#guillerme

"What makes a knight?"

Ement was still breathing hard from a session with the training dummy machine, and was only half paying attention to the Hyur currently lecturing him as he took a swig from his water skin. It wasn't that his training wasn't important to him, it was, it was just hard to pay attention to Guillerme after the mechanical menace had gotten near to tanning his hide.

Guillerme continued. "Is it their sword, their shield? The armor that they wear? The oaths that they swear? Holiness before the Holy See? Dedication? Service? Power? Birth? Of course, a knight is many things, but it's important that you know what a knight is to you, little lordling."

Ement allowed himself to be distracted further by listening to the count of bells in the distance. At the fourth of what would be five of them, Ement heard the door to the training room being opened and then closed again. He glanced over to see his little sister, Zoissette, enter the room and sit at her customary table.

She took a book out, and set her logbook next to it, as she always did. And then, blank faced, she stared at the wall.

That was weird. Normally she'd either get right into reading, or would be watching for a moment to babble about her day.

Guillerme noticed Ement's gaze, looked over, grunted, and looked back to Ement. Ement shrugged at him. "What's the matter, boy?" asked Guillerme. "Couldn't find a girl at the Scholasticate to come moon over your martial prowess?"

"Couldn't I?" asked Ement, looking up at the ceiling. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to go looking for one there, but I suppose they have a few. I hear they've allowed them for generations now." He looked back down at Guillerme. "...I think something's worrying her."

Guillerme sighed. "I suppose a knight must show fealty to family. Take a break, go, tend to your sister, if you must."

Ement nodded, putting his wooden practice sword and shield aside before making his way to Zoissette's table and sitting across from her.

She can be such a brat, he thought. Nowadays she tended to the younger twins when she had to, trailed after her brother when she could, and escaped to her books when she couldn't.

Regardless, he sat down across from her, and immediately felt awkward about it. Nobody'd taught him how to be an older brother. He only knew he wasn't going to be like their mother, and he knew a little bit about how to be like their father. The good parts. The parts that had sage wisdom and kindness and an always open ear.

Not the parts that were absent for large parts of the year tending to the spiritual needs of a congregation.

Too much thinking. He shook his head.

"What's got my sister grumpy, I wonder?" said Ement, lightly, cheerfully.

"Something went wrong today," said Zoissette quietly.

Ement nodded and took a swig of his water skin. He knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in for long, whatever it was. And sure enough, her eyes were already starting to do that thing where they wandered around the room a bit as she gathered her thoughts.

Some kind of mental thinking... thing. He didn't pretend to understand. She was just a little weird like that.

"It was while I was running luncheon errands during school hours. There is a new kid in our class. I don't know them. But I guess the others did. I was going back to school when I came across them in the street. The others were making fun of the new kid. They called them a bastard and a heretic. They - I think they were trying to get back to school. But the others, they wouldn't let them pass. They shoved them to the ground at one point. They - they let me by, though. I didn't stop. I think-

"I think they were throwing stones by the time I'd left."

She fell silent.

"Hells, that's rough," said Ement quietly. "Stones?"

Zoissette nodded.

"Probably was a bastard."

"That shouldn't matter!" yelled Zoissette, standing up. Ement held his hands up and tried to wave her down.

"Easy, easy. Not saying that makes it right, but that's probably what it was."

Zoissette glared before sitting back down just as abruptly as she had stood up, deflating as her anger fled her as fast as it'd arrived.

"...it shouldn't have mattered."

"No, it shouldn't have," said Ement agreeably. "We're all told to be kind to the Greystones, or at least as kind to them as we are to everyone else, but nobody is, and that's just the way things are."

"It shouldn't be."

"You're right. It shouldn't be."

Zoissette went still, seeming to have run out of energy, and Ement considered the matter closed.

"Hey. Hey, look. I'll talk to father, he'll talk to the headmistress, and they'll get it all sorted, alright? It's good that you told someone. I'll take care of it from here."

Zoissette just nodded, and Ement slapped the top of the table as he stood up.

"Alright. Go ahead and get started studying, I need to finish my training," he said, walking over to Guillerme.

Guillerme studied Zoissette for a long moment before turning his attention to Ement.

"So tell me, young Ement," said Guillerme, getting right back to it. "What makes a knight?"

Ement looked to Zoissette and waited until she noticed, and he gave her his best reassuring smile.

"Being brave and defending the smallfolk, of course," he said. Guillerme rolled his eyes and cuffed him on the side of the head. Ement tried to duck, and failed, but laughed even as the hit landed.

"Take this -seriously-, lad. Dragon's not gonna give you a break so you can strut around preening your feathers. If you're gonna show off, wait until you're off my time," Guillerme groused. "A round of calisthenics oughta get somma that cheek outta you."

The training continued for the day, in a somewhat more physical vein, until Ement was exhausted. He glanced over at Zoissette a few times and noticed that she was paying rather more attention to the proceedings than usual.

Well, no matter. She'd had a bad day, and she'd be back to her usual self on the morrow, he mused.

---

"The new kid wasn't at school today," said Zoissette almost immediately after she'd taken her seat at her table.

Ement was busy loading up the training dummy machine with weights, and only responded with a grunt. Guillerme crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"And what of it, girl?" said Guillerme.

"They were pulled out by their parents. Going to one of the settlements, the headmistress said. She said they'd be a better fit there," said Zoissette. "She didn't mention anything about what happened earlier this sennight."

"Well, father said he'd talk to her," said Ement, loading up another weight. "Guess that must've happened."

Zoissette looked down at the table. "They'd been hurt real bad. I saw them the day after. They were blue and purple and holding their arm, and they... nobody could get near them. They'd keep moving away. I wanted to... I wanted to talk to them, but they were avoiding everyone.

"It's not fair."

Guillerme laughed. "Life is not fair, girl," he said. "Just be glad your little friend is probably safer now."

"They weren't a friend," said Zoissette. "I certainly was no friend to them," she paused, and mumbled, "Might've been easier to do something if they were a friend."

Gullerme snorted, and Ement stepped back from the training dummy. "It's wound up and ready to go," said Ement. "...I think, anyway. Might need to ask mother or father if we can spare the coin for another one. This one's gone all stiff. I'm surprised it still moves."

"Still hits hard enough for me," said Guillerme, as he inspected Ement's work. "It's noisy and it's bothersome but it gets the job done, now don't it? Alright. Your block game is weak. Grab a shield."

Ement groaned and rolled his eyes as he grabbed the wooden training shield off the wall.

"None of that. You think a dragon'll maybe stick to what you like if you grump at it hard enough? Stand up straight, boy. Look it in the eyes. A knight does not shy away from what must needs be done."

Ement rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, and nodded his head, and looked into the training dummy machine's 'eyes', which were really just two spots painted on the top most rotating section.

"I want to be a knight."

Ement and Guillerme looked over at Zoissette.

"Come again?" asked Guillerme.

"I want to be a knight," said Zoissette, standing next to her table, her head up and fists balled at her sides.

"Fine, you're a knight," said Ement, looking back to the training dummy.

"You're not taking me seriously," said Zoissette.

Ement groaned.  "Fine. Let's talk about it. A knight?" he asked, lightly. He gestured with his shield at Guillerme. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but being a knight means training, and that means Guillerme here gets another victim."

Guillerme snorted as Ement continued. "It means more than just reading rules. It means quite a lot of getting turned into meal by this bloody grindstone over here."

Zoissette stuck her nose up in the air. "I know what it means. It means being brave and strong and standing up for the smallfolk and doing the right thing."

