A Legacy in Blood

[Roen]

Wolfsong

 

 

 

 

 

 

He has his mother's eyes.

 

Aylard Greyarm let his boots slip off his feet, the loosened leather straps and the metal buckles crumpling to the floor in a heap. He sank to a seat on the bed, a long sigh escaping his lips. The occasional popping protests from his joints reminded him every now and then that he was no longer the young man he used to be, a fact that he was now reminded of daily when he looked upon his only son, Hroch. The day's worth of walking under the desert sun had taken its toll. Aylard slumped forward in his seat, still dressed in his chainmail tunic. It rattled quietly with each movement, but the weight of it bothered him little, for his thoughts still lingered on the man he had met earlier:

 

Gharen Wolfsong.

 

He had his mother's eyes. Aylard could still envision Aline's eyes, the way she looked at him with warmth and kindness. The memory of her smile brought forth a wistful sigh; he rarely let himself indulge in melancholic remembrance, but seeing the son of Aline and Gregor Wolfsong reminded him of days long forgotten--the years he had left behind. It had been over twenty-five years since he saw Aline and Gregor last, and twenty since he buried them. His mourning had diminished in time, and though the pain never quite healed, he had tucked it away. It was easier to do once he rediscovered love with Heather, who had soon gifted him with Hroch, his robust son.

 

But now, looking upon the face of Aline's only son brought all the memories back to the fore. Gharen had grown tall, and with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, he stood tall as his father did; his bearing spoke of strength and prowess. He seemed to be a man of few words, much like Gregor, but his eyes … they were Aline's. It nearly pained Aylard to look upon it.  

 

The old man shook his head as he stood back up, undoing the buckles of his armor and shrugging out of his chain mail. But as he turned to lay it on the table, a piece of paper floated to the ground, slipping out from its hiding place in his belt pouch. Aylard set his armor aside and bent down, gingerly picking up the folded parchment and opening it. It was a detailed sketched portrait of two women, one drawn by his hand, so long ago.

 

His eyes crinkled with fondness as he held the picture. It was of an older woman standing with her hand upon the shoulder of a younger woman. Eloisa and Aline Windmark. Eloisa was a tall and proud woman, with fiery red hair and grey eyes, whose nobility seemed to exude from her every pore. Her somewhat lighter complexion spoke of mixed birth, her father a highlander and her mother a midlander. Aylard remembered staring at her in awe when he first laid his eyes upon her. He had just fallen off a rambunctious young chocobo, trying to prove that his sixteen summers gave him enough wisdom to tame a new mount. He was a new hired stable boy, eager to prove himself. But instead, he found himself thrown, landing on his ankle at a wrong angle. The lady of the house had been nearby and seen it, and rushed to his side. Her expression was calm and her attention careful as she quickly assessed his injury. She then laid her hand upon his ankle, and a soft green glow emitted from her body, suffusing him with aether to mend his broken bone. That was the first time he had witnessed conjury at work, and he found himself speechless. Eloisa Windmark gained a loyal and stout follower that day.

 

It was only a few suns later that he then met Aline Windmark, Eloisa's only daughter, fourteen winters old. That day he lost his heart. Aline was a gentle and quiet spoken girl, with darker auburn hair than her mother, and piercing hazel eyes. She always treated him as an equal, class and noble birth cast aside. They became fast friends. And one her sixteenth nameday, he professed his love for her and offered her the portrait of her and her mother as a gift.  

 

But it was on that same day that she was sent away to foster with distant relatives. She tearfully asked him to keep the portrait, to remind him of her. He had not understood why then … 

 

It was only later that he learned it was to protect her life.

 

Soon after her departure, he too set out to seek a new purpose in life. He was an angry young man nursing a broken heart, and all things reminded him of Aline at House Windmark. Aylard threw his lot in with a group of young idealists, those discontented with the increasing violence exhibited by Ala Mhigo's ruler, King Theodoric. Soon that small band joined with others of a like mind, and they became an organization who would come to call themselves the Resistance.

 

Aylard had never forgotten Aline; she was always tucked away in his heart, though as his fervor grew for his nation, his new allegiance lit a new fire within him. But his path with the Windmarks was not at an end, for it was within the Resistance that he encountered Eloisa Windmark again, years later. She had joined them after learning that King Theodoric meant to eradicate her family, as he, in his madness, was targeting many of the influential noble families for removal. Aylard also learned that Eloisa had suspected this threat to her family years ago, and had sent Aline away to hide her from the mad king's suspicious eye. When Aylard learned of his, all past wrongs and heartaches were forgiven. And he had to see Aline again.

 

He was going to find her, protect her. And true to his vow, he did, but … when he finally came to look upon Aline's face, when he finally looked upon her hazel eyes--the eyes he had never forgotten in all those years--he could see that she had fallen in love with another man.  

 

He was a good, strong, quiet man named Gregor Wolfsong. A warrior in his own right, from a tight-knit, loyal and fierce clan, Aline reassured Aylard that she was well protected. She also told him she was with child. She would not follow Aylard back to the Resistance, nor would she join her mother's cause to fight for Ala Mhigo. Aline would stay with her husband, and raise a family.

 

Aylard accepted her decision with reluctant sadness, but as he left, he could see that she was happy with her husband, and was brimming with unbound hopes for their first child in her womb. That was the last time he had seen Aline alive.

 

Six years later, he learned that she had been killed along with her husband, most of her village razed by Garleans. Aylard returned to bury Aline and Gregor's body, but the two children that he knew she had given birth to could not be found. Gharen must have been five years old and Kayle was but a babe. He assumed that they had died in the fire that burned the entire village.

 

So it came as a shock when Aylard learned only a few years ago that Gharen, Aline's oldest, had escaped the incursion, and had traveled with the other refugees south, to Thalanan. And it was not until today that he had met the son of Aline and Gregor face to face, and once more looked upon her eyes.

