It had been five days — almost a week since Isadora Berling's failed attack on Jeralt's camp. Since then, his company had packed up and moved south, through House Charon lands, past the Oghma Mountains, and into Alliance territory. After some debating and decision-weighing with the more senior members of his company, Jeralt had ordered his mercenaries to settle down a little north of the Airmid River, to take advantage of the surge in contracts and bounties in the area.

As soon as Jeralt's mercenaries made camp, the mad dash for contracts began. Individual or groups of mercenaries took their pick of the available jobs and immediately left camp to get them done and get paid. Only a few stayed behind to mind the prisoners they still haven't ransomed out, or to gather resources to keep the camp fed and the supplies well-stocked.

Among those who stayed behind, none had been as busy as one man: Arthur Morgan.

Despite being still under the insidious effects of "tuberculosis", the outsider was reported to have spent most of his time hunting, foraging, fishing, and performing chores around the camp. His contributions alone were what Jeralt expected from the combined work of several mercenaries.

The thought of Arthur made Jeralt think back from when his company first found the man, up on the mountains of the Southern Tailtean Plains. Back then, Jeralt saw a dead man propped up against a mountain, dressed like nothing he had seen before, surrounded by hole-ridden bodies of men who dressed just as strangely. When his men went to check the bodies for clues as to what could have happened, the servant girl he took in after the dissolution of her lord's noble house, a talented white mage and alchemist named Tekla, had told him that the dead man was actually just barely clinging to life, and also very sick from an insidious lung-wasting condition. Jeralt remembered asking Tekla if the man could be saved, and the girl did not hesitate to say she would work day and night to keep him alive.

That was enough for Jeralt. On the slim chance that the man awoke, he would have answers as to what manner of battle or accident could have occured on that cliff.

Against the odds, the man did awake, coughing and wheezing his ravaged lungs out. He was quick to introduce himself as Arthur Morgan.

To say that Mr. Morgan was unusual was to severely understate. The man had dark blonde hair, green eyes, and spoke the common tongue with an extremely thick accent that defied categorisation. It reminded Jeralt of how brigands, lowlives, and gutter scum drawled out their words, expecting to be understood. Mr. Morgan was also tall, broadly-built, and possessed of lean muscle, though his sickness made it obvious that he was underweight and was once quite the muscular fellow, evidence to a hard life of riding and fighting.

Jeralt did not know what to expect when he first spoke to Arthur. Though polite enough, the man blurted out some nonsense that made Jeralt question whether he could be trusted to be left alone, or whether he was sane to begin with. It was in the following day that Jeralt began to realise there may be more to Arthur Morgan, when the man revealed to him that he was not from Fódlan, and was unsure of how he even arrived in the area.

When Arthur asked if he could return to the mountains where he was found in search of answers, Jeralt let the man go, half-expecting it to be the last he ever saw him and the horse he borrowed. Instead, Arthur returned in the middle of the night, bringing with him a small wagon filled with things that were allegedly his, among other things. He claimed to have found nothing else of value while up on those mountains.

It was also that night when Jeralt noticed his daughter's odd fascination with the mysterious outsider, when she left the camp without so much as a word to anyone so she could follow him on his brief journey. Perhaps because he was clearly a warrior with a unique fighting style, or simply because he never attempted to avoid or drive her away like most of his mercenaries did, Byleth was drawn to Arthur Morgan, often spending her free time following him around and being frequently seen in his company.

Most fathers would discourage such behaviour. A young woman frequently seen in the company of a man — no, even worse, actively seeking him out to spend her time with him — was bound to start rumours, and mercenaries were notorious gossipmongers with wild imaginations, on and off the field.

Jeralt hadn't the faintest idea about being a father when he fell in love and had Byleth, and he won't pretend to have improved much since then... all he knew about was fighting, organising a band of fighters, and leading fighters to battle. But he felt it necessary that he should at least try to see what Arthur's intentions were for his daughter before taking action. He felt that he should be worrying for Byleth, but so far, as far as he could tell, the man had been a positive influence to her, in another way unrelated to getting better at fighting.

Before Arthur came along, Byleth rarely engaged in social interaction with others who weren't her own father, and the more she spent time with Arthur, the more Jeralt noticed she became less... reserved. A bit more talkative, even. She was still inexpressive as ever and her penchant for staring at others remained, but whenever she spent time with Arthur, Jeralt noticed how animated she became for a short while afterwards, at least compared to her usual behaviour.