Guillerme held out a hand towards Ement, and Ement nodded, falling silent.

"What do you mean by brave, girl."

Zoissette looked at Guillerme, and her eyes danced around the room a bit.

"...it means not being afraid."

"That's what you think, is it? Let me tell you a thing or two. Dragons don't care if you're afraid or not, and if you're not afraid of a dragon, you are a fool."

Zoissette shifted back and forth on her feet, but her gaze drifted to Guillerme, and then it stayed there.

"A knight would face a dragon anyway."

"Hells, true. But not because they're a knight. You don't get brave being a knight. You are brave, and that's what lets you be a knight. You want to be a knight? You do the right thing first. You want to be brave? You gotta figure out what it is first, girl, but I'll give you that one for free. It's when you're scared so bad you've messed your pants, but you do what needs to be done anyway.

"Figure that out. Maybe then we can talk about what it is to be a knight."

Guillerme turned from Zoissette and gestured at Ement. "And I hope you were paying attention. Get to your drills."

Ement nodded, and he set the mechanical training dummy to running. The next time he was able to spare a glance for Zoissette, she had sat back down at her table, but she wasn't studying her books.

---

"What's all the training for," asked Zoissette, without preamble. "You said a knight doesn't train to be brave, but you have to be brave to be a knight, so that's not what the training is for. Is it all entirely just to fight dragons?"

It had been a quiet day in the training room. Ement had been repairing the straps on the training shield while Guillerme inspected the room's armaments. The two stopped now.

"Not... entirely," said Guillerme, rolling his words around in his mouth a bit as he thought. "Tell me about the other day. About your not-a -friend. What do you wish you had done?"

Zoissette frowned, and swallowed, and when she spoke next her voice had a subtle shake to it. "I should have said something. I should have told the others to leave them alone. I should have done anything except - except I kept walking and- and- and I pretended I didn't see anything."

"And then what, girl?" Asked Guillerme, his voice gentle.

"And then what?" asked Zoissette, looking at him.

"And then what. You talk to them. You think that would have, what? Stopped them?  You think your words alone would scare them off? Perhaps you think they would have said, ah, well, yes. This girl has the right of it. We should listen to her?"

Zoissette looked down at the table. "I don't know."

"One of the things a knight must needs consider is the consequences of their actions. Not just for good, but also for ill. Maybe your words would have been enough. Maybe it would've staved them off. But maybe it would've just turned their ire to you. And when there's anger in their bellies and stones in their hands, what then, girl?"

Zoissette looked to the training dummy. "...I'd tell the kid they were hurting to run. And... I'd stay, I guess. Get between them and the others. And... and fight."

"And fight. Violence is persuasion through other means, girl, and a knight is ready to use it when needed. We hope it doesn't come to it, oh how we hope, but hope bleeds eternal and it don't keep the smallfolk safe. You'll do well to remember that."

Zoissette nodded, and at last fell quiet. Ement turned his attention to the shield he was repairing.

Guillerme looked thoughtful for a long bit.

"Don't forget to review your Squire's Primer, lad," he said, distracted.

Ement frowned at him, confused. That was from his early days. "Yes, Master Guillerme," he said anyway.

---

The next few days were blessedly simple for Ement. The training dummy machine still tended to make an unholy screeching racket, and Ement wasn't sure it would last much longer, but that was a problem he was well familiar with.

As for the problems of his little sister, it seemed she had finally drifted on from this most recent interest of hers and returned to her usual studies. She had her books, and her reading didn't require him or Guillerme to try to field any more of life's deeply complex questions.

At least, that's what he thought, until she walked up to Guillerme one day, her face serious.

"I want to receive a knight's training," she said.

"Not this again," groaned Ement, but Guillerme waved a hand at him, and he fell silent.

"You've been reading," said Guillerme.

Zoissette nodded.

"Why," said Guillerme, slowly, "Should I train you."

Zoissette looked crestfallen for a moment, then frowned, balled up her hands, and looked Guillerme in the face. Ement imagine it might've been intimidating if she wasn't a third his size.

"...I- I did the wrong thing. I shouldn't have been afraid. I should've stood up for them. And if I'm going to stand up for people, I need to be ready for what that means. Ready to defend."

"Standing up for certain people is a good way to make enemies, girl."

"I shouldn't be afraid to make enemies."

"You shouldn't try to find enemies, either."

"I shouldn't be afraid to make enemies if... if it means doing the right thing."

"You kept your head down. You stayed safe."

"And that didn't keep them safe. I - I want to keep people safe."

"And how'll you do that?"

Zoissette took a deep breath in. "Use words, if I can. Diplomacy, if I'm able. Violence as a last resort, but an available one. A knight defends."

"And when you fail?"

Zoissette looked down at the ground. "I already did. Because I didn't do anything in the first place."

Guillerme rubbed his chin, considering the little Elezen. Ement wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing was coming to mind that didn't sound incredibly lame. He tried anyway.

"It's not so bad, Zoissette."

Zoissette looked up at him and so did Guillerme, and Guillerme nodded, slowly. "Aye. He's got the right of it, lass."

"I do?" Asked Ement, bewildered.

Guillerme snorted, then got down on one knee, to look Zoissette in the eye.

"Failure is not an option, lass. Failure is -mandatory-. The option... the option is in how you face it."

Zoissette stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

"I want to - I want to face it again. I want to be better. I want to do better," she said. "Please teach me."

Guillerme rubbed his chin more, standing back up. "You seem willing to learn, lass. And I can tell you've done some thinking about what we've talked about. I can appreciate that. Better than some of my priors, anyroad. You certainly seem determined enough. If only you'd shown that mettle before, but I can work with what you're bringing. Well. I suppose I can handle another noble brat... as an apprentice. What say you, lad?"

Zoissette lit up. Ement groaned.

"Fine. I guess we'll ask mother," said Ement.

---

It was late in the day. Dinner was done, the twins had been put to bed, and Ement had waited until everyone was present in the hearth room before getting into the matter.

It'd been a bit of a tactical decision on his part. The twins being in bed would ensure their presence did not serve as a distraction. Father, who was already settling in with a holy book into his favorite chair, would hopefully serve as a mitigating force against mother. And lastly, Zoissette would help him make his case.

Ement put on his best blankly pleasant face. "Mother, Zoissette has taken an interest in my training sessions as of late."

The Lady Vauban had not made her way to a chair yet, and did not now. Instead she stood, tall and imposing and regal, and crossed her arms as she turned her attention to Zoissette. "Is that so?" she asked, seemingly mildly. Seemingly, for Ement often had a hard time getting a handle on where her mood was at when she wasn't upset.

"I want to train to be a knight," said Zoissette, sitting up straight and looking their mother in the eye.

"And you hope to achieve this by watching your brother? I do hope you're not neglecting your duties to your siblings."

"She's not," cut in Ement before Zoissette had a chance to speak. "She's been attending my sessions for near on a moon now, and I've been keeping an eye out. She uses the time to study, but I think she's also learning from me and Guillerme."

"Guillerme and I," corrected his mother.

"Right, of course, Guillerme and I. Anyroad, Guillerme has said he's willing to train both of us," said Ement.

Lady Vauban studied him for a long moment.

"Absolutely not," she said, finally.

"Dear, perhaps we should hear the boy out," said their father, not looking up from his reading.

"It seems like it would be a better use of her time than just watching me," said Ement, breezily with a shrug, hoping he came off as only lightly invested.