 

Aylard's callused fingers tenderly grazed the edge of the portrait he held in his hand, as he sank back into a seat on his bed. "I was not able to protect you, Aline. But your boy lived. And he is strong." He spoke quietly to the woman in the picture, his gravelly voice just above a whisper. "I will bring him back to the Resistance with me. What I could not do then for you, I will do for him. He deserves to be with his people." Aylard's dark eyes lingered a moment more on Aline, before his gaze lifted to Eloisa's face.

 

"And I will not let your legacy die, Lady Eloisa," he vowed. "I will make him see. I will return him to Ala Mhigo, and claim the rightful heritage of Windmark. As you once did, his name and his blood will lend us its strength."

Edited March 5, 2018 by Roen

[cuideag]

Days before.

 

"A wise man hears the words spoken through silence," he had said once. "Never forget that." At the time, Hroch was still young and impatient and eager to question his roughly aging father. There was a severity to the elder Greyarm that had only hardened as he seemingly greyed three years to every one of Hroch's. It was said among those who knew that he had been a strapping young man once with a proud brow and an easy smile. Hroch Greyarm knew he would never quite understand what had changed him but he would catch glimpses of it now and then, hear it in the quiet that often spanned between father and son.

 

They had spoken little since the caravan left for Thanalan with the two of them taking up escort duty. With him in dusty linens and Aylard in his creaky mail they had seemed just uninspiring enough to be little more than mercenaries a sun's breadth away from starvation. There were nights when it wasn't very far from the truth at all; for even if the country as a whole was in the iron grip of the Empire there were still those who refused to kneel and for that they suffered. "We walk as ghosts," his father told him once. "Strangers in our home, unseen. Never forget that. We are ghosts."

 

Hroch had been spared the turmoil of their motherland's fall but never did they escape its echoes. Though his father was a kindly man there was no doubt that he mourned his country, burned his heart for the shackles that bound he and his countrymen under Imperial rule. It was not until his seventh name day that he understood the nature of the lives his parents led.

 

"We honor her in remembering, that the spirit shall never die," his father told him once. The lines were deep on his face that night, the first night he had taken his young and hot-blooded son to meet with his colleagues, the men and women who mourned his mother in the secret places they gathered. "Never forget that."

 

Camp Tranquil had been hours past and though the sun still hung high as they breached into the open wasteland of Thanalan, a call for rest did not murmur its way down the length of the caravan. Hroch watched his father as they walked, mindful not to stare for very long for even in his age he was still sharp as the sword he kept at his side. More and more had he been favoring his knees, scowling when he thought no one was looking. He'll regret it later, he thought, And maybe this time he'll learn his lesson.... Or he'll just take it out on me.

 

Aylard seemed to catch note of the grin that cracked his son's lips. His own expression softened even if the steel in his eyes did not. "Something funny, boy?"

 

"Oh, I dunno, da." Hroch swung his arms as he walked, a habit his mother once teased him for so many years ago and one which he stubbornly clung to ever since her death. "Did'ya see that sandy-haired lass up a wagon? With eyes as big as the moon?"

 

"Aye, I did," Aylard said in that measured way of his. "Though I think it's her father you should be looking out for."

 

"He'd like me," said Hroch and he nodded with nothing short of utter conviction.

 

"Like you on that sword he's nursing," Aylard deadpanned. "A father's wrath is a terrible thing, m'boy." He paused to sigh and squint ahead along the line. The scrublands stretched out in every direction, pocked and broken here and there by the wind-cut faces of earth and stone. While they were still far from Ul'dah and the Sagolii beyond, they were not lacking for sun nor heat. His voice dropped low enough to be barely heard over the rumble of the wagon train. "Best keep your focus about you. One mistake..."

 

The younger Greyarm knit his hands behind his head and sighed at his father. "I know, I know, da. Just she's mighty pretty is all. A man can dream, can't he?"

 

To his surprise, Aylard allowed himself a chuckle. A heavy gauntleted hand clapped down on Hroch's shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. "Aye. So you have been listening. Good, good... A man can always dream." The two of them stared ahead to the rest of the caravan and the cloudless blue skies. Somewhere out there, Aylard's contacts were waiting and despite the confidence with which he spoke of their plan, Hroch could not help but feel an unease deep in his gut. Yet seeing even the brief crack in his father's increasingly solemn demeanor eased his worry, even if only just a little.

 

"A man can always dream, and some of those dreams may even be worth bleeding for," intoned Hroch Greyarm, who did his best to be a good and dutiful son. "Never forget that."

[Roen]

A Woman In White

 

 

 

Broken Nose spat out the grassweed he had been chewing, his spittle leaving a sticky brown stain on the cobblestones of Ul'dah's main thoroughfare. He gave the blotch on the ground a disdainful glare, rubbing his boots over it to hide the mark. It only served to smear it over more stones, eliciting an additional mutter from the Roegadyn Brass Blade.

 

Broken Nose scanned the street right and left, crossing his massive arms in front of him. The red chainmail armor rustled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the hot Thalanan sun more oppressive than usual this afternoon. Also, he had not come across any potentially suspicious activities yet this day - none that might have elicited a bribe, at any rate - and that had made him grumpy. And bored.  

 

With a grunt, Broken Nose turned and began to make his way back down the street of Ul'dah, passing by Ruby Road exchange, the same route that made up his daily watch along Ul'dah's most traveled street. Back when he had first received this assignment, Broken Nose cursed the Twelve for the seemingly mundane and lowly task. The lowly born Roegadyn had joined the Brass Blades with ambitions of rising quickly in the ranks of the jeweled city's law enforcers, and was dismayed at being given such a seemingly benign duty. 

 

He soon discovered it was the best thing that could have happened to him. It was walking the streets that gave him the best opportunity to use his job to obtain things. The streets of Ul'dah were never a quiet place; there was always something to be noticed, some dealings behind the corner, and of course whores and gambling on Pearl Street, all of which he could use to gain some extra gil or favor, should he be inclined to look the other way. In the five years of service thus far, Broken Nose had also come to realize that he preferred to do as little work as possible. And properly enforcing the law and keeping the streets safe while climbing the ladder of ambition, well... that could get exhausting. This suited him. His favorite beat was watching the entry way to Ruby Road Exchange, for it was always busy. And there were always plenty of distractions to be had.

