Part Three

The year 652

Haar

Yes, Commander Shiharam. Of course; there is nothing here for me. I will not work under anyone else … anything is better than serving those hot-headed senators.

"Haar!" A finger jabbed his shoulder, a mist of hot breath on his ear.

"What? I'm up."

"No, you're not!" Jill sat back on the floor cross-legged, where they had set up the parcels for distribution. He had only planned to rest for a minute...

"Hmm?" He sat up when he noticed the small boy standing in the doorway. It was one of the kids from town. "What is it?"

"Mr. Haar!" The boy bounced on the balls of his feet. "There's an envoy here to see you!"

Jill snickered as he rubbed his forehead, groaning. "Another one?"

Once the war had ended—and what a strange war it was, battling a goddess—Haar officially retired from combat. Enough was enough. But Queen Micaiah didn't seem to understand that. She continued to send messengers to Talrega, and the poor kids were continually sent away with the same reply: No, I'm not returning to the army. He was over forty years old. He had served various countries since he was fifteen, had participated in two major wars. He didn't want it anymore.

"Tell him to go away," Haar said, returning to the mess on the floor.

But the kid continued to bounce on his feet. "It's Queen Micaiah herself!"

He sighed. "Don't tell me you left the queen waiting in the cold, boy."

"It's not terribly cold, Sir Haar." Queen Micaiah appeared in the doorway. She and the boy exchanged a smile, and he giggled before running away.

Jill scrambled to her feet, bowing her head before the queen, but Haar couldn't be bothered to rise. Didn't it count for something that they had fought together? She may have a fancy title now, but he still saw her as the simple girl she was before. And so did she, if his memory hadn't failed him.

"I hope you didn't come all the way out here to talk me into working again," Haar said. "I would hate to see our fair queen waste her time."

Micaiah smiled. "Don't think you're that important," she replied, enjoying the banter. "I happened to be passing through, and thought I would pay some old friends a visit."

"And talk them into joining the army again."

She shrugged. "That would be a fortunate byproduct, I must admit."

Jill had already put the kettle on the hearth, heating water for tea. Haar stared down at the litter of cargo on the floor. Their table, too, was covered, a failed attempt to organize old receipts. Of course, now it meant their regal visitor had nowhere to set the cup of tea Jill handed to her. Such a good hostess, that girl.

Queen Micaiah was good on her word; she didn't remain long. Her presence was unsettling to Haar. There was the life of war, and there was the life at home, and the two were never meant to mingle. He denied her offer of a military position—again—and she did not press further. He was grateful when Jill walked her out; they chatted briefly out of earshot before she returned.

"Why do you always do that?" she huffed, slamming the door.

"Do what?"

"You could be a little nicer about saying no." She prepared another cup of tea, passing it to him before sitting back on the floor.

"Maybe she'll get it this time." The tea was mint, and he breathed it in deeply.

Jill sighed heavily and pushed a small stack of parcels toward him. "Come on, Haar. Let's finish this. We should get these deliveries out tomorrow."

He tried his best to not nap again; it would be nicer to finish the work and actually sleep in a bed. Jill sat close by, reaching over his lap for a delivery document. She could just have easily asked him to pass it, but he had to admit he liked her radiating warmth. Better than any cup of tea, anyway.

She peered up from the papers, catching his yawn. "Why don't you go to sleep," she said. "There's not much left. I can take care of it."

"You sure?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? For a second, it sounded like you preferred work over sleep."

"Hmph." He stood, feeling his joints creak on the way up. "Good night, Jill." It was not until he closed the bedroom door that he heard her rustling around again. He leaned against the wall and sighed.

He flopped onto the bed in his clothes, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. This had been his commander's bedroom, all those years ago. Every day he thought of that battle, of sneaking into the Crimean camp to talk Jill out of fighting. At least she had listened. The last thing he wanted was for her to see her father in a losing fight. Shiharam had known, of course. If we are defeated in the end, I want you to care for the survivors and their families. His survivor. His family.

At some point he'd fallen asleep, because he woke to a blinding stream of sunlight. He stumbled out to find the main room empty, looking much larger than the previous night now that it was emptied of boxes. What in blazes is she doing? There was a note on the table.

H- Didn't want to wake you. Taking care of the deliveries. Back soon. -J

She didn't want to wake him? That was an unexpected change of pace.