Whatever Arthur and Byleth had between them, it seemed to have infused a little life in Jeralt's daughter.

Thinking about Arthur so much made Jeralt laugh at his own absurdity. The man was still a mystery to him, and he had been too busy with managing his company that he hadn't found the time to get to know him enough to trust him around Byleth.

Perhaps that was how he should spend his afternoon, now that he had finished his papers for the day. It had been some time since he singled out one of his people to figure them out. He hoped his social abilities hadn't diminished since then.

...

...

Jeralt entered the medical tent, expecting to find Arthur there. He knew for a fact that Tekla would be there, so there's a good chance Arthur was in there with her. Jeralt knew the two of them were friends after seeing them eating in the mess together several times.

This time, however, the only ones in the tent were Tekla, some of the wounded mercenaries, and a familiar, purple-haired youth he had crossed weapons with not too long ago — the one who called himself Shez.

"Captain Jeralt," Tekla greeted the man from across the tent as he entered. The white mage was tending to Shez's injuries from the battle while two of his mercenaries flanked them with lances in their hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Captain Jeralt?" Shez quickly turned his head around, a hopeful, though somewhat desperate look on his face.

"Hello, Tekla." Jeralt greeted back. "I was meaning to talk to Mr. Morgan. I thought he would be here, but it seems I was mistaken."

"Arthur?" Tekla spent a second in thought. "Oh, he dropped by some time ago to leave a bag of herbs and roots he picked up while hunting early in the morning. He said he was going to train before he left again."

The captain nodded. "I think I know where he went. Thank you, Tekla. Pardon me."

"Captain Jeralt, wait!"

The mercenary captain halted mid-turn to address Shez, who was trying to draw his attention. "Ah, the late Isadora Berling's retainer. Shez, was it? I've been wondering why you haven't been ransomed yet."

The young man seemed to deflate at that. "Yeah, that's because I've got no one to pay for it, and I don't have any money. I mean, my friends could pay for it, but I already owe them too much to ask them to bail me out again."

Jeralt shrugged. "Well, you can always earn your freedom after you've done enough chores or gathered enough resources for us like the rest of your fellows who couldn't, or wouldn't pay. From what I hear, you're just a few days from being free at last."

Shez hissed as Tekla applied an herb-infused dressing to his shoulder wound. "Ow. Captain, I'm gonna be honest. I wouldn't know what to do with freedom. My captain is dead, and her company is gone, and all my friends who survived must have moved onto different companies by now."

Jeralt folded his arms. "I think I know what this is. You want to sign up with my company now."

"No hard feelings?" Shez put up an uneasy smile. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but when I back up a cause, I stick to it. Let me join you, and I'll be one of your best fighters."

"I dunno," Jeralt made a show of slowly turning around. "I did watch you lose a duel to a sick man."

"Hey, that sick man was stronger than anyone else I fought. I blocked his attacks, but they still kept going past my guard. And that trick he pulled in the end, who could have expected something like that?"

Jeralt laughed. "Talk to me again when you've earned your freedom, kid."

The captain stepped out. He deliberately avoided going to the training grounds, as Arthur wasn't known to make use of them. Instead, he headed for the gates and hailed one of the sentries standing guard there.

"Captain Eisner!" The man straightened himself.

"As you were, kid. I don't have any orders for you or your fellows here — I just want to ask if you've seen Arthur Morgan going past here."

The sentry relaxed. "I... yes, captain. Mr. Morgan usually leaves the camp on horseback after finishing his routine. He left at around... Jurgen!" He shouted at his fellows standing guard alongside him. "When did Arthur Morgan ride out of camp?"

"About three hours ago!" One of the other sentries piped up.

"Yes, about three hours ago." The sentry Jeralt was addressing continued. "He was also accompanied by Commander Byleth. I understand the two of them seem to be out on another of their, um, excursions."

Jeralt pretended to be surprised. "Excursions, you say? Pray tell, what do you mean?"

The sentry started getting visibly uncomfortable. "Well, there have been rumours, captain, about uh, the commander and... and Mr. Morgan."

A sentry started snickering. A quick glance at the others showed a few smiles here and there. Jeralt returned to his man. "What's this about Byleth and Arthur?"

The sentry looked just about boiling in his armour. "It's, ah, about how they keep leaving camp together... to go somewhere. Alone. Um, people had been talking, about them being... you know, together."

