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[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest[/h3]
Although Jaelnec understood and agreed with much of what Aemoten was saying, though not necessarily the way it was meant to be understood, he struggled to figure out [I]why[/I] the warrior was giving this particular lecture under these circumstances. He was not a Sekalyn warrior nor was he even trained as a soldier; he had no family left and, while he was technically supposed to serve Rodoria, felt no particular fondness or loyalty towards the kingless kingdom, so for all intents and purposes he had no home, had no one somewhere waiting for him... but he could certainly agree that it was about those next to him, his only friends, and those in need of saving right in front of him. The part about not killing monsters for fame struck him as particularly puzzling, although it did remind him of the days when dragonslaying had been the object of so much admiration, with people hunting dragons for glory and wealth until their species had been nearly exterminated. It was because of those days that dragons were so rare today. Beyond that, however, he was confused.
The one thing he could not misunderstand was when the subject shifted to anger, which related all too strongly to his own outburst just minutes prior and the shameful apology he had just uttered. Willpower [I]was[/I] one of the core values of the Knighthood of the Will, and for a moment he was afraid that Aemoten was going to accuse him of not having enough of it, but instead the Sekalyn just continued his lecture in a manner that almost seemed as though it was completely unrelated to anything that had happened recently, just another lecture. The only time he seemed like he spoke [I]to[/I] Jaelnec rather than simply speaking his thoughts out loud was at the mention of the anger he – Aemoten – carried within himself, which was spoken in such a heavy tone that it could not be taken as anything but important.
All of them were tired, angry and frustrated, he said... perhaps that was true. Thaler had certainly demonstrated that she had reached her limit with the way she had attacked Angora, and even Olan had seemed a bit different back there, neglecting his usual speaking-habit and such and generally just being uncharacteristically somber and serious. Aemoten had to be in possession of almost inhuman willpower to just keep going without letting his frustration show.
Thinking of Thaler in context with Aemoten’s lecture ironically helped a little, as the squire realized that he, despite everything, had not failed [I]completely[/I]. He had been angry – murderously so – and had let this show, but he had not acted upon that anger. He had wanted to kill Angora so desperately, yet he had stayed his blade when he could easily have slaughtered her. It seemed a small victory, but it was better than total defeat.

There was a lot to be said about Roct, naturally, but very little of which Jaelnec could comment on since he had no way of knowing the consequences of the entity’s actions, be those future or present, without asking Roct and asking her about it. The fact that Freagon had almost certainly never been possessed and most likely had simply shut Roct out entirely seemed likely, but more importantly came with the shocking realization that Roct had been in the sword the entire time Freagon had used it, too; that she had likely been in contact with him at some point, at least once. Considering that Freagon had supposedly had the sword since his childhood, there was a fair chance that Roct knew much more of his late master than Jaelnec did himself. He made a mental note to ask her about this later, no matter what... if nothing else, it would give him another person to share the reminisce with.
“I can calm myself,” he assured Aemoten when it was mentioned that he would have to learn to do as much. “Freagon made a point of teaching me that much, and I didn’t have Roct back then. I...” He shook his head. “Reaching out to her for comfort is just a bad habit at this point. I’ll try -” he stopped himself and grinned, “- no, I [I]will[/I] stop.”
Even now he desperately wanted to reach for the hilt of the sword to feel its comforting warmth flowing into him, but he kept his hands firmly at a distance. From now on he had to be in complete control, or he would have to learn to shut her out permanently like Freagon might have...

Finally, the matter of Aemoten and Thaler going ahead alone... As much as Jaelnec loathed leaving Aemoten and Thaler somewhere he could not help them if anything happened, the warrior’s logic could not be dismissed: leaving Olan with two people they barely knew, even if the Nightwalker instinctively liked one of them, and a third that had actually attacked them and tried to kill them was not an option.
“I’ll go back to the others, then, and get them to Zerul City as soon as possible,” he said, half-turning to head back to where they had left the others. “It should be safe between here and there, but I’ve been wrong before... be careful.”

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[h3]Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond[/h3]
Though he was not about to admit it to her Gerald actually [I]had[/I] been about to protest against Jillian seating herself so close to him and even leaning on him, feeling at once surprised at how casually she got this close to him and unnervingly conscious of her half-dressed state. Phrasing the announcement of her temperature the way she did certainly did not make him any less uncomfortable, and he soon found at least part of his anatomy in denial of his indifference toward her.
Her being cold was an issue, though, but it was not something he could figure out how to solve just now. He could give her his robe to wear, but he was not wearing much under it and would probably end up freezing himself if he did, and with his constitution chances were that he would get debilitatingly ill as a result. He could find a spell in his book to warm her with, but he very much doubted that he had anything that would serve that purpose better than the fire in front of them. Then there was the wind, but as far as he knew the only magic he knew that could possibly shelter her from wind would take significantly more magical energy than it was worth... [I]and[/I] it would prevent her from being warmed by the fire. Nothing to do but accept her leaning on him, it seemed...

And then, inevitably, the topic turned to [I]them[/I]. Jillian wanted them to get to trust one another, to get to know one another better, to [I]bond[/I]; all things Gerald wanted to avoid like the plague, though he supposed he had already failed at that. Still, with the monumental tasks that lay ahead of the two of them it was hard to argue against the necessity of trust.
He closed his eyes and took another sip of his tea, feeling its soothing effect on his throat and the disproportionate fullness in his stomach as it did its work. With his digestive system as crippled as it was the tea was his primary source of nutrition, so it was quite literally keeping him alive. That aside it helped him breathe easier and speak more audibly, so when he spoke it was with a voice noticeably less hoarse than before, sounding almost as strong and healthy as it had before he had been taken by the Withering. He opened his eyes.
“You’ve probably heard of me, though I doubt you would see a connection between the rumors and me, especially since back when I lived in Zerul City I wasn’t ‘Glass’, but rather Gerald Remdal. Even if you haven’t heard of me you’ve probably heard of my stepfather, Dennis Remdal, the previous dean of the Zerulic Academy of Magic and the current personal advisor of the duke. He’s pretty much running the duchy by now, from what I hear...”
He shook his head tiredly. “I was an instructor at the academy for a year, eight years ago. Six years ago there was a fire there that destroyed part of the academy and several blocks of the city near there; the next day Dennis resigned as dean and I was exiled, on his recommendation. What you [I]haven’t[/I] heard is that the reason for the fire was that Dennis discovered that I was experimenting with necromancy, and that the spell he tried to cast to burn my research materials failed and went out of control. Nearly killed both of us, too...”
He sipped his tea, grimacing. “Now that I think about it, how were you discovered? Were you exiled too, or...” He remembered the silver sword she had been lugging with her; the weapon of a witch-hunter. “What happened?”