"I've learned a lot from just watching him," said Zoissette, and she looked like she was about to say more when her mother cut her off.

"No, and that is final. Ement, you will be needed to take over my duties at the fort one day, and you will not be shirking this responsibility onto your little sister. As for you, Zoissette, your responsibilities are here, to our house. The twins need looked after. You need to maintain your studies. And the house must be kept in order, and I expect you to do it whenever I or your father are away. I will not waste coin we do not have on a foolish child's whimsy, nor shall I risk you wasting time that can be better spent otherwise. We each have our duties, and you each shall tend to them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, mother" 

"...yes, mother."

Zoissette looked crestfallen, and Ement sighed. Well. There was no point to arguing with mother when she had made up her mind, and so he let the matter drop.

---

If there were further troubles with the other kids at school, or elsewhere, Ement did not hear about it. His training continued under Guillerme's watchful eye, and Zoissette continued to arrive at just around five bells to watch.

She would frequently come in with a book or two to read, but she seemed quieter somehow. And she now watched his training with a sharp focus she did not have before.

He expected that, like many of her interests, that this would pass, given time. One sennight became two became many, and still, she came in, to watch him carefully. He noticed that the training machine began to improve in operation as well, a fact he was glad of. Its terrible screeching had begun to worry him, but now, it seemed that it had worked some of its rust loose, and its movements were quieter, smoother.

It was about a moon into this new pattern when he thought he began to notice Zoissette's attention waning during the sessions, which he assumed, at first, was an early sign of her beginning to lose interest. However, he noticed that her attention was not so much waning as vanishing altogether, as she was beginning to fall asleep during his training sessions.

He was not the only one who noticed. He was fighting the training dummy one day when he heard a rather loud crack noise reverberate through the room, coming from Zoissette's table. He quickly disengaged from his fight with the machine only to see Zoissette sitting bolt upright in her chair, and one of the heavier weights for the machine leaning sideways on the table's surface.

"A knight," said Guillerme, "remains vigilant. Do you think the dragons will be kind enough to ring a bell for you before ravaging your comrades?"

"No, Master Guillerme," she said, still dazed. Guillerme snorted and turned his attention back to Ement. "And you! Do you think a dragon will let you walk away just because you got startled? Get back in there!"

Ement nodded, feeling the adrenaline in his veins fade away, and he got back to his drills. After that, he noticed Zoissette showed up to training sessions with a tea kettle and some cups to keep her company. She stopped falling asleep during his training.

It was some more sennights passed when he noticed Zoissette seemed to have picked up a limp. He thought to ask about it, but Guillerme spoke to it first.

"A knight," said Guillerme, "Looks after their health. I trust you are taking your ease with that limp, girl."

Zoissette frowned at him, but nodded. She was more alert for the rest of the sennight, and the limp went away, and Ement simply never got around to asking about it. But after that, shortly after she was walking normally again, she returned to needing the tea to stay alert.

He found himself wondering when he'd started paying so much attention to his sister's eccentricities, and resolved to go back to ignoring her. For the most part.

---

One night, Ement found himself awake at three bells in the morning, according to the bedside chronometer. Finding himself unable to return to sleep, he slipped out of bed and into the hallways of the manor.

It was quiet throughout the house of Vauban. The servants would all be long asleep, as would his family. There would be a single sentry outside maintaining a vigilant watch, and Ement was not about to bother them. He went to the kitchens first, making himself a simple sandwich, before taking to simply wandering the halls aimlessly.

His path took him past the training room, and he almost walked past it for how dark it was. He wondered briefly who had put out the torch in the hallway, but then turned his thoughts to considering the benefits of exercise in alleviating his sudden bout of insomnia. He put his hand on the doorknob, and as he twisted it, he remembered that he had not brought the key with him.

That, apparently, did not matter. The door opened smoothly. He just shook his head. Mother would be upset if she knew he'd left the door unlocked. He failed to notice how the hinges on the door no longer squeaked like they had, well, his whole life, if he'd stopped and thought about it.

The room was dimly lit already. A single torch on the corner furthest from the door had been lit. Near it was the training dummy, and near that was Zoissette.

Ement stood in the doorway, dumbfounded, as he watched Zoissette carefully getting up on the tips of her toes to place the weights on the training dummy. Before she had a chance to turn around, he had the presence of mind to back out of the room, and mostly close the door, leaving himself a tiny crack to watch through.

She glanced over in his direction periodically, but the hallway and training room both were very dark, save for the single light source that she must've lit. He realized belatedly that she must have been responsible for the light in the hallway being out as well.

As he watched, she managed to get all the weights placed onto the training dummy's various cables. She then grabbed a long-nosed thing that looked to Ement to be some kind of watering can. She pushed its nose into various joints on the training dummy, and then would tilt her head or duck down to inspect something or another before moving on. She moved quickly, and it was not long until the can had been set aside, and she was winding the training dummy.

Once it was fully wound and set, she went to the wall with the training gear, and awkwardly put on a training gambeson. Ement recognized it as the set that was sized for a tallish Hyur. Considering she had not yet hit her growth, that sort of made sense, but even then, the build of an Elezen was different from that of a Hyur, and she looked very awkward in the outfit. Then she grabbed one of the training shields, and a training sword, and then, standing close to the training dummy, she reached up, and set it into motion.

She stepped back and waited, watching as it spun up, same as he had to do every time he set it to motion. Once it was whirring along merrily, however, she hovered around its periphery, and then dove into the mess of swinging armatures and counter balances. She ducked in and out of its reach, attempting to block with her shield, and occasionally making indelicate strikes with her wooden sword.

Ement winced as she took a hit to the back, and stumbled forward in time to meet a strike to her helmet. Apparently rattled, she turned around, and another armature slammed into the back of her legs. She sprawled to the ground and quickly rolled away from the machine, underneath where its arms were swinging, and came to sit with her back against a wall, panting.

Ement wondered if he should be concerned at how many hits she had failed to block. He resolved instead to watch as she pulled a small basket close to her. A sandwich, and a water skin. Healthy food for a healthy knight, he supposed. For a healthy night. He groaned inwardly at himself for that one. It was far too late an hour to be awake. Or too early. Or something.

Ement pulled back from the doorway, closing the door quietly before sitting down against the wall in the hallway, leaning back and closing his eyes. He wasn't sure what to make of this just yet.

But it was three bells in the morning, almost four now. And there was nothing to be done that he could think of. So he made his way back to his own bed.

---

Ement continued his training. If Zoissette had realized he had been there that night, she had given no indication of it, and she continued to show up to his training sessions. Guillerme, of course, continued to train Ement directly, and Zoissette in his weird roundabout way. Ement could only guess at the man's motivations. Perhaps he felt it would be craven to ask for more coin. Or perhaps he enjoyed it as a little game. Maybe he was just fond of the girl. In any case, Zoissette continued to pay rapt attention, and Ement started to pay closer attention in turn.

Not to his own training, of course. That, he had always taken seriously. But he began to ask after his sisters' other activities when she was not watching him train. The maids reported that Zoissette was continuing to do her duty of looking after the twins. Her teachers noted that her work had shown some sign of slippage, but it was not alarming, and anyway, at least she was not showing the signs of rebellion that were so typical of her age. The church, in turn, reported that she was attentive enough to sermons.

An acolyte at the church had noticed that Zoissette's reading appetite, already voracious, had expanded greatly in breadth. Ement asked if he could see what she had been checking out, and the young woman had been happy to oblige him.

