cooked and served all this, right? But where're all the other servants?"

"Out partying. Khyron gave 'em the day off."

"Really? Wouldn't expect that from him."

"Guess he's so happy about beating Vinland that he's giving everybody a little breather, not just us."

"Maybe. But that makes me wonder. The servants, Landez and everybody…they're the only people Caerleon has?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Exedol was the count, wasn't he? Didn't he leave behind anybody? A widow, any kids?"

"Haven't seen 'em if he did. Rosamia," Braddock asked, turning to his other friend sitting next to him, "Did Exedol have a wife or anything? Any bastards, even?"

At this, the woman blushed slightly, telling her audience that there was something more to the story. "Er…no. Trust me, he didn't. He…uh…wasn't that kind of man."

"What does that mean?"

"Uh, don't worry about it. Just rest assured he didn't have a wife, legitimate children, or any children at all. It's up to Khyron to continue the family line," and at this, she scrunched her nose a bit, "and while I think he might have a bit more success, I'm not placing all my hopes on it."

"Huh. Well, whatever." Braddock and Renault glanced at her, then each other, then shrugged. "I really would like to know more about that guy, though," continued the Ostian, munching contemplatively on a slice of the finely-cooked meat. "From what gathered, he's part of the reason we had this rebellion in the first place. I remember when we were still with the rebels that Count Nerinheit was pissed at him for some reason. Never figured out why; he still hated Exedol even after Paptimus killed him. Maybe Paptimus played them off each other or something?

"It…it's more complicated than that, Braddock," said Harvery, looking very serious and sad. "Real sordid story, and honestly, there aren't any villains in it, neither Exedol or Nerinheit."

"Oh yeah?" Braddock's interest was now distinctly piqued, as was Renault's, and indeed the rest of the Autonomous Company, now eagerly listening in to Harvery's quiet words. The only exception was Khyron, who seemed more occupied with his own meal. "Well, tell it to us. Couldn't hurt to know, right?"

Harvery thought about it for a moment, and then sighed and nodded. "It's kinda weird for me to be telling this, since guys like me are supposed to guard state secrets with our lives. But I guess it's not so much of a state secret than a personal one…

"Now, I don't have any personal involvement with this story. The only reason I know much about it is 'cause I'm a spy—it's my job to gain and hold on to a lot of information, even seedy stuff like this. I just keep my ear close to the wall and see what I can hear. So here's what I've heard…

"It involves five unhappy people. Malonda of Baringen—she's the woman we saw in the King's bed when we rescued him back in Aquleia. Then there's the King himself, then there's Exedol, then Nerinheit, and finally, the last player in the whole damn drama is count Barim of Reglay—yeah, Renault, I know how your Tassar hated him. Just listen.

"See, Exedol and Malonda grew up with—well, more like under—King Galahad. Their families were some of the King's closest personal friends, and he looked upon them almost like favored little siblings. He was especially close to Malonda, though…and I mean especially close. He loved that girl more than life itself, and she reciprocated his affections. She idolized him. King Galahad meant more to her than her own family, her own flesh and blood, did! The only person who was almost as close to her was Exedol of Caerleon. They both shared an interest in the history and literature of Elibe before the scouring—it was one of their passions in life, and Exedol's other close friend, Count Reglay, shared it.

"But Exedol and Malonda weren't meant for each other—nah, it was Galahad and Malonda. As they got older, everyone assumed the King would make her his Queen, and good times would be had by all. But it wouldn't be that easy.

"You see, the houses of Baringen and Nerinheit had been feuding for generations. Galahad, to his credit, had finally managed to get them to sit down and hash out their problems without sending assassins at each other. But there was a big problem To cement the deal, a marriage between the two houses was in order, to cement their goodwill. And House Baringen only had one marriageable daughter…Lady Malonda. And Nerinheit had left only one son—Glaesal.

"It was quite a conundrum. King Galahad had to marry her off to Count Glaesal, despite how fervently he and Malonda loved each other. Politically, it was a good decision, as the feud between the houses died down entirely soon afterwards. Personally, though? It was worse than the Scouring! Malonda and Glaesal hated each other. They were entirely incompatible. If they had to live under the same roof, they probably would have killed each other eventually. And Galahad was miserable—he literally couldn't live without his Malonda. He was so depressed that people grew concerned for the King's health. Malonda took as many trips to Aquleia—by herself, always to her husband's dismay—as she could, but it wasn't enough for her and Galahad.