 

His eyes strayed toward the dancers that were always the center attraction on Ruby Road Exchange, drawing a crowd around them, both women and men. Some stared at them with a drunken glazed look, others were on their feet hollering, pumping their fists in the air, as though to exhort them to greater degrees of disrobing or feigned sensuality. As if the dancers ever really noticed. Broken Nose had come to recognize the vapid gaze in the dancers' eyes: they too were there to do a job, and the audience seemed just as happy to leer at them whether or not they were even synchronized. They didn't care, and neither did he. He still could appreciate their frames and forms, their tanned flesh clothed in a manner that seemed to reveal more than complete nakedness ever could. The sight of it certainly passed the time when there was nothing else to do. 

 

But today might be different. Today, Broken Nose had spotted the woman again.  

 

She was slight of frame and subtle in gesture, with a fall of silver hair that never seemed out of place, always neatly combed and held back from her moon face. Dressed in some white linen robe, Broken Nose had guessed that she was not one for long treks on the dusty desert road, especially by the look of the robe's fine and primly pressed fabric. He had taken note of her weeks before, hungry for some extra gil and looking to manufacture a crime. She was the first person he had come across, seated on a bench, carefully writing onto the thick tome she had placed in her lap with slow, exacting strokes. From her dainty and studious appearance, he assumed her an easy mark.

 

He was proven wrong, and quickly. Broken Nose was not the most worldly of men, but he was at least keen to recognizing if a person would be susceptible to intimidation, and she was not one of them.  When he approached her, his massive frame looming over the small hyur woman, he found no emotion behind her spectacles when she finally deigned to look back up at him. He could barely discern her eyes as the glasses mirrored the sunlight above.  Even as he cited her for something - he could not remember now what bogus charge he was insinuating - her face remained calm and inscrutable. Her voice held a cool, monotonous tone when she responded to him, each word clearly enunciated so that he would not mistake her words. She recited the names of his superior and his superior's superior in such a way that, to this day, gave him twitches at the memory. To call her "cold" would be a disservice to the word; he believed no ice could ever chill him half so much. Her final suggestion was that he would be best served in moving along and letting her continue her business. He did so without delay.

 

Broken Nose's fear of reprimand quelled any anger he might have had. The woman was obviously connected to those in the know, and while he had often exercised his own authoritative muscle in this city, he still knew he was but a grunt - the smallest, most insignificant cog within the larger political wheel that turned the gears of the gargantuan jeweled clock that was Ul'dah. She could ruin him with a word, that much was clear. Broken Nose decided his wisest course of action would be to avoid the silver-haired hyur like the plague.

 

And yet...

 

He had always wondered what the woman's business was.  He had seen her twice more since, each time with the tome in hand, always writing something into that thick, omnipresent book. If it wasn't for that one exchange they shared, he would never think to look twice her way. She seemed so dull. So harmless. To this day, he still did not know what her actual business was.

 

So it perked his curiosity on this hot and irksome day when he spotted the silver-haired hyur woman again, seated at her bench, tome in lap, because now her gaze was not fixed on her book as it had always been. Her pale hand and the quill had come to pause in their shared task. This time she was looking straight across the Ruby Road Exchange. Broken Nose could not help but follow her gaze, scanning the street as well, curious to see what would draw the woman's attention. 

 

It was another hyur woman. This one was crowned with red hair, and dressed in blue grey armor. He knew of her, although he knew not her name, for she was often seen in the company of a particular Sultansworn. Broken Nose usually made a point to avoid crossing paths with Sultansworns, as they always thought themselves above most others, and were, to a man, some of the most elite swords in Thanalan. Broken Nose always spat after he passed on one the streets, ridding himself of the taste of the bile that rose in his mouth when forced into their presence. (Though always after they had passed. He wasn't stupid.)

 

He did not think the same of the red haired woman, however; whenever she passed him on his patrol, she would give him a polite nod in passing, as if to acknowledge his patrol and give at least some modicum of respect for his duties. He caught himself once puffing out his chest, walking a little straighter and taller in the wake of her recognition, though thought himself just a bit silly only moments after. Broken Nose reminded himself that she would be an easy mark as well, if she was not under the protective guidance of the almighty Sultansworn. 

 

The roegadyn watched the red-haired woman a moment longer, his eyes following her steps as she made her way to the moogle that delivered mail in the far end of the street. He knew her well enough to know she always seemed to visit the moogle in the early part of each month with a letter in hand. Such routines on Ruby Road Exchange never escaped his notice; Broken Nose prided himself in that.  He absently thought to maybe find out about the contents in that letter. Perhaps it would be of use to him in the future. And anything - or anyone - who caught the notice of the cold woman with the book.

 

The roegadyn then remembered why he was scanning the street in the first place. He glanced back to the bench, only to find the silver haired hyur woman gone.

 

[Roen]

New Beginnings

 

 

 

 

 

"Look what we have here! A new letter has arrived, just for you, Kupo!"

 

Roen Deneith smiled as she accepted the letter handed to her by the mail moogle. Her gray eyes lingered on the tiny flying creature, for it was still an exotic thing to her, this moogle; she had never seen one before arriving on Eorzea, and they still perked her curiosity. White and furry, with small pointy wings that in proportion should not be able to support the weight of the creature's round head much less its entire body, the little thing hovered up and down, seemingly fighting the weight of the large red bag full of mail that hung on one shoulder. It cheerfully dispensed letters to those gathered around the Ruby Road Exchange, seemingly indefatigable.

 

Roen saw the writing on the envelope and stepped away from the gathered crowd, her fingers carefully opening the letter. It was from her adoptive father, Brenden Deneith. She scanned the letter quickly, a smile widening her lips. He was finally coming to Ul'dah, coming to see the royal healer that Natalie, the Sultansworn that was in charge of her training, had arranged for him. And he was bringing the entire family to the capital city as well: his wife Ana, and their two children, Brenna and Brayden. Roen clasped the letter to her chest and grinned.