He dropped the note back on the table, deciding it was time to take a walk into town.

The chilly morning air always helped. It was seldom he was awake this time of day—or any time of day, he thought—but there was something fresh and new about the early hours just after sunrise. He turned onto the main road, nodding to those who greeted him in passing, mechanically taking the route to the cemetery. No other visitors were there, for which he was grateful.

"Sorry I haven't been around," he said, sitting at Shiharam's grave. "I didn't even think to bring flowers or anything. Oh well, you don't care about that stuff, do you?"

It would be stupid to believe Shiharam could hear him, but his memory was fading with the passing years. Not his companionship or his lessons, but him. His personality; his smile. Coming here to talk brought him back, if only for a little while.

"Jill's grown in a fine young lady," he said, bowing his head. "Twenty-nine, can you believe it? Remember when she was a kid, and she wanted to come live with me?" He chuckled softly. "She got her wish, anyway. Not surprised, are you?"

It struck him suddenly how neat the grave was. The others were slightly overgrown: weeds crawling over the stones, bird droppings streaking their surfaces. Shiharam's still looked the same it did the day it was set in the ground. It hadn't been Haar. It had been months since he last visited, often preoccupied with other matters.

"Looks like she still takes care of you," he said with a sigh. "Goddess bless her."

"Haar?"

He craned his neck up, unsurprised. "Jill."

She set down a wrapped parcel from the market—presumably some sort of meat—before sitting beside him. Instinctively, she roped her arm through his.

"It's been a while since I've seen you here," she said.

"Guess I got busy. Do you visit a lot?"

"Not as much as I used to." She bit down on her lip, like she felt guilty. "Haar..." She hesitated. He recognized the tone in her voice, so similar to the one that had been playing in his head, over and over, the past few months. But try as he might, he couldn't put together the words that would follow. All his senses were aware of her arm in the crook of his elbow; her skin sweated slightly and she smelled like the grime of the market. She stood up suddenly, abandoning her thoughts, and gathered the parcel. "I'm going to head back."

He sat by the grave longer than he had intended. Making up for lost time, he supposed. But he had to leave. The flood of memories was going to drown him.

When he returned home, Jill had already started roasting the meat for dinner. He continued to marvel at their domesticity, like there was something normal about their arrangement. She's the daughter of my dead teacher. He shook his head.

"Welcome back," Jill said from the table. She had been writing something, and acted completely casual when she balled it up and tossed it into the fire. "I thought you had fallen asleep at the cemetery."

"I did." He sat across from her, feeling the heat of the hearth on his face. "Jill..." There it was, that tone of voice. "Is something the matter?" It was a cheap shot. Because he wasn't able to calm the voice in his head, he was putting her on the spot to do it.

"Hmm? No, everything's fine."

"What were you writing?"
She looked into the fire, like it would offer a suggestion, like the parchment hadn't already singed. "Nothing in particular. I... thought I'd write to Zihark, but it wasn't coming out right."

Zihark? His pulse beat hard in his neck.

Jill hastily stood to flip the meat, prodding it with a fork to hoist it onto its back. Haar had cooked enough slabs of meat to know it was far too early to be messing with it. The underside was still pink, matching the color of Jill's cheeks.

"Haar..." She kept her back to him, overseasoning the meat. "Do you think... I mean... how do you feel about me?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he asked, buying time to make up the excuses. "You've been attached to me all your life. You know I care for you, Jill."

"And not just because of my father?" She turned to face him, after sprinkling far too much spice on the meat. His nostrils burned, even from a distance.

"This again?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You are not an obligation. I'm not a babysitter, fulfilling some duty of a man that's..." He stopped.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eye. It was like her very life force rushed through him with that touch, creeping from his shoulder and into his chest. It intensified when she squeezed. "I know. I'm sorry."

She went outside, slamming the door behind her. Haar stared at the meat, then stood to scrape off the piled spices with a knife. He flipped it again and followed Jill outside.

She hadn't gone far. She sat beside the front door, leaning her head against the stone exterior. Haar stood in the threshold, arms crossed, the smell of meat wafting through the open door.

"I'm an old man," Haar said, staring aimlessly at the woods beyond. Jill looked up, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"No, you're not," she said.

"You really think that?"

"Yes." She hugged her knees to her chest. They remained silent for a while, listening to the soft whistle of a passing breeze. "I put too much spice on the meat," Jill said eventually.