"But then an opportunity came. The previous Mage General, Count Breetai of Verelecht, was retiring, and a tournament of magic was held to determine who his successor would be. Count Glaesal desperately wanted the position…but Lady Malonda desperately wanted him to fail. If he became Mage General, he would have to spend most of his time in Aquleia, which meant that he would be able to keep an eye on her very easily, and he would detect any attempt she made to spend personal time with King Galahad. Thus, she crafted a plan. On the day of the tournament, she sabotaged all of Glaesal's spellbooks. The moment he tried to cast a spell in the opening rounds, his Fire tome simply fizzled and disappeared into ash! It was the most humiliating moment of his life, and it was as if the entire city was laughing at him. And in the end, while he sat on the sidelines stewing in his humiliation, Exedol won the tournament with ease—none could match his skill with magic. And as he stepped up before Galahad to accept the sigil of the Mage General, Lady Malonda rushed up to him to give him one of her favors—a beautiful wreath of rare flowers."

"I think I'm startin' to understand," said Braddock thoughtfully. So that's why Nerinheit hated Exedol so much. He thought Malonda had betrayed him for Exedol…"

"Yeah. He knew that Malonda and Exedol were childhood friends, so when he saw that his books had been sabotaged and he'd been robbed of his chance to become Mage General, and when he saw Malonda rushing up to give Exedol that wreath…well, his mind did most of the hard work. He assumed Malonda had been having an affair with Exedol. No-one believed him, of course…for reasons I'll get to later. He angrily denounced Exedol, claiming he was a cheat, and angrily denounced Malonda, claiming her to be a harlot. But the rest of the nobility simply laughed at him—they knew that Malonda only had eyes for Galahad, and that the new Mage General…wouldn't want to have relations with Malonda in any sense. Exedol, however, was careful to keep completely silent when Glaesal was accusing him. He didn't admit to wrongdoing, but he didn't deny it, either. He simply kept his lips shut as Glaesal ranted and raved.

"When it was clear nobody was taking him seriously, Glaesal declared he'd had enough. "From this day forwards, Exedol is my sworn enemy!" he shouted, and left Aquleia. Ever since then, he rejected more and more of the trappings of the nobility. He did not divorce Malonda—he couldn't, otherwise the feud between their houses might have sprung up again—but he did exile her from Castle Nerinheit, which brought her no end of joy. Now she could spend as much time as she wanted in Aquleia with her beloved Galahad, after all. Nerinheit visited Aquleia only when the king held court, and made it a point to avoid Malonda, and always tried to pick fights with Exedol whenever he could."

"R'minds me of the first time we got up 'fore that King," grunted Roberto, who'd previously been almost entirely concerned with his food.

"Exactly," nodded Harvery. "Good memory. I guess you guys must've been wondering for years why Exedol and Nerinheit were going at each other back then. Well, that's your answer. Malonda and Galahad, though, didn't mind a bit. They were finally happy…finally able to be together without worrying about Nerinheit. And Exedol, for his part, was now the Mage General." He sighed. "It seemed everything worked out—sort of—at the time. Yes, Nerinheit was livid, and there was a grudge between him and Exedol, but it was better than the alternatives. Malonda and Galahad needed each other, but even the King of Etruria couldn't simply claim another man's wife as his own. Even if he alienated Nerinheit, it was better than tarnishing his reputation like that in the eyes of the people and the aristocracy. And he knew that if he made his bias against Nerinheit explicit and simply forbid him from becoming the Mage General, the aristocrats would grow afraid of him abusing his power. Thus, he and Malonda essentially framed Exedol for adultery. Thanks to Malonda giving him that wreath, the nobles and the people would suspect Caerleon of being a bastard-maker, not the King himself. Galahad could be with his beloved while the sanctity of the Crown itself would be maintained."

"Khyron never really accepted it," said Rosamia. "His resentment of Malonda is part of the reason I've had to deal with his resentment of women over the years. But I don't think anyone in this story was a villain…Exedol just wanted his friends to live happily together, Malonda and Galahad loved each other intensely, and Nerinheit never wanted to be married to her either. I guess none of them ever thought things would turn out this way in the end…"

"But wait," said Renault, "I don't understand what Exedol thought about this whole thing. He and Malonda were "just friends?" If they weren't having an affair, why'd she give him that wreath?"

"Well, it's the sad thing," said Harvery. "Glaesal…Glaesal was entirely wrong. He thought that Malonda was committing adultery with Exedol, but for his entire life, Exedol only had eyes for one person…one man. His friend, Barim Reglay. He liked Malonda, but his body…" Harvery fumbled for words. "I…Barim was the only person he wanted to share it with, let's leave it at that. Barim's wife hated it, of course—but Barim only married her because he needed an heir. His wife—her name's Elicia, I think—never complained, because the life of a rich noble is nice and he did manage to give her some kids, even though it was always clear she brought him no pleasure—only Exedol did. Exedol, for his part, thought he could leave getting an heir to Khyron."

