---I don't know them particularly well. I know they had been a part of the party, and I know the others consider them comrades, but beyond that my knowledge of them is purely in terms of their capabilities and contributions to the mission.

As a result, I cannot say I feel anything in particular at the departure of Neve-san and Eve-san, though I must admit there seems to be some kind of strange coincidence with their names.

Still, the certain loss of their abilities to contribute to our efforts is something that must be taken into account in the future, albeit I do not have any particular experience with them and thus I cannot be certain of any conclusions I can make.

I have never been to Skael. I'd been briefed on it and prepared for it, as best as I could be, but prior to this mission it had never been a target for any of my prior objectives. As a result, I cannot form solid opinions beyond the information that I have already been given. With that being said, to be frank---

The revelation of Sagramore-san's true heritage makes me only more unwilling to approach Edren. I already didn't want to go there immediately if it could be avoided, but the fact those names aren't unknown to me only makes me want to put it off even more.

Of course, my personal feelings should not be taken into account when it comes to the completion of our objectives, but it seems like a conclusion has already formed regardless that falls in line with my instinctive rejection of the Northern destination.

"I would prefer to be better prepared before setting foot on Edreni soil," I say, simply, my arms folded over my chest. There is no need to explain my feelings in detail, especially given the destination of Skael seems to be the consensus to begin with. Of course, Mathiassen-san's points aren't irrelevant, but even if they had not been mentioned this would be my opinion on the matter of our next objective.

Their departure from Brightlam had been a swift and early thing, in part to avoid the accolades their newfound fame brought. Fortunately, news of the Warriors of Light's exact details hadn't quite spread past the capital just yet, and they were able to take their leave of Drana Asnaeu at last without harassment from overawed locals.

Unlike their last voyage at sea, this time the journey went without interruption at all, aside from a few minor monster attacks that were quickly dealt with and swept up. Their Dranan escort brought the Kirins to a port within a day's journey of Earl Demet's territory within the western marches.

True to Rudolf's assumption, hardly anyone was recognized within port, aside from Galahad's armor and not the man himself. The presence of a dragoon with such motley traveling companions, two Ospreans included, drove some eyebrows up, but they were hardly accosted. They left port in good order after resupplying, and set out for Demet territory proper.

Half a day away, it seemed their extended period of peace and quiet was finally about to end. Up ahead on the road, they saw the makings of a quarrel: two separate groups of armed men, hands close to their weapons and their leaders conversing in raised voices. Or at least one of them was.

"You would bar our passage? Don't you know who I am?!" One of the leaders, a man in Skaller furs and armor, bellowed, triggering a flash of memory for Izayoi.

The man scowled up at Zeidgram, ruby-red blood dribbling down his chin as he released a slew of curses up at him before his guttural voice hardened into decipherable words. ”How dare you strike me? Don’t you know who I am?”

"...Galahad, Eliane. He was one of the adventurers in attendance at Balmung Castle. The Unicorns' leader, if I recall." Izayoi murmured in low tones towards those who had been with the party the longest. "I see his unpleasantness is a constant."

Meanwhile, Rudolf would recognize the other party leader as one Wulfric Demet, treating his counterpart's grievances with an easy smile and a barking laugh. The sight of yet another party approaching on foot piqued Wulfric's attention, which also served to cause the Unicorns to turn around. Said leader looked between the distinctive dress of dragoon, samurai, and gunbreaker alike, and his eyes widened in shock before narrowing in distaste.

"You!" The still-unnamed Skaeller noble glowered. "What, was it not enough to simply leave matters to your betters? You had to walk in my footsteps as well? And what in blazes happened to most of your worthless group? Let me hazard a guess: they fell like dogs and you replaced them as quickly?"

Wulfric's intervention or no, it seemed this confrontation had the potential to erupt into violence. And wouldn't that be a fine first way for the Warriors of Light to introduce themselves to their host?

---

"But of course, we should be so put upon," Esben muttered, drawing up close to Izayoi, Galahad, and Éliane himself. "I don't know what good either myself or Éliane will do here—if I recognize him right, he outranks both of us, and is in a good enough position that he won't have any real fear of retribution from our superiors for making our lives difficult. Unless his father decides to abandon him, but that's...unlikely."

He glanced sidelong at Éliane for a moment. "Let's try not to antagonize him, could we? Or if we do, at least make whatever happens to him look like it was an accident so that Kayliss and Baramoux have less to try and cover up after. And less hassle for our own families when his goes on the war path."

---

---

---

"Ah, did one of them give you the attitude adjustment that left your nose a little crooked?" The taller man next to the angry Skaeller nobleman kept his tone light and polite, standing as relaxed as could be despite the tension in the situation. Just as the party riding up had heard him laughing, his face still had an easy grin, no matter how annoyed he might actually be feeling. Something that only Rudolf could guess at, most likely.

