Lein rarely had a routine to his day. There were simply too many moving parts - at times he’d be delivering alcohol and serving as a barfly to keep the patrons company. Others, he’d be writing letters, forging letters, shifting letters near the city gates. He weft meeting the contacts that kept with him between the training sessions he never attended and the training sessions he was forced to attend. Yet Lein juggled between his commitments nonetheless, drifting back and forth between the greater city of Aimlenn and the castle, his well-kept ears always on the ground for new trouble and fresher opportunities. If there was one commitment that he made sure to keep, however, was the cleanliness of the winding streets down near the grubbier parts of the city.

It was a cobble street that shouldered many shaded alleyways, well accompanied with prowling eyes and eager lookouts that listened for the unsuspecting stranger or patron. Failing those, these would-be beneficiaries could always rely on tithing from the regular shipment of supplies to the orphanage that sat squat at the end of the street, a building that miraculously kept its wattle walls patched up and candles steady through the night. It was the lone building that kept defense of a small courtyard towards its back against the encroachment of the fern-like growth of nearby buildings.

Lein raised an eyebrow as he turned the corner of a roof to find that the street was mostly empty of its usual occupants. It was rich ground to root out arrogant upstarts, but today? Nothing. Instead, the bustle of the street was underpinned by the forceful yell and an accompanying thwack. It wasn’t a beat-down, Lein could be assured of that. It was regular. Young. Composed. So…

Training?

Lein jumped down from his perch atop a cramped terrace and back into the fray and the flock. Deftly squeezing through the crowd, he gained purchase of a view of this interloper in the courtyard as he passed by.

”Now, could you try not hitting each other?”

Fionn glared down at a pair of the kids within the courtyard of the orphanage, although the grin on his face surely lessened the effect. ”And to think you were asking why I’m not letting you have these without my supervision. Now you know.” Neither of the kids who’d immediately taken to trying to hit each other were actually hurt—a little bruised, maybe, but nothing more than the roughhousing they already got up to would’ve left them feeling—and neither was particularly unhappy or angry at the other either, leaving Fionn little to worry about for the two of them.

”Alright. Spread out, all of you, make sure you’re all able to see me, but out of the reach of each other’s staffs. I don’t want you hitting each other again, definitely not accidentally when you’re swinging these things around as hard as you can.”

Fionn? Here? Yes, training had long since ended, and Lein had simply assumed that Fionn would follow through with working on that cider mill of his. The downtown sprawl, especially here, was far from the gaze of Candeln - and even most of Aimlenn. He wasn’t that surprised, Lein had always considered Fionn the most wide-footed - but paired with what their previous exchange ended with, Lein was not so keen to engage with the Veltian just yet.

As he turned to leave, he heard an irregular yelp before a blur was flung toward him. The Hundi reacted without calculation, lunging forth and intercepting the stick out of the air before it could hit a passerby squarely in the head, nearly tripping over the low courtyard walls in the process. The source was obvious enough, a nun running toward him and stumbling over her own words before noticing the ears twitching with annoyance and a smirk that hid it. Evidently, she was too timid to partake in Fionn’s training too openly. “Terribly sorry! I didn’t know, my grip was too loose - Lein?”

“No harm done, Sister. Though if you wanna practice, you should do it alongside. Ain’t none judging you.” Though there was barely a chance to say much else; the Hundi was soon crowded by kids, both from Fionn’s disciplined formation and the rest that had watched on from the sides, chirping about pearls and vying for Lein’s attention. “Yeah yeah! I’ll look at them in a sec, go back to - what do I say - hands off the tail!” He hissed, snatching it out of the enthusiastic tugging from the crowd and trying a futile attempt to wade out of the situation. Curse his luck. Should’ve just let it fly, instead of making more of a mess. Lein looked rather sheepishly at Fionn, who no doubt had noticed the Hundi by now. “Err - Fionn.”

The Veltan knight stood stoically, the light filtering between the buildings outlining his features, highlighting the fleeting look of noble despair that passed across his face as his students broke rank and ran for their newest visitor. Many of them vying for the Hundi’s attention with outstretched hands, various objects found in them—mostly shiny rocks, though some carried things worth far more than the odd piece of agate, opal, or peridot.

Curious, though unsurprising. Part of his purpose here was to help fill their time with things other than petty thievery and scavenging, though given what he could make out of their yammering it didn’t seem like many knew what it was they had; their ignorance, with most others that might try and gather them up like this, could have painful consequences. Still, despite how duplicitous Lein might normally act, Fionn had trouble believing he’d really treat the children so poorly.

Children who were quickly spooked into a moment of silence as Fionn rapped his short staff hard against the side of the orphanage, the loud crack getting their attention quickly. ”Didn’t he just say hands off his tail?” he asked, his mock-glare landing on one of the kids in particular—who quickly released the appendage in question. The quick compliance earned a grin in return, before he started to gesture them all forward. ”Come on, come on, let Lein come up to the front and you all can take turns showing what you’ve got him.”

Lein freed himself from the dispersing children, though not before some thought themselves cheeky enough to give the Hundi some unsolicited pets on the head before running away with a bout of laughter. He had a terse smile, signalling that he would have very much rathered Fionn to have simply dismissed the kids outright instead and all too miserable to enjoy Fionn's despair. Still, seeing as Fionn had good command of the kids, it was best for him to leave Fionn to take overwatch. Fionn's overbearing nature was instead an advantage here. Just a couple checks first. “Nah, just dropping in, checking to see you rascals -” he gave a growl that was both a grimace and a smile, “aren’t giving the Sisters too much grief. I’ll be off -” Though as soon as he began to turn, the protests began rolling in.

“No fair! You said you’ll be back in a week!”

“Yeah! No fair!”

“Look! Look! Lein! I found a key! Look!”

“Alright alright, settle down now. Lo, hold ‘em up.” A forest of grubby hands sprouted before him, holding out all ranges of shiny rocks and trinkets. Lein hopped up on the courtyard wall and pretended to take a careful look over each one, most of them just as useless as the other but nonetheless held with the confidence that theirs was surely the best. He’ll have to check in with some of them, doubtless that they’ve been drifting too far. He watched Fionn’s reaction in the corner of his eye, hoping that the most egregious offences (Was that an entire pouch? And what’s this about a key?) were flying under the Veltian’s watch. “Alrighty, Finch, Sanny, Rooch - feh, you lot have been real busy, non? Fine, tell Sis Alianna, double portions for all of you! - on one condition, show me all you’ve been learning from my man here? Been seein’ some fancy swings all the way from the stacks!” Lein said, tossing the attention straight back at Fionn. And muttering under breath so only Fionn could hear, "And you're keeping them out of trouble, I hope." It was a message not as accusatory as it was proactive.

Fionn withheld comment as some of the children showed Lein the various items they’d collected, up until the attention was thrown back his way. ”You heard him!” he called out, gesturing with his own baton. ”Back in your spots! First drill!” As the kids rapidly moved back to where they’d been standing before they were distracted, he turned back to the Hundi sitting atop the courtyard’s short wall. If Lein had hoped he didn’t notice any of what was shown off, that hope was in vain—although for the moment, it went without any accusatory comment.

”Trying, at least.” He turned back to the kids, nodding at their progress. ”They trying to swindle you, or did you manage to convince Aurik that milky quartz like that is a precious stone?”

Lein shrugged innocently. “Looks precious enough to me. Won’t see that kinda cut anywhere else. Must’ve taken real work to fish that outta the bank.” He sat watching the orphans (plus one still-timid nun) step through their stances with awkward comprehension. Most did seem to take the exercise seriously, even if some of them had clearly forgotten and were miming the others’ movements. Lein recognized the drills as the very exercises taught to him at his youngest ages; light, cyclic motions with light staves that could take advantage of what the orphans would be best at - scrappy fights without proper blades. A pertinent choice. Lein nodded to some of the spare sticks leaning up against the wall, fresh with hand-made grooves. “Carve all of ‘em out yourself? A real hero, you are.”

’Looks precious enough to me.’ Aye, sure, like I’m meant to believe that.

Another topic to be put away for later. ”Aye,” he replied, casting a watchful eye over the group as some of those who had a better grasp of what he was teaching started to try and help the others with small corrections. ”No point paying for them to be made when I grew up always making similar. Most help I had was Serenity helping smooth them out a couple days ago.” And seeming thoroughly unconvinced as to why he was spending time with the orphanage rather than in the training yard, though for reasons he couldn’t figure out.

Unless all nobles were that inherently suspicious?

”Almost a surprise I haven’t run into you down here before. Seems like they all know you.”

“Entertain me, would ya? We’re walking the same lane, and I ain’t shooting questions at why you’re raising an army down here.” Lein replied. “Besides, I could say the same to you - haven’t seen Aurik give a damn about much till you started barking at him.” And Serenity? Really? He would have sooner pinned a hen as a bird-of-paradise than suspect that the prideful Arcedeen would bother herself to end up down here.

