![[Image: PeIiAzV.png]](http://i.imgur.com/PeIiAzV.png)
“Kweh.â€
“I would have imagined, sir, that you would be quite pleased to be home.â€
“Kweeeeeh!â€
“Home in a figurative sense, then. The land of your origin, assuming the reports of your pedigree are true. Towering rock formations, sweeping vistas of pristine white. Surely it must inspire some manner of awe, or at least respect. Subdued, muted respect.â€
“Fweeeeeew.â€
“Oh, now! There’s really no call to be carrying on like that, Chesterfield. We have a duty to perform, and for once, one specially requested of us. We mustn’t fuss so.†North sighed, patting the talkative chocobo’s neck with equal parts admonishment and reassurance. The old boy didn’t seem terribly bothered by the cold, but the snow itself seemed to baffle the bird, piling up on his beak until it was shaken off by twists and sneezes. Still, chatting with the chocobo seemed to improve its disposition, if only slightly. He had read somewhere, years ago, that you could say whatever you pleased to animals, so long as you kept your tone soothing and consistent. He had found the principle also largely applicable to certain members of the upper class. As a fellow beast of burden, however, Chesterfield made a fine traveling companion, and North accorded him the respect he was due.
Despite his apparent misgivings, the stocky bird plodded northwards. Sitting astride him, North looked startlingly underdressed compared to the locals, still in his Ul’dahn formalwear--if anything, Chesterfield was more equipped for the climate than he, draped in both bundled packages of clothing and insulated “barding†that looked suspiciously custom-tailored. Fallgourd, thankfully, was well-equipped to serve as the border settlement it was--some last-minute purchases swayed lazily under the bird’s saddle, the hempen bags flecked with snow. However, the Shroud was long behind them, and the Observatorium loomed in the white sky ahead.
He had not been this way in quite some time. Absently patting the chocobo’s neck, his eyes lingered on the tower--imagining the excitable Roegadyn, Five Reflections, ready to come bursting out of it, eyes aflame and spirit burning with academic furor as he’d triumphantly proclaim… that a voidsent finger bone had proved instead to be a toe, or perhaps that he’d finally uncovered the etymological origin of “malboroâ€, or a new theory that all sheep did not truly exist and were instead aetheric illusions. Five was an especially productive scholar in that he consistently, valiantly, and tirelessly sought answers to questions that nobody was particularly interested in in the first place. However, he had long since vanished from Coerthas--evaporated into the snow with his notes and his effects following the matter of Jameson Taeros. North could hardly blame him for fleeing at the signs of trouble on the horizon--had the Roegadyn still been in contact with him then, the valet would have severed all contact for the man’s own good, as he attempted to do with Roen Deneith and Mistress Callae. Still, he could not help but wonder at the scholar’s well-being. Five was eccentric, but had been a friend nonetheless, and one even willing to help North research the possibility of violating the natural laws of aether, as had Roen--however cautiously and reluctantly…
A whistle from Chesterfield snapped him from his reverie, and he hastily gave his companion a scratch behind the crest as they trudged onward. The gate to the Observatorium was just ahead. It would not do to keep the lady waiting any longer than she already had… but it would be quite a shame if he were to come all this way, and neglect to tie up the loose ends that still remained. The stones of Camp Dragonhead were just visible on the snowy boundary, but his mistress would doubtless be asleep at the moment. His eyes lingered on the tower. There were preparations that needed to be made first…
...that would, it seemed, have to wait. Chesterfield stopped, tweeting cautiously and shuffling in place, as a loud crack echoed through the mountains. “Easy, sir.†A white pup loped swiftly through the snow nearby, spooked by the sudden split in the wintry silence. He raised his eyes to Camp Dragonhead, squinting through the snow and darkness. Too loud for a simple accident, and too clear above the roar of wind… He learned forward, murmuring. “Haste, Chesterfield, if you please.†He had heard that, by means of ancient magic or tricks of Garlean technology, the word itself might under other circumstances invoke a sudden surge of actual, raw, physical speed. He had no such resources at his disposal, but Chesterfield raced forward all the same, snow crackling under the bird’s talons on the road to Camp Dragonhead.