Wulfric scanned over the assorted Kirins as he talk, giving the erstwhile-Shilage-cum-Sagramori a long look and a slow nod, before his full attention fell on the exceedingly-agitated bellowing blond he was looking down on. "It is shameful it didn't work, of course, but they can hardly be faulted for that, can they? These things do take some mutual effort, old boy. Self-reflection, you know? Internal, not the sort you get staring at one of these after you've done too much polishing."

Callused knuckles rapped on the shorter nobleman's shining breastplate, before resting there lightly. Not yet reaching to grab at the edge of it, yet, but making it plainly clear how highly Wulfric Demet rated his opposition's bluster.

"Really, though, I think it's you who doesn't know who he's talking to, my dear Comté d'Artoé. Chèrle, right? Coulos's son? Why, not only that, but I daresay I know more about what you're supposed to be doing than you do." He grinned, patting the man's back with his other hand and turning to the rest of the those standing opposite his own posse, raising his voice without any apparent effort so that they could hear as clearly as when their own leader was bellowing at him. "There's no would about it, I'm afraid. I will bar your passage, Artoé, unless you and your band submit to my lawful authority, hand over your weapons, and we escort you all back to meet with Earl Demet and then he can send you on your merry way after making sure you aren't going to cause any trouble. Otherwise, we can escort you back to Caerdaran, and let you hop on a boat and find some other place to go make yourselves a nuisance."

The son of Earl Demet was well named, it would seem, for the wolf-like way his grin had changed as he looked back down at the hopefully-chagrined Chèrle d'Artoé, leaning in close to the man's ear. "Choose wisely, good man. Don't go thinking you have a third option to try and play around with, hmm? It's been so dreadfully boring ranging out here, but I am trying to work on my patience, you know. I'd hate to have somebody go and ruin that for me."

It was with an almost put-upon, resigning grimace that the scarred young man caught the look the skyscraper redhead¹ sent his way, meeting the slow nod with a small shake of the head. The "Wulfric, please" beneath it didn't bear saying— it would only serve to rile him up further, behind the eyes². To say nothing of what this Skaellish fop might take it as—

Unfortunately, as it didn't bear saying, that meant that the Earl's firstborn had already caught and understood too many of Rudolf's unvoiced overtures in life to not widen his wolfish, fang-baring grin further at the sight of it, over the incensed foreigner's shoulder. By the time he was leaning in to whisper a bored-out-of-his-mind tourney mainstay's idea of sweet nothings, Rudolf barely bothered to hide a sigh sagging out through his shoulders.

Well. For as nice and uneventful as the journey south from Drana Asnaeu had been, he'd known it could hardly last much longer than dropping anchor and disembarking in Caerdaran. There was no good wind that ever blew into that port, he'd had that drilled into his head for years— and it seemed that adage still held today. He may as well have just counted himself lucky that he'd not gone and forgotten what the people of the West were like. Izayoi and Chisato had drawn a few looks, but they were just as easily exotic curiosities from afar as they were Former Enemies— and at no point was the older of them even close to recognized.

Take your wins where you get them.³ He stepped forward.

Mentally, he'd been preparing for the Warriors to be due for a long hike following his lead, more or less— He hadn't believed any word he'd sent would have made its way down to their soon-to-be hosts in time for Wulfric to lead an advance party this far north to collect them all, that was for damn certain. He'd been too busy licking his wounds to really think about shuttling an update along before the waning hours of their time onshore. He hardly found it objectionable to catch up with the big lug, it had been a whole season since they'd seen eachother last... But how'd he been tipped off?

"To interject for a moment, I'd gladly heed the advice of my betters, as you say, on this one. The Demet family are infamously hot-tempered, and it's poor form to test boundaries around the liege lords of wherever you're vacationing," he began in a drawl, walking into the crossfire to stand at the head of the Kirins, all but drawing up alongside the tall, brash redhead, his eyes flitting between them and "Chèrle d'Artoé". He avoided the urge to look too pointedly at Eliane. "Especially if they've made the effort to play nice, and greet us at their doorstep instead of letting the roads wear us all down first. It's a rare honor, being received so far from Lunaris by Wulfric Demet, Viscount of Crandor and Heir to the Demet Marches—"

He blinked, before his gaze slid lazily away from Le Comte and a good few inches up, towards the tall man across from him.

"... Sorry, habits. Were you planning on introducing yourself to us, at least? I assume Chuckles here doesn't have the full picture if he's this bent out of shape so far from home. He's going red in the face yelling at everyone on the road."

The only way out was through.⁴

---

---

• _{1. An eye searing red at that. These upstarts apparently claim some very, very old blood from the swordsman village. Looking at them, it doesn't take a terribly giant mind to deduce where the idea came from.}
• _{2. Tell a child "no" and see what the first thing he wants to do is. You can see this playing out daily with my host.}
• _{3. Hi. We've crossed back under the maximal operational capacity for white mages in my area. Did everyone miss me?}
• _{4. "Chuckles" for "Chèrle" shot right from the hip like that is going to ruffle every feather on this guy's cap. I see a gunblade on him. The armor doesn't look too bad, but the harness Rudolf's having their Moogle cart around is still better. I just wish he'd done the wordplay consciously. It kills me to watch all the wrong neurons fire on some of these.}

---

Wulfric's grin down at Rudolf was far from the bloodthirsty one he'd faced Chèrle and his retinue with, though he managed to keep his own chuckle at the blond's expense down. "That was the idea," he agreed, with a small shrug. "Alas, that you all would find me when I have to play host to someone else..." He sighed tragically, turning his eyes back to the Skaeller nobleman.