“Better that you’re tiring them out than have ‘em in my hair all the time, though! So cheers to you - ” Lein contemplated whether Fionn had, like Lein, omitted his status. Certainly, the attitude surrounding them both suggested as much. “- Mister Commander.”

”Now, I don’t bark at them nearly enough to be called their commander!” Perish the thought. ”Just trying to keep them together, and off the streets. It’s my wee charity.” He raised his staff, pointing out at the kid they were just talking about. ”He doesn’t know it yet, but Aurik’s dad was in the same company as me during the rebellion. Sent most of what he earned back to his family every week. I heard later on that his wife didn’t last long after the news came back that he’d been gutted in the field.”

The staff shifted, pointing to a small group that stayed close to each other. ”Those three? Siblings, and both of their parents fought for the Cazt’s side. Similar stories all around. Some who lost their parents to the poor harvest after the war, or who were given up because of it. The population of all these orphanages exploded recently, and I figure I might as well do something to try and keep the kids occupied in a mostly-safe way, rather than letting them run loose when the sisters can’t rein them all in.” He set his staff back down, looking back at Lein.

”Entertaining enough to get a firmer answer out of you, or do you want to keep up the craic a bit longer first? Not like I’ve anywhere else to be.”

“You’re far less charitable at getting your answers, you know? Though really, I’d given ‘em all out already. Now I don’t have your talents, much less patience to whittle sticks or listen to Miss Lioness. But I do know that there’s a little creek that was a hawking ground for a bit, has a nice shade with the elms too. A bunch of hidey places for them to run around and pick up some interesting stuff. And I just run a few gigs at The Wisp that throws away one too many loaves for my taste. It’s a decent trade - I get them well away from these streets, and they get to have a full belly in return.”

Lein picked up the staff that Fionn put down, holding it straight up like an unmade bow. “Real easy for these rats to get picked off by dolts round these parts, and I don’t reckon we can clean these streets for good. But at least they’ll get to have fun for a bit while I’m around.” A scheme revealed. Lein didn’t plan to run it for much longer, anyhow.

Fionn shook his head slightly. ”Maybe I’m biased, but that sort of fun seems more worrisome to me than a lot of other choices. I know the sorts that like to use those sorts of scavenging and selling grounds to recruit kids who have a good eye and fast hands. So long as you make sure they know to avoid those sorts, then sure, but...well, you were a kid once. Good decision making and youth don’t always go together.” Gerard being a prime example. Fionn himself, as well, though he hadn’t signed on to an actual company and gotten involved in anything large until he was older than Gerard was when he’d first been thrown into the deep end of mercenary work.

”If you wanted to try and clean up the streets a bit, though—beyond just making sure these kids don’t get pulled into anything major while they’re still all impressionable—I’d be happy to help with that. There’s only so much that staff-fighting and finding them trades can really do to keep them out of trouble.”

“You’re speaking from memory with this one? Made my fair share of bad hands,” Lein lifted his prosthetic, “I get it. But they’re a lot more shrewd than you give them credit. You pick up fast what to share bones with when you’re facing strangers on the regular, so long as they’re not hungry. Besides,” the edges of Lein’s lip curled. “I’m sure Big Brother Fionn would be coming in flying if they’re getting too chummy with the unsavoury ones.”

Trust Lein to take it less seriously than he might have preferred. ”I’d have to know about it, first, and I don’t have nearly the ear to the ground that some do. By the time I heard about it at all it might be too late to try and get the kid out of trouble. Not a fun ending to consider, that.” His frown only deepened as his thoughts continued, looking back to the children in the yard before them. ”Where’s this thoughtfulness towards them come from, anyways? You’ll have to forgive me, but given how often you try to avoid the rest of us and what we do, the care here seems hard to reconcile.”

“Must one have a reason to be charitable? I’ve given my excuse, so you can start with yours.” Lein’s voice remained in its carefree cadence, but there was a subtle chill to it now. He’d seen it coming a long way, Fionn was well known for it by now.

Fionn’s flat stare should’ve been answer enough, but in case it wasn’t...”We’re called to render aid to those less fortunate, and not just in the field of battle. And that’s before my personal convictions come into play about it all. I’d think it should be an expectation that we’d all go out and do things like this, but evidently not; Serenity could barely believe that I was just here because I chose to be. She seemed to think I must have been an orphan lying about his background and that was the only reason I was doing this. I can only imagine what sort of guess Renar might come up with.” No matter what it was, he doubted it would be anything inherently good. More likely Renar showing some similar noble paranoia to Serenity. ”I don’t doubt that you’re genuine, Lein, if a little misguided. But there’s a lot about you that still doesn’t fit together, and it’s the missing pieces that worry me. Same as I’d worry about most of them if they started lying to me and the sisters, or telling us half-truths and trying to hide everything they were up to.” He turned back, watching the kids that by now had started working in on the latest drill Fionn had shown them, struggling through the still-unfamiliar movements.

”It’s bad enough having the three to worry about that I’m around the most, before adding all the rest of you in, you know. Noble or commoner, sometimes it seems the lot of you are worse off than these children.”

“The answer to your worries is simple enough, good friend. Don’t. Bundle of troubles, we are. Yeah, I’m not much sense to folk. Most people aren’t to anyone, I’ve found.” Lein climbed up on top of the wall and surveyed the people passing through the alleyways, mottled shades of greys and browns shuffling past each other. “You say I keep secrets, but really, I’m just the worst at being dishonest. Folk think I hide my hands far more than others because I show I’m hiding them. Sometimes you don’t have to ‘figure’ people out, Fionn. Sometimes you let them through and toss a coin or sing a tune together for good luck. Easy enough that others think you’re a little crooked yourself.”

”Aye, lad, you’re bad at being dishonest. The ones who are good at it at least make you think they’re honest. No need to be that way, though.” He waved a hand at one of the sisters, sending them to gather up the staffs and take the kids in for dinner. ”What gets me is how scared you seem to be of actually getting to know anybody, or them getting to know you. That you’d rather conceal what’s actually going on in that head of yours and keep us at arm’s length, or worse yet, act like you’re about to run away, rather than have some faith in this group you’ve decided to fall in with.” As the kids filtered out of the courtyard, he turned fully, stepping back from the wall and staring up at Lein’s eyes.

”Maybe, if I wasn’t trusting my life to you and the others, I wouldn’t let myself care so much. Maybe if I wasn’t also responsible for protecting all of yours, I wouldn’t let myself care so much. But that’s not who I am—I’d rather see Renar finally let himself out of his dad’s shadow, see Gerard recognize that he’s got some value outside of his ability to be another sword in the ranks, see Fanilly and Serenity get the chance just to be themselves rather than whoever or whatever they’re expected to be, than let them all pass through my life like the drunken, spendthrift, whoring, utterly-self-interested mercenaries I left behind. I couldn’t bring myself to care too much extra about them, just because they didn’t care about anything other than themselves and their wallets. I know all of you are different, even if you don’t all want to admit to it.”

Lein crouched down a little to meet Fionn’s eye level. This, even all the pointed inquiry, ragged analysis of Lein’s life, he had long since heard many times before. The insistence that there simply HAD to be something wrong with everyone and they needed fixing. The hammering of all jutted points into a smooth sterile shape. Lein had met many, many people who had ‘concerns’, just asking, just really, really worried at ‘people under their care’. Then invariably, when their plans had crumbled and the ‘fixed’ people were still miserable, still bickering, they’d run. All of them. Of all this, the good intent was not in question. It was worse that Lein knew very well where all of this was coming from.

It was sickening.

That wasn’t what Lein showed, however. The Hundi gave quite the opposite response. Lein smiled. “But of course. And I don’t doubt you’re not wafting out from nonsense either. But I’m all I’m asking, Fionn, is just a bit of trust. Renar - he’s a slimy whoreson, but a smart whoreson too. All of ‘em, Serenity, Fanilly, Gerard - they may not be as perfe—”

”How many of us do you really know, Lein?”

“How many do you, really?”

”Just this once, don’t push back. Give me your honest answer. No cards hidden, nothing up your sleeve—think about how many you really know, rather than the image you have of them. How many you’ve tried to know.”

“One.” Lein replied matter-of-factly, and stood back up. This wasn’t going anywhere. Lein had thought he was jumpy. But there were a lot more ghosts following Fionn. Or rather, Fionn was the one chasing them. “My question is my answer, Fionn. It’s not an answer to your question, but it’s the most honest answer I’m giving you. No tricks.”

”It’s a sorry answer,” Fionn replied. ”Hopefully your one can help you realize that not everybody always has a hand to hide.” Shaking his head, he stepped away, gathering up his things and giving Lein a wave. ”I’m heading back to Candaeln. You know where to find us if you want us. Try not to disappear for most of a week again.”