By the time he reached the grand archway, it was clear that the majority of the chaos was over, but the sight that greeted him provided more questions than it did answers. He tightened his grip on the reins, slowing Chesterfield as he surveyed the camp with eyebrow raised. Weary soldiers, dragging aevis corpses by the tails down from the battlements--Gideon hid the briefest of winces as one was tugged down the stairs, its battered chin thudding on step after step. An ambush, perhaps, or a guardsman’s patrol gone awry; either way, despite the number of carcasses being toted down from the heights, he spied no civilized casualties. Whatever measures they had taken had been ruthlessly effective, though he had to wonder at the sight of the dragonkiller being carefully calibrated, turned inward to face the bare ramparts. What circumstances could demand firing such an instrument on the camp itself?
The camp was still fairly quiet. With no medics on the scene, and no sign of concern or panic from the triumphant sentries, it had likely been quite a contained incident. The mistress either had stayed removed from the fray, or missed the event entirely--which, the valet concluded, meant that this whole affair was not his business unless otherwise specified. He took one last glance out of the southern archway, the tower of academics barely visible through the sloping fog and the darkness. Personal affairs, as always, would and must come second to duties. He quietly showed Chesterfield to the camp’s chocobokeep, and made his way inside--with neither intent nor need to sleep, he set to work.
--
As light filtered down through the windows of Edda's room, the sounds of clinking silver and the gentle bubbling of poured tea made for a strange departure from the usual morning sounds. It seemed someone was in the room with her as she awakened--making his way quietly to her bedside table, and setting a tray of warm pastry and hot tea down alongside her; trying to work as quietly as possible. Edda stirred awake out of her potion-induced sleep, buried under the thick blankets of the bed, the top of her head barely visible. She poked her head out of the top of her blanket to look at the sound of motion with groggy eyes. For some reason, the prospect of someone being in her room in an unfamiliar place did not startle her as much as it should. She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to focus them. "M'jh-" She blinked. This was Dragonhead. "Gideon...?"
"Good morning, Miss." He spoke in low tones, as if trying not to wake her still. "You will be pleased to know that I arrived in quite short order, and with several days' worth of extra insulation. I could not imagine what led to a deficit in clothing in such wintry regions, but you may rest assured that I have come prepared to resolve the matter." He straightened. "Your breakfast is on the nightstand. I shall immediately begin laundering the items worn thus far in your journey."
Edda did not move, perfectly content to stay under the safe, warm blankets for just a while longer. Her eyes stayed trained on Gideon, becoming more adjusted to the cold air of the room, and the pull of consciousness. "That is alright," she said as he moved for her clothes. "I cleaned them last night. Spare yourself the trouble."
"It is no trouble, Miss..." Despite his words, he sighed, stopping--surveying her bedroom with a critical eye, as if looking for some way to make himself useful. "Is there anything in the merchant's stalls that Miss requires, perhaps? How may I best assist Miss?"
Edda sat up in bed and leaned forward, resting her hands on her lap. She had worn a pair of long, black gloves to bed, ones that came up to her forearms. She yawned lazily, before eyeing the breakfast. "I cannot think of anything." She frowned, and shivered. Her sleeping potion supply was now down to one, though it was not something that could be simply bought. "More wood for the fire, I suppose. It is dreadfully cold in the morning..."
"Perhaps Miss would be inclined to wear more comfortable sleeping attire?" He examined her thoughtfully for a moment. "I am told that native Coerthans have been known to craft what are essentially cocoons of blanket, that they might sleep more comfortably." Still, he bowed. "I shall see to the fireplace with all due haste, Miss. I will be happy to assist you with any matters of concern or luxury during your stay."
Edda frowned. "You need not push yourself so early on, and in this... cold." She shivered again, and swung her legs out of bed. Her sleeping clothes were more suited to the short chill of the Shroud than anything, and so she gladly reached for the hot tea, not bothering to cool it before taking a sip.