"You see the fix you've put me in, Artoé? You're not the runt I was out looking for, but here you had to come, trampling down the countryside, acting all high-and-mighty and scaring the smallfolk. That's bad enough manners as it is, but this really takes the cake, you know?"

There were no more threats, thinly-veiled or blatant, to be made. "I can still forgive it all—and, rude as that greeting was, I'm sure this motley crew can forgive you as well—so long as you behave yourself and come along. Father's more diplomatic than I am, anyways, he'll probably give you some cakes and tea and apologize for the trouble and send you on down south without any more delay. But you really must be a good boy and do as I say."

"C-Can't we just ignore them and k-k-keep going?" Miina wondered, even though it was a bit late with Rudolf already leaping to get involved, "They can't be th-that important."

Or maybe they were? Nobility had too many names and it just made everything needlessly complicated. Besides, their importance when you didn't need something that they had decided was theirs – or only listened to them, like an army, she supposed – was entirely overstated; the worst that could happen if you ignored them was that they would get annoying. Maybe try to arrest you, but that was easy to provoke even without dealing with nobles.

It was certainly no reason to waste their time on the road getting involved in an argument.

---

Galahad's high spirits couldn't last forever. Though a whole week of basically everything going exactly to plan may have lulled him into the faint, false hope that maybe everything would just work out perfectly from here on out. Of course, he should have known better. Their journey from Drana to Edren went smoothly enough, and they'd been on track to arrive in Earl Demet's territory on time. But as always, Etro found a way to put Galahad back in his place. This time, that came in the form of a particularly unpleasant adventuring party- one that was, unfortunately, rather recognizable, at least by the original members of the Kirins: Éliane, Izayoi and himself.

To make matters worse, the Unicorns found themselves facing off against the scion of the Demets, Wulfric himself. Galahad scowled, his face thankfully hidden by his helmet. He should've known that getting through the Earl's territory without running into Wulf was impossible, though part of him had hoped that they would. What really soured Galahad's mood was that in this particular case, Wulfric was in the right. The Unicorns were effectively strangers imposing on the Demet territory, much like the Kirins. Though, unlike the Kirins, the Unicorns seemed to have no intention on playing nice.

Galahad sighed as he idly pat Miina's shoulder. "Unfortunately, they are rather important. Or at least this half is-" Galahad gestured to Wulfric and his cohorts, "Seeing as they own and steward the lands we walk upon. The other half, perhaps less so."

Esben was quick to point out his relation- or relative position compared to the Skaellan leader of the Unicorns. Galahad was used to Esben more or less interjecting into practically any conversation with his sharp wit, but perhaps Skael's hierarchy would make things less than ideal for them. Esben said something about not antagonizing him- which was unfortunate, given this Chèrle's immediate reaction to the Kirins' arrival. Still, Esben was right. The Unicorns were ostensibly here to do the same thing as the Kirins, and there was little to be gained by actively antagonizing them. Still, Galahad's pride couldn't help but want to make at the very least a small jab.

"Following in your steps?" Galahad mused as he approached, taking note of the Unicorns and their equipment. "I'm afraid we've only just returned to Edren territory. Your exploits haven't reached our ears yet, unfortunately- and I apologize if you're under that impression. But rest assured, we have no intention of following your path."

Galahad lifted his helmet off his head and tucked it between his arm, his halberd resting on his shoulder. "Perhaps it is an unfortunate coincidence, but what is more concerning for me is... Well, for a party tasked with dealing with the Blight, I do believe that every time we've met thus far, you've been moments away from trading blows with people that are ostensibly not blighted. Granted, we've only met twice, but strange that it should happen twice."

"First, you pointed your blade at our white mage- unprovoked. Now we find you here, facing off with protectors of Edren- while in Edren territory." Galahad sighed, somehow once again finding himself between the Unicorns and someone else. "Skael may have differing laws and customs than Edren, but just as I'd be expected to follow Skaellen customs and law while in Skael, would it be unreasonable to expect you to follow Edreni customs and law while in Edren?" Galahad conveniently left out the fact that the Kirins seemed to mostly just break laws and rules while in Drana Asnaeu and Valheim controlled Osprey... But what this Chèrle d'Artoé didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Probably.

"Now, while Lord Demet's requests may be inconvenient." Galahad's agreement came out like grating stones, as though hating the fact that he agreed. "They are lawful. I'm sure Earl Demet will take any criticisms you have of his son's actions and behavior to heart and mete out discipline as necessary. In the meanwhile, I suggest you be reasonable about all of this, and comply.

"..."