What he found was not terribly surprising, considering all that he knew now. He saw some of what he would have considered typical. Holy texts for study, drill guides for reading and writing, and her appetite for Shieldmaiden story tales had not seemed to slacken despite her age. Among her more recent reading materials were ones he could have guessed at. The Squire's Primer. A guide to modern sword and shield play, with illustrations. The Precepts of the Upright Soldier. However, he also found some interesting entries in the checkout log that he would never have guessed at.

Such as multiple requests - all fulfilled - to borrow some books from the Skysteel Manufactory. Guides to the assembly, construction, and maintenance of mechanical devices.

Such as the mechanical training dummy. And, if he had to guess, lock smithery was probably covered somewhere as well.

He thanked the acolyte, and headed home, unsure what to do with this information. On the one hand, it was not as though she was getting into any trouble. Indeed, for as annoying as she could be, Zoissette was, well, in his mother's words, a dutiful daughter; well behaved and well mannered. That she was well read as well was no surprise. It was either let her read or put up with her finding her way into the rafters or onto the roof, and the family had made their decisions on that long ago.

He wondered idly if perhaps she had simply gotten sneakier about her mischief.

And as he set his alarum for two bells, he decided that that was what was bothering him. The secrecy. That, and if either of their parents found out, well. He was not sure what rule she had broken, but he was also certain it wouldn't much matter.

And so it was in his own best interest, as well as hers, to try to curtail this disaster before it unfolded. He settled into bed, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

---

The chiming of his alarum awoke him at two bells. Ement ground his teeth, slapped the top of the chronometer to silence it, and climbed out of bed.

He had not thought to prepare, and so it took him some time to get himself together. He wanted to be dressed, for one. On his last excursion he'd been prepared for the possibility of one of the house servants seeing him in his smalls, but the idea of his sister seeing him as such was out of the question. He also took some time to find a torch, and then even longer to light it. He had intended to catch her before she had made her way to the training room, but it was nearly a full bell later by the time he had fully sorted himself out and made his way there.

The torch in the hallway had been put out again. He lit it as he passed by.

He tested the door to the training room, and found it unlocked once more. He quietly opened it a little bit, and could hear the soft whirring of the training dummy, and the rather less soft sound of wooden armatures as they made their impacts. He let himself in, and went to sit at Zoissette's table.

There was a tool roll on top of it, and several books. He unrolled the tool roll, finding several pieces of bent metal he did not recognize in there. He looked to the books, and recognized them as being on the list the acolyte had provided them. A book on the maintenance of simple machines. A book full of pictures of various attacks and defenses a knight might use against a variety of opponents. A book on lock smithing. He decided to open the book on the workings of mechanical training dummies.

He leafed through it, looking at diagrams and glancing over mechanical descriptions. He paused with a frown on the section about counterweights. He looked up to look over at the machine, and was startled to see Zoissette standing a scant few yalms away, her arms crossed, and a scowl on her face.

"You shouldn't be here," she said matter-of-fact as she moved to roll the tools back up. "Why are you here?"

"Uhm, well, you know how it is," he said, beginning one of his easy explanations, before stopping himself. "Wait. What am I doing here, what are you doing here?"

"I'm training," Zoissette said.

"I can see that," he said, getting up and walking over to the machine. "At three bells in the dark," he added, as he looked at the book once more, and compared what was written to what he saw.

"When else would I do it?" she asked. Ement didn't answer, as he examined the weights on the machine, and read the book one more time to verify what he'd seen.

"You're using the weights that I use," he said quietly. "You are supposed to alter them for the person using them. These are far too heavy for you - that means..." he looked through the book some more. He wasn't actually sure what that meant.

"It means it hits harder and swings faster," said Zoissette.

"Fury, Zoissette. You're a third my weight."

"More than that. And if you can do it, I can do it."

"This thing might kill you!"

"Hasn't yet. And besides, dragon's not going to ask me how much I -weigh-," she said, mimicking the form of one of Guillerme's turns of phrase.

Ement rubbed his face. He'd learned how to deal with mother seasons ago. Bratty little sisters were beginning to prove somewhat more difficult.

Especially at three bells in the hells-forsaken morning.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he said, switching tacks.

"So are you."

"I'm only awake because you are."

"Well, then go back to sleep," and she looked up at him with a big warm smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. He rubbed his face again.

"Look. You can't keep doing this" he said, gently. "You need sleep, same as everyone else."

"...I know."

"And where'd you get a lock smithing set, anyway?"

"Skysteel Manufactory. I asked nicely," she said.

Ement closed his eyes tightly, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Alright. You're going to return the tools and the books," he said.

"But-"

"Let me finish. I'll let you have the key to lock up when I'm done training for the day. That way you can let yourself in. Alright?"

"...you'll let me keep training then? You won't tell mother?"

Ement looked around the room, and sighed.

"I'm -pretty- sure you'd just find some other way to be a brat," he said. "This way, I get to set conditions. A knight's word is their bond. Is yours as good?"

Zoissette nodded.

"Good. Then here's my conditions. Do this closer to bedtime. I can't -believe- you picked between two and three bells to get started."

"I thought I'd be less likely to be caught."

"Yes, well, you're also destroying both of our sleeps. Both of ours? Whatever. Second, less weight."

She jutted her chin out at him. "I was handling it okay."

"Wait. Is that why you were limping a while back?"

Zoissette suddenly found the floor very interesting.

"Sette."

"Maybe."

"Halone preserve. Less weight. Okay?"

"...okay."

"Alright. Alright," said Ement. "Fine. This is fine. Help me clean this place up, and let's go to bed already."

---

Once they were done cleaning up, they didn't get very far past the door.

Standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, as tall and as regal and as angry as ever, was the Lady Vauban.

"Did you think," she began slowly, "That I was ignorant of the going ons of my own house?"

That's exactly what Ement thought, now that it'd been brought to his attention, but what he said was, "Oh, was I supposed to?"

His mother's expression darkened, and in turn, Ement's expression brightened, as he shifted to an easy, lazy play of calm ignorance.

"You know full well that neither of you should be awake at this hour. And certainly not fooling around in the training room."

Ement switched to looking confused, frowning as he tapped a finger against his lips. "I don't remember there being any rules about when we should be awake."

"Do not play games with me, boy."

"I would never dream of it. Though I should get back to dreaming. But first, surely you've noticed how quiet the doors are in the manor as of late? Dutiful Zoissette here has taken on the burden of maintenance in our home."

His mother frowned. "What are you on about."

"Well, she didn't want to bother anybody. So of course, when she wakes up to check on the twins, she's also come by the rooms to, uhm... what is it you did again, Zoissette?"

Zoissette had been standing next to him the whole time. To her credit, she did not attempt to flee or to hide, but instead, had stood her ground alongside him. She stood straighter and taller, now, as she answered.

"The training armature requires oiling at regular intervals if it is to maintain efficacy without damaging itself. The self same oil serves similar needs in door hinges. I have taken care of both."

Ement was silently grateful that, for once, she did not seem to find it necessary to explain every detail of her activities, even though he wished she hadn't mentioned the training machine.

Their mother glared at the both of them, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and her eyes slowly narrowing.

"To bed with both of you. We shall speak more on this on the morrow."

"Right, right, of course, mother. Come on, Zoissette," said Ement, turning down the hallway. Zoissette was quick to catch up to him.

"There is no -way- we're going to get away with this," she muttered to him.

"Oh absolutely not," he agreed. "But now we've got time to make our excuses. And more importantly, get some sleep. Was it -really- necessary to do this at three bells in the morning?"