"W…wait…" said Apolli, uncomprehendingly. "Y'mean…Exedol and Barim…two guys…were…"

"Uh-huh," said Braddock nonchalantly. "It's pretty common back in Lycia. A lot of noblemen had those sorts of relationships with each other before they got married. Most of the time it's just considered a part of their maturation. Since marriage for political reasons rather than romantic ones are so common, the nobles allow themselves to have trysts with the people they actually do love before settling down. Since the only thing Lycian custom requires is that you not sire any bastards—it's hell for inheritances, after all—many men find comfort in the arms of their brothers." He shrugged. "Not that I ever knew anything about that sort of thing. The only real companion I ever had back in Ostia was my axe."

"Yeah," agreed Renault. "It's the same thing in this country. Some members of the church sort of disapprove of it, but for the most part nobody cares. Apolli, you've never heard of this before?"

"N…no…" stammered the Sniper with a red face.

"It's not his fault," Lisse piped up in his defense. "It's just that he's from the country, that's all. If he lived in the city like we do he'd be a lot more familiar with this sort of thing!"

"Well, now he knows," said Harvery, "and it's that sort of "relationship" that Exedol and Barim shared. So he couldn't have been having an affair with Malonda, or a ménage a trois between him, her, and Galahad. He simply wasn't that sort of man."

"That makes even less sense, though," said Renault. "If he wasn't even interested in the woman, why would he just stand there and passively take the blame for the king?"

"BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THE NOBILITY DOES!"

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing (in Keith's case, spitting out the piece of tart she'd been munching on) and gazed at the other end of the table in absolute shock.

Khyron had stood up and slammed his hands hard on the table, not caring that the shock sent pieces of his meal flying everywhere. His face was red and his mouth twisted in an angry scowl, as angry as they had ever seen him. He was actually trembling. Apparently, his hearing was much more acute than his soldiers had previously thought.

"None of you can understand, can you? Not even Rosamia. You're all just a bunch of freebooters! None of you knows what true loyalty means! Do you have any idea what it was like for my brother? The humiliation he went through? How his name was slandered all across the country? How his colleagues laughed about him behind his back? And yet he never once complained, not in all the time he was alive. He never once even minded! And do you know why? BECAUSE HE WAS LOYAL TO THE KING!

"Our liege is everything to us! He is the light of Etruria! The hope of our people! His pain is our pain! His joy is our joy! Therefore, it is the responsibility of every noble to protect his happiness—no matter the personal cost! King Galahad needed to be with his Malonda. My brother was willing to do anything to make that happen—including soiling his own name and reputation. Being accused of adultery, of a crime he didn't commit, was of no concern to him as long as his King was allowed to be happy!"

"Sounds real nice of him," came Braddock's sarcastic retort. "But then again, he was the Mage General. The only thing you nobles think of is yourselves. How do we know Exedol was so selfless? Maybe he wanted to become Mage General by any means necessary and Malonda was just around to let him play dirty."

Khyron seemed to grow even more enraged at this—he was definitely the angriest they'd ever seen him. But he still managed to keep a measure of control. "Of course you'd say something like that, you mercenary traitor. There's nothing you people can understand besides money, is there? Nothing beyond power! Of course you wouldn't be able to understand my brother. You fool," he growled, "EXEDOL NEVER EVEN WANTED TO BE THE MAGE GENERAL!"

Braddock, Renault, and the rest of them aside from Rosamia and Harvery were taken aback. "What?"

"There was only one thing my brother ever wanted to be: A scholar. Don't you remember the Reaper's Labyrinth? Didn't I tell you how happy my brother would be if he discovered what we found? The only thing he ever wanted out of life was to plumb the mysteries of the past. Spending the rest of his life beside his companion Barim, immersing himself in the greatest literature of a bygone age…he would have been the happiest man on Elibe! But he realized that his own personal desires were dwarfed by his duty to his King. He never wanted to fight, to kill, or to be involved with the political nonsense the Mage General has to deal with! But despite all that, he struggled with all his strength to become the Mage General. Did he sabotage Glaesal's book? No! If he did, he would have sabotaged those of all the other contenders. But he didn't, and even then he STILL won the right to be the Mage General, based on nothing but his own skill and determination! Glaesal couldn't have matched him even if he tried—my brother's skill with magic was too great. And yet the only thing he ever wanted to put that skill to use for was exploring our country's past!