---What in the world is this? Who is this person? Why are they feeling the need to be so obstructive? This entire situation is utterly inscrutable to me. I wasn't briefed on this 'Artoe' individual, but it appears some of the early members of the Kirins are plenty familiar with him. The other man is someone I can at least pick up more information about simply by context, and the mention of his name. Sagramore-san's response to him only further put flesh upon the skeleton of my initial assessment of him based upon his words and actions.

That doesn't make this scenario any less irritating, however.

Our duty lies ahead. We can't just wast time dealing with whatever it is that's happening here. We need an efficient and clean path forward, not whatever this is.

I don't fully understand the words that were being spoken by 'Artoe', but they hardly sound particularly pleasant, either. Not that I'm fond of Demet-san's personality, to be entirely honest, but the situation seems to have stemmed entirely from 'Artoe's' actions in the first place.

If not for that, we would quite possibly have made our way forward already.

I should not allow emotions into my actions, but I can feel my eyes narrowing, centered on the belligerent man and the people accompanying him.

Removing the source of the problem is often the quickest and most simple path forward.

I step back, repositioning myself to be closer to Mathiassen-san. 'Artoe' is from his homeland, after all, so I assume he will have better knowledge of the situation.

When I speak, it's softly, and quietly.

"Would subduing 'Artoe' end this situation more quickly?"

---

"He will at least know who Éliane is, and likely her family," came the whispered reply. "Whether he knows me and mine I can't say, although his father certainly would. On both ends, I'd rather not risk giving him or his family a vendetta against us." His eyes darted back and forth between Wulfric and Chèrle, frowning slightly as first Rudolf and then Galahad both joined in. He'd hoped that the Kirins could at least minimize their involvement in whatever was about to happen, but in the interests of both expedience and propriety...

He sighed. "He's the son of one of the current ruling families, to simplify it as much as possible. He should know better than to go around picking fights like this, and if this mission is his justification for acting this way, I don't think even his family would be willing to prop him up back home—especially given the progress we've made on it. Letting him make a fool of himself may be the best option."

At least, the time for diplomacy between the pair standing between their respective forces was long since gone.

"That puts us in an interesting position. We would, of course, be honour-bound to intervene on behalf of our hosts, given that they've sent someone out to ensure our safety in travel. Two of us would also be bound to minimize harm to Artoé, though we'd at least have a good argument in our favor for subduing him assuming he starts whatever happens. I think Rudolf and Galahad have already picked up on that. In that case—we don't make the first move, but you be ready to take him out as quickly as possible. Non-lethally, please, I don't particularly want to have to put all the rest of his retinue to the sword to keep things quiet."

---

The Skaelan man before her was one that she had not expected to see again, at least not outside of Skael itself. Given her last encounter with him so long ago, the memory of Cherle d’Artoe was still strong—especially the visage of the man’s bloodied face, caved in by fist. She couldn’t help but snicker at the crooked appearance of his nose. She had actually followed through in sending the letter to snitch on him to his father. The man was an embarrassment and had reflected very poorly on Skael. Oddly enough she never received a reply. Typical.

She was also familiar with the other party in this encounter, although only in passing. She knew the Demet name as a matter of course being on the periphery of noble politics, but it was the sort of foreign policy thing that she didn’t care for or deal with much. It was already evident that the appropriate members of the team knew Wulfric and apparently how to deal with him, although Éliane found herself narrowing her eyes at Esben.

“I resent that implication, Esben,” she replied, throwing up her hands in a shrug. Nonetheless, her voice was pitched just enough for others to hear, although not enough to address without making a fool of themselves—“In fact I was going to do absolutely nothing, because it would have been absolutely entertaining to see him regret start up a border conflict with the Edrenians…”

She recalled what she had thought when she had first encounter them. She stood by her assessment at the time. “Your estimation of his personal influence is overinflated, anyway. Nobody likes that family. I really don’t mind burning a few favors to have a second shot at his nose…”

Cherle d'Artoe seethed at Wulfric and the Kirins alike, his nostrils puffing out and veins pulsing in his forehead. Izayoi frowned at the byplay from Edreni nobleman and some of their party alike, her hand surreptitiously going down towards her blade. Certainly, she'd try not to kill the buffoon should he more than likely attack them, but if he pressed the matter...

Fortunately for the young nobleman, an attendant clad in heavy plate and an armet leaned over to whisper in his ear, and Lord d'Artoe visibly swallowed his pride, relenting as he stepped back.

"This is not over." He hissed, his gaze passing over every non-Skaeler and Esben and Eliane alike. "Pray we never cross paths where I have primacy and jurisdiction, lest I revisit this humiliation upon you tenfold." And with that, Cherle and his party of a dozen men turned and began making for the north, likely back towards Caerdaran where the Kirins had just came from.

___

Wulfric and his men escorted the erstwhile Warriors of Light the remaining half a day through Demet territory to the castle itself, making good time now that the interruption had been dealt with. Quick words towards waiting servants upon arrival had the Kirins situated within a waiting room, with servants bringing in refreshments as they waited for their host's arrival.