"Two and a half. I already -told- you why I picked this time."

Ement groaned.

"...thank you," she said. Ever polite.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," he said breezily. "She's still going to be cross on the morrow."

---

Ement stood nervously. He kept glancing over at Guillerme nearby, who was leaning against the wall, seemingly unperturbed.

He was not sure he had ever been so aware of every ilm of his being. He tried and failed to resist the urge to swallow again. He could feel his fingers as they played along the hilt of his practice sword, each one uncurling and tightening in turn. He strained his ears to listen to the tolling of the five afternoon bells, and heard them begin to ring out.

He turned his gaze to the door of the training room as it opened, and Zoissette walked in backwards, keeping an eye out on the hallway as she came in. She closed the door gently and turned around.

Ement could not see Lady Vauban's expression from where he was standing, but he saw Zoissette's response to it as she startled. She started to cringe, collapsing inward, but then something shifted in her. She looked up at their mother, her eyes suddenly bright, and she stepped forward, carrying herself with the same regality their mother often affected.

"Mother," said Zoissette. Defiant. With some kind of fire in her. Ement just hoped she wasn't about to get them both burned.

He considered a possible future as some kind of Chocobo waste handler.

"Zoissette. Care to explain yourself?"

"...and rather better than you lot did last night," said Guillerme. The man seemed to not care whether he was here or not, and his tone was much the same as he might've used to discuss the weather. "A knight does not prevaricate."

Zoissette glanced at Guillerme, and then looked at Ement. Ement nodded his head, once. In for a Gil, in for the whole bag, he figured.

"I was training," said Zoissette. "I wish to learn to fight. To defend."

"Did your brother put you up to that?"

"No. I'm choosing to do it. For myself."

"For yourself. And what of your other duties? Your other responsibilities? I hear tell your grades have been slipping, young lady. And who's looking after the twins?"

"I am. And my grades are still good. They'd be better if I didn't have to sneak out at night."

Ement suppressed a groan.That's probably just going to make her madder, he thought.

"You would not be sneaking out if you -obeyed-," said the Lady Vauban, her voice ice. Ement disliked that he was right. "I am very disappointed in you, daughter."

"Why? I would think you'd be proud! Two fighters in the family, and I can still look after the house! You fight, why can't I learn to?"

"Enough. This is not a discussion. This is an edict. You will no longer sneak out at night to the training room. Do I make myself clear?"

Zoissette frowned at the floor.

"Lady Vauban, if I may?" Said Guillerme.

"You may."

"The girl's grades are suffering because of terrible sleep, aye, but look at what she's accomplishing despite that. And the boy's training has come far enough along. I think he'll make as good a squire as any, a good knight, even. So I think we should push him. Let me teach him summore, and in turn, let him teach the girl. Think of it as good leadership training for the lad. I believe that if you can't teach what you know, you don't really know it. And I think he does, well enough. And since I wouldn't be training the girl directly, I wouldn't see any reason to charge your house any coin for the privilege."

The Lady Vauban turned and looked cooly at Guillerme. He shrugged at her in response.

"You know my reputation. You know I'm good for it. And if this does turn out to be some flight of fancy of hers, like you said to me this morning, well that's fine too. Then your son will learn how to deal with a less than stellar soldier. Both roads, he gets experience, good experience that'll serve him well. If she sticks to it, your house'll gain another sword arm when she's of age, like she just said. If not, well, keeps her out of trouble, right? I'm practically watching her anyroad."

Ement fidgeted, unhappily watching the drama play out.

Lady Vauban held her gaze on Guillerme for what felt like several minutes.

"...perhaps I have been too harsh," she conceded at last. She turned to Zoissette. "It is important that you understand, dear daughter, just how difficult it is to balance my responsibilities between home and the front. I know I am absent often, and I am able to do so, because you have ever been a dutiful daughter.

"But if this is truly the path you wish to pursue... then I suppose I shall stand in its way no longer. But you will deal honestly with me in the future. And if you neglect any of your duties in any fashion, this will be the first one to go. Do I make myself clear?"

Zoissette stood up, glancing over at Ement, and then mimicking his posture of being at attention, chin thrust into the air to look up at the Lady Vauban. "Yes, mother."

"And you, Ement. It sounds as though... you have promise. Keep to your work, then. Make me proud."

"Yes, mother," he heard himself say. It came out as a croak. Was his throat so dry?

"Master Guillerme," said Lady Vauban. "Pray continue your work as discussed."

"Of course, Lady Vauban," said Guillerme, pushing off the wall and giving the Lady Vauban a salute. After a moment's hesitation, she returned it, before turning to glide out of the room.

Ement let out a deep sigh and rubbed his chest. He hadn't been fully aware of just how stiffly he had been standing. He looked over at Zoissette, and found her expression unreadable, but he gave her a thumbs up and a grin anyway.

"Well, that could've gone worse," he said.

Guillerme grunted. "Go clean yourself up, lad, I can smell the stress stink on you from over here. Both of you, get out of here. We'll start the work on the morrow at five bells. And Zoissette?"

Zoissette looked to him.

"Get some bloody practice gear that fits, I don't care how."

Zoissette nodded, and practically ran out of the room in eagerness. Ement chuckled, despite himself.

"Oh, she doesn't know what she's getting into," he said. And then winced as Guillerme cuffed him along the ear.

"Neither do you, sprat. I'm going to drive you harder now. Let's see what we can't make out of a pair of spoiled noble brats."

---

It took a few days for her to get armor that fit, and a few more for them to really get into a rhythm. As promised, Guillerme taught Ement, and Ement in turned trained Zoissette. Lecture mostly consisted of Guillerme gently correcting Ement while Ement tried to pass on what he'd learned. Practice had Ement going up against the training machine first while Guillerme watched, and then Zoissette trying to mimic what Ement had done while Ement pointed out flaws in her form or room for improvement.

Ement wondered how long it'd be before they were beyond what Guillerme considered the fundamentals and he'd start in on the tangents he was prone to. After all, he hadn't heard Guillerme tell him what a dragon wouldn't let him do in a while. And for that matter, he'd seemed to have temporarily dropped asking open questions about what made a knight.

(Pain and tired muscles and too much thinking, thought Ement.)

He didn't have to wait for too many days.

"So tell me, lass," said Guillerme as Zoissette and Ement were pulling on their practice armor. "Why do you wanna be a knight so bad? You think there's glory in it?"

"Ser?" Asked Zoissette as she pulled one of the straps tight. 

She winced, and Ement shook his head, walking over to help her. "You don't have to overcompensate for wearing oversized gear anymore," he muttered to her. She just stood still and nodded.

"You heard me, lass. What are you hoping to get outta this."

"Well, not glory, ser," said Zoissette, nodding at Ement as he helped. She mouthed 'thank you' at him before she continued. "I - I don't think there's going to be much glory just in helping defend someone. Which is what I want to learn to do."

"Defend, huh? More to a knight than defending the weak and downtrodden, but let's stick to that for now. Why?"

"That seems... reason enough to me, ser. Because - because it's the right thing to do? The, uhm, honorable thing to do?"

"Right? Who said it was right?"

"Uhm," said Zoissette, biting her lip. "I - uhm. I guess ... me? Well, I mean... father. And mother both. They tell us to help others out. And - and well, I want to. I, uhm, I didn't really think about it."

"Acting without thinkin'? Some might call that foolish."

Zoissette frowned and crossed her arms, looking at the ground.

"You think on that. You also said it was the honorable thing to do. Ement, what've I said about that?"