 

Finally, she thought to herself. Finally her adoptive family would arrive in Ul'dah, and Brenden Deneith would see the best physician Thalanan had to offer. There was still hope that he could be free of the mysterious ailment that so weakened him, shaking his bones and weakening his limbs. Roen had worked tirelessly since arriving in Ul'dah in order to make what gil she could to send back to them, so that he could seek treatments. But no cure was to be found - at least none in Southern Thalanan.  

 

Now, at long last, her father was coming to the city of the Sultana. If a cure was to be found anywhere in Thalanan, it would be here.

 

Roen held the letter close in her hands as she sat onto a bench, inhaling deeply as she looked to the skies above. A canopy of ornate green tapestries hung from lamp posts, providing welcomed respite from the sun, the carved stone walls of the buildings glowing in a golden hue under the sunlight. She remembered gazing upon the sight with awe when she first arrived in Ul'dah, only a short few moons ago. So much had happened since.

 

She had been writing Brenden every fifth sun of each new moon, just short letters and updates, but sharing with him - as much as she could - the wonders of Ul'dah. She had never been one for written words in the past, but Brenden adored letters, and had asked her to write often. So she did, every fifth sun, just to let him know she was faring well. 

 

Though in truth,"well" was a gross understatement of all the things that had happened to her in the last many moons.

 

Roen did not include many details purposefully. She did not want to worry him. She wrote of the mercenary group she had joined initially. She wrote to him about seeking mentors in her quest to become a paladin, and of entering the coliseum to train as a gladiator, and of meeting Ser Jenlyns who would initiate her formal paladin training.  

 

She did not write to him about being fired from said mercenary group, nor of being dismissed by Ser Jenlyns after being absent from the city for a prolonged period of time; the path to becoming a paladin did not account for someone who was also trying to make ends meet. She earned what gil she could by mining ore in the most desolate reaches of Thanalan, sending it back to Brenden and Ana. She did not write of her first two paladin mentors either, both of whom nearly died. 

 

She did write of Natalie, the Sultansworn who had arranged for her reintroduction to the path of a paladin, and was, more importantly, a staunch friend and ally. The letters also mentioned friends she had met, people who had become dear to her; Siha, and Nazeru, and Dandaroun, and more. Roen could not wait until she could introduce them to her family. 

 

A small chuckle escaped her lips. Just five moons ago, Roen would have never entertained such a social affair, so guarded had she been when she first arrived in Ul'dah. She was seeking her new path here, but was so fearful that others may somehow discover her past: the one that led back to her true homeland in Garlemald. 

 

Her previous life seemed so far away now, almost like someone else's forgotten memory obscured in her mind. Memories of it rarely rose to the fore. The past five years in Eorzea had helped Roen forge a new life - the rebirth her heart had long yearned for, following the death and destruction the Calamity had brought, witnessed by her own two eyes. The man who had sired her - the man she refused to call "father" - had been partly responsible for the descent of Dalamud. The blood was on his hands, aye, but Roen felt it on hers as well. The guilt still weighed heavy, still, five years past. Roen had naively volunteered in Nael van Darnus's army at Carteneau. She hadn't known any better at the time, had only been a headstrong girl with no real truths set before her save those given to every person in Garlemald. 

 

But the truth was hard to deny: she had raised her sword against those she walked alongside now. The same people who now she called Sister. Friend. Mentor. Would they call her a traitor if they knew?

 

Roen breathed in deep, dismissing the dark thoughts. They had not plagued her nightmares for many moons now, and she was not about to let them return. Her life is beginning anew, and the letter in her hand had good tidings and a chance at a new life for her adopted family. Roen held onto it dearly.

 

It was in that quiet moment that a small hyur boy ran up to her. Judging by his dark complexion and the broad set to his jaw, Roen guessed him to be a Highlander youth. He wore no shirt, although that was not rare in the desert city, his bare feet padding over the cobblestones without a sound. His ragged hempen pants were torn at the edges. His brown eyes looked her up and down before he leaned forward and spoke quietly. "You are Roen Deneith?"

 

Roen blinked."Aye," she said, nodding. "I am."

 

The scrawny boy kept his head low, as if to escape notice from anyone else. "I have a message from Aylard Greyarm. He received the missive from the son of Wolfsong. He will meet with you in two suns, just outside of Ul'dah's gates after the sun sets, at Fresca's Wash." The boy scanned the street left and right before meeting her eyes again. "So you will meet with him?"

 

"I will," Roen said, but before she could ask him any questions, the boy scampered off, disappearing around the corner.

 

Roen's eyes narrowed as she looked to where the boy had gone. The Resistance, she thought. Members of such an organization would not make a habit of announcing their business or plans for the public to take note. It would not make for the longevity of their career or lives.

 

Roen tucked the letter away, her thoughts set to new purpose. Even with her new family soon to arrive in Ul'dah, she could not relinquish the search of any news regarding her old one, not if any of them were also to be found in Eorzea. The discovery that she was able to channel aether - something pure Garleans were rarely able to do - led her to the fact that her maternal line may have had Highlander blood. Her grandmother could have been a conjurer; Roen began to hope that there might be a trace of that lineage found south of Ala Mhigo. She had traveled to Little Ala Mhigo in hope of some answers, and found out that a conjurer that bore close resemblance to herself was known to the Resistance.

 

This information was still hard for Roen to fathom. Her father had been instrumental in bringing Ala Mhigo under the Empire's rule, yet her mother's mother could have been part of the movement that fought against Garlemald? It was far too strange.

 

'You worry too much,duckling,' she heard a voice in her.