The individual members of the party didn't go unnoticed, of course. Rudolf was already well-known to the servants, and was greeted with familiar ease. Being a Knight Dragoon, Galahad was treated with deference appropriate to his station, as were Esben and Eliane from their dress and uniform befitting them as Skaeler officials. Miina's mode of dress was enough to disguise her origins, and she was treated with no more or less decorum than was appropriate for any seeming merchant or minor noble. As for Chisato and Izayoi...while they weren't actively discriminated against, it was clear that the servants were fulfilling the bare minimum possible for good and efficient service, not going out of their way to converse more than they had to or to be in their presence at all.

For her part, Izayoi simply frowned, drinking nothing but water as she narrowed her eyes in distaste at the very obviously Edreni decor. At present, there was naught to do other than converse with Wulfric or simply wait for Earl Demet to receive them.

Rudolf, despite the familiar faces and scenery that surrounded him, sat quiet, a stink-eye for the ages contorting his youthful visage the way only a suspicious younger sibling could.

With the matter of Team Unicorn settled, their time across the final leg of the overland journey had proven briefer than Rudolf had remembered— probably a combination of the brisk pace Wulfric and his party had set their chocobos to, and the fact that it was journey the younger Edrenian hadn't made since he was a boy. Riding at a familiar hard pace meant a lot more distance, likely, when the world between Caerdaran and the Castle Demet wasn't quite so big.

"Young master."

He sighed, pausing his glare through the back of Wulfric's head to curl it up towards Balder, the household's butler, looming over him with a glass full of golden liquid in hand, plucked from a platter in his far arm. The steely composure had yet to leave his face, forever placid and proper. "Your apple juice, sir. Terribly sorry about the mix-up earlier."

Rudolf eyed it warily, gingerly accepting the drink with a grunt and a sniff. No nose of alcohol this time, just crisp sweetness. He took a sip to taste, before slowly imbibing— disaster had struck moments before.

"I made sure to fetch your favorite. Had you given me ample time, I might have warned you. Earl Demet had thought it would be nice to welcome you back here with a pour from his personal reserve. The barrel is nearly as old as you are."

He had, of course, immediately drained the first drink handed to him, no deeper in color than this one, and nearly choked when it was whisky hitting the back of his throat instead. "For twenty years, that was damned pale." he grunted over the lip of the glass, returning his scowl back to Wulfric's gleefully talking head. The heir of the household was currently too busy regaling a put-upon looking Galahad with some tall tale to catch the suspicious look— but Rudolf couldn't help but notice the boisterous guffaw that had just so happened to erupt from him, in time with the stricken lad's sputtering through the alcohol. He was in on it. He had to be, Rudi was sure.¹

"Indeed. Surprisingly light for nineteen years." the manservant concurred, idly correcting both ages that were tied to their talk. "But it aged beautifully nonetheless. So much that he's kept it all to himself until now— pray tell, would you have me go inform him you disliked it, sir?"

"No, no. It's..." He sighed through the nose as he set the juice down, rubbing at his half-scarred temples. "It's fine. I'd have it again, even. And no 'sir'. I'm divested of my family, remember? Just a guy from Sagramore, these days. We're basically on the same level."

A raised brow from the older man. "Then maybe if you behave yourself for once, Rudolf. I'll be attending to the other guests."

"Hey—"

"Good to see you again, kid."

There was a strangled groan as Rudolf's three-way collision of protests crashed into one another within the depths of his throat, as the salt-and-pepper haired man took his leave, gliding away to the other Kirins with his platter in hand. Asshole. Asshole! That prim propriety, the same one Rudolf had summoned from memory at the docks when they first landed in Drana Asnaeu, it cloaked an asshole! He knew Rudolf was gonna fall for that prank, too, he was sure of it! He and Cadmon and Wulfric had probably put their heads together to plot to mess with him!

And it didn't stop there, he realized, sinking back into the cushion and trying to let the alcohol relax him just a little before another familiar voice sounded off, her own two gil in hand.

"Oh, excellent, you didn't spill this one. Now, Rudy. What happened to you, did you go playing inside a furnace while you were away?"

Lydia, one of the maids, had evidently been close enough to overhear his mention of lowered social standing and seen fit to drive it all the way to the hilt as she swiftly retrieved an emptied plate, the teacake that had sat upon it having been swiftly devoured. Her smarm could practically fill the room on its's own—

"And his clothes are in tatters. You run straight through bramble on your way down, Rudy?"

Marguerite, now, from across the table.

"Bit depressing picture looking at you, Rudy. Haven't been this much a downer around your friends have you? Feel like I'll get bad luck if I get too close."