"You once told me that honor is vainglory that gets knights killed, ser." Said Ement. He remembered that from an early lesson.

"Can be. Can be."

"But ser!" protested Zoissette. "That's - that's what a knight does. They are supposed to be honorable."

"Surely are. I find the word a bit overstuffed. Said too often. A knight goes out to die, we say it's the honorable thing to do. A knight challenges someone to a duel, it's for honor. We defend the honor of our fair maidens and the honor of our fair names and before you know it we've spilt more blood than truth and where's honor then. It's a bit like the word love. Everyone uses it, nobody understands it, and it's worn so thin as to be almost meaningless."

"I think the word love should mean something," said Zoissette quietly.

"Maybe it does to those precious few who say it and -mean- it every time. Otherwise, what's the point? Though you're onto something lass. These words we use should have the power we afford them. They should mean something. Maybe we start from scratch on 'em. Can't help you with love, Fury knows it's lost on me, but maybe we can salvage honor. Go fetch your primer, lass, tell me what it says about honor."

Zoissette nodded, as she went to her little table, and looked through the books there.

"I'm not sure I understand, ser. What are you getting at?" Asked Ement, feeling a bit annoyed. He'd given the answer he'd been taught, and hadn't really expected it to change.

"Nothin'. Maybe nothin'. Somethin' more than when we started, though. You should think on it too. Have to start sometime."

"Do I?" Asked Ement, peevishly, and Guillerme crossed the room to give him a cuff upside the ear. Ement laughed as it landed, though, feeling his tension let go a bit.

"Honor," said Zoissette, "According to the Primer, is adherence to what is right, or to a conventional standard of conduct." She shifted her weight on her feet. "...that's the second definition anyway. I think it's the more correct one."

"Hnh," said Guillerme. "What was the other definition?"

"Great respect or great esteem, Master Guillerme."

"Why not go with that one?"

"It... it's not what I want, not really, I don't think."

"No? Respect can be a powerful ally. Tells you who your friends are. Can also fetch you friends. Friends who share your ideals."

"I suppose. But... but it can't be the only reason to do something. Right? Otherwise, you're just... doing it for selfish reasons, really. I think. And, I mean, there's respect, like... being treated okay, but then there's respect, you know, like being treated as superior.

"I'm not, though. I'm not better than anybody else."

Ement nodded sagely. It was a lesson from their father he had been careful to instill in his children. "That's what father tells us," he said to Guillerme. "We may be noble, but that just means responsibilities. It's easy for us to pretend we're better, but really, we should be servants. And our first duty is to Ishgard, above all."

"Your first duty?" Said Guillerme.

"...yes ser." said Ement.

"Hmn. Yes. I suppose," said Guillerme.

He said nothing more on the matter that day.

---

"Your training is coming along well. I look forward to one day calling you as one of our own, as ser Vauban," said Guillerme.

Zoissette spoke up. "Shouldn't he be ser Ement?" she asked.

"Guillerme here prefers the older style of address," Ement said.

"Indeed I do. Indeed, I do," said Guillerme, crossing his arms. He got that distant look in his eyes he often did when he was talking about days long past, and Ement decided to take a moment to settle in, leaning against the wall. "I suppose it is well that many houses have done so well as to be able to spare multiple sons and daughters to the work of knighthood. That it's just easier to refer to them by their first names. And I understand the desire to mark them as individuals, to say, look, this one, this person, it is them who has the blessing of the Archbishop. But the old way of address... it had its charm, its purpose, you must understand. It said the opposite. It told us that this person was someone who swore fealty to their family. The first step in many of a path to higher devotion, higher calling. For by this, a knight would show they serve their family. And their family, well, they served the Holy See, and the Holy See served all of Ishgard. At least once upon a time, anyway-"

"Guillerme!" said Ement, alarmed.

"Forget that last. Anyway, all the way up,  you see, until the knight serves Halone herself. And to serve Halone is the highest purpose of a knight, to serve Her is to serve the very star itself, do you see?"

Ement looked over to see his sister slowly nodding. "So you prefer to call a knight by their family name. Ser Vauban, of Ishgard, of Halone... of the star," she said.

"Just so," said Guillerme.

"Mother prefers that also, and I prefer not getting into arguments with mother, so it's what our family will use," said Ement, pushing off the wall. "But I'm no ser, Vauban or otherwise, just yet. I still need to go through squirehood."

"And to get that far, you still need to finish the preliminaries," said Guillerme. "But I have high hopes. High hopes indeed. Not much longer now, son. Don't disappoint."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Mother would never let me hear the end of it," said Ement.

---

Ement, not having the responsibilities of having to take care of the twins, was often the first one to show up to the training room. Having a question for Guillerme, he made certain to show up particularly early one day. Guillerme was waiting, of course. He often was there a half bell before he had to be, checking the training equipment and going over his notes.

"Master Guillerme?" asked Ement. "I've been meaning to ask. What do you get out of this?"

"Whatever do you mean, lad?"

"I mean... you training me and Zoissette. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but - ser, I know your history. You've trained members of the Temple Ward. You could practically write your own Gil balance. But instead you're here, working for, well. I'm not sure how much, but Sette tends the books sometimes. She's shown me the ledgers. We can't afford you."

Guillerme laughed. "Clearly you can, lad, for here I am."

"Right, sure, but... why?"

"Hnfh. Why indeed."

Guillerme crossed his arms behind his back, and paced a bit.

"... I trained Temple Knights, it's true. Used to be, someone had a promising young lad or lass, they'd send them to me, I'd show them the lashes. Put 'em through their paces. Some of Ishgard's finest fighters have gone by me, they say.

"But that's the problem, lad. Our finest -fighters-. Not our finest knights. I used to think that all I had to do was teach 'em to hold a shield and wield a sword, and the rest would work itself out. Good breeding, I thought, would make good men and women. And the church would help 'em stick to Halone's breast. Halonic men and women, doing Holy work, defending the realm.

"It took me too long to realize how wrong I was, lad. And the damage is done now. I've raised a few good knights, but also too many ... well. Scoundrels. Highwaymen with holy shields. Thugs that go down to the Brume or the low city and kick smallfolk for fun."

Guillerme stopped pacing, and looked at Ement. Ement thought he looked suddenly older, somehow. The lines in his face ran deeper. He noticed Guillerme had stooped a bit, his shoulders slumped down low, and Ement bowed his head, to look away. He felt afraid he'd asked the wrong question.

"I'm - I'm sorry, ser. I meant no disrespect."

"The disrespect's warranted, lad. Don't be sorry. Stand up straight. Like I trained you. Look at me square."

Ement swallowed and did as he was told, looking into Guillerme's eyes, and sensed a depth in them he hadn't noticed before.

"I'm trying to make up for that mistake, lad. Better knights for a better Ishgard. The current generation's a loss, but the next, well. Had to find stock first, though. I looked among the Brume, but I'm not of them. Couldn't connect with them. They saw a threat, thinking me either fit to take advantage of them, or someone who was just there to remind 'em of how they were lesser. And also, a knight - a proper knight - they need support. Armor and weapons and someone to take care of all that. Nobody in the Brume has that. So then I tried the minor houses. Your mother - well, she's got a reputation. Good soldier, does well by hers. Good teacher, so I hear. I thought, well, maybe some of that would've rubbed off on her sprats. So here I am. Yours is a minor house. High enough up that you can maybe afford a knight or two. Low enough to not be spoiled by the indulgences Ishgard allows her high houses.

