As the dawn continued to break outdoors, Logan felt a soothing rush of relief was through him as he came out onto one of Chateau Toussaint's balconies and saw that the sky wasn't overcast with clouds and the air wasn't full of falling raindrops. It was going to be a nice day by the looks of things, and he wasn't going to let that go to waste!

With his painting supplies tucked under one arm, some carpentry tools he'd borrowed from the cockatrice under the other, and a shield gripped in each hand, he went out onto the balcony and began to set himself up. He didn't have an easel, so the best he could do was place everything on the floor around him before laying the shield down on the edge of the balcony, then taking the hammer from the carpentry equipment and beginning a task that made him grind and grit his teeth while grunting continuously in exertion – straightening out the boards of Finnan's shield, one of the two he'd brought up here.

After dinner last night, where they'd all agreed to go on the quest, he and Romain brought up to Stalk and Finnan that, if they were going to be knights, they would need a coat-of-arms; a sigil to show who they were to other knights and make them recognisable. Such devices were usually painted on shields, and so Logan had offered to paint them what they wanted to the best of his ability.

Finnan's request was simple – a mountain with a sunset background. But at it was, the halfling's shield was literally nothing more than some wooden planks lashed together with vines, some of them overlapping each other or jutting out in all sorts of weird directions, and all of them wobbling and clunking together like a rickety old house on a windy day.

Before the sigil could be painted, Logan needed a flat and stable surface to work on. And so after rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he disassembled the tangle of boards, replaced those which were rotten and dissolving before hammering the shield back together with nails. Once that was done, he re-fitted the cross-grip straps across the back - by which he meant two more vines that he also had to hammer into place – and adjusted them to make sure they were of suitable size for a halfling to wield effectively.

How Finnan could bear to use something like this was something Logan kept concealed behind stifled grunts of exertion, splinters breaking off the wood and stabbing into his fingers as he worked. He hoped that moving to this distant balcony would help ensure that he didn't wake anyone up this early in the day, and thankfully, any noise he was making was finally came to an end when he fixed the second strap of the shield into place.

After that, he lifted his golden eyes and scanned the Milisevran landscape, his gaze drifting over the mountain range that turned the horizon into a jagged zig-zag of shining sky and sunlit stone. When he found one that stood out from the others, a great conical peak whose summit was capped with a coating of purest white like the icing on a bun, he propped the shield against the edge of the balcony and began to work, tracing on the outline of the mountain with chalk before mixing the colours for the sunset.

For a long time after that, there was nought but the chorus of songbirds, the whispering of the wind and faint, near-imperceptible sound of brush bristles on wood. Logan layered the pale yellow, fiery orange and deep, pungent purple over each other on the shield, creating the vivid gradient he wanted and capturing a moment in time on the shield. Thankfully, no trails of paint ran down to where the mountain would be, and any splodges and blots were smoothed out with a little bit of work.

But before he could start on the mountain itself, a voice sounded behind him:

"Finnan? Are you there?"

Logan turned to see a head peer out from the doorway he'd come through moments ago, framed by a curtain of wavy gold locks and a pair of tapering ears as Arabella revealed herself, stepping out onto the balcony in a milk-white robe trimmed with lilac, tied with a knot about her waist. When she stepped out, she saw Logan and immediately said "Sorry for interrupting, Logan, but have you seen Finnan anywhere?"

Gulping down his surprise to not seem like a fool, Logan shook his head as he set down his palette and brushes. "I'm afraid not," he told Arabella. "Did something happen?"

"Well, I went to check on him this morning, only to find he wasn't in his room..." she explained. "And when I asked the castle staff if they'd seen him, they also said no." As she spoke, she played with her long, elegant fingers, and Logan swore for half a second he saw them shake a little.

Feeling an invisible force tug at his heartstrings, Logan trembled a little himself before he decided to approach Arabella, albeit rather shyly since his heart was drumming like a herd of sprinting horses in his chest.

Talking to girls had never been his strong suit... but he tried.

"To be fair, Arabella, Finnan seems like a bit of a... free spirit," he told her, trying to find a positive way put it. "I'm sure he hasn't wandered off – after all, he seemed excited to take part in this tournament, and we're leaving for it today."

