Leonidas hummed, allowing himself to collect his thoughts. The dull conversation around them and the crackle of campfires seemed to grow both louder and quieter outside. "She and your father… I knew them both, of course. Before I left. They were always good for each other."
Ren shifted, looking down at the mask, which he still held.
"Your father and I…" Leonidas continued, "We…"
"Were friends," Ren muttered, "I understand."
Leonidas shook his head. "...No. I was his attendant."
Ren looked back, eyebrow raised. "You were the last attendant."
"I was."
"Father insisted I didn't have one my age…"
"My fault."
Ren laughed, incredulous. "Gentry had words about you. Deserter. Weak-willed."
Leonidas hesitated, looking away from Ren. Something flickered in his gaze, dark and unforgiving. "...So they do."
"But you return to the Grand City. Returned year after year."
"...We do."
Ren shook his head. "Not the Garden, Leonidas. You do."
The man hesitated, then smiled. "Leon is fine, Ren."
Tilting his head, Ren threw his gaze to the ground and chuckled. "Leon, then. Why? Why return to the Grand City year after year?"
"Allow a man his secrets," Leon responded, "Surely your father taught you discretion."
Ren grinned, looking back at Leon. "Most people don't–" Pausing, Ren reconsidered and corrected himself, "Didn't hold much back from me. The arbiters eventually find out anyway."
Leon nodded, "So they did. And yet, what do you know of your attendants? Gentry and Seth?"
Opening his mouth to speak, Ren caught himself. Closed his mouth, eyes clouding over. Then he spoke again, "Gentry had a family. Wife and three children. Seth was courting a woman from the outer rings of the city."
Grinning, Leon summoned a golden knife, picking under his nails. "Oh?"
"I've met Gentry's family once," Ren muttered, picking at the sleeping pad. "They had a son my age. Had recently passed his licensing tests to join the forensics division that operated under the… Second ring?" He shrugged, "Smart, probably better at deduction than me."
Dismissing his golden knife, Leon leaned back. "Would you spend time with them outside of what was necessary?"
At that, Ren hesitated. "...No."
"Your father and I… Did you know we once attended a senate meeting with your grandfather dressed in women's robes?"
Ren blinked. "My father?"
"Your father."
"In women's robes?"
Leon nodded.
"...For what purpose?"
"Money. First person to break form owed the other one-hundred bills." Leon chuckled at the memory, shaking his head, "The bastard still owes me."
Coughing, Ren pulled back a little. "My father lost?"
"He did."
For a moment, Ren simply sat dumbfounded. The thought of his father in women's robes, standing behind his grandfather, trying not to break composure was something he'd never considered. Jeremiah Winter was far too regal for such antics.
Leon sighed, clearly lost in another time, "Ah, how old were we? Twelve?"
Finally, Ren spoke again, his voice softer, quieter. "...Why would you tell me this, Lord Leon?"
"It's been a long time since I've seen my friend. That's all." He shook his head once again, then clapped Ren's shoulder. "Get some sleep, boy. I've already told Silas to put you through drills at the highest level we can give. You might recognize some of the katas in the morning."
Ren hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, Lord Leon."
Smiling gently, Leon stood, ducking out of the tent. "You'll drop the formality eventually. We all do." The flap of the tent closed, and Ren rolled out his pad and blanket.
He looked down at it, thinking back to the prison cell, carved from the side of a cliff. The cart hadn't been comfortable, he still had a knot somewhere in his neck, but this felt undignified. Sleeping on the ground. On a tarp, with a pad of leather and a quilted blanket. Shaking his head he lay down on it. He hadn't been a fan of feather pillows already, the threads never kept the little demons. But… He didn't have a pillow, either. Carefully, Ren pulled off his coat and folded it, using it as a makeshift cushion as he slid into the bedroll.
It was cold, but at least he had a blanket. Small mercies, he supposed.
—
He woke in the morning to a blade at his neck.
Silas' silver dagger was inches above Ren's throat as his eyes flicked open. Silent, he followed the blade up to the hand and up to Silas' face. He swallowed, eyes narrowing slightly.
After a moment, Silas pulled the dagger bag, humming as he plucked Ren's mask from the ground and held it out. "Ah, dear Venture, such deep sleep for an arbiter."
Ren scoffed, snatching the mask from Silas' grasp before tying it in place.
"Good morning to you, too, attendant," Silas yawned, opening the flap, "Alright, boys, kata one! Get to it! Sun rises in the hour!"
Ren let out a low breath, which steamed in the air before him. He wanted to rub the exhaustion from his eyes, but with the mask, he couldn't. So, he pulled the coat he'd used as a pillow, wrapped it around himself, and ducked out of the tent. He hadn't removed his boots the night previous – Perhaps he should have, but his feet remained somewhat warm for it. He could hear them faintly outside of the wagon ring, the Sparrows that knew each-other laughing in the morning chill.
The plains were dull in the early morning light, gentle browns and reds made sinister in their open-ness, grand and wide. It was nothing like the early mornings of the Grand City, where lamplighters were no doubt preparing to extinguish the lights of streetlamps. Here, the only light emanated from the back of the hands of the Sparrows, gentle and multi-colored. Ren hesitated, looking down at his hand. When he allowed his Mark to glow gently, the Ink revealing itself on his skin before flickering into that steady purple light. As he left the wagon circle, taking the long way to stall for time, Ren paused to see just how vast the plains before them were. He'd known that the Grand City sat at the basin of two opposing mountain ranges, but he hadn't realized that the plains between had been so… Endless. The Grand City was cramped and tight, smaller still the further you went from its center.
But the plains… The plains were an endless array of brush, dirt and snow, and Ren feared that if he wandered away from the caravan far enough, he'd never find his way back.