"And I found you two. Well, just you at first, lad, and while you were a good study with the sword, I found I was struggling to really say what I wanted to say, to try to teach you what good really was. But then your sister showed up, with her heart too big and her head too smart, and, well."

Guillerme laughed, a dry, brittle thing, but a laugh nonetheless. Ement smiled nervously, unsure how to respond.

"The questions I've been asking aren't just for you and her, lad. They're for me. Maybe they're for every knight. I told you, if you can't teach it, you don't know it, but that's a small lie. In the teaching is also the learning, and, well. I'm not learned yet. But trust me, lad, I'm earning exactly what I want here."

Ement heard the bells ringing in the distance as the door to the training room opened, and Zoissette at last made an appearance. Ement glanced between her and Guillerme.

"...thank you, ser." said Ement, quietly.

"Aye, lad. Let's just get on with it, shall we? I get any more morose and I'll need to turn to my cups."

Guillerme began the day's instructions, but Ement found himself distracted, trying to figure out the riddle of the man's words.

---

Sennights turned to moons and they all passed in much the same way as they had. Zoissette no longer fell half asleep during training sessions, but she did start to stay in the training room after them. Early on her studies had been more general, but they had become specific, as she turned her attentions to astrology and arcanistry. She was staying up late in order to keep up with said studies, but despite that, did not neglect her knight's training, taking it as seriously as she ever had. Guillerme, true to his word, drove Ement harder, and Ement in turn did what he could to teach Zoissette. It was slower going, but both Elezen grew into it.

One day, Zoissette came into the training room, and looked as though she was on the verge of crying, but was keeping it in. She walked over to where Ement and Guillerme were standing. The room fell quiet.

"...something on your mind, girl?" prompted Guillerme gently.

"It happened again," said Zoissette. "Not a new kid this time. One of the one's that's been there a while. Not... not a friend. But... the rumors are, his mother left his father to go join the heretics."

"Any truth to the rumors?" asked Ement. Zoissette shook her head.

"Bet she just -left- the bastard, then," said Ement. "If it was heretic business, the whole family'd be ousted."

"That doesn't matter," said Zoissette.

"Rather does to the Inquisition, I might think," replied Ement.

"Let her finish," said Guillerme, and Ement fell quiet. "So what'd you do about it, girl?"

"I told them to stop. To leave him alone."

"Oh, and that was it, then?" asked Guillerme.

Zoissette took a deep breath in. "...no. They started to call me names. They told me I must be a heretic too, or a dragon swiver-"

"Language," said Ement, almost automatically. He immediately planted his face in his palm.

Guillerme looked at him and chuckled. "You so old as to forget three summers past, son? She knows what a swivin' is, and probably much more colorful language aside."

"Halone preserve, forget I said anything. Go on, Sette," said Ement.

"...anyroad, there was yelling, and... one of them picked up a stone and threw it at me."

"Well then. What happened then?" prompted Guillerme.

"They missed, and I... I looped my arm through my carrying bag's loops and used it as a shield. The rest of them got started, trying to hit both of us. I got in front. I mostly didn't get hit. He got knocked down, though. And... that's when I charged them. Knocked one of them over, got him on the ground, hit him a few times.

"One of them pulled me up, and I hit them, knocked them over too. Dropped two more... the rest of them ran. I... I stayed behind, to try to help the other one up. The one who was being made fun of. The one I was trying to defend."

Zoissette took another deep breath, and steadied herself. "He shoved me away when he got up. He yelled at me. Told me he didn't need help. Then... he ran away too."

She looked down at the ground, clenching and unclenching her fists. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Well, maybe you were, and maybe you weren't, lass," said Guillerme. "Did you stop to ask if he needed help?"

Zoissette looked up at him with a frown. "No? I mean - no, of course not. He obviously did."

"And yet he didn't appreciate it much when you gave it to him."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it some. In the meanwhile, dress out. We've still got training."

Zoissette nodded, and moved over to retrieve her training gear. Guillerme rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

It was an hour later, both Elezen panting and exhausted, when Zoissette spoke up again.

"Retribution."

"What?" asked Ement.

"Retribution. They might go back for him later, when I'm not around. Or... or he thought he'd just take the hits, and hoped they'd leave him alone in the future," said Zoissette.

"Maybe... maybe. Things to consider. And what about you, lass?" asked Guillerme.

Zoissette looked confused. "Aren't we talking about me? What about me?"

"Why'd you wade into a mess what weren't yours, lass?"

"That's... that's why I'm doing this at all. That's why I'm learning this. To defend people. To keep people from being hurt. Because I can. Because that's... that's what I want to do. To do the right thing."

"And what made it right, lass? Just because you felt it so?"

"Well... yes."

"Hmn. Good knights trust their instincts, I suppose," said Guillerme. He turned away and clasped his hands behind his back. "But far too many of the knights that I have trained have claimed to be acting in the name of the Holy See and its edicts on their way to bash some poor otherwise-innocent bugger's head in. Certainly, they feel right to do as they do."

"It's not the same," said Zoissette.

"No?" said Guillerme. "Don't get me wrong, lass, I agree, but why is it not the same?"

"Well, they're - they're imposing their will on others just because they can. They're not trying to help!"

"And you're tryin' to help, you say, but it wasn't wanted. Aren't you also just imposing your will?"

Zoissette frowned, and Ement could see her shoulders tense, her fingers working her shield-strap as she thought.

Ement thought to ease the tension he felt in the room, and cleared his throat. "Well, I'd say the difference is that Zoissette's man is free to think his thoughts afterwards, with his head rather unabashed, wouldn't you say?"

Zoissette and Guillerme both turned to look at him, Zoissette still frowning, Guillerme's expression unreadable, damn the man. But that was fine. Ement grinned, and spread his arms out wide, and offered a small bow. The tension was thinning, he was certain.

"...you're right," said Zoissette.

"I mean, maybe," said Ement, lightly.

"No, you're - I think I understand the difference. Those other knights, they claim to know and do the right thing, but - but they're not acting on behalf of Ishgard or her people. Not really. I - I was. My intervention may not have been wanted, but what I did, I didn't do it for me. I did it for them. I did - I did what I thought they might've wanted me to do, if they'd had the power to ask for it."

Guillerme nodded, slowly. "And what then if they still don't want it, lass? I would prefer not to train another would-be tyrant, claimin' just as you claim, that they're doing right on behalf of the people for the people, in the people's name, whatever."

Zoissette swallowed. "...then it's important what Ement said. That... that they're alive and healthy and well and capable of being mad about what I've done after."

Ement crossed his arms. He hadn't really meant to have a point, but apparently his little sister had found one.

"...but it's not enough, is it?" Finished Zoissette, suddenly timid.

"Hmm?"

"It's... it's not enough just to... to feel like I'm doing the right thing, is it? I mean, I'm still pretty sure I did. He - he can be mad at me, but like Ement said, at least he isn't hurt, but maybe I'm still not thinking this all the way through. Not as far as I should."

Zoissette's voice trailed off. "Who determines what's right? I'm - I'm still not sure."

"... I did say a good knight trusts their instincts. A great knight, though, a great knight thinks about them. It's a struggle, lass, make no mistake.

"And the best of us," said Guillerme quietly, "Weighs their soul against the very star itself."

Ement watched as Zoissette swallowed nervously. She looked down at the ground, then back up at Guillerme's back.

"I'm... I'm not sure I'm good enough for that, ser," she said.