 

The voice belonged to Miss Delial, the Highlander woman that Roen had met during her trek to Little Ala Mhigo. The dark-skinned woman had been instrumental in her providing information regarding her grandmother - including the fact that she may have been associated with the Resistance. Roen had run into Miss Delial a few times in Ul'dah following their first meeting, for the woman worked as a curator at the Hall of Antiquities. Roen had found her helpful, and her confidence charming. Her one good eye was light hazel in color while the other one had a scar through it and was milky white, lending an odd, piercing quality to her gaze. Delial herself admitted she could seem intimidating, but her ever helpful nature had earned Roen's gratitude from the first day they met. They were discussing Roen's search for her family just yesterday when Gharen Wolfsong walked by them.

 

Roen shook her head. Even a small memory of him gave her pause. Set your mind to purpose, Roen, she reminded herself.

 

Gharen, or Master Gharen as she called him since their first lesson many moons ago with sword and shield, had told her that members of the Resistance had once sought him out for his aid. They shared news with him of his blood and true lineage - things Gharen himself was not aware. Yesterday, when he encountered her with Miss Delial on the very same road she was standing on now, he told her that he had agreed to join their cause.  

 

That made her pause again. What did that mean, to join them? Was he to travel back to Ala Mhigo? Was he going to leave?

 

Roen did not ask him. Partly because of the company they were in, and partly because...

 

She had resolved to herself that his path was his to choose, independent of anything that she may or may not feel for the man. Roen told herself he deserved happiness when he had found another, and that she was happy for that. She was not going to make things awkward by revealing her feelings - partly because she did not truly know what they were. 

 

And now he was joining the Resistance. They knew of his family, could have been his family. Could she blame him?

 

Gharen Wolfsong. She did not write about him in her letters to Brenden Deneith, either. She told herself it was because she would not know what to say of him.  

 

Mind to purpose. Roen inhaled sharply and stood. She would send Miss Delial a missive regarding this meeting. The woman had expressed interest in making herself known to the Resistance as well, said she was tired of looking through dust and rocks and now sought to do what was right. The Highlander woman seemed eager to look to a new path and new beginnings. Roen understood this instinct well.

 

"The Spinner has greater things in store for us," Delial had said to her in their last meeting.  

 

For us all, Roen added to herself as she began to make her way toward the Quicksand.

[cuideag]

Ul'dah was a city of faces, Hroch quickly discovered. It came as little surprise for even before they left their home for the city of gold their peers were not shy about drowning them with warnings. Had they heeded every single one they would have found themselves never leaving their rooms for fear of being snatched off the streets, robbed, and murdered in no specific order. Ul'dah was beautiful and that beauty came at a price.

 

Aylard understood it better than their allies knew and when they walked the city streets to seek out one contact or another, his steps were careful and his gaze was sharp. They were foreigners after all, foreigners seeking aid in a city ruled by faces brittle and false. It were the friendly ones he shied away from, men and women who smiled too much for petty things. "Honest men never smile that much," he told his son. "Though the city may be wealthy, its people are starved of honesty." It was said that the markets sold anything anyone could ever desire, and there was no telling who would be willing to sell out a pair of out of place Ala Mhigans.

 

There was some advice they picked from the pile they'd been given. They kept separate rooms at the Quicksand just to side with caution, and when business did not require it, Hroch and his father often kept themselves occupied apart from one another. In truth, Hroch was grateful for having time to himself. The last few of their meetings were stressful affairs, and while to any onlooker he may have looked to be a brute of a young man, the company of strangers in a city of strangers did terrible things to his nerves.

 

Never mind that their meetings thus far had him headbutted roughly right in the face, yelled at (by the same man!), insulted, and promised for a time to a silent, hulking Roegadyn man. Only Wolfsong asked for nothing save information of his family, and it was father who knew anything about that.

 

Then there was, of course, Daena.

 

As was often the case than not lately, Hroch found his father's room to be empty when he woke. The faint smell of tea and a mostly empty mug resting on the bedside table affirmed that the older man hadn't gone too long ago at least, most likely to solidify the last of the details of their mission. Might miss supper again, he thought as he straightened out the bed sheets and made his exit.

 

Left to his own devices, Hroch took to cautiously exploring parts of the city, rarely daring to go too far beyond earshot of the Quicksand just in case his father ever had need of him. It was during these brief walks that he came to better understand his father's warnings. One trip into the thickest parts of the nearby markets on a particularly busy day put him at the mercy of many of the city's less subtle thieves, all of whom hardly bothered to hide their intentions while far more hands than should ever rightly find themselves on his posterior did just that. One would be pickpocket even had the gall to complain as he slunk back amongst the crowds, shouting something about "useless shirtless men" and their lack of pockets and coin purses.

 

Hroch had shouted back that technically he was wearing a shirt ("It's traditional!"), even if it left the vast majority of his torso bared. The sudden stares of the crowd sent him scampering back to the less hectic main streets nearer the Ruby Road Exchange, safe and whole save for a new bruise on his pride. He didn't get what he meant to get while he was there: a gift for the firey-haired girl with whom he would become comrade in arms, the breathtaking Daena Ghurn.

 

Even thinking of her made his heart ache in ways he didn't quite understand. For all his nineteen years he had seen his fair share of lovely lasses, yet none had caught his eye as much as she. Her father was a fierce bear of a man who may as well have had molten iron for blood. It was he that knocked him flat on his rear with just a headbutt, he who snarled warnings about advances towards his daughter. She was just as fierce and headstrong as Old Man Ruva, however, rarely cowing away from him even at his loudest. Proud and strong and perfect.

 

Aylard picked up on it immediately. "Best keep your focus, boy," he'd said as they walked back to Ul'dah.  "If she be a distraction to you..."

 

"I know, I know." Hroch couldn't help but grin then. "But maybe it's for lasses like that that we ought be gettin' home back, y'know? I mean, for everyone, really, but.... especially for beautiful, firey lasses."

 

His father didn't have to look at him for Hroch to hear the grin that lightened his tone. His head nodded once and he rumbled, "Aye. Especially for the beautiful, firey lasses." Though Hroch didn't know it at the time, there was a woman just the same and dear to his old man's heart that drove him to seek out the last of the Wolfsongs. Aylard Greyarm simply understood.