"He gave up that opportunity…he devoted his entire being to pursuing a position that he hated…all for the sake of our King. As the Mage General, he would be the object of all the evil rumors swirling about, leaving King Galahad untouched by it all, allowing him his happiness with Malonda. You freebooting scum think we nobles are selfish? YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! We give our dreams and aspirations for the sake of the Crown! That was how my brother lived! And that was how he died! That is the reason I followed in his footsteps! My brother's responsibility is my own! If my brother became a soldier, I had to become one as well! My ambitions were no more valuable than his—I gave them up to honor his example, and after he died, to honor his memory!

"That's why I'll fight, and keep fighting until my last breath! My brother gave everything for the King. And so will I!"

"I…it's true," said Rosamia. "Exedol…he was a good man. I valued his companionship at Caerleon. He…he never really wanted anything so different from what I did."

"Rosamia…Exedol…" Kelitha sniffled a bit. "He…I feel for him too. A life like that's all I wanted too, and he couldn't have it either. I..I'm so sorry for him…"

"I…damn." Renault was speechless. He never imagined that Khyron had that sort of story behind him.

Silence reigned for another few moments, punctuated only by the sound of Khyron's heavy breathing. Telling that story—and shouting it—had apparently taken a great deal out of him, understandably so. This quiet lasted until Braddock finally broke it.

"Hey, Khyron."

"W…what?" The former Mage General was still red-faced.

"I'm sorry."

Renault wasn't expecting this any more than Khyron was, along with the rest of the room. Khyron had to use one of his hands to steady himself on the table to keep from falling over, while Braddock's friends all exchanged curious glances between themselves.

"I'm sorry, Khyron," he continued. "I was wrong. Look, I'll admit I never had much respect for you before. I don't think many of us did. We mocked you behind your back, we thought you were incompetent, and we cursed you when we could."

"And you think I didn't know?" His lip curled up in an angry sneer. "Your lack of perception—"

"Well, it's the truth, Khyron. And I wanted to say I was wrong about it. I can't speak for anybody else, but I know my hatred of the nobles always colored my perception of you. I always thought you were a bunch of selfish knaves. And many of you are. But Khyron…you know what? After hearing this story, I have to admit that your brother wasn't. I may not agree with being so devoted to a king—I'm Lycian, remember?—but I can respect the loyalty, the self-sacrifice that your brother showed. I'm not gonna get in bed with all the nobles, now, but after this story, I can admit that your brother wasn't a bad guy.

"And you know what else? I can say the same about you. You may not be the greatest tactician, Lord Khyron," and everyone noted it was the first time he used the title without sarcasm, "but you definitely aren't a coward. Ever since Scirocco, you've been right beside us every battle. You've never shied away from any risks, and you've always put your life on the line, just like the rest of us. You even risked your own life to save Renault's! We'll always owe you for that. So…as far as I'm concerned, you're one of us. And I'm proud to serve under you."

To say that Khyron hadn't been expecting this would also be an understatement. The redness and anger had drained from his face, replaced by something that seemed to be a cross between confusion, disdain, and gratitude.

"There's one more thing I want to say, though. Let me guess, Khyron. You were gonna say something along the lines of 'Stupid Ostian Freebooter' or something like that, right?"

"W-what? What devilry is this? You can't read my mind!" the Sage sputtered.

"Look, I've known you for years. I don't have to be a mind reader to know you'd spout off something along those lines. Before you get mad at me for insulting you or undermining your position, though, just hear me out.

"You've risked your life for the King, for what you believe in. And I respect that. But all of us here—ALL OF US—have done the exact same thing. Did me and Renault betray you at first? Yeah, I'll admit we did. But we came back to you, didn't we? We realized the error of our ways. That's more than you can say for actual nobles. Nerinheit's got more noble blood in him than me, Renault, and the rest of us put together. But he's still fighting against you, even while the rest of us are shedding blood, sweat, and tears for your King—even though I'm Lycian and Keith and Kelitha are Ilian.

"We've stood by you all this time, Khyron, and if you want us to respect your brother's sacrifices—and yours—you've got to respect ours. Did we abandon you when we faced off against Barbarossa? Against Vyrleena? Against Vinland? We've been beside you every step of the way."

"And why should I expect anything less?" retorted Khyron. "You're doing your jobs, mercenaries. It's what's expected of me, so it's what's expected of you!"