Lein grinned.“And miss all the fun? Never again.” Though as Fionn disappeared back toward the road to Candaeln, the Hundi sending the knight with a wave, his laidback smile slacked into a more stoic look. Or perhaps a relieved one. He ran his prosthetic hand across the grooves of the staff, then his gaze across the outline of the buildings that formed the hodge-podge skyline of the orphanage. “Never did answer the question, huh.” Lein murmured, before setting the staff down with the rest and melted the conversation into the back of his mind.

Back step and twirl. Quickstep across. Lean in, pause. Beat strikes and they jump. Heels clicking against wood flooring. Swing for effect and to evade. The crescendo of the band rises, and their movements exaggerate.

It crashes. They end.

…

The Brass Panther.

A middle-class establishment located in the bustling mercantile district of Aimlenn, it was well-known for its assortment of bite-sized entrees, designed for curated bites and broad palates. With a slender fork, one could tease out a variety of imported seafoods from their shells, or indulge in cubes of game meat wrapped in bacon or puff pastries. Soups were held in smaller cups, meant to be downed in a single go and experienced in its entirety as a medley of harmonious and contrasting ingredients and flavours.

Of course, all this ease-of-eating was so that its guests could be dressed to the nines without worrying about getting any food on their fancy outfits…which also meant that they would be encouraged to step out on the dance floor, perhaps snag a couple of non-complimentary drinks along the way. A woodwind quartet were present today, playing music of a different flavour and tempo compared to a string quartet’s sweeping waltzes, and it was for that reason that Serenity had brought Gerard out.

They had hit the dancefloor first, of course, for it was always sensible to work out before one dined, but after that, Serenity had handed Gerard the menu and let him have a go at it. Now, ten minutes had passed, her glass of chilled fruit juice was half-empty, and the lad was still staring at the first page.

His foot tapped beneath the table, following the time of the unfamiliar instrumentation as he let his eyes slide over the menu. It was a damned sight different from the slow, grandiose waltz that had dominated the background of the ball, but funnily enough, that had made it a quicker study by comparison— the more jaunty tempo was reminiscent of the folk tunes back home. It suited his sense of movement better. For all his affirmations of “using his brain now”, the half-decade of kineticism was hard to shake out of the system in full.

Well, the goal was always gonna be synthesis.

More to the point, more worth concern, about five minutes ago he’d realised he’d not said a word nor really paid attention to the writing on the page in his grip. Looking, but not reading.

“Sorry about that.”

Quickly, he plucked out the names of three interesting-seeming entrees from the page as a whole, and set the thing down. Only path from there was forward— no sense stewing over the awkward silence and prolonging it.

“Just enjoying the music— thanks for the lesson, again.”

“I’m the one making these invitations,” Serenity replied. “For all you’d know, Gerard, I’m doing this just because it’d be unseemly for a lady to dine out alone.”

Not that she would ever care for such things herself.

She swirled her glass in her hand, a practiced manoeuvre learned from watch the members of her household, then took another sip before leaning in. There hadn’t been much time to talk about it, not when the assassination and the monstrosities within the crypt lended themselves much better for post-training conversation, but now? While they were waiting for baked snails, potato swirls, and chicken heart skewers?

“So, tell me. How was the ball for you?”

”Enlightening.” he admitted, leaning back for a moment. “In a lot of ways. Ran into Sir Sergio almost immediately.”

Within the tumult of that night, between assassins and crypts and Demonbreakers, the slow and careful burn of the Ball had practically become a footnote to the rushing chaos. Funny how he’d been so nervous that he’d spend the evening out of his element.

“We ended up swapping stories with some kids— he tried to sneak off on me halfway through, but I managed to wrangle him.” He chuckled softly, bringing his glass of water in for a drink. Lucky for that— his lead had proven a good example to follow.

“Being on the other end of the adoration was actually pretty humbling, to be honest— How about you?” he asked, setting the glass back down. “I don’t think I ever caught what you were up to— all I managed to keep track of before everything went tits up was Sir Renar’s duel, the Princesses arriving, and Fionn chatting up some Hundi pretending to be a noblewoman.”

“Felt like you weren’t deserving of their adoration?”

Serenity raised a brow.

“I was engaged with Lady Veilena Cazt for the evening. Some light conversation, a dance, and then we were off to introduce ourselves to the two Princesses.” Before everything else happened. She never did learn what it was that the Cazt heir wanted with Princess Elisandre, did she?

He couldn’t blame her for that one. Of all the knights he’d forged friendships with, Dame Serenity probably dealt the most in crushing those kind of doubts. Her and Fionn.

“I don’t think that’s for me to decide. In the moment, at least, it felt more like ‘wow, this is what it would have been like talking to me back then’. They were asking if I’d fought a dragon before, if Jeremiah was fallen divine, so on.”

He blinked plainly, then let his brow furrow, as a fourth image arose from that night, fading into focus. A moment and little more caught in the interstice between shrill voices and booming heralds, but something he had spotted from afar.

“Actually, one more. I only got a glimpse of it, but it looked like someone was giving the Captain a hard time right before the Princesses made landfall.” Idly, his index finger began to tap the varnished wood of their table as he sorted signal from the noise that had cloaked it. “Dark hair, slicked, carried himself noble. Wore a lot of black and a little silver. I think he shadowed her on the way over to greet them— Ring any bells?”

If he was to continue being introduced to the new skills expected of this station like this, then he figured it’d be wise to get a feel for the new faces he’d be keeping track of, too. A minorly alien sensation, but so was everything else.

“Edvard Velbrance,” Serenity said. It wasn’t as if ‘dark hair, slicked, carried himself noble’ was all that meaningful of a descriptor considering the current state of men’s fashion amongst the nobility, but it was easy enough to pick out who would catch the attention, and perhaps the ire, of the Iron Roses.

Still, what the Velbrance heir did was minor at best. If one picked a fight with every noble that found fault in the order, they would be starting off another War of the Red Flags.

“He hails from a House in northern Thaln, with three significant traits.” Better to make a list, for Gerard’s own sake. “One, their association with the wine trade. Not much to say there, you’re drinking one of their exports. Two, their loyalty to the crown. For a minor House as his, they’ve sent a fair number of soldiers to fight for the Royals during the War of the Red Flags. Three, their distance from religion as institution. They hold beliefs and visit cathedrals, but do not involve themselves in the more…political aspects of the Church.”

As if perfectly timed, Serenity’s points were punctuated by the arrival of the plates. Baked snails, the white wine bubbling within the shell. Chicken hearts, seasoned with sauces and spices in sequence. Potato swirls, deconstructions of a common vegetable fried in fat and arranged like a rose.

“Edvard himself is ambitious, but considering his family’s gradual rise in power over the last decade, it’s ambition with substance.”

“Hm,” came the reply, having the good decency to remain muted in its vexation— after all, Gerard wasn’t sure what he’d expected, if much of anything. It wasn’t like he had much with regard to the context of that sighting to begin with, so…

He plucked a potato swirl from the platter and popped it into his mouth whole, chewing the thought over as he did the golden, savoury morsel. On the face of it, none of that suggested any basis for stance in real opposition to the Order… As far as he knew. Adding in the consideration that Captain Fanilly herself hailed from a noble house, and thus was subject to personal ties atop those inherited by her rank? There was no telling. Not with so little to work with on the outset.

“Ambitious… Guess we’ll see if anything becomes of that.” For the time being, he’d commit what she told him to memory, inwardly thankful that it had broken down into a simply itemised list. “And what about Lady Cazt, then? My company kept north for most of the War, so I’m a bit out of touch— how’s a kid like that fronting the aftermath? Can’t be easy.”

He was no believer in inheriting the sins of ones’ blood, of course, but he also knew better than to believe the world was monolithic in sharing that ideal.

“A prodigious mage, as those of House Cazt are wont to be, and guarded by a knight like Sir Haelstadt.” Serenity grinned, an uncharacteristic smile that showed her canines. “Almost a shame that I didn’t have the same opportunity as Renar did, owing to the circumstances.”

She was certain she could put on a better show than he.

“Lady Veilena handled herself well enough in the aftermath, as the head of her household. I’d recommend you discard the notion that she’s a ‘kid’, unless you would apply the same moniker to our Knight-Captain or myself.” One could even say that Veilena had political power surpassing that of the Knight-Captain or the Arcedeen scion, after all. House Cazt may have fallen from grace, but their head still had a bond with one of the future rulers of the kingdom, and still had her place in the Mage’s College.

“But enough.”

She took a skewer of chicken heart, popping it in her mouth.

“Tell me about the ladies you conversed with. Surely you remember, at minimum, their names?”

Even only a month ago, he would have blithely answered the rhetoric in the affirmative. That the youth of the three examples presented before him trumped rank, trumped upbringing, trumped the necessities of station.

And yet.