"I know..." Arabella said, a little exasperation breaking through in her voice. "It's just that... whenever he's done this before, more often than not, he gets himself into trouble." Sighing, she sat back against the balcony's edge and pressed a hand to her cheek as worry began to creep onto her face, creasing her brow and draining the blood from her cheeks.

Logan set himself before her, also leaning against the edge of the railing. "Even then, he still seems very attached to you. I've seen the hugs he gives you and the flower he offered you on the road here yesterday. So I don't think he's likely to run off..." he told Arabella. "I think he appreciates your care, but everyone needs some time to themselves every now and again, after all."

Arabella turned her head to look at him, her face blank before she managed a shy, awkward smile. "Gods, I'm sorry..." she blurted at length, laughing a little to herself. "You must think I'm such an overreacting drama queen."

"Not at all." Logan replied, speaking with his heart and not his head. "You clearly care about him, and he you. It's only natural to fret every now and then about someone you hold dear."

When he said that, Arabella met his gaze in a way that made him wish she was less drop-dead gorgeous. After a pause where her turquoise eyes held his, her soft voice then said to him "You make a very good point, Logan..."

Logan felt his face heat up. "Just calling things like I see it, princess," he replied, hoping she wouldn't notice the red tint he knew for sure was burning on his face. "That being said, I can't help but applaud your patience with him. I imagine being a mother figure to a zany halfling wild man is a rough task."

His words made Arabella giggle before brushing a lock of her golden hair away from her face. "Not at all, actually. Finnan is rather... off-beat, but he's got a heart of solid gold," she said genially of her companion.

Her mention of 'heart of solid gold' made Logan think of both Arabella herself and of her holy symbol, which he could still see hanging from about her neck under her robe. But before he could say anything, the high elf princess was leaning slightly forward and looking at something behind him.

"Do you mind if I ask what you're painting?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Logan glanced back at his work before he managed to blurt out a response. "Oh, um... heraldic sigils for Stalk and Finnan," he explained. "For the tournament."

Arabella brightened up almost instantly, in contrast with the sky above their heads which was only now starting to turn from purple to blue as daybreak came to a close. "Ah, of course!" she replied before she rose from her spot beside him and swept across the balcony to take a look at his ad hoc painting.

Logan was about to speak, but the sheer grace and fluidity of her movements drew all of his attention and made his mind go blank – Arabella's walk was light as air, each step graceful as a dancer, and her pleasant, cheerful expression turned to one of surprise when she saw the shield was fixed. "Did you repair this for him?" she asked.

"Aye, I did," Logan replied. "Partly to make the painting easier... mainly because I didn't think the old one would be much help in combat."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that..." Arabella said. Looking over his work, she then added "It looks excellent! I love the colours with the sunrise – you got them exactly right!"

Heat rose to Logan's face as he heard that, his heart racing even faster. "You flatter me, Princess. But in truth, it's not finished yet..." he said modestly. "I still need to do the mountain itself, which may take a while."

His attempt to play things down fell on deaf ears as Arabella gushed "Still, what you've done so far is amazing!" Her voice was almost singing his praises in a way that made his heart pulse all the more as she turned back to him and asked. "Is painting a pastime of yours?"

Logan blinked as he barely managed to stammer out a response. "Well, um, I need to repair and repaint my shield more or less after every fight..." he told her. "I won't have my family's sigil covered over by scars and gouges in the wood."

Arabella nodded. "I can understand that. But then where did all these other colours come from?" she asked. Her tone was polite, but the hint of a smile that appeared on her full lips told him that she knew, and that she was just playing with him now – not in a villainous way, but more just for playful teasing.

'There's more to this princess than there seems...' Logan thought to himself before fessing up. "Alright, yes. It's a hobby..." he admitted, clasping the back of his head with his hand and averting his eyes, feeling scraps of dried paint on his fingers brush against his hair.

He didn't have much time for it these days, but Logan had always relished the moments where he could lose himself in the stroke of the brush, his worries and stresses parting like morning mist as all his focus became fixed on perfecting whatever piece of artwork before him...

A feeling of embarrassment washed over him as he opened up about this to Arabella, his gaze falling downwards to the floor... only to see her face once again as she stepped forward and leant down to capture his gaze once again.