"I'm not tellin' you to 'expect' anything. I just want you to treat us with some more respect. You're our commander, yeah. But are we worthless to you? Your brother served the King of Etruria with everything he had, and you expect us—and everybody else, including your fellow nobles—to respect his sacrifice. Can't you respect ours? At this point, we're as close to brothers and sisters as anything you have right now. The only people in all of Elibe who've shared the experiences you've been through are sitting here at this table. Doesn't that count for something? Even if we are a bunch of freebooters, we're your freebooters."

Khyron didn't respond to this immediately—so many emotions seemed to be warring inside of his mind. Disbelief, confusion, affection, appreciation…for another long moment the entire Great Hall was quiet as Khyron digested what Braddock had told him. Finally, he spoke.

"You're right, Os—I mean, Braddock. Nerinheit was a noble like me, but he betrayed me and the King! As did Vinland, and Padstow, and Verelecht! As far as I'm concerned, anyone who was willing to face down Barbarossa for the sake of my King is more of a noble than any of those men, even if they're a commoner or a foreigner!" He gritted his teeth. "And as much as it pains me to admit it, I must concede your point, Warlord. Kasha and the other members of the Shrike Team died for me…and I have not forgotten their sacrifices. Apolli and Gafgarion have served me for years, loyally and well. And seeing Rosamia become a Sage…" he grimaced, "that was one of the proudest moments of my life." This was enough to cause his apprentice's eyes to widen and her jaw to drop.

"Perhaps I'm too soft. It's a weakness I will excise, then! But…but for now, I will say," and his voice cracked, indicating how difficult this was for him, "I…I value your contributions. And I have…even…become…fond, of all of you. Even the Ilians, and even you turncoats!" He looked at Renault and Braddock.

"I am…I am willing to call you my comrades. Not my underlings, but my comrades. BUT! Only so long as you continue to fight! Only as long as you give your all for my liege, just as I do! Is this acceptable?"

One more pause. Then Braddock held out his hand. "Fine with me, boss."

"Master Khyron," said Rosamia. "Th…thank you."

"You've really grown up," said Harvery appreciatively.

"I'm happy t' serve you, Lord Khyron! Y' c'n count on me! And Lisse, too, right?" Apolli looked at his friend, who nodded happily.

"I…I'm glad to have an employer like you," said Kelitha, and her sister backed her up with an enthusiastic "Yeah!"

Renault, for his part, voiced his approval in a much more lackadaisical manner. "If Braddock's okay with you, you're okay with me," he shrugged. "I'm ready for your next orders, boss."

That was everyone, except, of course, for Roberto, but nobody expected him to do anything else. He simply shrugged, glared at Khyron, and grunted.

"Good!" said Khyron. And he reached out and accepted Braddock's proffered hand with his own.

"As for your first orders? Get all your equipment and supplies ready as soon as possible. We depart early tomorrow morning for Thagaste with Gafgarion's troops. And be sure to get as much rest as you can! I won't have my comrades sullying their pride by slowing down our rendezvous with the main force! Well? What're you waiting for? You're done eating dinner, get to it!"

"Aw, man," grumbled Renault as he followed Braddock and the rest of his compatriots out the Great Hall's doors and up to pack their belongings. "I was thinkin' things were gonna be different, but now it seems like he's just gonna be working us even harder!"

"Well, you've never had a problem earning your keep before, right?"

Renault could do nothing but laugh, the spring in his step belying his criticism of his commander. The war was far from over, but if Khyron's attitude kept up, Renault thought, their chances of living through it had just gone up more than a little.

-X-

It was the last day—the last few hours, actually—of their vacation, and the Autonomous Company very much intended to make the most of it.

The morning sun rose quietly over Caerleon, and with it rose the Autonomous Company. As their leader had ordered, they were ready to move out, but as they did so, Khyron gave them one last surprise.

"Wait a moment," he told them as they exited the halls of the castle. "Gafgarion still needs some extra time to organize the cavalry before moving them out. Before he does, I want you to follow me!"

This quite confused his soldiers, but by this point they trusted him—so they followed him. He led them some distance away from the castle towards a large but beautiful section of field closed off by a picturesque wooden fence. The grass was a lovely shade of green, enhanced by a gentle morning breeze making the light of the rising sun seem to shimmer over it, but most striking of all were the many trees within its bounds. Tall and strong, from all of them were growing great spots of red which the Company could see even before they got close. They were huge, juicy apples, some of the largest Renault had ever seen.

In front of the trees was the castle's steward—Landez, Renault recalled. He was examining their fruit very intently, and started when Khyron and his companions walked up behind him.