By now, a couple of the sentries were openly laughing at their comrade's misfortune. Jeralt shook his head and put a hand on the man's shoulderpad. "And you will tell me who these people are. Will you, son?"

The sentry saw a way out, and he took it. "Yes! I'll— I'll compile a list. I'll send it to your desk with my report as soon as possible!"

Jeralt smiled. "Good! Good. I'll go get a horse and a few others to accompany me... see if these "rumours" have any merit. Do you know which way they went?"

"Directly south, captain. Beyond that, I do not know."

Some time later, Jeralt was riding out of camp with two of his senior mercenaries who were available: Rahel Meier, who was one of his best swordmasters, and Jonas Saunier, a mage.

"Where do you think those two could have gone?" Jonas said.

"Dunno. Don't care." Rahel was eating soup from a bowl as she rode. "What I do know is that Morgan fellow is weird. He's obviously sick, so he should be in bed most of the time, right? I always see him running around hunting or doing errands, like he's got something to prove."

Jeralt let the two of them chat away behind him, his sights to the road ahead. The path to the Airmid River was short, and it wasn't very long before the captain spotted a mounted figure riding in the direction opposite to theirs.

"Someone's up ahead," Rahel said, tipping out her soup and stashing it in her saddlebag. "Want me to ride ahead and check 'em out, captain?"

Jeralt shook his head. "No, I think we're good."

Jonas leaned on his saddle and squinted ahead. "Is it someone we know?"

"Seems like it." Jeralt raised a hand and waved at the figure, who immediately waved back.

Soon enough, Jeralt and his retainers met up with Byleth, who seemed to be riding back to camp with a sack full of fish strapped to the back of her horse.

"Well now, kid, that's quite the haul you got there." Jeralt said, looking his daughter up and down.

Nowadays, ever since she got those clothes from the Pinkertons, she had been wearing high-collared shirts under her chestplate, with her long hair done up in a more practical ponytail. Today, though, Byleth had also forgone her usual long-sleeved, armoured cloth jacket for a grey double-breasted leather coat which was open down the middle, and was wearing black fitted trousers which she had tucked under a pair of matching black riding boots.

"Arthur found an area south of the river that is teeming with fish," Byleth replied. "He also showed me how to find other spots where big fish may be found."

"Is that why Arthur brought you out here — to fish? I thought he took you out to train with those guns of his again."

"We did train beforehand. We shot bottles with our revolvers until he said we should stop for the day, to conserve ammunition. Then, I trained him in swordfighting."

"Oh?" Jeralt shifted on his saddle. Now that was a surprise. "And how did Mr. Morgan fare against my Ashen Demon?"

Byleth winced at her father's use of her nickname. He always found amusement at how embarrassed she was about it. "He is not lacking in strength, but his technique is... unexpectedly poor. It is as though he never picked up a sword before in his life, the way he swung it around like a hatchet."

Jeralt shrugged. "Well, that's probably the case. I'm sure he'll get better with it if you're the one training him, though."

"Perhaps. He doesn't seem very enthused about my way of fighting as I am with his." Byleth said. "If that is all, father, I must be heading back. I must think on what I learned with Mr. Morgan today."

"Hang on, kid," Jeralt held up a hand. "I just want to ask you about something."

"By all means, ask. Is it something to do with my firearms training? I admit, I haven't been making progress as much as I hoped."

Jeralt shook his head. "Well, no, I was meaning to ask you about Arthur. Out of everyone in camp, you spent the most time around him. What do you think about Mr. Morgan?"

The edges of Byleth's mouth curled slightly ever so upwards. She must think quite highly of him to get that reaction. "I think he is a formidable warrior, and a good mentor. I can trust him to keep up with me in a battlefield, and he has been kind to me out of it. That's more than I can say for most in our company."

Jeralt nodded. He could always trust Byleth to give an honest answer. "I see. It's good to see you in good hands, then. Would you happen to know where we could find Arthur? I want to thank him for letting you train with him."

"Head east upon reaching the river until you reach it at its shallowest. Proceed west after crossing to the other side. You should find him along the riverbank, if all is well." Byleth trotted past Jeralt. "Take care, and please give Mr. Morgan my regards."

Jeralt and his retainers followed Byleth's directions, and soon enough, finally, Jeralt caught sight of Arthur Morgan close to the river, just as described. The man was sitting on the ground next to a small campfire, busily scribbling into the book he had in his hands. Beside him, an open sack half-filled with wriggling fish could be seen, along with a rather expensive-looking fishing rod that had been fixed into the ground, close to the water. In the distance, his horse could be seen grazing on the grass and riverbank flora.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Jeralt," Despite looking oblivious to his surroundings, Arthur was quick to greet the captain as he and his men rode up close. "Was thinkin' you'd be up in your tent with a stack of papers, or drinking in the mess."