At their age, he was off making war in foreign lands, contracted to a corps of soldiers-for-hire. Throwing the end of his boyhood to the tips of enemy swords— not much of a leg, if any to stand on there. Though their worlds were leagues apart, it would have been short-sighted to ignore this point of intersection. That growing up came swift and sudden, when the world decreed it was time.

But enough.

He nodded, and spoke.

“Angenese Tulburn, Tenessa Heinlein, and Violette Scarnsbek. Lady Angenese is the oldest of them, Daughter of a ‘Sir Galfont’ beneath the Crown. She described him as minor, but he’s recently taken out the captain of a slaving ring. Tells her stories of his exploits from time to time like that— I think she’s proud of him, and ought to be.”

Reaching for the platter of baked snails, a garden pest turned into an apparent delicacy, if the rest of the fare was anything to judge by. One that he was somewhat vexed in approaching, a frown crossing his expression as he contemplated the thing.

“Lady Tenessa’s a fan of histories and myth. She regaled Sir Sergio and I with a retelling of the Witch-Queen’s rise and fall. From the sounds of it she might get too carried away in the fanciful side of any story, but she doesn’t lack for enthusiasm. It was her that if I had fought a fallen divine, seen a dragon, and so forth.”

Was he supposed to crack it open, or just slurp it out? The latter seemed crass, but the former impractical.

“I couldn’t say the same for Lady Violette. I don’t think we got more than three sentences out of her through the entire conversation. She’s an enigma, and moreover one that seemed exasperated to be there. Like the other two had dragged her along when they caught sight of us. The commotion had begun before I could get a bead on the why of her dissatisfaction— My best guess is that I wasn’t the Princesses she had hoped to speak with.”

“Smallest fork,” Serenity spoke, before demonstrating. She took the slim silverware in one hand, one of the shells in another, and then slid the fork in, teasing out the meat in one quick wrist twist. Now loosened from its shell, the meat flowed easily out of the shell alongside the soup as she tipped its contents into the mouth. “If there’s something you don’t know how to do, look before you think.”

This was a restaurant, after all. There were plenty of others who ate similar dishes. She waited for him to try it out, before continuing.

“Good that you remember them. Sir Galfront’s contributions to the Crown aren’t as spectacular as those of Sir Adeforth’s, but there are more common criminals in Thaln than there are villains and heretics.” That, at least, shouldn’t be something Gerard was wholly clueless about. Dragons were wonders, orcs were monsters, but in the end, it was mountain bandits and highwaymen who offered the greatest worries for travellers and farmers. “You’ve any interest in these ladies?”

Mayhaps they could cover even courting, tonight. That’d certainly be fun.

He quirked an eyebrow as the adventurous morsel slid free from the shell and into his gullet, awash with tart wine and rich butter. That was a question that could be spun any number of ways.

”They were pleasant to talk to, the two that deigned to speak.” he allowed, placing the empty shell onto his plate. “Like my sister, if she were born to their circumstances. I suppose I’m also a little curious as to what it was that was on Lady Violette’s mind.”

He never did have an opportunity to get that answer— a mere moment was all that had passed before he was barking orders and urging them beneath cover.

“If our paths crossed again, I’ve no reason not to try and be friends.”

“You have their name and appear to have made a favourable impression.”

Serenity tapped her fork against the empty shell.

“Why leave it on an ‘if’?” Well, there was no value in forcing it. “Unless you were only interested in order to be polite.”

“I’ll admit it was mainly me not wanting to end up with an egg in my face, at the outset.” These talks had a way of sticking with him. He’d wished to prove they weren’t wasted, at the very least. “Beyond that… Hm.”

Another potato swirl. Salty, starchy, rich, the familiar wrapped in an exotic coat. He chewed it over.

“I’m a little unsure of how I would go about the alternative, for one.”

While he knew this was probably a symptom of his circumstances before the Order—a life following constant march, never settling long enough to make a proper friend outside The Unit— he knew too that invoking such would be allowing it to chain him to it, to build in an excuse. Those wouldn’t fly.

“I know some of our comrades write letters to keep in contact with people,” he ventured. Best to just rip the bandage free right now. “But those are often for friends already long made. Would it be appropriate in this instance too?”

He reached for a chicken heart.

She moved to extract the flesh from another snail shell.

It was a rare enough situation; even the more noble knights that she had the pleasure of speaking to saw such encounters and opportunities as conquests. And for all the female leadership that was present in the Iron Roses, there weren’t too many who could serve as good conversation partners in that regard either. The Knight-Captain needed to be better, the Paladin was simultaneously too old and too young, and Cecilia…well, Cecilia acted very much like a male in those regards.

Put in another light? Gerard’s hesitation was precious.

“Yes, it would.” Serenity put on a blase expression. “If they do not reply, then so be it. If they do, you’d be better than if you hadn’t.”

The lioness took a sip, then frowned. The waiter that had passed by to refill it had mistaken its contents for alcohol.

“By doing nothing, you protect your pride. By doing something, you may gain a friend.”

The way the scales tilted were obvious to her.

And it made for a simple, clear argument to him.

Gerard nodded, popping the spiced knot of muscle into his mouth and chewing, a medley of unfamiliar, interesting flavors bursting to life on his tongue. He was right to take the leap on these for certain— right to choose adventure.

“Then it’s something to be done, clearly. I’ll have to track down some ink. Sir Steffen and Renar are always caught up in balancing budgets and the like, I’m sure they’ve supply to spare.”

“And bother Fionn for proofreading your draft.”

”So long as I can keep him from editorialising.” He quipped. ”Goddesses love the guy, but he’s so damn insistent sometimes.”

It was a toothless one, as far as they went. It was quickly chased by the subtle rattling of coinage— Librans being fished for with one hand, as another went for one of the last disappearing morsels.

Serenity winked. An uncharacteristic move for her.

“Just shows he loves you.”

His eyebrows rose, just a bit.

”Careful, now. I don’t need that ex of his getting jealous of me.”

Lein was familiar with the Knight of Brias’ office - in theory, anyhow. Last time he slipped by, he hailed a flustered messenger and bothered them into handing over the oil for Steffen’s door. The time before that, he rigged one of the passageways with marbles, dropping individually at irregular intervals and causing much inglorious racket as they rolled loudly across the flagstones. Though by circumstance or some mute sense of nebulous aversion, Lein had never actually dipped his toes into Renar’s office proper.

That was not the case for today, however. In one arm, he held a codex of complaints he had intercepted from the very same messenger. In the other, he balanced a careful stack of books, copied treatise and yet more frayed documents. In a deeper pocket still, he stowed away a coded letter, stamped with the Church’s symbol.

With his foot, he knocked on the door, and deepened his voice to mimic Steffen’s greeting as best he could. “It’s me.”

Renar wasn’t fooled. Whoever it was, it certainly wasn’t Steffen. A poor imitation, perhaps. Still, best to just get it done with.

”Enter.” He said, looking up from his paperwork. When Lein inevitably came in, Renar just sighed, shaking his head.

”There’s really no need for the theatrics, you know. I would have let you in regardless. In any case, I take it you need something from me?”

“Never got good at hitting the low notes. But must you be so direct?” Lein said airily, “I’m just never used to being welcomed in.” He took a good scan of the room, noting any kind of crevice or snug-hole that he could squeeze a ply or two. The office was certainly a well-kept one, if not studious like Steffen’s. It was more, how did one call it - austere? Attentive.

The Hundi offered up the codex on his left hand, some of the pages clearly tampered with by their poor fitting. “I’m here to demonstrate my services, by way of apology.”

The office was relatively spartan, with little in the way of decoration aside from a few shelves, modestly stocked with tomes. A brief scan over them would reveal an eclectic collection of noble genealogies, legal and taxation records, and various fictional novels.

”Apology? You’re being more of a nuisance to Sir Steffen than I am.” Nonetheless, Renar took the book, starting to flip through the pages and skimming.

”And what services would those be? I don’t need anyone shot or stolen from, at the moment.” Actually a blatant lie at this point, but he didn’t exactly need to tell everyone about it.

Lein didn’t bother ro clarify what he was apologizing for. If Renar didn’t find out already, he’d find out soon enough. “Steff? Heh, guess he’d be the one to actually bother filing those? Thought that vampire would be the one to be complaining.” Though she’d actually follow through with it, Lein thought. Lein set down the rest of his paperwork on Renar’s desk with a hurt expression dripping with irony. “And my, where d’you hear about what I do? I’m not all that, though I’m more than happy to visit some of your less friendly associates.”

Lein approached Renar’s collection of genealogies, a collection more specialized than the ones in the library. Unsurprising. Given Renar’s ambitions, this would certainly be within his expertise. “No, my main trade is a fair bit more valuable than a knife to the back or a mansion pilfered: stories. Real ones, fake ones, exaggerated affairs, harmless rumors and -” he turned to Renar, “ill repute.”

