[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, off a road in the southwest[/h3]
[IMG]http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/SharpshooterJack/markerJaelnec_zps53b7aa37.png[/IMG]
It was a strangely nostalgic feeling, somehow, to just sit idly by while another took care of business, assuming the role of curious observer set to learn what he could simply by leeching off the experience of better men. Even after having been a leader himself, even for a short time and furthermore arguably not a very good one, it still surprised the squire how easy it was to fall back into the habit of being the apprentice following his master, only now his role doubled as that of a bodyguard. He had always followed in Freagon's shadow and watched him to learn, certainly, but he had never needed - or indeed been allowed to - step in to aid his late master. It was easy to dismiss his awe at the thought of Freagon as nothing but reverence for a dead idol, his memory of the knight exaggerated when viewed through the goggles of sentimentality, but his emotions could not erase the facts he knew to be true, which were the past deeds of his master; many of which he himself had witnessed.
Even now, as Jaelnec's thoughts wandered as he relaxed, growing more comfortable with these strangers' presence, he could not help but to be stricken with a sense of inferiority and futility at the thought of Freagon. The Knighthood of the Will had never had a more powerful champion, he was sure of it.

He felt comfortable enough to indulge in a little self-reflection exactly because he felt more comfortable around these strangers, seeing that they not only opted to avoid demonstrating any significant hostility, but were also downright helpful, freely offering to heal the giant, fearsome beast of a companion that was Etakar, despite of this clearly putting the healer in a very compromised situation; something she, by the way she approached the dekkun, was evidently aware of. It was admirably selfless, and they immediately gained the Nightwalker's respect for it, as well as some measure of trust.
But the trust he was able to put in these strangers was ultimately limited, at best; it was not that he did not have faith that they were fundamentally good people - as far as he was concerned their actions had already proven this beyond reasonable doubt - but that his recent experiences told him that even good people could do bad things. Like the lieutenant back at the border post; he had been so generous and accommodating to them when they first arrived there that he could not possibly accept the thought of him having had sinister motives from the start, yet he had still been an accomplice to the crimes committed by the treacherous Death Clan-member who served as his second-in-command. And even now, he still had no idea what or who the great black-furred beast was, or if it was even intelligent... or how they had managed to bring down the lohk.
That was probably the most deeply disturbing and most horrendous crime of the agents of evil, he figured: to use those who only wanted to do good to further their own dark agendas... to corrupt the pure and innocent.
To turn paladins of life into demons.

It was not until the newly encountered foreign man commented on Aemoten's state that Jaelnec became aware of it himself, and inadvisable as he found it for the only one of them capable of fighting to be distracted from a potential threat, the squire nevertheless turned in his saddle to face the Sekalyn, only now realizing how far his condition seemed to have deteriorated.
He frowned, concerned and worried, but for more than one reason. Sure, a large part of him was deeply bothered by the fact that his leader and friend was suffering like this, but another part of him detachedly reminded him that Aemoten had told him that he could not actually die, and that every day they were delayed in completing their quest to end the Withering meant the loss of more innocent lives and souls. The squire in him weighed one life against hundreds, if not thousands, and found that staying to rest was a bad idea, but the person he was at his core wanted Aemoten to get better, and for that the primary condition was sleep. Magical energy was almost exclusively restored when sleeping, he knew, and the body could not even begin its recovery until the soul was recharged.

He somewhat clumsily managed to get off his horse and hurried to the other's side. "You're barely able to stay in the saddle," he said, reaching up to steady Aemoten. He paused for a second, unsure where he was going with this. "Is there anything I can do?"