Jeralt dismounted and gestured for Rahel and Jonas to keep watch on the perimeter. He sat down next to the campfire as soon as his retainers had ridden out of sight. "That's what I do most days, if the company hasn't accepted any major contracts. Hell, I can start drinking here, if you want."

Arthur chuckled. "Sure, s'long as you pour me a cup, too." He set down his book and picked up a metal cup that was sitting next to the campfire.

Jeralt noticed the lidded metal pitcher next to the cup Arthur took, along with a second cup. The pitcher itself was wafting steam, and smelled of coffee. Without a word, he took the cup Arthur was holding out to him and filled it with ale from his flask, then handed it back to the man.

"Thank you," Arthur raised the cup at Jeralt. He took small sips instead of drinking the whole thing. "Now, what can I do for you, captain?"

Jeralt took a drink out of his flask before he said, "Just a moment of your time. I tend to handpick my men, which means I also tend to know a great deal about them. Now that you're aboard with us, I'd also like to figure you out, Arthur. Of course, only if you're willing to indulge an old man's curiosity."

Arthur smiled, picking up his book again. "Well, I suppose why not." He coughed. "Just... it's probably best if you don't take it personally if I say something, well, strange. Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not... feelin' well. And I ain't just referring to my cough."

Jeralt took a closer look at Arthur. He did appear to be a shade less paler than he was before — testament to Tekla's diligence and skill. However, he could notice how his hands seemed to shake ever so subtly as he gripped his book, and the thinly-veiled shine of desperation in his eyes. Arthur hid it well, but he was suffering quite terribly, even more so than usual.

"Huh. I've seen this before, but never on a commoner." Jeralt said. "Tobacco is a rare and expensive thing, Mr. Morgan. The nobility controls the tobacco trade, and more often than not, they prefer to keep what they have to themselves. That said, how did you find the money to smoke enough of it to feel its absence so keenly?"

"What?" Arthur looked confused for a moment. "Tobacco ain't anything like that where I come from. They grow like weeds, if you know where to look... and folks could come up to any half-decent store and buy themselves a packet of cigarettes for a dollar or less." He huffed, frowning. "I once came across this city feller who smoked a couple hundred a day, and he sure ain't nobility. He's just a regular idiot."

Jeralt imagined such a thing. "I don't know anything about "cigarettes", but... well, it just so happens that I do have a pipe and some tobacco with me. I light one up when talking business with nobles, but it's too much of an expensive habit to indulge in, I think." He reached inside his surcoat and produced his pipe, along with some tobacco leaf. "Want it? You do look like you really need it."

The captain could tell from Arthur's pained expression that he would like nothing more than to take up his offer. But after some time, the man shook his head.

"N-no, I... no." Arthur sighed, tearing his gaze away from the pipe. "No. I'd be doing myself a favour later by going through this bullshit now, and forgetting about those damn leaves. Ain't like I could afford them here, if what you was saying's true."

Jeralt nodded as he put it away. He was pleased to see a man of discipline. "A wise decision. They're better sold rather than smoked, in my experience."

Arthur coughed. He poured himself some coffee from his flask and downed it quickly, seemingly unaffected by the heat, or its bitterness.

"So," Jeralt began again. "Before all this, you must have had some fighting experience, right? The way you handled yourself in the attack, I could tell you know your way around a battlefield. Were you a soldier, Arthur?"

Arthur wiped his mouth. "Not really. But I was a fighter, sure. And I followed orders from a man. I followed a man named Dutch van der Linde."

He turned his head aside, gazing at the flowing river. "I was just a kid then, when he picked me up from the streets after seeing me beat up three boys my age for a scrap of food we stole from a general store. Always was good with my fists... I reckon Dutch was just as pleased to find out I was even better with a gun."

"No argument there." Jeralt said. "I suppose it's a good thing you're keeping your guns limited to yourself and Byleth. The way you killed Berling's men... I wouldn't want them to end up in the hands of our enemies."

"Ammo's an issue, too. If I let your folks borrow my guns, they'd run out of bullets to shoot them with within days." Arthur replied, coughing. "But anyway, where was I? Ah, Dutch."