Renar barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So Lein was a rumormonger. Wonderful. If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t trust the Hundi to actually do as he was bid, it might have even been good news. But alas.

”Where did I hear it? I do notice things, you know. You aren’t exactly a poor shot in the field, and your predilection for making an unseen nuisance of yourself does imply that you’re somewhat of a sneak. But let’s not keep dancing around the point.” Renar stared Lein dead in the eyes.

”I’m not about to accept an ‘apology’ over something that I’m not even aware you’ve done. A rather thin premise, all told. Why don’t you just tell me what you want, and we can work something out from there. I think the two of us are well-versed enough in these matters that we can be honest when we simply want something. I’ll certainly not take it personally that you’re only speaking to me for some sort of service.”

Straight to the point. Between drunkards he had to butter up for several bottles before his pitch, or certain knights with bleeding hearts he had to tip-toe around, this Lein liked. Faced against Renar’s frigid remarks, Lein remained unwaveringly jovial, fidgeting with a pen from Renar’s desk. If Renar thought the Hundi was experienced with ‘these matters’, then it was only a fair conclusion that Renar had at least indulged in the cause of his ill repute.

“Trust is always stronger when it goes both ways, non? I’m not the one to ask for a service without offering one in exchange, and a man of your ambitions could always use a finger on the scale or two. Really now, efficient as you are, your choice of company fascinates me.”

The Hundi set the pen aside and pushed the desk clear of documents to make way for his own. From his sheaf of papers, Lein pulled up the initiate of his scheme, a scrawling letter listing a number of duelists - some with a decent track record, others less notable. Next to most of the latter entries was written the name of a house or lord. Whoever wrote it was in haste, secretive, or both. “Are you familiar with the dueling scene in Evenest? A rather big shot tourney’s coming up - the Harvest Invitational.”

The mention of Evenest had Renar realize exactly why Lein wanted his assistance. When he looked down the list, it wasn’t even a surprise to find that he’d known a few of these duelists in the past, whether by reputation or an actual meeting.

”You know very well that Evenest is practically on the doorstep to House Brias’s lands. But you’re asking a bastard to presume any official power.” Renar stated, a hint of bitterness clouding his tone. ”My relationship with my lord father doesn’t allow me that kind of leeway.”

“Then take it from him.” Lein replied directly. “They may deny you but your Brias name still holds power. Lookee here.” Another two parchments were placed next to the first, both much more cleanly written than the first, with an elegant handwriting requesting the denouncement of the participation of a certain Sir Adelina Kemlia. At the bottom, four signatures of minor houses were arranged under a large, blank space. “A real piece of work, this one. Daughter of this duke who’s been nicking estates from his cousin with inheritance rights finangling. Then she has the guts to head over to the very same cousin and asks for a sponsor to the Invitational. Something about winning a duel for her dear granny’s birthday the day after. Now that kinda familial cannibalizing doesn't sit right with me, and neither does it to any of these four.”

“In the event of a complaint of sponsorship, the duel with the knight in question must be adjourned for three days or until such matters are settled by the presiding council - including jurisdictional matters of the signatories should they be in dispute.” Lein said. Not that he had much understanding of this whole legalese himself, but this much he understood - his aim was to simply get the letter in the door. And that much, if Renar allowed it, was under his control. The only question now lay with the risk of signing the Brias name. After all - should they be in dispute, the council could very well announce why.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Lein did have a point. In truth, he’d only said what he did just to be difficult. The legalese was sound, as well. Adelina was…familiar to him. Taking her down a peg would prove to be entertaining, if nothing else. The potential ramifications on his end were simply his father’s displeasure and scorn, and that currency had ceased to have any value with Renar ages ago. But still…

”As someone who’s met Adelina in person, I can confirm that she is in fact, an utter harridan. And yet, this still doesn’t explain why you’re so invested in this matter. While you do have a tendency to meddle, this is far enough away from Candaeln that it’s somewhat of a surprise you’re even aware of it. I can think of only a few reasons why you would be so interested in a regional tourney of Thalnan knights.” Renar thought out loud as he considered Lein’s angle before looking the archer dead in the eyes.

”Which contestant are you or your associate betting on?”

Lein’s finger drew a line from Adelina’s name down to another name. “The duel involving the knight in question would be put off for three days, yes? And won’t it be horrid if Sir Seras here, so far from home, would have to wait for his duel for a score more days? I hear he’s hiding a wasting sickness. That can’t be good for his health or his duel, for that matter. Would be awful for Sir Adelina to fight a sickly man.” Humiliate Adelia, force Seras’ loss and profit off them both. Though he neglected to mention that Seras’ manor would be swept through, Lein was involving Renar more into the scheme than wisdom dictated. He saw potential payoff down the road. There was a caustic undercurrent to the Brias between every word, accusing everything he could grasp between his hands, scorning what he could not, but there was undeniably an insatiable flame to it too. Lein would do well to invest this trust early.

The Hundi met Renar’s gaze with a smile of equal staunchness. “I’m not the kind to meddle with the affairs of nobles if I can help it. But I always do right by people who did me a favor or two, and this is just my hospitality to my friends. And haughty little missy getting her comeuppance? That’s always a tale to tell the barkeep.”

Well, that explained some things. If Lein was being even remotely truthful, that was. Renar steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and under the bridge of his nose as he considered the matter. Frankly, this was already amusing enough that he’d already decided to join in this matter. He’d considered the angles already, and any consequences had little in the way of personal risk for himself especially. Moreover, it would give him better insights into the man sitting opposite him should he ever require such.

”Fine. Consider me in on this little diversion of yours. To clarify, you only require Renar of House Brias to get this formal complaint through the door, correct? As for my payment, how about we hold that for a future favor? It’ll be commensurate with the effort involved here, of course.”

“A signature for a favor. Sounds like a bargain.” Lein watched Renar carefully as the signature was penned into the letter. He could always study it after, but there was always the benefit of watching each movement of the pen make its loops, factoring in the height and ink that was used. The deal was already far easier than Lein had expected. Did he overestimate the risk that the possibility of a Brias signature being rejected posed to Renar? Or did Renar simply not care?

“Y’know, you’re a lot more agreeable than they tattle about you. If I had paid any real attention to Fionn, I’d have thought you were planning to throttle folk in the streets. Bad air undeserved, I say.”

Renar looked up from signing just in time to note Lein staring at him intently. Or at least, his gaze was a little lower than that. If he traced it back in his mind…ah. So that’s what this was about. He’d played straight into his hand. How vexing. There was little to it, then. He’d simply extract a steeper concession from Lein when the time came.

"Fionn worries like a batty old grandmother." The Bastard of Brias remarked blithely, sliding the letter back across the desk. "The concern is appreciated at times, but it’s stifling otherwise. I’m sure you and Serenity can both agree on that. In any case, if that’s all, feel free to shut the door on your way out. And Lein?" Renar gave a wan smile.

"I’ll be far less agreeable next time should I hear of anything signed in my name that I’ve never touched personally."

“We’re partners now, ami. Of course not. Oh, and before I go,” Lein replied as he took up the remaining papers from Renar’s table, save for one. The lone envelope was even more carefully preserved than the list or the signatories, even smelling faintly of perfume as whoever enclosed it had taken pains to make their message as elegant as possible. This, Lein pushed further toward Renar, his eyes glinting with impish malice. “My apology.”

The letter would be painful to read - not for the handwriting, as it was elegant and clearly declarative; gushing about good Sir Renar and his many, many superlative virtues heard from a humble Hundi bard. It ended with a promise to win the knight’s heart by any means necessary, an invitation to a romantic retreat, and a signature from “a secret admirer”. The messenger was already gone, the cascading laughter trailing down the hallway.

Renar frowned to himself as he finished reading over the letter. He took it all back: Lein was a blithering idiot.

The next afternoon, Renar strode through Candaeln's halls once he'd finished the day's training, intent on a task. It wasn't one he wanted to do, but leave it for too long and it could morph into something worse.

A few inquiries to passing knights led him to a side hall, where, lo and behold, he actually had the good fortune to happen upon who he'd been searching for.

”Sir Fleuri.” Renar inclined his head, interrupting whatever Fleuri had been passing through this hall for. ”At the ball, I believe I mentioned that I would owe you a boon for aid rendered. You held up your end of the deal, so now it comes to me. Is there any small favor you'd wish of me?” He needed to clear this as soon as possible, before Fleuri got any ideas in the future about Renar oweing him anything.

"Hmm, small favor?" Fleuri stopped as Renar addressed him. He had been returning from the library, looking for information on some of the unresolved questions his dream had left him with.

Renar wasn't a knight that he interacted with a lot. In fact, Renar seemed almost standoffish with him ordinarily, only having dropped the act when he desired something from Fleuri at the ball.