"A-ah, Lord Khyron!" said Landez, very clearly not expecting them. "I was just inspecting my lord's beautiful orchards. Last night's festivities required so many apple tarts that—"

"Understood, Landez. Tell me, are there any to spare?"

"Oh, yes, more than enough—"

"Then the Autonomous Company shall have a breakfast taken from the finest apple trees of my brother's countship. We need as much energy as possible before the journey, after all, and the finest apples in the region should suffice quite nicely!"

"Wow, really?" Keith seemed to have almost exploded with delight. "I…I've never had anything like this before! Thank you so much, Lord Khyron!"

"Hmph! Silly Ilian!" He couldn't mask the smile on his face, though. "In any case, though, we haven't much time and I don't want you to overeat. Finish quickly!"

The Autonomous Company didn't waste a moment in getting to work, while Khyron himself whispered something in Landez's ear, at which the steward looked a bit surprised, and then shrugged, nodded, and rushed off. He wouldn't reappear for several more minutes, and none of the Company gave it much thought. They happily descended upon the closest, largest tree and plucked the fruit from it where they could—Roberto was tall enough to reach them easily, and in a somewhat surprising gesture, after grabbing one for himself, he looked coldly at his friends, and then grabbed several more and tossed them to Apolli, Lisse, and Harvery, respectively. Khyron wasn't eating yet—he was waiting for Landez to come back. On the other hand, Rosamia, Renault, Braddock, and the Pegasus sisters had their own concerns.

"Er…um…" Keith looked up at one of the lower-hanging fruits pleadingly, while Renault and Kelitha took a seat next to each other nearby, watching with amusement. The young girl licked her lips and reached out to grab one. She was too short. As her onlookers laughed, she jumped up, trying to reach one, but missed.

"You've never had fresh fruit right off the tree, have you, Keith?" Braddock asked.

"N…no…Ilia doesn't have anything like these. They're so beautiful…"

"Hah! Well, I don't think anybody should live their life without enjoying fresh apples at least once," he chuckled, walking over to her. "Here, lemme give you a hand!"

"A…ah!" Just as Renault had done last night, the big Ostian put her up on his shoulders, and once she recovered from her surprise, she found she could reach the fruits very easily. "Wow, this is great! What a view!" Braddock laughed again. "T-Thank you, Sir—I mean, Braddock!"

"No problem. Just give some to our friends, since you're already up here."

She followed his order without hesitation—her quick, skillful hands easily yanked a trio of apples in quick succession from their branches and launched them at Renault, Kelitha, and Rosamia respectively, each of whom caught the projectiles with ease. She then took one more pair of apples—one for her, one for Braddock, who was still smiling widely as he set her down, and as the two of them took seats on the ground next to Kelitha and Renault.

"WOW! This is wonderful!" gushed Keith as she took a big bite out of the scrumptious apple. "I…I've never had anything like this before! This is the best fruit I've ever tasted! It's nothing like that dried, preserved stuff we have back in Ilia! This is amazing!" She quickly took another bite, and then another, tearing into the apple voraciously, not caring a bit about the juice she'd managed to spray all over her face. "K-Keith," admonished her sister, "mind your manners!"

Rosamia couldn't help but giggle at the sight. "Let her enjoy herself. The reputation of Caerleon's orchards is well-deserved, after all."

Renault and Braddock were both munching on their own picks, and both of them nodded in total agreement with Rosamia's assessment. Kelitha couldn't argue with that, and simply shrugged, smiled, and began to work on her own meal.

"I always knew Khyron wasn't such a bad guy," said Keith between another bite of her apple, reclining in her sister's lap as she watched the Sage at last pick one for himself. Landez had returned, it seemed, and this time with some strange apparatus—a white board and a brush which seemed like he might have been painting or sketching or something—and for whatever reason, Khyron felt like it was finally time to start enjoying himself with the rest of his troops while Landez sat down in front of them, observing them very carefully. "It makes me proud to be an Ilian! We're fighting for a just cause, aren't we! Khyron won't lead us wrong!"

"K…Keith…" said Kelitha uneasily, but it was Renault and Braddock who set her straight.

"That's kind of a dangerous way of thinking, Keith. Especially for a mercenary," he said somberly.

"Huh? Why?"

"Remember, mercenaries don't fight for justice, or peace, or any of that stuff. We're loyal to only one thing: Coin. For you Ilians it's a little different—your loyalty to your employers is absolute—but in that case, you're just fighting for your masters, not "justice" or anything like that. As long as you're in this business, you won't always be on the right side. Just keep that in mind."

"Is…is that how it is now?" said Keith, sounding both shocked and disillusioned. Kelitha didn't say anything, just stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her, but to no avail.