"Did this Dutch fellow teach you anything else besides how to dispense violence?"

"If that's all he did, I probably woulda turned on him. I was a little shit back then. Dutch taught me to read and write, to shoot, to hunt, to ride... that man taught me damn near everything I know. In return, I fought for him. Believed in him. Bled for him."

Jeralt nodded. "He sounds like a great man."

"He was... then he wasn't. Turns out, I didn't know as much about him as I thought I did." Arthur let out a derisive chuckle. "He used me, and everyone he knew to his advantage, for his own gain. I really thought we was family... when he really only thought of us as pawns."

The captain blinked, unsure of how to respond. "That... took a turn there."

"Yeah, it did, didn't it?" Arthur smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "But it's all in the past now. For a long time, I thought about leaving the path he raised me to follow, and now that I'm out, it's... uh, a little too much for me to take in."

Jeralt listened to Arthur, occasionally taking a sip from his flask. "What do you enjoy doing, Arthur?"

His response came rather swiftly. "I like to wander. To be able to, climb up my horse whenever I pleased and just, see places, y'know? I don't see myself being tied down on a farm or workin' a soulless job in a city any time soon, if I can help it."

Arthur breathed in and out. "I guess I also like to be able to help people. I used to hate admitting it to others, or even to myself, but it's the truth. Only took me realising I was dying to stop being so damn embarrassed about it."

Jeralt laughed. "Well, Arthur, looks like you've got the makings of a knight, with an attitude like that."

Arthur shook his head, his arms folded. "I ain't even surprised you got knights here."

"Well, I can't take you on as a squire — that ship has sailed." Jeralt paused, thinking of how to proceed next with the conversation. "Do you like training with Byleth?"

"She's a good kid." Arthur nodded, smiling fondly. "She's eager to learn, and I can tell she takes my advice seriously. It's... taking her a little longer than I thought getting the basics down, I'll admit. But that's probably because of a problem with the way I teach."

"I've heard her say as much." Jeralt said. "But I wouldn't worry about your way of teaching, Mr. Morgan. My daughter's just used to excelling at subjects she's interested in."

"Hmm." Arthur nodded again, clearly unconvinced. "Still, I gotta try a bit harder to find out how to work better with the kid. Won't do right by her if I let her down, when she's clearly trying her best."

Jeralt smiled, looking aside. Perhaps he was wrong to worry about Arthur around Byleth, after all. He will still keep an eye on them, of course, to see if he truly was attracted to her as the rumours say, but he felt he could trust him enough to do right by his daughter.

After all, if she felt threatened or taken advantage of in any way, she could always just cut him down.

"You know what I heard, Jeralt?"

The captain looked to Arthur, finding him with a challenging smirk on his face. "That I'm over a hundred years old?"

He coughed, though it could have been a laugh. "That ain't exactly a secret, lookin' at you. But that's not what I was gonna say. I heard from the men that you're some kind of authority on fishing around these parts."

"I wouldn't put it that way, but sure, I like to think I'm a better fisherman than most." Jeralt said. "Before I made a career out of fighting, I fished. Haven't had the time to really get into it nowadays, though."

"And here I was, thinkin' I'd have to let you borrow my spare fishing rod. You got one of your own in those saddlebags of yours?" Arthur gestured at Jeralt's horse.

"Are you challenging me, kid?" Jeralt stood up. "I said I haven't had the time to fish — that doesn't mean I've gotten any less good at it."

"Well, why don't you show me you ain't all talk, old man?"

"Heh. You're going to regret disrespecting your elder, Morgan. Let's see what you got!"

A/N: hey there, misters!

We'll be back to Arthur next chapter in a couple of days. I don't want to spoil much, but I'm going to introduce a student there.

Regarding a couple of reviews, I want to say thanks. I would very much like to be given input as to how the story is going, as well as suggestions on how to proceed. A shoutout to TheSplendid in particular — you gave me the idea to have Jeralt recruit Shez instead of something else I had in mind.

As for Arthur's horse, sure, he'll get a unique one. But that comes much later. What kind of knight/cowboy doesn't have a horse?

And no, I feel like Arthur's story with the gang is over at this point. I might change my mind later... we'll see.

As for pairings... well, this is a crossover with Fire Emblem, no? That's all I'm saying.

And lastly, yes to bows, and also melee weapons. Arthur will become a knight later as the title implies, so he will get training and see a lot of use out of knight-type weaponry.

That's it for now. Well, I should get back to it.