Fleuri didn't see much point in holding onto the favor owed. No need to hang it over Renar's head. Still, he didn't really need much from Renar. Most small matters could be handled by the castle servants. Larger matters, like those on the battlefield, were not meant to be owed and repaid, but freely shared between oath-bound knight-brothers. A more roguish knight like Lein would no doubt find a use for calling in a favor from Renar, but what good was it to Fleuri?

Actually, there was one thing that he could ask for- answers.

"There is something I would like to ask of you," Fleuri replied. "You seem to be somewhat standoff-ish with me when you don't want something out of me. Why? Have I wronged or offended you in some manner?"

It's probably the thing with the griffin, isn't it?

Of all the things Fleuri could have asked of him, this was what he settled on? Renar barely resisted the urge to frown. He could lie. He should lie. It would be best for everyone involved. There was no point in impacting group cohesion by speaking spiteful truths, even if he was prompted.

But two things stopped him. First, if nothing else, Renar had given his word. He wasn't Gerard or Fionn, but even he wouldn't retract an offer once it was made. Some things just weren't done if one wanted to ensure that others took him seriously. The second? Well. He did enjoy spitting spiteful truths at others just a bit too much.

”I wouldn't have wasted it on this, but I'll oblige.” Renar said coldly, openly letting his frown show on his face. ”You lived a life I could only dream of accomplishing. Fame, prestige, the adultation of our peers. All things denied to me by the circumstances of my birth. And then you threw it all away. How could I not find such a thing galling?”

So it was jealousy. Fleuri knew of the unjust circumstances of Renar's upbringing, but hadn't spoken to him about it. Did Renar wish to be a tournament competitor, only to be denied by the circumstances of his birth.

In his jealousy, he had ignored that he was not the only one who had challenges. In Fleuri's case, it was his family's lack of wealth. During his time as a squire and early career as a knight, a proper plate harness and war horse had been out of his reach. It was one of the reasons he had been so bitter that his mentor had not allowed him to obtain any glory or spoils in the War of the Red Flag. However, he hesitated to bring it up- suggesting that a noble like himself didn't always have it easy- would only anger Renar more.

"I did not throw it away," he stated. "I had an epiphany of the pettiness of what I was doing, and left to pursue a calling higher than that of a glorified entertainer. Everything worthwhile I gained from my tournament career- my armor, my horse, my experience, my reputation with a sword and lance- I took with me when I joined the Iron Roses."

Fleuri suspected that Renar took much of the same things when he left the ungrateful service of House Brias.

"But if I can't convince you, look at yourself now, Sir Renar," Fleuri continued. "The most influential nobles in Thaln witnessed you besting a Crown Knight in a duel at the ball. I don't think you will have any future trouble getting into a tournament slot. Captain willing it, of course."

Frankly, Renar didn't know which was worse. The self-righteousness or the fact that Fleuri had the privilege to call those things that were denied him petty. But it would be petty for someone that was able to simply walk in and seize glory without issue, wouldn't it?

"Don't patronize me." Renar said flatly. "It's always been the same. I have to go above and beyond to win the same privileges afforded to the trueborn by birth, simply because my honored lord father decided to tup a serving wench months before wedding his second wife. This isn't about the actual tournament. Only that I have to seemingly move mountains to be afforded the same chance as most of my peers, despite the fact that my merit shines above theirs." His tone was calm, measured. He'd had years and years to stew on this. Nothing he said was in the heat of the moment.

"For the sake of our continued working relationship on the field, I will admit that my problem is not with you specifically. You are, if anything, a symptom. But it still galls me. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Fleuri was a taken aback by the venom and bitterness in Renar's words. It was understandeable that Renar was upset at the injustice of his upbringing, but it sounded like he resented Fleuri for having it easier. Such resentment was a dangerous thing, no matter where you were on the social ladder. Was it even possible to dissuade Renar from harboring such contempt?

"Do you believe you would have been satisfied with your lot in life if your father had granted you a noble title, or would you instead harbor resentment for things that even the most meritorious noble men are forever denied in our society, such as captaincy of the Iron Roses? Would it have been enough to have been afforded the same opportunities as the brothers you grew up alongside?" he asked. "No matter how high or low of a position you are born to, it is inevitable that you'll run into someone who has it easier despite inferior merit."

"Of course it would have." Renar spat in response, a fire blazing in his gaze. Sun and Moon help him, that was literally what he had already said. Truly, the term self-righteous idiot was a tautology.

"Did you miss the part where wanting the opportunity was exactly what I'd stated? If you want to understand, do so on your own time. You asked your question, and I've answered to the best of my ability. This didn't give you leave to begin moralizing at me. I can tolerate it from Fionn. Not from you. So if we're quite finished here..." Renar made a show of deliberately turning his back on Fleuri, though not without a final parting comment.

"Rest assured, I'm not about to abandon you on the battlefield by any means. Keep our relationship strictly professional, and we'll have no issues. Is that understood?"

Fleuri paused. He wasn't sure what he could say to make Renar less angry. If he had been more diplomatic, if he hadn't blundered through this conversation, would he have been able to turn aside the vitriol? Or did Renar just want to be angry? Despite everything that this knight had achieved and gained, he seemed more interested in stewing in his own bitterness than holding any appreciation for the blessings and opportunities that he did have.

It actually stung him a little bit, because Fleuri greatly admired Renar's rise to nobility. Nevertheless, Fleuri considered the insight gained from this conversation- the knowledge that Renar hated him- to be a potentially useful piece of information. It was better to know that he was despised so that he may be able to raise his guard than to remain blissfully unaware and vulnerable.

"I understand," Fleuri answered as he began to walk away, without looking at Renar. "Thank you for repaying the favor, Sir Renar. This conversation has been most informative."

Lein most certainly could be doing something better right now than loiter around the archery range, let alone recite some archaic verses with fragile certainty. The air was crowded with the rhythmic cracking of the bowstrings, the bark of the instructor, then the chorus of thwocks responding from the other side of the grassy range. He was an infrequent visitor to this particular part of the training range, seen more often off-loading some freshly made dummy arrows and handling rosin than actually shooting. That didn’t explain how he felt misplaced. Was he really that nervous, even after all that preparation?

No, no, no. This was the time. Chill. Roll the shoulders. Stretch the fingers. Lean, easy-like, nodding approvingly at the trainees as they took their own shots at the target, and watch for the reason he actually came to the ranges in the first place. A wisp of blonde hair, a sheen of iridescent green, or the confident laughter that so often heralded both.

It indeed, would be Cecils voice that he would hear first. A loud, boisterous laugh as she’d nick the arrows right out of another knights quiver as she walk past, sticking her tongue playfully out at him before returning the arrows in a swift motion. A good bit of fun between comrades as she’d give him a playful salute before heading to a vacant spot on the range. She was not an uncommon sight at the range as despite her penchant for wind magic she often never used it in training.

She couldn’t always rely on magic after all.

If she saw Lein, she didn’t immediately acknowledge his unusual presence, instead focusing forward on the target in front of her, arrow easily finding the bullseye.

Good. Cecilia was here. That was step one. Step two was a fair bit more risky. That is - if The Complete Compendium to All Spiritual, Etheric and Fey Beings Part 2/6 was to be believed. He had already spent painstaking hours and the very little brain power he reserved for interpreting the inane scribblings of academics, and this was the chance that it could pay off.

Lein detached himself from his impromptu role of overseeing new recruits and slinked into a spot next to Cecilia. Pretending as if Cecilia wasn’t there, he silently pulled up his own shortbow and began to take aim. A foot planted forward, arm level to the shoulder, arm drawn close to the chest, parallel to the aim. A textbook position - and to Lein, entirely awkward.

There was a natural rhythm to Lein’s unorthodox archery, as chaotic as it may be in the heat of the battle. Taming his aim for so long was difficult - especially with how high he had ratcheted up the draw weight when stringing the bow up. So instead, Lein had learned to swing his aim and rely on timing instead of aiming. Holding this position, forcing the notches on the limbs to bear straight without the ebb and flow of enemies charging at him, watching the occasional leaf flit across the periphery, there was none of the tension that would otherwise make him fire. But right now, he’d find his mark regardless.

Fwip. Lein’s arrow found its bullseye in a target directly next to Cecilia’s - then in a couple seconds, another landed right next to the first. Lein’s gaze was fixed to the target ahead, but his passive silence made it clear that he was awaiting Cecilia’s response.

Cecil once again, didn’t seem to acknowledge Lein. The only noticeable change was a small smile that would find itself being worn on her lips as she knocked another arrow. As if to prove a point, first Cecil would lose another arrow, the projectile landing right next to Lein’s. A small acknowledgement, nothing more. The next arrow, however, would embed itself in the target that was the furthest from the line, landing a bullseye without much seeming effort on Cecilia’s part.

She’d pause a moment to grab a flask from her hip, taking a long swig of whatever it was.