Robert, a footman, keeping his distance from the swelling air of disquiet. Seriously, did they coordinate this?²

"surely you jokers have better things to do." he stewed, grinding each word out through his teeth, before pulling up in the seat with a huff. "For that matter, what's the Earl attending to that's keeping Wulf from just kicking his door open and saying 'Hey Dad, I've brought the runt and his friends, you can yell at him now' the way he normally would?" he asked, pointedly wearing the affectation of a dimwitted brute while the dimwitted brute continued to bug the Knight Dragoon.³

They shared a glance, before looking to their least-indisposed boss. Balder looked up from cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief, his circuit of the Kirins momentarily settled before Esben. A consummate professional, it didn't take him long to feel their eyes all falling to him.

"As it always is, my boy. He's poring over writing in his study. A lot of communication to keep up with these days. I'm sure you remember that a party of eight is rather large to cram in there— rest assured, the Earl will be out shortly enough. Patience is a virtue, Rudy, you used to have more of it."

At that, he folded his arms and ground his teeth, biding his time until one of the two people that surely signed off on this particular welcoming stance could answer for their crimes of making him the butt of the joke. At least the edge of the ride had been taken off by the mishap, so... silver linings.

---

---

• _{1. So, the story here is evidently that Wulfric had already gotten the kid to try some booze while drinking with friends when they were both much younger— only for thirteen-year-old Rudolf to immediately down the whole thing once he'd been handed it and thus be instantly tanked. All subsequent "tries" that night were just surreptitiously poured apple juice, and this story had gotten around the Castle by the time Rudolf had been sent off home. He thought the first glass was apple juice, and that the butler was just doing a cheeky callback.}
• _{2. No, you just gave them an opening. Familiar guest or not, servants love openings. And maybe their Lord told them he wouldn't stop them if they messed with you, but primarily, servants love openings. Fold it into your porter bit.}
• _{3. Little note here. I love, genuinely, that this is still how guys imitate eachother. Puff up the chest, hunch the shoulders, drop your verbal IQ into the negatives. It's so universal.}

---

"So there I was, elbow-deep in this Blight-twisted bear, blood running down my arm, still had half a sandwich in my mouth, when Cuno sneaks up behind me and just starts aping its growling—"

Wulfric, of course, after he'd gotten over laughing at Rudolf's reaction to the whisky he'd been offered, had dove right into telling a story to his favourite dragoon. "—about like that groan Rudi just had, only three times as loud. I'd just gotten my hand on the thing's heart, and my nerves were still a bit high after the fight, so when I jumped back the organ came with and I spiked it straight into his chest. I've never seen the man so affronted." He was at least fairly certain that Galahad had met the presumptive heir of the Sagramori leader, so hopefully the dragoon could also enjoy the thought of the normally-severe warrior covered in blackened blood and just as shocked as his target.

Assuming Galahad could get past having Wulfric try and regale him with tales of what he'd missed since they'd last seen each other, of course. Thanks to the letters that had been sent by Rudolf, there was precious little opportunity for any stories to come from the Kirins' leader's side.

He looked over to the rest, as the servants went about ministering to their various needs, frowning for a moment. "I promise, they're not trying to be rude. Quite the opposite, they'd rather not give any accidental offense," he said to Izayoi and Chisato. "Given the recent past, I'm not sure I can blame them, but even if it struggles to seem like it you are all welcome here. Right, Balder?"

"Of course, milord. The household's opinion on that mess is quite clear, and your father wasn't about to let anybody who disagreed have any chance to come near his guests."

"Indeed. I'm sure that no fewer than half of the young lord Caradoc's relatives have been praying for my misfortune since I made my thoughts known about all of that. Not that it should have surprised any of them, but I can't account for the thoughts of, hmm, northern barbarians."

The grey-haired lord of the Demet March spoke through a crack in one hallway door, before pushing it open and walking through. He brushed one stray lock out of his eyes with an irritable flick, before looking over the assembled party. "Apologies for not having more to offer you at the moment, but they're a bit busy preparing dinner for all of us to really give any better snacks. Or entertainment—I'm sure Wulf likes to talk about his childhood friend with his childhood target, but I can't imagine that interests any of the rest of you. Or the one hearing the story, for that matter."

"You get what you pay for, of course."

"One would think so many years of my life were worth more," came the equally-dry reply, father furrowing his brows at his son before turning back to the rest. "Before anything, accommodations. Your chocobos are being settled in the stables, of course, and we'll have a spot for your Moogle if he wishes to avail himself of it. Galahad, if you or whoever else among yours you trust with it can get with him and get me a list of any provisions you'll need, all the better. All individual rooms, or are there any pairs I should be warned of?"

"I'm surprised you aren't just dumping the chore on me. Has distance made the heart grow fonder?"¹ an acidic, wry drawl finally cut in, the scarred burn victim having found the object of his ire. There was, of course, an undercurrent of familiarity that seemed to neuter potential worries of faux pas, at least in this setting— most of the present staff either keeping busy or rolling their eyes. If the exchange just moments ago between father and son weren't already illustrative... "Or is it just sentimental old man brain taking over?"

"I'll get to you soon enough, 'Rodolfo'. You're staying exactly where I always put you, you're not my chief concern."