"Well. Maybe, maybe not, Maybe not yet. But keep it in mind, lass. I'm glad you're thinking about it at all. Keep that up. Maybe you'll learn one day."

"I'll - I'll do my best, ser."

"I hope so," said Guillerme, still quiet.

---

Guillerme paced slowly in front of the two, his hands clasped behind his back, seemingly deep in thought.

"What makes a knight?" he asked. He seemed to be asking himself as much as anyone.

Ement glanced sideways at his sister. She looked back at him.

"I'm not sure anymore, ser," Ement admitted. "I thought it was things like duty. Honor. The ability to fight when needed. I think... ser, I'm sorry. I'll just be happy to serve in my own way. To fight for Ishgard. I intend to be a good soldier."

"And that'll be enough, lad, that'll be enough. I think your heart's true enough. Truer than some of my priors. Aye, I'll take it. Tell me, though. What do you think duty and honor mean? Maybe we can get something outta this yet."

Ement took a deep breath in before answering. "Duty is what we're supposed to do. Defend people. Fight Ishgard's enemies. Uphold our responsibilities. Honor is... I think the book's right. Adherence to what's right. I think that's what the two definitions it had were for, actually. You do the right thing, and then you can be respected."

"Good lad. Zoissette?"

Zoissette was tapping her lips with a finger, looking thoughtful. "I'm still stuck on... who determines what's right and what's wrong?"

Guillerme stopped and looked up at the ceiling.

"Yer onto something, lass. Keep going."

"Well, it's like Ement said. Duty is what we are supposed to do, and honor is adherence to what is right. I thought I was doing my duty when I tried to stop the other students from hurting that boy. I thought I was behaving in an honorable fashion. And I still think I'm right. But you were right, too. I should have thought about it more. Why was it right? I think it was right, the boy I tried to help didn't. We can't both be right. I mean, I guess we could both be wrong, but... who's choosing what's right and what isn't?

"Halone, maybe, but all we have from her is what I can read. She's not telling me anything directly. So... I guess I have to figure it out myself. Same thing for duty. Who tells me what I'm supposed to do? I ... I would've guessed the Holy See, but - but you've made it sound like maybe that's not for the best, if they're just bullies too."

"Sette," said Ement, looking sideways at her.

Zoissette rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about me, big brother, it's just us. I know better than to go yelling that from the rooftops."

Ement shook his head. Guillerme nodded a bit, and resumed his pacing.

"...maybe that's it," he said.

"Ser?" asked Zoissette.

"We've been dancing around it, haven't we. What makes a knight? Well. An adherence to duty. Honor to duty. But what duty? What is our duty? Something fundamental."

Guillerme paused his pacing again, and rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Your first duty," he said, slowly, "It's not to Ishgard. It can't be. Ishgard isn't there in the dirt with you. It must be to yourself. And anyone can claim they're actin' on behalf of the people but not mean it. But perhaps we can rely on something deeper than just that. Not to what you feel, not just what you think. To your own ideals. To ... something true. Something deep, something you build. Something you challenge yourself to. Something you know. Something you are. Everything and more."

"... to a personal truth," said Zoissette.

"To a personal truth," said Guillerme. He looked thoughtful. "Aye, lass. Because when you're on the field, or bleedin' in the ditch, there's no book you can look to, no pretty words from a comrade. You're gonna have to trust yourself to do the right thing. And that means you're going to have to know what the right thing is.

"A challenge, then, to each of you. You'll go on to be a fine knight, lad. I know it, and I'm proud of what we've made here. And to you, lass, even if you never pick up the sword and shield again, you've still acquitted yourself well. And taught me a thing or two, if I want to be honest. So, the same challenge to you. To the first duty. To the truth. Your personal truth, that will forever guide you both, and if you build it right, will guide you true. Can you do that?"

"Yes, ser," said Ement.

Zoissette looked thoughtful for a moment, and Ement watched her eyes wander, as she slowly nodded to herself.

"To the first duty. To a personal truth. To serve my house. To serve Ishgard. To serve the realm. To serve Halone. That I might serve the star.

"...does that sound right?"

Guillerme nodded. "Aye, lass. I think we've found it. It sounds right enough."

Zoissette stood up straight, arms back, head high.

"I can do that, ser."

"...very good. Ement, you'll get yours when your squirehood's done. Zoissette, hand me your sword."

Zoissette looked at Guillerme questioningly, but handed over her practice sword without comment.

"Kneel, lady," said Guillerme gently.

Zoissette looked between Ement and Guillerme, and then slowly knelt down on one knee.

"And bow your head."

She did.

"By the power invested in me - which is none; under the authority granted through the Holy See, which it hasn't been - and under Halone's watchful gaze, may she ever watch over you - I hereby declare you to be ser Vauban, Lady Zoissette of the house Vauban, a knight, even if only in heart, and not yet in name or in deed. But yer a good enough of a knight for me, lady. No matter what you do, I believe you will serve well. Rise, and take up your weapon."

Guillerme tapped Zoissette one one shoulder, and then the other. Zoissette curled up a hand in front of her face, as she appeared to pray for a moment before looking up at Guillerme. Guillerme flipped the practice sword around, and held it out to her, hilt first.

Before taking the sword, Zoissette looked to where her practice shield was laying, and picked it up, strapping it onto her arm. She then stood up slowly, and took the practice sword from Guillerme, and sheathed it, and stood tall once more.

"If you ever decide to fully commit to following in your brother's footsteps, lady," said Guillerme, "I am certain you will be among the best of us."

He looked to Ement.

"I think my lessons have come to an end, young lad. I have nothing more to teach you, and I think I'm as learned as I'm like to get."

Ement nodded to Guillerme, and after a moment of consideration, he saluted. Zoissette did likewise.

"May Halone watch over you both," he said. "I'll speak with your mother later, Ement, and we'll get you set up with a squireship. In the meanwhile, keep to your drills, both of you. Even if you don't plan on fightin', lady, it's a good foundation. It'll keep you healthy and your mind sharp. And never stop asking questions. Even if you have to ask 'em of the Holy See itself."

"Aye, ser," Ement said at the same time as his sister, and he looked over and gave her a grin. She seemed to be paying more attention to some distance only she could see, though. Ement shrugged.

"Will you still be around, Master Guillerme?" asked Ement.

"Aye, lad. I'll help you with your drills until you actually get that squireship, don't you worry. And your sister too, if she wants to stick with it, but I don't think there's much left for you here, is there?"

Zoissette shuffled her feet a bit. "I... I guess not. I'll keep up with the drills though, if you don't mind. But... you're right. I think I'll be spending more time with my books. But - but thank you, Master Guillerme. I'll - I'll try to live up to your ideals."

Guillerme snorted. "Yours as much as mine, Lady. But I'll hold you to that. For now though, we're done for the day. Go ahead and get the place cleaned up, and I'll be back on the morrow. No more lessons. Just training, lad. Enough to keep that sword sharp, 'til you're a proper squire, alright?"

"Yes ser."

"Good lad," said Guillerme.

And then he was gone.

"Well, what do you think of that, ser Vauban? Looks like you got your knighthood before me. Gotta say, I'm jealous," said Ement, grinning at Zoissette.

She was still just standing there, though, a faraway look in her eyes.

"...to the star," she said. She looked down at her sword, and then to her shield, and at last, to her brother.

"You think too much," he said.

"Maybe," she said quietly.

But then she gave him a big smile, all brightness and light.

"But I think I can do it," she said.

Ement had to admit to himself, he wasn't quite sure what she meant. But he believed her.

"For the first duty," she said.