Could have caught me a little slack. Lein pursed his lips. This was not the first time that the Hundi had posed an impromptu duel to the other archer, and most of them led to a situation such as this. Lein could match arrow-for-arrow in terms of short term accuracy, even being able to show off a little with a split arrow or two. But as the distances got longer, so did the apparent difference in their capabilities.

Fortunately, this was still within the bounds of Lein’s preparations. He had to make sure that he could match Cecilia long enough to make her summon her wind spirit. Or talk to it. Or be possessed by it. Instructions made by The Complete Compendium nor its supplementary Guide to Spirit Catching weren’t that clear - or coherent. What mattered right now, was to keep that smug (and possibly progressively drunk, what WAS in that flask?) Cecilia from showing him up.

Two sharp breaths, a squint eye and a pause later; Lein’s arrow straddled the line between the bull’s eye, sitting squarely beside Cecilia’s. Lein hid his sigh of relief and laid back, flicking a glance at Cecilia’s bow as if the shot had taken no effort on the Hundi’s part, either.

Cecil didn’t immediately make another shot, instead, seemingly taking a moment to mull something over, flask in hand observing the shooting range in front of her. A slight glance towards Lein, followed by her tossing the flask at him. It definitely smelled like alcohol.

“Well, Lein,” Cecilia would finally acknowledge the other archer. “Shall we make this interesting and make a bet?”

Lein caught the flask with a free hand, though he dared not take a sip. This stuff was probably combustible, by the smell of it. "In a losing mood today? Sure - wager away."

“Bold words for someone within ear scratching range.” Cecilia replied with a jovial laugh. “But alright, a simple wager then. I win, you buy me drinks in a tavern of my choosing for a month.”

Lein’s hands instinctively shot up to his head. Not a chance he was going to let himself be ambushed again. Let his guard around Cecilia even for a second… “You cleaned me out last time with that one, remember? I had to ferry stones for Fionn for weeks! Not to mention I’m banned from The Spittoon for the drinking game YOU started.” Although Lein played up the frustration for theatrics, it was suffused with the lingering pain of a sprained back and nights of sad, lonely coin pouches.

“I win, and you’re taking the graveyard shift for the next month - and I’m shooting with that fancy bow of yours.”

Instead of immediately replying, Cecil instead first seemingly winced before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“You wanna hold her for a bit, eh? Promise to be gentle with her and I think I can let ya.” She’d say after quieting her laughter. “Alright, you got yourself a wager, Lein. I assume no magic or the like already on my part. Just entirely my skill versus your skill? Any other conditions you'd like to setup here?”

That was an interesting expression. For someone who was as airy as Cecilia, even a momentary pause was rare. Lein made no comment, and instead rendered his usual boastfulness. “No sobbing into a cup after losing?”

Lein noticed the weight first. He had expected a much heavier ordinance, with the wood ornately dressed with crystals that spiraled around the limbs. Instead, the bow was no lighter than others of its class, with the thin, leaf-like crystals bending to . Lein gave a few trial draws, pulling back a pretend arrow at the ranges. Quite light on the draw weight as well - that, or Lein was used to the heavier bearing of his shortbow. And, Lein couldn’t help but think, these crystals would fetch a very pretty penny if he - no, no. He shouldn’t let himself run so far. The fence wasn’t even in town anyway.

Then he noticed - he noticed a lack of much more. No voice, no booming voice that would leap out and aggrandize about great power and consequence. Lein was vaguely familiar with magical artifacts, his own rejected inheritance listing hundreds of relics and esoteric trinkets that choked on dust and good do Reon-knows-what. But aside from smuggling a couple for the clergy, he hadn’t actually much contact - a dearth of knowledge he had filled with cautious fantasy.

Lein wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to be happy about the development. On one hand, he was undoubtedly searching for an audience to this wind spirit Cecilia referenced with scarcity, to see if he could harness some of its power for himself. On the other hand, Lein was always more comfortable with creatures that he could poke holes in if he didn’t like them. His haphazard research reinforced such a notion and this spirit hunting was not without its cost of apprehension.

One last thing to check, though. Magic was supposed to be with a focus, yes? And if Cecilia was a mage of some sort; the bow wasn’t a wand lookin’ thing, but he could certainly give it a shot. Trying to hold it up as inconspicuous as possible, Lein focused. “S'uhn mg fhtagn hupadgh grah'n ooboshu vulgtlagln…?” The cant ended with a decidedly unsure tone as even his experimental spirit cast doubt at the legitimacy of this ‘spell’. After all - the spiritualist he consulted DID look a little too sketchy…

Lein would catch Cecil doubled over, one hand on her stomach while the other was over her mouth, failing to stifle a cascade of laughter as he made a chant. She’d laugh nearly a solid thirty seconds before the archer would manage to right herself, standing up straight.

“Lein, my furry eared friend.” Cecil interjected, retrieving Lein’s bow. “That has got to be the most unique chant I’ve ever heard. Gratz on making my day already, ahahah.” Was that a bit harsh? Probably, but it was just too funny to really pass up commenting on. “But if you want to cast magic, you need to be and sound a lot more sure otherwise the casting could end up backfiring.” She didn’t comment on the fact that Shael wasn’t willing to let him directly use her power in any form. In fact, she was pretty sure she had almost died for even suggesting lending it to the Hundi for a little prank. “Also, I’m serious. Be gentle or I might end up getting a free lesson in flying.”
She’d pull an arrow from her quiver.

“Alright. Simple rule then. No magic from either of us.” She’d say. “We’ll start with the furthest target then. I’ll let you go first since you’re unfamiliar with her.”

“Worth a shot, ay?” Lein said quickly, face flushed with posthaste embarrassment, then scowled at onlookers drawn to Cecilia’s mirth. “With all the hooplah these days and Rui shooting blades from a damned sword, thought I ought to get fancy myself. But alright. No weirdness.”

Worth a shot, but he definitely was not taking another one. He didn’t know if the bow wasn’t the one that was supposed to be the focus, that the spiritualist was just talking horseradish or if it was indeed his lack of confidence, but the prospect of ‘a spell backfiring’ gave him pause. Disappointing, for sure, that his attempt at the arcane was squandered. But if Ceclia wasn’t trying to egg him on with Lein’s antics, then this bow was her treasured possession indeed. Best not push it.

He stepped up, and knocked an arrow. The lighter load certainly made it easier to maintain posture, though accuracy remained much to be desired and starting far certainly did not help. He had carved notches on his shortbow over the years, guiding on where to place the horizon and when to shoot when they entered range. He knocked an arrow, steadied his aim as he tuned his aim to Cecilia’s bow, and let it fly before he listed too far off. Blue.

“Nice shot. Three for you.” Cecil nodded. “Mhm, its been awhile since I’ve used a normal bow. Lets see…” The archer would take a few moments to test the draw strength of Lein’s bow. Much higher than what she was used to. More natural power then hers. A lot of little areas of wear on the bow too. It was a good thing, she supposed, that Shael forced her to train and use a normal bow before the spirit even let her use the magic effectively.

Cecil knocked the arrow, pulled the string back and thwip.

“Annd four for me.” Red.

Unfamiliarity went both ways, and Lein had hoped that the lack of magic would hamper her a little. The fletching in the red made an end to that. He’d have to close the difference back in the close targets. As Lein stepped up for his turn, he tried to recall what formal training that he was forced through when he first joined the Roses. As unnatural it may feel, perhaps he could do with a little more practice on the mundane. Draw from the side, follow the line opposite to his weak side, and don’t hold breath. And -

Tch, that wasn’t it. He had overcompensated, taking him down further into the black ring. “Where’d you learn to shoot, Cecil? Sure don’t shoot like a hunter.” And speaking of, there were quite a few more questions that the other archer laughed off. Origin, trade, employ - even the bow.

“Oh you know,” Cecil pulled another arrow from the quiver. “Dad dropped me in a forest full of spooky monsters, gave me a bow and said ‘learn to use it or die’.” She’d snicker, pulling the drawstring and focusing. Even if she wasn’t using magic, she had some tricks to help. Read the wind. Find any peculiarities of the bow and -

“Tch, both of us did worse that round, eh?” Right on the inner edge of the blue. “Jokes aside though, that’s not particularly far off from the truth. Joined up with my old mercenary pals in the war. Had to learn to aim well or die.” Not the whole truth, but not entirely wrong either. She didn’t need to mention the long days of training where Shael made her train during those times. “Hows she feel? Sometimes I forget she’s a bit lighter than most bows.”

Cecilia’s recount matched well with the fragmentary rumors along the road. The verdant wind hailing invisible arrows upon her enemies. “A trial by fire, huh? Should head up to Ithillin sometime, they’ll love you there, eating up all your savoir-faire. You’d make a real killing in the arena too.“

Lein recalled the first time he himself took up the bow. An unusual gift for a runt, wrath-hungry.

You want to play to win? Your fists aren’t enough, kid. Not against steel.

He used the bow for a cheap trick at first. That scrappy kid who relied on dust and fists alone? Who’d have thought to watch for an arrow from him?