"Why are you embarrassed, Logan? Having a creative outlet is nothing to be ashamed of," she told him comfortingly. "I'd actually love to see some more of your work, if you have any..."

The openness and simple honesty with which she said that made Logan feel less self-conscious, relieved that he wouldn't be judged for something that he took joy in doing. Beholding Arabella's face once again and no longer attempting to look away, he managed to give her a smile, which she returned.

"Are you alright?" she then asked him.

At those words, though, the smile on his lips faded as he gave her a simple, rather curt nod. "I am. You must forgive me, my lady..." Logan said, so eager to make amends that he ended up using the wrong form of address. "I just have a lot on my mind this morning..."

Arabella nodded understandingly and gracefully. "Because of the tournament?" she asked.

A powerful force seemed to descend upon Logan in that moment, his body feeling strained from inside and out as he felt the weight upon his shoulders and upon his heart. "Aye..." he managed to say.

His gaze fell to the floor, his left hand reaching to clutch where Sacrifice would be at his hip. However, when he felt nothing, an instinctive panic surged through him and he twisted down even before he remembered that he had left Sacrifice in his room.

His bare forearms, covered in dark hair and splotches of dried purple, yellow and orange paint that itched against his sun-bronzed skin, were all he saw... until a slim, delicate hand with fingers soft and smooth as silk caressed his calloused fingers.

"I'm sorry about your uncle, Logan," she said gently, her touch gently enveloping his hand as she spoke. "I truly am."

Logan's heart seemed to tremble within his very chest. Looking upon Arabella again, he saw that her eyes were full of concern and compassion. "I'm also sorry that the rest of us didn't do anything to stop Technus..." Her tone was deeply apologetic, as if she feared she'd slighted him somehow – Logan responded by trying to show her that wasn't the case.

"It's no trouble, Princess," he said, raising his right hand as if to soothe her nerves. He then carefully and convincingly removed his other hand from her touch and placed them on the edge of the balcony as he leaned back slightly. "Truth be told, I don't think Technus would have relented even if you did say anything. That... creature is as harsh as the iron that makes up his body."

Logan wasn't angry as Technus – he just knew him by now to be uncompromising and belligerent. "I wouldn't have hidden the story from you anyways. You have a right to know my reasons for joining the tournament," he said before pausing. "It's just that his death... it's an old wound that has still yet to heal."

Shame and self-loathing had been coursing through Logan every day since then. All because of his actions.

Arabella nodded as she listened, both intent and attentive in her mannerisms. "I understand..." she said. "Losing someone that close to you is something no-one should have to endure."

Logan's golden eyes blinked. "It's not only that..." he said, deciding once again there was no point in concealing the past anymore. "My uncle lay dying before me, and I wasn't able to save him. The man who had raised me, cared for me, made me who I am... I failed him," Logan said, folding his arms. "I don't intend to fail him, or our family bloodline ever again. With him gone, as I see it, I'm the last true Galehaut – my craven father and the woman who pulls his strings are nothing more than pretenders," he said, his voice growing firmer as anger and determination both sparked within him. "They bear our name, but not our values. Galehauts have been paladins of the Platinum Dragon since our founding days, and I intend to prove myself as worthy of joining the roll of heroes that is our family tree. That's what my uncle raised me to be, and I'd rather be damned than set that aside like Josef and Margret. It'd be no less than spitting on the duty I have sworn."

Even as the pain of his past burned within him, he stood tall and held out his chest, briefly groping for Sacrifice at his side again as if searching for something he had lost. "I will fight to win this tournament. I will find the Lake of Virtue. And I will strive to be the greatest knight I can be, no matter what."

Logan meant every word of what was said. He would prove himself a hero worthy of the Galehaut name.

He would prove himself to his god, to his family... and to his father.

As he finished his speech, Arabella was still watching him, the compassion she felt mixing with a dash of concern – he could see it in her eyes. Her beautiful turquoise eyes.

Logan felt himself crash back down to earth a bit in that moment, and as he did so, said "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all fiery there..."

Arabella shook her head. "It's fine..." she said softly. "I don't say this lightly, Logan, but I truly do know how you feel, more than you might realize," she told him, her own gaze seeming to turn as she fell back into the past within her own mind. "I know how painful it is to have family taken away from you..."