 

Hroch took a deep breath as he wound down the final steps into the Quicksand and then out into the sunny streets. There was no way he would be approaching the market again, especially not after word that there were people actively searching for them. Far, far too many empty smiling faces, never mind the wandering hands. His footsteps veered towards the nearby gate out of the city and he clapped his hands together in determination. The time was drawing nearer and nearer still and while his father was out rousing allies and making plans, it was up to him to be prepared for action. 

 

"We'll bleed for the cause," Old Ruva had said the last time they had met, the last time he had seen Daena.

 

Aylard only nodded, giving his son the barest of glances. "Aye, ol' friend. Our blood will nuture the soil of Ala Mhigo."

[Roen]

Allies and Enemies

 

 

 

 

 

"She's a beauty, eh?"  

 

Shaelen Stormchild crossed her arms as she stepped up next to him, her face shining with pride.  

 

Aylard studied the small ship before him, his deep set eyes squinting under the desert sun. The skiff seemed ordinary to an uncaring eye, but he could see that it was small enough not to attract the attention of pirates, yet well made and weather worn enough to have seen more than its share of voyages through the seas. Peregrine was one of the smaller ships docked in Vesper Bay, but from the way Shaelen spoke of it, one would think none others mattered.

 

"Is she fast?" He stepped forward onto the dock and turned to face the captain of the ship, the woman he has known since she was a child.

 

Shaelen arched an eyebrow at him. "Fast? Peregrine here can outrun the best of Limsa Lominsa's battleships! Isn't that right, Shooey?" The woman looked over her shoulder as a tall looming figure came to stand behind her.  

 

Aylard glanced to the enormous roegadyn and was greeted with a bright, toothy grin. Aylard knew the dark-skinned roegadyn's chosen name was "Thaliak's Axe," and he preferred to be called "Axe" by his close friends. But Shaelen called him "Shooey" for reasons unknown to the Highlander - a remnant nickname from his past life, perhaps, but Aylard did not know. (Shaelen never said, and Axe wasn't talking about it - mostly because Axe had no tongue and did not talk at all, save for a grunt or growl here or there, or the occasional temperamental roar.) 

 

Axe let out an affirmative grunt and nodded in agreement with the Highlander woman who stood in front of him, her head just reaching the roegadyn's midchest level. The old man raised a skeptical bushy brow at both of them. "Faster than a Limsa Battleship. That I have to see to believe."  

 

"Well, I only have to prove it if we are caught, ol' man." Shaelen smirked. "And that's the point, isn't it?  Not to get caught?"  She stepped toward him, leaning in. "The speed comes from something special. But we will keep that between us, eh?"  She winked at him, her chestnut bangs falling over her mischievous blue-grey eyes.

 

Aylard shook his head at her. "You've not changed one bit, lass." He regarded her contemplatively, one hand scratching his bearded chin. "Reckless."

 

"I prefer ... bold. Or daring!"

 

"Whrf!" Axe chimed in behind her. It sounded like a purr from a four-hundred ponze coeurl. 

 

"Daredevil!" She looked at Axe and gave the roegadyn an agreeing thumbs-up. "I like that one." When he answered her again, this time with a low snarl, she wrinkled her freckled nose. "Kooky madcap?  Who you callin' kooky?" Axe yowled with laughter, his massive frame bouncing.

 

Aylard's expression softened, lines appearing around his aged eyes. He had known the two for years, and the friendship they shared seemed unwavering as ever.  And Shaelen still seemed to be the only one that understood the various noises that came from the tongueless roegadyn.  "As long as she's fast and gets the cargo where it needs to go, that is all I need to hear."

 

Shaelen turned back to Aylard, nodding with confidence. "Don't add more worry wrinkles to your forehead, ol' man.  You can't afford to get any more lines on ya." Her tone was teasing, but there was a hint of affection there. "It'll get there. I am good at what I do."

 

She was. Aylard knew this already. It was why he sought her out in Ul'dah. Shaelen was no longer with the movement; she had left years ago to chase her ambitions of fortune. But she always had an eye for opportunities, and a knack for getting in and out of places undetected, even when she was young. And now, as a woman nearing thirty winters in age, she had gained a reputation within the underground that she could transport things across the borders of the Empire. This was not a trek many were willing to make. And she charged a near fortune for it.

 

But this particular cargo was special. A stolen ceruleum core from Northern Thalanan, one so refined that it fit in the palm of Aylard's hand yet held enough energy within that when unleashed it could demolish a large Garlean facility. It would be a powerful weapon for the Resistance. Aylard needed someone reliable to get it back to Ala Mhigo, and Shaelen was the most reliable smuggler he knew. The Resistance would pay the fortune she asked, and gladly so.

 

"I looked over the papers," she continued. "It should get us through the Flames at the port."  Shaelen stepped up next to him and shot Axe a pointed look; the massive roegadyn turned to face the center of Vesper Bay, giving them cover behind his broad back. Her voice was kept low, easily drowned out by the vender shouts off the port. "I could have gotten these myself."

 

"Alabrous could get it faster." Aylard narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He always had an uneasy feeling whenever Alabrous Tane was involved, but much like his need for Shaelen Stormchild and her ship, he also needed Tane's unique services. Only difference was that Aylard trusted Shaelen.

 

"Al?" The highlander woman cocked an eyebrow and gave a snort. "How did you get that slimy spawn of an eft to come back to the fold?"

 

"He didn't. He's like you, lass. Loyalty bought with gil." That was not entirely true, Aylard would never question Shaelen's loyalty once agreement was made. But he still remembered the day when Shaelen left the cause. And it still stung. Sometimes he had to remind himself he no longer begrudged her for it.

 

Stormchild paused, her eyes fixed on her ship, her long bangs hiding her gaze from the old man. If she was irked by his words, she hid it well. When she turned back to him, it was with her usual smirk in place. "I hope you didn't pay him the fortune you offered me. He ain't worth it."

 

Aylard turned his head to the shorter highlander. "He knows what his service is worth. And asked for double."  

 

"Ha! He's losing his touch! I would have asked for thrice the amount."

