Jeanne sat by the fire while the others slept. Her time at watch allowed her a moment to collect her thoughts. Process much of what had happened in the last few weeks. Trying to make sense of everything and figure out what options there were to her. She was still uncertain whether the bounty back in Hastingas was real. Part of her thought it was a forgery, a trick to try and bring out from the shadows and straight into the clutches of her enemies.

She had heard of similar incidents from generations before. One tale she and her friends would recite to scare each other came to her:

Come around stout hearts, to sit and hear,

The bloodied tales of yore.

Feel your blood chill in frightful fear,

And warmed nevermore.

For a night like this was all in cheer,

Spirits lifted to soar.

Unknown to dangers drawing near,

Bathing Castle Beddin in gore.

Cruel death brought by spear,

Eternal shame on honored lore.

The story of the massacre at Castle Beddin was a favorite tale told around the fires in the darkest of nights. Two rival families long at each other’s throats for generation, one invites the other to a feast to bring an end to the feud, only for the hosts to brandish swords and knives and put all their guests to the swords. Most of the time the tale was used as a backdrop for ghost stories to frighten children and those seeking swift scares.

Jeanne couldn’t happen but find the similarities between this tale and her own situation. The chance of putting some of this terrible part of her life behind her gripped her heart. Feeling the faintest semblances of hope began to creep into her mind. The desire to be free of what had hounded her waking thoughts was almost too tempting not to consider.

Yet there was that lingering worry in the back of her mind, wondering if this was a fool’s hope. Something she entertained to keep darker thoughts from staining what little of herself she still had before this became a part of her life.

“You seem troubled,” she heard Cid say aloud. He was resting on his blanket, one arm behind his head with his eyes closed.

“Just thinking,” she said.

“Anything particular?”

“A few things.”

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“I can only guess what you’ve been pondering.”

Jeanne looked up at the forest canopy, small gaps within allowing the stars to peer inside briefly. “Can’t help not to.”

“That’s fair. Still trying to wrap my head around the recent Kolville bounties.”

“I know,” she said listlessly. “None of it makes sense.”

“My advice in a situation like this has always been to try and watch from the sides as much as you can before diving head first into the waters.”

“I don’t know if that’s going to be an option open to me.”

“Perhaps not,” Cid said, sitting up. “But we won’t know until we get there. And I think once we are there, we can quickly see where things stand.”

“I hope so,” she said looking back at the fires. “Because I feel like there’s this specter hanging over me that won’t let me be. Always nipping at my heels wherever I go. For a while I thought I was finally rid of it. Able to put this all behind me.”

“Hopefully that is something we can do now that we’re here.”

Jeanne looked away from the fire, off into the vast woods. “Yeah, hopefully.”

“What else is on your mind?” Cid asked, sitting himself up.

“I’m scared, Cid,” Jeanne admitted. “Really scared.”

“With what you’ll see?”

“And hear and feel. Cid I left these people after killing a nobleman’s son. That’s been the cause of more than a few burnings, you know that, so do I. And folk in small communities aren’t know for letting go of such things when they’re bound to a punishment they didn’t bring.”

“You never know, they may have come to see you as a symbol of resistance.”

“Symbols don’t run. They don’t slip away and hide in the shadows while innocent people burn and lose everything they have.”

“You’d be surprised,” Cid replied, sitting next to her on the log.

“What do you mean?”

“I was named after one of the most famous resistance fighters of my people, back during the Occupation of Salcalmahla. Rodrigo Berenguer, the Knight of the Sacred Blade. In fact, one of my very ancestors was among his trusted lieutenants. And he fought in the hills, valleys, caves, and anything to give him and his cadre the advantage in the struggle. Now the enemy was most unpleased with this, and burned villages and towns, sacking cities and putting many unconnected with Rodrigo to the sword. But the people loved him then, and still do now. Do you know why?”

Jeanne shook her head.

“Because he showed them that those who oppressed them were not untouchable. They were above the ire of those they hurt. And that they could bleed and bleed plenty. That any divine aspect to them was mere fabrications. And second, that if one can resist, so can many. For once the many begin to rise up, no armor nor blade is enough to fell all who wish to bring harm to the harmful.”

“Never thought of it that way,” Jeanne said.

“Sometimes we can be harder on ourselves than needed. A good sign that we do not see ourselves as infallible. Though it is never bad to ease off every so often. Give ourselves a moment to feel some semblance of tranquility while we have the chance to do so.”

“Yeah,” Jeanne said looking down at the ground.

“Who are you worried you’ll run into?”

“My folks,” Jeanne said after a long pause. “They were robbed one daughter. And the other put them in an unwanted situation and left without a word to explain myself.”

“Hmm,” Cid groaned. “That I don’t know. And families can be unpredictable at times. But for what it’s worth, whatever happens we’ll be right behind you.”

“Thanks Cid, that means a lot.”

“Well, I’ve always seen you and Kel as family.”

“Siblings or children?”

“Depends on how much you perturb me,” he said patting her shoulder. “Why don’t you get some sleep, I’ll take watch.”