Rudolf seemed to accept his lodging without overmuch issue, but folded his arms at being brushed off. Evidently, part of him had been counting on trading a few more barbs than this— after the escalation of the entire fiasco in Drana Asnaeu, he'd not been kidding about expecting one or five earfuls right out the gate.

"And for the record, you ought to know the minds of northern barbarians pretty damned well."

The Earl scoffed, needing no elaboration as to what his erstwhile squire was getting at. "Your father isn't so much a northern barbarian as he is an outright force of malice. To let them claim him would be disingenuous. An insult to both."²

"I'm not hearing reasons not to. Not when they're coming from you. Barbarians are full of malice, they maliciously clamor at the gates of the civilized, screaming for death and blood. And you love insulting both."

"Enough. Keep prattling and I will dump chores on you, boy."

Rudolf bit his tongue, properly disincentivized from continuing to prattle.

---

---

• _{1. You little turd, let other people talk. The butler was right, you are impatient.}
• _{2. The more I hear about this guy, the more I like him. Surely he and I coulda talked shop back then, if it weren't for that white mage flying off the handle over his shoulder.}

---

"I don't understand what is so humiliating about following the rule of law in the country you're visiting..." Galahad muttered to the party, quiet enough that churl hopefully wouldn't hear it. Though he shrugged in concession, "Though I guess we're hardly one to talk. Hopefully they're headed in the opposite direction of us."

---

Castle Demet was a place Galahad hadn't been to in a long while. For one, the Demets were rather far to the southwest, a considerable distance away from Midgar. There was also the fact that the Caradocs and Demets weren't exactly on friendly terms- Or at least the current respective heads of each house weren't. The Demets views weren't the most popular with several of the more influential Edreni houses. As far as Caradocs and Demets went, they weren't actively hostile to one another- as they were both still Edreni, but their disagreements on how the kingdom should be run were well known. The children were notably less politically inclined than their fathers it seemed. Still, be that as it may, it had been years since Galahad had seen Castle Demet, not to mention Earl or Wulfric.

Speaking of sons.

Galahad's eyes were half glazed over as he tried to listen to Wulfric's story. In his defense, he really did try. The first 10 minutes of the stories were interesting- but his attention and interest began to wane as the endless stories and tales hit the 30 minute mark, a braggadocios, likely embellished, one man anthology of past events. That being said, Wulfric's last remark about the Sagramori heir did earn a faint snort from the dragoon. "Perhaps the hearts of blightbeasts have valuable properties which you had just destroyed- or perhaps he was shocked that you proceeded to eat your lunch before cleansing your hands?"

Galahad glanced over as Wulfric addressed the Ospreans in their group. "If it makes you feel any better, the Osprean representatives we ran into were about as polite." he offered Wulf, as he noticed Earl Demet finally enter to address them. He decided to mostly let the barbarian comment go- though no doubt there were a few- or several of them that may have agreed with him.

"I'm not my father, Earl Cadmon," Galahad noted, "And there are a few less Caradocs to disagree with you these days." he chuckled as he stood to greet the Earl. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Earl Cadmon." Galahad thanked the Demet lord. "I'll have a list of the necessities provided to you before the end of the day."

Galahad glanced around to see if any of the others would want to share rooms with the other, which he doubted. "I think individual rooms would be fine. After a few weeks on the road together, I'd assume everyone would want to get away from each other for a bit. Though we'll take whichever inconveniences you the least."

All in all, their meeting with this Edreni Lord was going a lot better than their last- though for most of the party this would be their first.

---

No matter how much Esben had advocated caution, Éliane had been looking forward to some sort of fight or brawl and she was somewhat disappointed that she didn’t get to witness one. Intellectually, she knew it was for the best, but she couldn’t help it with her nature. Oh well, there was always next time.

While her own manners had suffered in the course of their journey, she still made a formal introduction befitting her as a representative of Skael as she did with certain… previous Edrenian nobles, although this time things went far better.

Most of the byplay between Rudolf and Wulfric as well as the household staff was lost on Éliane, given Edrenian noble politics was very much not her expertise, but she could at least get the gist without directly asking Rudolf about the strange treatment from the household servants.

Frankly, if she was served whiskey instead of apple juice she would be rather happy, even if she still preferred a certain caffeinated beverage over all else. Unlike Galahad, embellished or not, Éliane ate up Wulfric’s stories. While she didn’t quite hang on to every word, the pink-haired officer had always been fond of these sorts of tavern tales and she had to admit seeing the way Galahad and Rudolf look a bit put out was also amusing to her, especially after she urged the young nobleman to continue his stories.

Before long, she was chiming with stories of her own misadventures.

Izayoi endured the indignity of being hosted by Edrenians once more with a long-suffering sigh, sharing a look of exasperation with Chisato. Especially considering the lord's son was the mouthy sort. His explanation for the service was met with a disinterested nod from her end, with the samurai choosing to say as little as possible on that matter to remain polite.