 

It was the old man's turn to snort. "Aye.  And I would have paid it." His eyes crinkled with amusement, which was rare. "And I told him so." That sent Shaelen into a fit of laughter, tossing her head back.

 

"That probably still gnaws at his crotch." She sighed, shaking her head. "Well, he has his contacts alright. The documents are quality. And I looked them over carefully too. Al is always looking to short change people to his advantage, if he can."

 

Aylard nodded. "He hasn't turned us in yet."

 

"Probably because you told him you would have paid him more." Shaelen grinned. "You whet his appetite for the next score. Well done, ol' man."

 

"These papers will get our cargo past the Immortal Flames and out of Thalanan after we will meet up for the exchange," Aylard said, glancing to a lalafell at the nearby vendor table, dark eyes exchanging a look with the merchant there. He glanced behind him to spot a few mercenaries who had approached within earshot. He narrowed his eyes and began to casually walk toward the docks, as if to take closer look at the ocean. Shaelen fell into step behind him without a word although Axe did not. The roegadyn lumbered closer to the group of mercenaries, who were now giving him a wary eye.

 

"There also has been word that we are being sought after," Aylard said in his low gravelly voice as they reached the end of the dock, the lapping waves drowning out his voice. "There have been inquiries made in Little Ala Mhigo. Someone looking for a father and son." 

 

Shaelen bent down at the edge of the pier, squinting her eyes towards the water as if to spot any fish. She pointed at nothing in particular and looked over her shoulder at Aylard. When he bent to his knees, she lowered her voice even more. "Garlean? Or Immortal Flames?"

 

"I am not sure, lass. It was a Highlander doing the asking, although there were others with him, another Highlander and a Midlander, both women. The cargo is hot. Both would be after it. Although I don't think the Flames have been made aware of it... yet."

 

"Are you bringing backup for this exchange, just in case?" Shaelen crouched low, her eyes still on the rise and fall of the waves. She rested her elbows on her knees.

 

"Aye. I have the Ghurns and m'boy, Hroch." Aylard shifted slightly, ignoring the cracking protests from his right knee.

 

"Ruva Ghurn?" Shaelen raised her brows, turning to him. "He's back in the fold. Huh. I've not met him, but ... I know of him." Aylard remembered how Shaelen liked to know everyone who she was potentially dealing with. "Anyone else?"  

 

"And one other. He's capable." Aylard nodded, his deep set eyes squinting again.

 

"Can we trust him?" Her voice was low but determined. "I need to know this exchange is going to be secure."

 

"Wolfsong. I knew his family. His blood. I can speak for him." Aylard turned to meet her eyes steadily. She regarded him a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. They rose together.

 

Shaelen patted him on the shoulder, flashing him a grin. "Well, good seeing you again, ol' man! As always! You still owe me that tankard of ale! Maybe next time at Black Brush." she said boisterously. He nodded to her and they parted ways.

 

Aylard remained at the end of the pier until Shaelen rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Thaliak's Axe soon after. The mercenaries he had spied earlier also seemed to have gone their own way. Reassured that their conversation was not overheard, Aylard began to make his way out of Vesper Bay, returning to Ul'dah. The impending journey back north preoccupied his thoughts, the possibilities of what waited them beyond giving his aging body a burst of excitement. The ceruleum would open many more possibilities to the Resistance, and with the kin of Windmark agreeing to join them on their return back to Ala Mhigo... 

 

Old blood would surely call more to their cause. The Windmark name would lend them strength, as would any of the old blood who had stood for Ala Mhigo but had fallen to the wrath of the Tyrant King, or forced to kneel before the might of the Empire. It was time to gather their strength again, to remember the pride that used to run strong in their veins and retake their home.

 

It was with such hope that Aylard approached Fresca's Wash, the Highlander pausing to squint at the distant horizon as the day was coming to a close. He had not appreciated the beauty of the setting sun for as long as he could remember, and he tried to recall what the last sunset looked like in his homeland.

 

And it was on the gold and red painted canvas that his attention remained, that he did not notice the long elongated shadow grew next to his from behind. It was only when a purring voice greeted him that he turned, and his eyes widening at the face he saw smiling at him. "Haven't we been busy?" It was not the woman he had expected to find.

 

"You...!" was the only word that escaped from Aylard before his breath was choked out of him.

[cuideag]

She could hear him breathe. It irked her but he was of more use alive than dead. A name unexpectedly found, a face she'd seen years ago when he was a younger thing. In those days he could cut men like they were cloth, shred them like wet paper. His eyes were the same: cold, hard, ancient for the body he wore, worn down as it was.

 

He was smaller without his armor, grey and coarse, a mere ghost of the son with whom he often walked. He strained against the chains that held him, pinned him down sitting up against an ancient and heavy armoire. (She didn't think to explain the weight, nor the smell.) When he first woke she stroked his cheek and flicked away the spittle that had gathered at the corners of his mouth. They never talk about this, she had thought to herself. There is no romance in this war of ours. We all become such ugly things.

 

Delial Grimsong smiled. There was a dagger in her hands and she spun it idly in her fingers, blade hanging loosely towards the floorboards. There were splatters, too, rust red and thick that looked too fresh to be coincidence. His skin was cold.

 

"Hello, sweetling."

 

He favored her with no response. Cold and hard as his eyes may have been, they were still glossy and mildly addled from the drug she had cut into his veins. It took but a spell to steal the air from his lungs but even that would not keep him down for long, not while he was moved to--

 

"Where am I?"

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Where?"

 

"Darling," said Delial with a click of her tongue and a slow, pitying shake of her head. She tried to sound sad but sorrow was tricky, difficult to fake. "Don't you understand what this is?"

 

The fog was clearing from his eyes. She knelt over him in robes stained dark while her smile glinted white, glinted like the blade in her hands. It was dark where they were, a cluttered and dusty room with no windows, no light but a single lamp bathing them in dim amber. His skin was cold but it burned. The fog was clearing and Aylard Greyarm remembered why the face that smiled at him (leering, mocking, laughing with venomous eyes) struck a blistering chord inside.

