Huzzah! Another chapter!

I'll reply to reviews from people here. From now on, answers/whatnot will be up here.

Lizai: Thank you! Yes, I think Rhys should deserve more attention too. Half of my characters would've died in FE9 if it weren't for Rhys.

Haku: Hey Haku! Thanks for reading my story so far.

Year 643

Morning rays peeked through my lone window in my one room house. It was what I considered my own petite dwelling, as none of my fellow mercenaries shared it with me. Then again, it was the sanitarium of our stronghold. Den to the hired mercenary priest working to pay the taxes of his parents. Haven to the injured and sick of the Greil Mercenaries.

I yawned and stretched in the radiance of the first light. Tossing sheets away, I climbed out of my bed and observed the familiar room before me.

Four other beds lined the lightly colored slate walls, each with clean sheets and blankets neatly tucked into the bed frame. Fluffed, feather-packed pillows sat stacked on a tiny timber table. A cupboard held melted candles and rustic lanterns; a bookshelf contained tomes of healing and instructions of how to care for another if I was absent. One untidy bed with crumpled blankets and a furrowed pillow stood opposite of the infirmary beds. A bedside stand with a stave, an aged oil lamp, and a miniature bronze mirror stood beside the used cot. An iron basin sat in the corner, with a pail of water nearby it.

I stumbled groggily toward the mirror and peered into the figure before my eyes.

A young face returned my gaze, bangs of reddish-sunset colored hair drooping over glazed amber eyes. He appeared to be lethargic and even dull witted within the wee hours of day. His bed clothes consisted of a thin, white shirt and russet pants. As I attempted to stifle another yawn, so did he.

"Rhys," I said to the man before me. "It's time to work. You've been bedridden for a week; that's not going to aid the Greil Mercenaries."

Moving away, I robbed myself of anymore slumber by submerging my face into freezing water in the sink. Wiping excess water off my face using a rag, I then changed into my white, hooded robe with blue lining the cuffs and ends. Under that, a light sea green coat covered my thinner periwinkle robe, gold fabric coating the edges. Beneath that combo was a simple, necked cerulean shirt, generally veiled with all the clothing on top. I attached them as one by binding a sash as blue as lucid daytime around my waist.

My pants were merely a plain tan and, in my opinion, were in the best kept condition of the entire fort. But no one cared about the best cared-for pants, to say the least.

I slipped on thick leather boots and buckle the straps down, testing them out by taking a few steps and pausing.

Pocketing my key to the sick bay, I strode outside and secured the entrance behind me; I gazed at the sky and smiled.

Life was good.

I ambled in the sunshine; no clouds buried the face of the sun. Little puffs of sand and soil rose and fell as I made my way down the dirt path, away from home base. The lawns were green, the forest stood unbothered, and I seemed to be in the best of moods. For once in an extensive time, I felt like a youth should've felt: young, free, alive.

Alive. So alive!

Rhys? The priest who always came down with the cold, the fever, the flu that made him dash to the woodland to spew his lunch.

Once in a blue moon, I felt free of discomfort, free of headaches and stomach-aches, free of pain!

"Aye! Yer lookin' mighty 'appy, 'oly man!"

I swiveled around in alarm to face a peasant, who took the appearance of a non-threatening person. He was clad in peasant's attire, and carried the appalling stench of horse manure.

Waving, I replied, "Yes, I am! Thank you kindly, sir!"

Smiling, and nearly toothlessly, the peasant questioned me. "Dis be t'e Greel mer-son-air-ees, righ'?"

"You're correct, sir." I answered, nodding my head.

Walking over to my position, the strange man held a scroll of parchment in his hands. It bore no seal of any type and was bound together by a slender piece of cord.

"Give dis to t'e red 'aired girlie knigh', you's un-da-standin'?"

Swallowing nervously, I agreed to deliver the letter of some sort to Titania. After that, the man ambled off to wherever he lived or labored…or maybe he was going to resume cleaning up the mount corral…

"Ashera bless you!" I called after the retreating man.

He was…certainly odd.

But what did he desire from Titania? Surely he wasn't from another mercenary group, trying to convince Titania to switch jobs and whatnot.

Would she really exchange herself?

No, she wouldn't. I had faith in Titania. She loved her employment and the people she worked with. She wouldn't leave us for some other group.

Never.

I initiated my search for Titania to deliver the unadorned epistle.

That seemed a bit boring. Honestly, it did.

Next chapter will be better, as FE9 fans know what's in the letter. Whoo!

What else...

Ah well. Critique and reviews are loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

-Purge