The lord himself mentioning the subject of room pairings brought a snort from Izayoi and a shake of her head. "There would be no pairings that I am aware of." Yet. She slipped Esben and Eliane a brief sideeye at that. Perhaps Rudolf would have noticed. Regardless, her piece on the matter was said, and she would return to stony silence, no matter how often the mention of "northern barbarians" caused a vein to pop.

___

Some time later, supper was served, and the Kirins were gathered around the table, the lord of the estate at the head. An ironically familiar situation for some of their number.

As the first course was served, Izayoi chose to preempt Lord Demet, and spoke.

"Shall we be about this, then? I take it you wish to take our measure, as it were?" She sighed. Hopefully, it wouldn't go as poorly as it did with Artorias.

---

"I have tailors for that," the earl replied blithely, waving off the question. "I won't send you all off into the frigid south without adequate protection. Before I let you all go for the night and see you off in the morning, though, I'd like to be apprised of your progress and what all you've seen happening—both near and afar. In return, I may have some news for you, and a recommendation on somewhere else to stop down in Skael."

By now, there was little doubt that most of the Kirins knew that Cadmon was the one that Rudolf would write to. Given that, he felt little need to hide just how aware he was of what all they had been up to. "I'll start, even. Given that, so far as I am aware, yours is the only team to actually accomplish what you all were convened for, I have taken the liberty of informing Leo of your success." The smallest flick of the eyes accompanied his words, looking to the pair that had come from Skael for just a moment. "Your reward should be waiting for you once you make it back to Balmung. Which, alongside Midgar, is the source of my first question for you all."

His eyes settled on Galahad, seated opposite him.

"Your father and I haven't been on speaking terms for most of a decade, and Leo knows better than to involve himself in the middle of that. I know a bit of what happened at the banquet, but otherwise I'm sorely lacking for any news that comes from that part of the country that isn't sent to me by Rudolf's father. Are there any developments that I ought to be aware of, if I should have any reason to ride up there?"

Silent until now at his end of the table, Rudolf stiffened. His plate was largely untouched—his thoughts awash over something else besides food. He’d been content to listen for now, as though biding time— but with the flash of worry that crossed his face, it seemed he’d heard something that threw a spanner in those reluctant works.

It wasn’t Izayoi’s surly disdain for the farce she expected that had prompted that shot of current through his spine— the Earl was hardly stranger to a callous guest expecting him to be something he wasn’t, and Izayoi had a surly disdain for anything that wasn’t in some way related to shredding her enemy or to her lost family. Being made to speak with a nobleman of Edren, regardless of how either of them had sworn up and down as to his lack of involvement with the invasion… it would always leave her frosty at best.

His eyes, fighting not to go too wide, flew across the table, finding Miina’s for a moment and clearly blindsided—- not by Izayoi, but by the Earl himself.

A night? They were already partaking in supper. That wasn’t time at all. Not nearly enough— he’d not intended to have them all overstay their welcome here, but still!

His teeth ground beneath tight lips.

Not more than a week was his thinking. Even two or three days layover would have been fine— ample time to really scour the archives with her, as he’d promised in the depths of Brightlam’s sickbeds. Really dig into research, at least— the events that transpired during the fitting of his newly blackened armor serving to inform their direction, not being a relative waste of the afternoon. But a single evening? They’d be lucky to even compile a reading list.

Really, of all the ways to be made to pay dividends on the luck he’d burned, this was troubling. A truncated timetable would force him to nix so much of what he had been looking to get done while here. Let alone any of the others, who lacked the familiarity with this place and its’ people that he was privilege to, even after all that had been cleft from him alongside his name. A night was what you took to get used to a new locale— not to take advantage of the myriad resources that featured in a turbulent, disgraced former beneficiary’s sales pitch.

And what was more…

”Why in the war god’s blazes does that ’you’ sound like it means me…” he murmured in undertone, before swearing under his breath as his gaze flicked over to Galahad, a long way away and in no position to help. He couldn’t interrupt the Knight-Dragoon, interjecting here would just get in the way of the exchange of information.

That was now the last boon they might have had left to glean from this shortened visit. Everything else on Rudolf’s personal list, at least, would be choked out by the tightness of their schedule. Now it was just this comparing of notes, the afternoon Rudolf had spent upon his armor, and maybe an escort further south from Wulfric. Whatever answers he sought to unravel from the cloud of obscurity…

They basically needed to come here and now, or await the party’s return to Edren at the earliest. A real bind for anyone that had been expecting more room to orient themselves.

A real bind for him, who had been waiting for a moment that felt right.

For the present moment, he had to continue holding his concerns to a private, half-frustrated hiss beneath his breath.

“Only tonight to work with?”

"..."

Why.

Why must I be here? We must this still be ongoing? I have accepted working alongside the Edreni men. In fact, I can admit that they have thus far performed admirably. There is no point in denying their accomplishments.

But being here is only serving as a strain on my composure. I cannot help but feel a growing sense of frustration the more I hear these people speak.

Can we not just be done with this, finish our food, and go to bed? It's not as if I can complain about receiving some form of reward, but I can certainly complain about the ongoing conversation.

I just want to leave.