"No…not really. If you ask me, we're in the right. But it's not as black and white as you were making it out to be, girl. The Rebels have some legitimate grievances, and the Crown's done some bad things. But not as many bad things are the rebels have done. And after Khyron's speech last night, I'm more confident in the Crown's ability to correct themselves than I am in the rebels. So if you ask me, we're the good guys at the moment. Just remember that it won't always be so, not necessarily. That's what it means to be an Ilian…no, to be a mercenary, period."

"I…I see…"

"Keith," murmured Kelitha quietly, looking to her and then back to Renault.

The younger girl shook her head, her apple momentarily forgotten. "No…no…it's okay. It's alright. I understand." She then looked back up at Renault, and he was taken aback momentarily by the blazing determination in her eyes. "But…but if that's the case, then I won't fight just for my contract. I know I'm an Ilian, and I know I can never betray my employers. But I have to fight for the honor of Ilia, too! I won't give people an excuse to call us vultures! I'll never do anything to tarnish our reputation! So I'll never fight for a dishonorable cause, no matter what! I'll never help anyone who's unjust! If I have to take a contract like that, then I'll pass it up and choose a different one! And if that doesn't make enough money, then I'll take two different ones! However many I need to feed my countrymen without giving up on what I believe in!"

Renault blinked in astonishment at this admission, then glanced at Braddock. Both the men cracked wide, appreciative smiles. "Damn, that's some good principles you got there, girl," the Ostian whistled appreciatively. "Just promise me you'll never lose that, alright?"

She nodded. "Mm! I promise! I'll make my sister proud, and I'll make you and Renault proud too! I promise that I'll always fight for the sake of the people! I promise that I'll never use what you and Braddock taught me for evil! And I'll keep that promise for as long as I live!"

"I…aw, hell," said Renault, blushing slightly. "You really ought to be careful of making promises like that, especially to us. Remember, we're mercenaries too. We could end up on opposite sides of the battlefield someday."

This prospect absolutely horrified Keith. "N…no!" she stammered, her eyes wide. "That…that can't be, right?"

"Renault," said Kelitha, somewhat sadly and disapprovingly, and Braddock echoed her sentiments. "Hey, we really shouldn't be talking about that right now, right?"

"But it's true," Renault persisted. "We can't lie to her, can we? She needs to know this sort of thing. Naïve mercenaries don't usually live very long." He turned back to his young friend. "It's just the nature of a sellsword's life. Like I said, we're loyal only to coin. Not justice, and not anyone we meet, either. If someone pays us for one job and someone else pays you for another…well, it is what it is. I mean, me and Braddock are used to this sort of thing. Back in Sacae, sometimes we'd fight mercs who were our allies yesterday. In this war alone, we're fighting a lot of the friends we made in the Revolutionary army. Friendships are transitory for a mercenary. You just have to accept that."

"That…that's so cruel," said Keith, casting her eyes downwards, clearly heartbroken. "Fight against you? Or Braddock? Renault, me an' Kelitha could never do that! Not in a million years!"

The sheer pathos of the young girl's expression got to Renault, along with disapproving glances from Braddock and Kelitha. "Aw, hell, you're right, Keith, And y'know what? I probably couldn't either."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"If me and Braddock found ourselves as your enemies in some campaign or another, we wouldn't be able to draw arms against you. No way. We may be mercenaries, but I guess we have a ways to go before we become real mercenaries. We're just too attached to you too, huh?"

"R…really?" Keith's expression had rapidly shifted from heartbroken to admiring and hopeful.

"Yeah. In fact, if we ever had to go to war with you girls, we'd probably betray our employers and join you!"

"R…Renault!" said Kelitha, quite incredulous. "That's…you shouldn't say such things so lightly! What about your reputation!"

He laughed. "Don't worry, Kelitha. Remember, we already betrayed one employer—the rebels. If we do it again, it's no big deal, especially if its for you. I mean, you're an Ilian, so I guess you're honor-bound to your contract, but we're not. We're just an Etrurian scoundrel and a Lycian good-for-nothing! If we skip out on our jobs, it'll be no big deal. So if we ever find ourselves as your enemies on the battlefield, we'll just switch sides. How's that sound?"

"R…really, Renault?" Keith seemed as surprised at this proposal as her sister did. "You…you'd do that for us?"

"Hell yeah! Me and Braddock like you girls, right?" He looked at his friend, and the Warlord nodded easily, continuing to munch on his apple. "We left the revolutionaries 'cause we didn't like 'em, so it follows that we'd join up with you since we like you. So don't you ever worry about being our enemies. Where you go, we go, even if it means tearing up our contracts!"