He smirked. "I fixed it." He could tell by the slight strain of her jaw that she returned the smile.

"I'm sorry, my old friend." Haar dangled off the side of his wyvern; they had flown too high, he couldn't see the land. Daein was down there, somewhere, and he thought maybe, if he let go, he could land on his feet, but he would be lost to his beastie forever...

"I'm here," said a voice below, close by. When he looked, it was through both eyes. The expanded view was a bright white, too blinding to see. "Let go."

"But Commander..."

"Haar?" There was a gentle shove at his shoulder.

The sky faded. He opened an eye, disorientated by the sudden darkness. He could see the outline of a shadow beside him, could feel a hand on his arm. "Jill? It's the middle of the night."

"And you're asleep on the kitchen floor." He squinted as her face came into focus. "Are you... okay?"

She was kneeling on the floor, still wearing her day clothes. Her hair was out of its customary ponytail and it pooled around her legs, falling across his torso as she leaned over him. A strand tickled his hand, and he found himself weaving the lock between his fingers. It was softer than he imagined, like a child's.

Like it was twenty years ago. He tried to ignore the small voice within him.

"Hey," Jill said. She was still leaned over him, and he realized he hadn't said anything yet.

"Mmm." It was something.

He sat up and rubbed his shoulder, stiff from the hard wood floor. His other hand still held her hair and she watched as he weaved it through his fingers, slowly. When she looked up, her face inches from his own, he had trouble focusing due to its close proximity. He watched her eyes trace his features. He didn't fail to notice that they hesitated at his lips before looking up. Goddess help me.

"Well," she said eventually, "I would've dragged you to your room myself, but thought it would be nicer to wake you up."

She continued talking. She said something, then there was a nervous giggle, and it was the middle of the night and her hand was still on his arm (why hadn't it dropped when he sat up?) and there was more of her hair through his fingers. He tilted his head, slightly, and she abruptly stopped talking when his lips brushed her jaw. The hand holding his arm tightened its grip. "Good night, Jill," he said, hastily rising.

He thought he heard a soft "Good night, Haar" as he closed the door.

"Commander..."

"Don't be a fool, Haar. You're my second-in-command for a reason. Use your head."

He hardly spoke to anyone as he transported cargo the following day, and there was more than one occasion that he almost delivered to the wrong location. Thank the goddess for his wyvern—he seemed to know what was going on more than Haar did. It was a relief when all the day's shipments had been delivered, but he was ready to go home yet. Instead, he parked his wyvern by the chapel and went inside. He was in no mood to visit the cemetery, but maybe prayers would be okay.

He stared up at the shrine of Ashunera. It still felt strange seeing her there; it wasn't that long ago that the space was occupied by Ashera. So many things had changed. So many of Her rules had been nullified. What was right anymore? Haar suspected he should start attending chapel regularly, but that would mean getting out of bed earlier on his day off. It's a small sacrifice, I guess. He sat in the front pew, looking up at the goddess's serene face.

"Inside the chapel? I thought I'd never see the day." He hadn't heard the front doors open, but he listened to Jill's footsteps as she came down the aisle. When she sat beside him, she immediately reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. He didn't have the strength or the motivation to pull away. "I saw your beastie out back," she said, before he could ask. "Talk to me."

He stared at their intertwined hands. "I can't even ask your father..." He shook his head. "I watched you grow up, Jill. I used to change your diapers, for goodness sake."

"Actually, according to my father, you could never get them back on. So it doesn't count."

He snickered, but it wasn't enough to keep the solemnity from his face. "And you don't think that's weird?"

"Haar, look at me." She dropped his hand and sat sideways on the pew, and she wouldn't speak again until he did the same. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"I know that."

"So stop acting like I am, okay?"

"Do you even know what you're saying?" He stared at the floor but she placed a finger on his jaw, pushing his face back toward her. There was a fire in those eyes, an intensity he remembered from the wars. But it wasn't about getting her way, not like it was when she was a kid. She was fighting with him to understand her, but she couldn't possibly know just how much he understood. How he had always understood.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." She kissed his cheek, but it wasn't anything like the brief kiss he gave her the previous night: It was forceful and spent. She leaned her forehead on his temple, pressing against the strap of his eye patch. He saw only a wisp of red hair in his peripheral vision before it disappeared, Jill rushing back down the aisle.