Silas clapped Ren's shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie, "Ah, our newest Sparrow; Mr. Outcast! The Attendant Stagehand!"
Grimacing at the title, Ren finally observed the group of Sparrows. They were, as he'd already noted, a misshapen bunch, but one still unified in their unkempt and dirty uniforms and oddly smooth coordination. They were lazing about, stretching, mostly young men of Ren's age, with maybe two women.
"Kata one!" Silas repeated, "Get to it, weeds!"
And they were scrambling into formation. Fifteen people, rows of five, moving with a familiar pattern of stretches. Ones Ren knew in his bones. He blinked, looking to Silas, who motioned for Ren to join at the back of the group. "This is…"
Silas hummed, "Stratfield's Mercy. What, did you think father just forgot the way you fancy folk do things?"
Ren observed for a moment longer, then walked to the back of the group and joined them, allowing himself to get into the familiar motion. It wasn't long before Silas called out the second pattern of stretches. Usually, arbiter regimes went for nine rounds of these exercises, but as they finished the third, Silas spoke again, ordering them into running drills. Something about making sure they could handle necessary sprints for the long roads.
Ren didn't care the reason. It just felt good to be moving again, his legs hitting dirt, his chest heaving with the familiar exertion of exercise.
"So, Mr. Marauder," Cedric chimed, catching Ren's pace easily, "Waking up for the first day of the road must be tough."
Ignoring him, Ren sucked in a breath of the chilled spring air, enjoying the sound of boots crunching in frozen snow.
"Come on, arbiter," Cedric continued, "Lighten up. I'm sure the sparrows have room for one dead weight."
Ren turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the Sparrow from behind his mask. It seemed, however, that he'd made a mistake, as the Sparrow's lips split into a wide grin.
"Day one and already Silas' favorite. Must be nice, having the attention of Evelyn, Yona, and Leon." He hummed, "Oh, or are we too beneath you to notice?"
Rolling his eyes behind his mask, Ren tried to speed up. Cedric caught up.
"Ah, no running, Venture."
'Ink… He's a Traveler…' Ren sighed, turning his gaze a little more directly toward his newfound companion. "What do you want, Cedric?"
"The truth, attendant," He said, "What's your story? Why did we pick you up when we should've picked up the princess?"
"She wasn't a princess," Ren shot back, his voice low and hissing.
"You knew the arbiter princess?"
Ren went silent again. He'd overstepped once again.
"There's no way you would've been her attendant. Everyone says House Winter is too proper."
Ren tried to shoot the Sparrow a glare, hoping to silence him, but whatever Ren was capable of expressing wasn't enough to stop the young man from speaking his mind. Instead, it seemed to spur him on.
"Really, though, you don't see many Winter arbiters near the coasts. They say that they're better than any others. You seem pretty weak compared to the legends."
Desperately, Ren wished that Cedric would stop talking.
"Is it even true that the princess was murdered?"
Gritting his teeth, Ren turned to make his return sprint back to the caravan, "...Yes."
"Come on, is that it?" Cedric chirped, far too jovial for Ren's liking, "Silas said that when he met her at the academy she was beautiful, sharp violet eyes and a slim–"
For the second time in less than a day, Ren moved before he could think. Within a second, Ren had grabbed Cedric's collar, drawing him close enough to smell the stench of his breath. "Do not speak of the dead so casually."
Cedric grinned, looking around, then, certain that the others were some distance off, spoke carefully. "Quiet, Elren. I'm certain Evelyn would just love having the fugitive lordling take his anger out on one of her Sparrows, now, wouldn't she?"
Ren growled, "Elren Winter is dead."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Cedric said, "Because you look rather alive to me."
"My name is Venture." Ren hissed, "Elren is dead."
"I believe you–" Cedric said, hands slipping into his trouser pockets, "But I'm going to need a favor."
Ren's grip tightened, then relaxed. "What."
Cedric sighed, allowing his shoulders to relax as he dust off his shirt. "The next town we go to… I need you to get me into the minor Lord's stronghold." Shaking his head, Ren turned back to the caravan when Cedric caught his arm. "Please."
Turning back to Cedric, Ren sighed. "Give me one good reason."
The Sparrow blinked, incredulous. "I… Know who you are! I'll tell the whole Garden."
Sighing, Ren tilted his head, unamused. "And then what? Turn your safe haven on edge to kick me out and put you in the line of fire for hosting a fugitive?"
Cedric's lips parted, then closed, then parted again. "...Yes. "
Ren nodded, then looked back to the caravan. "Then go tell them."
Cedric scoffed. "You… Pillars, you mean it."
After a moment, Ren sighed and began walking. "Why?"
"I need to return something."
Pausing again, Ren turned to him. "What in Creation itself could you possibly need to return to a minor Lord? Especially Lord Aster?"
Cedric, apparently, was timid about whatever it was he had, shying back a step at Ren's tone. "Look, I found it in a market on the coast, okay?" He hesitated, then produced a pendant of bronze and silver, aging and slowly growing green as it rusted. Engraved in it was the house crest of Riverward, three waving lines that represented a stream, differentiated for the Aster territory with mountains in its depiction.
Ren blinked, remembering a case that had been reported by Arbiters in the area about Lord Aster's daughter. Mugging. Lost heirloom… "A market on the coast?" His tone was colder than he'd anticipated, but his mind was already racing. He'd known there were underground markets that dotted along lesser known trails and especially along the coasts, where Gateway was of far less influence. How long had it been since the case had been filed away in the archives? A year? He frowned, frustrated that he was already seriously considering it. "You realize I can't act as an Arbiter, right?"
Cedric looked down at the pendant, then stowed it back in his pocket. "I don't need an Arbiter."
"Then what-"
"I need an Outcast."