"Wow!" said Keith, her eyes wide, and to her sister's surprise she jumped out of her arms and leapt to give Renault a big hug. "You're the best, Renault! You're a true hero!"

"H-hey! Didn't I just say…never mind," he chuckled, enjoying the girl's embrace and bringing up a hand to ruffle her hair. He looked at Braddock, who was now standing next to Rosamia as both of them chuckled at Keith's antics, back to his other comrades nearby, occupied with their own conversations, then to Khyron, who seemed to be busy keeping as absolutely still as possible for whatever it was Landez was frantically sketching, and then finally to Kelitha. Kelitha, who was looking at him with the warmest, most peaceful expression he'd ever received from any woman in a long, long time.

He knew they'd have to get up and leave, soon—Landez had apparently finished up whatever Khyron had asked him to do, and the former Mage General was polishing off the last bits of his apple, meaning that he'd be ordering them to stop loitering and get moving momentarily. But for now…Renault could just sit with his friends all around him—Braddock and Kelitha next to him, and Keitha joyfully hugging him—and enjoy the cool morning breeze on his face as well as the beautiful sun bathing the old apple tree they were all sitting under in its gold-and-orange halo. It was one of the most pleasing things Renault had ever experienced up to this point in his life.

It would also be the very last time in his long, long life that he would ever be truly happy.

::Next Time, on Wayward Son!::

Renault and his friends set out for a return to Thagaste, where they'll rendezvous with the force Henken is creating to deal the final blow to the crumbling Rebel war effort. But Paptimus has a devilish plan in the works! What will become of the Royalist campaign? And what will become of our heroes? Stay tuned next time to find out on episode 36 of Wayward Son, Falling Stars! I know this was the latest chapter EVER of WS, and I'm sorry ;_; Read my linear notes for an explanation. I'll TRY to get the next chappie out on the first of August, and then go for a weekly release schedule…I prolly wont succeed, but we'll see.

::Linear Notes::

WHOOO-EEEEEE! Sorry, sorry, SORRY for being so late with this chappie, my friends! ;_; I have a few reasons for my lateness. First off, I was too busy over the course of June to doi any fanfic stuff because of my hardcore crash course in French. Secondly, I was dealin with siome writers block ;_; Thirdly, I had to reqrite sections of this chappie a bunch of times. T_T Fifthly, I also accidentally lost a chunk of this chapie! It wasn't that big, but it really discouraged me and made me stop working on it for a while. ;_; Sixthly, this chapter got MUUUUUCH larger than I wanted it to be initially—thought it would be like 10k words or so, and then it ballooned up to the second-largest chappie in WS history! D: D: D: Lastly, I had some other IRL things to take care of. I managed to get those out of the way—sorta—but still…

Anyways, to make it up to you, I *probably* won't be able to make it on time, but I shall TRY MY BEST to put out ch. 36 by Aug 1—I'll have to put the pedal to the metal, but Ill give it my best shot. Secondly, to make it up to u guiz, Ill try to put out a chappie EVERY WEEK of August! It might be hard, but I'll do my best…T_T Thanks for your patience guyz. ;_;

Couple notes:

1: "Renault the Impervious" comes from his supports with Wallace.

2: The Tarantella is a real dance from Italy, which is why I associated it with Ostia in this fic. Look up "tarantella" on Youtube, and the tune Harvery was playing is this one specifically:

watch?v=qXXuw8KTHcQ

3: To better understand Trunicht's dialogue with Dougram, look up "utilitarianism" if you don't know what it is.

4: The thing about Exedol and Barim: I hope it's not *too* controversial, but there's historical precedent for it—I remember reading it in one of my European History textbooks on the Renaissance; in the Mediterranean and in Renaissance Italy at least men often had these sorts of relationships. I based it off that. It's the first time I actually portrayed homosexuality in a "realistic" light—the first time I wrote it at all was when I wrote a Lucius x Raven fic for a friend of mine after losing a bet (XD) and the second time was back when a friend of mine was making fun of a yaoi series (Gravitation) on Encyclopedia Dramatica and stuff. XD XD So I figured I might as well try to actually "be serious" and write a homosexual character in a way that would be (at least kind of) respectful to the gay bros I've known, like Scottrossi and my other gay LJ friends. Whether or not I've succeeded is up for debate, of course…xD

Finally, a quick note: As you might be able to tell by the very end of this chapter, things are gonna go into dark territory real soon. Just prepare yourself, my friends…;_;