"Hang on." She stopped, but didn't turn. Her shoulders tensed; she squeezed her hands into fists at her sides. But he hadn't planned on what to say after calling out. He just knew that he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to be alone in the empty chapel.

"You're an idiot," she said, shaking her head, her ponytail whipping across her back. "If you don't know by now that I love you, you really are an idiot."

"Of course I know, Jill," he said. "But—"

"Just leave me alone." She disappeared before he had finished standing up.

He hung his head, defeated, then lied down across the pew. The shrine of Ashunera smiled down at him, as if comforting him. He flung an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. If you don't know by now...

His wyvern was howling behind the chapel. Haar yawned. He knew that he should go home, that the creature was complaining that he was taking so long inside. The chapel was dark. He had no idea what time it was.

Haar stumbled outside as he rubbed the sleep from his eye. When he rounded the building, he was surprised to see that his wyvern wasn't alone. You tricky beast, he thought, approaching the sleeping figure at its wing.

It was a lifetime ago that he had watched Jill sleep. The night air was cold, and she was curled on the ground with her legs tucked into her chest. Her hair was loose, spilling over her body like a blanket. He sat beside her and cupped the back of her head.

Jill nuzzled his arm, emitting a soft groan. He hadn't meant to wake her—he would have been happy just sitting there, watching. But she opened her eyes, slowly, like she was unsure what she was doing, or where she was. Still, she didn't move when he stroked the back of her neck, when he traced her jawline with his thumb. "C'mon, let's go home," he whispered. She nodded sleepily. The wyvern grunted. "You go home, too," Haar said. "I'll take it from here." Instead, the beast lied his head on the ground and tucked in his wings.

Jill smiled. "Like master, like beastie."

She held his hand on the walk home, which was an improvement, even if she wouldn't look at him. But he constantly glanced down at her. How did she manage all that hair? He wanted to feel it slide through his fingers again. He opened the front door, stepping aside so she could enter first.

"I'm sorry," he said. Jill stopped just outside her bedroom door. "I am an idiot."

"I know." Her hand gripped the door handle, but she didn't push it open.

"Jill, do you want..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Please stay with me tonight."

He thought she would have hesitated, but she had slid under the blanket like she already belonged there. Jill fell asleep long before he did. Haar hadn't expected anything to happen—he hadn't wanted it—he just wanted his arm around her, he wanted to feel her head nuzzled against his chest. He combed his fingers through her hair, fascinated that no matter how far he stretched his arm, he couldn't reach the ends. As he traced circles on her shoulder, staring at the curved shape of her body beneath the blanket, he was struck by a new sensation: He didn't want to sleep.

But there was no resisting a man's natural urges.

Per the norm, Jill left long before Haar woke the next day. It was just as well. He wasn't sure how he would face her, how he wouldn't see her father staring back at him. But the right side of the bed felt cold. He spied a strand of long, red hair on the pillow. He didn't brush it off.

The day progressed slowly. His wyvern was irritable as they traveled from one side of Talrega to the other, twice over. The town wasn't even that big, and the beast complained whenever Haar strapped on another parcel. "Will you cut it out?" he muttered, climbing onto his back. "Come on."

But it wasn't the first time they shared the same mood. Haar tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but all he wanted to do was go home. At the same time, he was too anxious to face her.

He decided to take a small detour. It had been ages since he and his beast had done anything besides cargo transport, and they both needed to stretch their wings. He felt the tension ease as they flew higher, far above Talrega, breaking through the clouds. A fine mist sprinkled his face. "You don't mind if I take a quick nap, do you buddy?" His wyvern grunted in approval. At least, that's how he took it.

"Ow. Ow." Something was jabbing him in the thigh. He opened an eye, peering down at the tip of a spear.

"Only you could fall asleep while flying." He smirked as he sat up, staring at her. Her hair flew wildly around her face, its color blending with the setting sun. Her posture was impeccable, even with the heavy spear balanced in one hand. He dodged another of her attacks, pulling his beast away as she tried to prod his thigh again.

"You know that hurts," he said, rubbing his leg.

"Race you to that overlook," she said, pointing the spear at a distant mountain.