"No pushing is involved, Miss. Surely I have described my function before?" He set a folded cloth down  on the silver platter; for no obvious purpose other than presentation. "Is there truly no facility in which I may advise?"
Edda took a bite of the pastry, and chewed in a contemplative silence. "Roen is here," she said in a neutral tone, and looked up at Gideon, gauging his reaction.
He paused, for a fraction of a moment, then moved to the window--withdrawing the handkerchief from his own pocket and patiently rubbing at the frosty remnants on the glass. "Indeed, Miss? Are there any duties you would have me carry out on her behalf, then?"
"Not in particular." She paused and looked down at her breakfast. "I am not here for leisure. I imagine I will have great need of you in the next several suns. And yet, I would be happy if you took care of your own needs before my own. Do you understand?"
He sighed, with as much patience as he could display without it seeming facetious. "I will endeavor to toe said line, Miss, although my needs as ever remain quite negligible."
Edda looked at the man with a wondering expression. "Do you not wish to speak with her?"
"I have no particular feeling one way or the other, Miss." He continued to clean the window. The frost was not cooperating. "I presume if she had any desire to speak to me, she would have done so."
Edda looked down at her lap, as if scolded. "I see," she said quietly. "I take it you did not encounter the Au Ra upon your arrival?"
"Not any immediately remarkable, Miss." He sounded politely bemused, turning his head to look at her directly. "Somewhat more pressing was the commotion that drew me to the Camp with such haste in the first place. It seems there was some manner of incursion in the dark hours of the morning; a small band of draconic assailants, from what I could gather. I hastened to join the fray at the sound of cannonfire, but it seems the matter was already resolved by the time I reached the grounds. I did not pause to scrutinize each guardsman attending to the mess. I merely inquired as to your lodgings, settled in, and began preparing for your morning.†He scrutinized her for a moment, and then spoke, with as little guile as possible. “Has Miss a newfound acquaintance?"
"I am not sure I would categorize him as such," she said glumly. She finished off her pastry and began to make short work of her tea. "I have agreed to guide him to Ishgard. He has a tendency of poor behavior - though that is not quite his fault - and can be infuriatingly taciturn. I would appreciate whatever insight you may have to offer, when you meet him."
He smiled thinly. "I am not unfamiliar with such remarks, Miss. Perhaps the gentleman will be more forthcoming to a servant rather than a woman of Miss's distinction."
"On the contrary, I do not think he would be able to differentiate between us at all." A small smile tugged at her lips, but it was not one of happiness. "He is mostly ignorant when it comes to Eorzean procedures and culture. I do think it would be futile to educate him beyond the basics, but... I would know what his intentions are."
"Then I shall do what I may to attend to his customs, Miss, and thereby gain his favor in your stead." He pocketed the kerchief again, nodding to Edda. "If that is all, I will leave you to your morning preparations, Miss."
Edda nodded once, before flopping on her back and looking up at the ceiling. "Thank you," she said, and closed her eyes. She would not be able to sleep, but the fatigue of the past two days had begun to take its toll, and not even the rest from that night had fully assuaged the dull ache in her arms. "That... that should be all, yes," she murmured.
He watched her for another quiet moment, thoughtfully, then let himself out with a delicate smoothness. "I will be here if needed." The door clicked behind him.
--
“Miss Medguistl, I believe? I do beg your pardon.†The chef looked sidelong at him--the dapper Hyur, with an apron over a Sunsilk tuxedo and curious bundles in his arms, made for an odd visitor. “If I might make use of miss’s unneeded culinary tools, for the moment? You will hardly notice my presence, I assure you.â€
“Do you waltz in and commandeer the stoves of an entire frontline camp so easily?†She frowned, watching him begin to set up at the spare boilers to her left, unwrapping produce and meat from the thin papers. “I am disinclined to allow amateurs free reign in my kitchen.â€
“There I must take issue with miss.†As the soldiers outside began to stir in the morning sunlight, North began slicing the chanterelle mushrooms, focused and deft. “I think you will find I am no amateur.â€
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