“Picked up my shootin’ from an elf. Smelt weird, obsessed with honey, but hey, I can knock a shot or two.”

Lein gave the bow another blank draw, trying to work the lighter weight into his intuition. “Tried a lotta bows on the road. This one’s fickle. Shoots even, draws smooth but can’t draw a proper bead on the thing when the arrow drops so early. Should I give that chant another shot?” Lein joked morbidly, precisely because he had no interest in doing so. He stepped up for his turn and after some adjustment, loosed his next arrow.

A bullseye, concise in its precision. Lein’s smirk didn’t fully hide his surprise. A careless shot, but somehow the arrow found its aim true. He was getting a hang of the bow for sure, but he must have had better teeth in the game than he gave himself credit for.

Cecil laughed at Lein’s comment, flashing a grin.

“Who says I haven’t been there? I may or may not have been arrested for crimes of wanting to touch fluffy tail too much - eh, nice shot huh?” No need to mention the entire reason she went that way to start with was to avoid being arrested for something other than being a scoundrel. “Guess I need to actually put some effort in, huh?”

Knocking another arrow herself, Cecil did the usual motions. Nothing fancy was needed yet, really. A thwip of a bowstring, the arrow sailed….

“Tch-” Cecil pouted just slightly, arrow embedding itself in the very inner edge of the red. “Alright, I think I got a read on the wind. That was just a warmup. Not used to bows with this much power. Keep overcompensating a bit.”

“It’s not a sniping bow. You sure can try to line up and shoot, but you’re gonna buck your aim if you hold the draw before you’re ready to let go. Best to rely on your timing than your eye.” Perhaps fittingly, his shooting when he fought resembled a lot less like a sniper stalking their mark, but a pugilist, weaving his bow through a flurry of strikes and retaliating with a wildly swinging aim that responded with a hail of steel, unfocused but overwhelming. “T’is lot easier when you’re aiming for a rushing thug than a target afar, to be sure.”

As for his next shot he loosened his shoulder. His last shot was a lucky one, for sure, but Cecilia was putting in the effort now, and so should he. Pull back, take aim and - thud. Another bullseye. It was not met with jubilation or a fitting gloat, but a deepening brow of worry. Was that…? No, it couldn’t have been, right? Lein often played games of chance, but he had never counted himself as particularly lucky. He instead made his own luck, marking cards and rigging games, stacking every possible card till he was sure ‘chance’ was out of the equation. But a victory with an unknown still lingering about was no cause for gloating. Especially with all that talk about spells backfiring. A flying lesson?

“Cecilia…say,” Lein said, voice tentatively even to hide his nervousness. “You’re a mage, right? You learnt all that fancy wind from mercs too?”

“Hm? No, I shouted at a tornado until I made it flee in fear of me.” If Cecil was concerned about Lein’s sudden seeming accuracy, she didn’t show it. “Ahaha, no, the Wind Spirit taught me.” There had in fact been a tornado but it was mostly said wind spirit getting a little annoyed with her flippant attitude. The flying lesson came shortly afterwards.

“No secret there, Lein.” She flashed a grin. Of course, she knew how shortbows worked. She’s tried multiple styles of archery so she could familiarize herself with all of them. She wasn’t in fact, still trying on purpose. “Why? Worried about her? Don’t be, she wouldn’t let anyone use her if she didn’t like them. Don’t have to worry about magic or anything.” Cecil would follow suit in knocking an arrow, more quickly this time, wasting no time in letting it fly…a bullseye, right next to Lein’s arrow. “Alright, warmed up now. Say, how about we do something else to make this a little more interesting? How about some moving targets?”

“Nice shot.” Lein said. Cecilia learnt fast. Or maybe she decided to start trying for once. That was always the catch with the rogue archer. Though even if Cecilia had told him with a straight face that she screamed a tornado into submission it would have been entirely believable. Or at least, verisimilitudinous. Perhaps it was the way Cecilia simply breathed brevity in all that she did, or that she had reportedly traveled wide before her time with the Knights. His own journey had taken strange turns into the unbelievable many times, too.

He called over the recruits for target discs. “Go ahead on this one. I’m gonna just take my time.”

That didn’t really comfort him too much about the spirit business. It was clear now that stupid Compendium had no idea what it was talking about, and neither did the spiritualist. All he had was rumors. And none were good. “I’ve been hearin’ things yonder about spirits. Hundi don’t do magic, and folk out there on the road don’t know too much about spirits neither. Just hot air about inescapable contracts and being careful of what you wish for. Guess that all that chatter rubbed off on me.” Lein involuntarily shivered, feeling a sudden coldness. Maybe he was ruminating too much. After all, Cecilia did say that the spirit only ‘helped’ those she liked.

“Curious about her, are we?” Cecil responded with a hum. “Well, I can say that I have had to…make a deal of sorts with her to be able to use her. Lost something in the process too.” She’d respond casually, not giving up anything specific. She motioned for the recruit to throw one of the targets, knocking and arrow. “Want to know anything in particular - damn, just short.”

The arrow nicked the edge of the target.

“I miiiight be in the mood for telling a little.”

“Gotta come clean, Cece. I’m looking for a helping hand.” His sardonic joke yielded a smile on his own face, slowly turning terse at Cecilia’s rare offer of information. Lein looked intently at the bow, the connector plate in his arm starting to ache once again. A price for power. For the Hundi, any kind of power in the equation was a winning trade. “Hundi don’t do magic. ‘Muscle, steel and gravel’, Ithillins like to say. And hell, damn well believed it for a while. Most thugs I could shake down in an arrow. And if they didn’t fall the first time, I’d just shoot ‘em again.”

"Easy to talk up a big game when you’re playing in the kids pond. Now we’ve got Grandpa Cazt comin’ back, witches kicking my ass from across the world…” And Hadrianus. Lein thought. He stepped up and fixed his gaze forward. He imagined the faraway branches as the broken horns of the great retainer, giant in both physique and presence. The shifting leaves formed what could be two burning eyes, staring right back at him. Which phantom was he more scared of? As the disc flew into the air, he pulled up the bow and released in one unhalting motion.

A clean hit, despite his aim having set lower, through the neck of the would-be specter. Whether the bow knew what he had been aiming for, Lein did not know. “If I had your aim or your magic, I would’ve saved a whole lot of people a whole lot of trouble. The price I can pay. That deal you took? I just need a shot.”

“Hmm…I dunno, I’m not sure you could handle the deal.” Cecilia responded cheerfully. “You’d have to put up with having an annoying, ungrateful spirit in your head rent free.” She’d say to begin with. “Also you know, losing one of the people you care about most, having to use half the money you make to feed the spirit and also having the spirit constantly nag you about your decisions and having the misfortune to look three times as beautiful as I already was. Quite a burden having every woman and man trying to hit on me.” She’d chortle, loosing another arrow but just barely going too high.

“But its kind of a moot point anyways.” Cecil shrugged. “She’s bound to me and I don’t think she wants you to use her long term.”

“That heavy a price, huh?” Lein replied, humor taking him in surprise at Cecil’s pointed complaints about the spirit. “Now I get why you keep mooching off my purse-strings.” Least Hadrianus would be satisfied with filling his ears with botched philosophy. This spirit instead was intent on mischief. As ever, the rogue’s words could never be taken so seriously. But if it had a kernel of truth, it was that Lein was arrogant to think he could pay ‘any price’.

Lein stepped up and knocked an arrow into the emerald bow for the next shot. Silence befell the range, his eyes searching for something dancing far beyond the reach of the archery ranges. Lein’s next shot hit the mark with as much assurance as it had been for the last three. All his enemies, cut down without even a sweat. The bow, an unparalleled assurance.

Lein sighed and held the bow back to its rightful bearer. He was prepared to go far for what Cecil could do; the nagging, the bragging, the draining of funds. But out of everything, there was one thing he could not allow. The true price was his solitude.

“Sorry Cece, you’re a truer shot as always, but you’re playing against a cheat. Hey, but makes up for all the times I broke my purse for you, huh?” Lein joked, his aloof poise returning once the bow left his possession.

“Wow, Lein. Wow. Finally got tired of losing so you had to resort to cheating? If you wanted me to let ya win you just had to ask and I’d have taken it easy on you.” Cecilia responded, feigning hurt before her voice cracked into a bit of laughter. “Ahaha, sorry. Don’t worry about it, I asked her to mess with ya a little bit.” She’d say, taking the bow back from Lein and returning his own shortbow. “Wow, rude Shael. You really shouldn’t talk about Lein like that. Can’t say I disagree though.” Cecil snickered, giving the Hundi a playful smirk. “Round of drinks on me this time?”

Figures. Should’ve never missed with weird spirits in the first place. The price of pointless ambition, paid in full.

“Always.” Lein returned the smile. “Just try not to get us kicked out for once?”