His reply was only pulling at the reins, and he felt the shudder of his beast's body as it let out an angry growl. "Don't let me down, boy," he mumbled, bending low over his neck. He laughed at Jill's cries of cheating as they bolted off. His hair smacked his forehead, the wind burning his exposed skin as he whipped the reins. He glanced over his shoulder. Jill was a blur of green as she tried to catch up.

His wyvern skidded to a stop when they reached the overlook and he slid off, laughing as he stroked the beast's neck. "Now that's my boy."

"You didn't wait for me to say go," Jill said, hovering over the cliff. "That shouldn't count as a win."

"C'mon, Jill. You've fought enough battles to know the rules."

"What rules?" She asked, but she smiled. She swung a leg over her wyvern, preparing to drop down before landing, and Haar stood below to catch her. She slid into his open arms, holding onto his shoulders long after her feet touched the ground.

She sauntered to the edge of the overlook, sitting on the ledge. The ground was dangerously far below, but they were unconcerned with two wyverns keeping guard behind them. Haar sat down beside her.

"You can only sit here if you don't fall asleep," she said, stretching her body over the open air. He put an arm across her torso to push her back.

"I have control over my napping, you know."

"Could've fooled me."

Haar watched Talrega in the distance, a speck of activity on the landscape. Tiny people were bustling in the streets, one last thing before nightfall: visiting a friend, or gathering water, or rounding up the livestock. The chapel's steeple was like a beacon, the sunset glinting off its spire. Scanning the cemetery, even from this distance, he knew exactly which marker bore Shiharam's name.

"We'll always live under his shadow, won't we?" he said.

"I wouldn't call it a shadow," Jill replied. "He'll always be a part of us, but he would've wanted us to live our own lives. That's why you came to Daein, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

She kicked her heels against the ledge, and tiny pebbles tumbled down its surface. "What was Begnion like? I don't remember it at all."

Haar shrugged nonchalantly. "You saw it in the wars. It was a lot like that, except they were more secretive about it. Your father was right to leave. We would've hated it."

"You and my father, or you and me?"

He paused. "All of us."

It felt good, talking about him. And for the first time in years, Jill wanted to hear the stories. He recalled their early days in Daein, the way Jill used to cling to him. ("I did not!" she said, laughing.) The way her father doted on her, letting her ride a wyvern by herself long before she should have. ("At least you didn't fall off.") How Shiharam felt it best that, when Jill joined the platoon, she work only under Captain Haar. ("Was that really my father's preference, or mine?") They watched the sun set over the hills, Jill laughing at his tales, Haar freely sharing them. Letting them go.

"Daein really is a beautiful country, isn't it?" she said, watching the last sliver of orange disappear over the horizon. "Why don't we come up here more often?"

"It interrupts my naps." She playfully smacked his thigh.

Haar took her hand, sliding his fingers in between hers. She lifted her head as a flock of hawks passed overhead. No matter how much time passed, he was still surprised when laguz crossed over their country. But things had changed, had they not? They lived in an era where beorc and laguz could interact, where order and chaos were as balanced as they were going to be. And yet...

"Marry me, Jill."

He felt her surprise through his fingers: Her body stiffened, her feet stopped kicking the ledge. But then she smirked. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. "What took you so long?"

He inhaled deeply, held it in, then released it slowly. "Anxiety. Fear. Name it."

"All this time?"

He nodded.

Haar closed his eye when her fingertips brushed down his cheek, his nose, his lips. He rested his forehead against hers, her hand crawling to the back of his neck. "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"No."

He felt her breath on his mouth and he knew; he knew he'd needed this for years; he knew he had been a fool to wait. This feeling had first stirred during the last war, when his chest ached to see her fight for the other side, when he pleaded for her to join him. Come with me, Jill. He meant it then; he meant it now. Her lips pressed against his—finally—and he grabbed her around her waist, and he couldn't calm the furious beat of his heart.

It was over too quickly.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, and she laughed as she pulled him closer, burying her face in his neck.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled and damp against his skin.

He looked out over Talrega. It was by chance that they settled there; it was the wicked plot of a wicked ruler to dispose of them. But in the end, hadn't they been happy? They made it their home. Despite the wars, despite his extended absences, this was his home, too. Shiharam knew it, and he was only beginning to feel it himself.

Jill pulled away and he kissing her temple, a breeze fluttering over them. Her fingers looped through his belt. After all they had been through, it wasn't over. It was far from over.