 

She touched his cheek, brushed fingers over his lips. He growled and tried to recoil but he was bound too tight to move. His skin was cold. "It will be easier if you are still, my dear. Now, do you understand what I want?"

 

"Rot in the Seven Hells," was what he meant to say. The witch had smiled the same way at Heather just as she was cut down, the twitch of dark lips ugly and wretched. "An eternity to each and every one." Aylard could feel the tongue in his mouth and the hot words in his brain but neither came together quite as he wanted. His voice instead emerged as a choked groan as felt a piercing pain in his side. When he looked down he understood why his skin was so cold.

 

His body was marked by lines and coils of that same rusty red. Circles circled and repeated over his lungs and his heart, dashed through by lines that crossed artery and vein and organ. It chilled his skin but burned where the marks were echoed by the shallow lacerations that raised long bleeding welts over his upper body.

 

The pain in his side grew. The numbness flowed away rapidly, bled out with every thud of his heart. She listened to him breathe and took a moment to appreciate the way that very breath caught hard in his throat. His skin was cold but her fingers were slick and burning as she squeezed and reached further in. The knife was on the floor but he could not see her hand.

 

"Do you understand," Delial Grimsong whispered, "What I want?"

[Shael]

"Something's wrong."

 

Shaelen's blue-grey eyes narrowed, her gaze a darkened, stormy hue. She crossed her arms and stared down the road again. The fairway past the Coffer and Coffin tavern remained as dusty and dry as ever, desert winds sending the sands up into an occasional swirling, chaotic dance. From her vantage point at Black Brush Station, the smuggler could see down the road, well past the run-down tavern, following the trail back to the Gate of Nald. She glared at the long desolate road, as if her will alone would make the missing Highlander materialize out of thin air. But as time ticked by, Aylard Greyarm was nowhere to be found.

 

A growl behind her made her turn. She frowned at Axe, her stalwart companion and bodyguard. Shael shook her head at him. "He wouldn't forget. The tankard of ale was always our trade word. Meet up five bells before the actual arranged time, to finalize things. Aylard never forgets."

 

Thaliak's Axe let out a pitiful gnarling whine, his thick brows furrowing. Worry was clear on his expression as well, which only made that knot in her stomach tighter.  

 

Where are you, ol' man... Shaelen turned back one more time to the road, her fingers tapping lightly on her arm. Now it was four bells before the meeting at the Nanawa Mines for the exchange. Aylard was never this late.

 

Shaelen tried to recall the last time the Highlander had not shown for one of their rendezvous. It was just before the Battle of Carteneau, and she was to meet with him to discuss smuggling out some Garlean magitek weapons. There was a war going on, after all, and who was going to miss a few weapons from a vast arsenal? But Aylard had gotten wind of something else that would happen that day, and he did not show five bells before the smuggling operation was to take place. Shaelen did not hear from him why or how, but his absence was signal enough to abort the mission. So she did.  

 

It saved her life. Dalamud fell from the sky that day.

 

But something else troubled her about his absence now. Was it the fact that there were too many involved in this deal that she did not know? Or the involvement of Alabrous Tane? Or the fact that Aylard mentioned he and his son was being sought out after? Something nagged at her thoughts and it made her uneasy.

 

"That's it. We've waited long enough." She looked to the sun above then back to the road. She turned as Axe gave a displeased howl. 

 

"What do you want me to do, Shooey? We can't wait here all day!" She placed her hands on her hips. "What, look for him? I don't even know where to start."

 

Axe jutted his chin forward and let out another rumble. He was looking to the Gates of Ul'dah.

 

"That’s not our deal. If he doesn’t show up five bells before to reassure me everything is okay, the deal is off." Shaelen snorted as she walked past him to the Aetheryte crystal. "That's how we work. That's how we make sure we don't get screwed. Have you forgotten that?"

 

The tongueless Roegadyn murmured behind her. He had the same bad feeling about this as she did, and did not like it at all. But still, he liked to complain.

 

Shaelen grabbed her pack from the ground, dusting it off. She patted it down harshly, her own movements betraying her apprehension. "I'm sure he's fine. He'll let me know tomorrow what happened. Or whenever he is good and ready to set this up again." A part of her didn't like how much his absence bothered her. Usually an aborted mission slid off her back like water. But this was Aylard. She didn't like admitting she owed anyone anything, but...

 

Aylard. She did owe him. Big time. He took her in when she had no home. He gave her a family when she had none. He had to be fine.

 

Another grunt from the Roegadyn drew her eyes back towards him. She shook her head. "I don't know, Shooey. Maybe it's off altogether." After a pause, she muttered under her breath. "Maybe the Flames found out."

 

To that Axe said nothing. And that meant something entirely different. Shaelen turned back to the Roegadyn, a deep frown twisting her face. "No, Shooey. We don't go look for them. They don't need our help. That's not what we do." She held up a hand at Axe to stop any further arguments. "I know it's Aylard. We gave him over a bell to show. But this is how we conduct business. This is how you and I survive."

 

Axe murmured again, quietly. She just shook her head again.

 

"Let's go, Shooey." She slung her pack over her shoulder and started out toward the chocobos, her fists swinging angrily by her side with each determined step. 

 

"The deal is off," she muttered. "Pretty damned sure no one is gonna be at those mines now."

[Roen]

Trouble at the Nanawa Mines

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roen struggled to fight off unconsciousness, her vision blurring as she stared at her hands, spread and braced on the ground. She could feel a sensation of warmth rising from her back, just inside her right shoulder blade. A part of her wondered if someone had poured warm water on her back because it was starting to run down her arm. Then the searing pain hit and jolted her out of her daze, nearly buckling her right arm. It was all she could do to remain on her hands and knees. She blinked to try to clear her thoughts, to get her bearings. 

 

What just happened?

She had been shot. The piercing ache in her back told her that she had been struck by an arrow from behind. The sentry she had failed to knock unconscious had done it too -- the one she had thrown off the side of the bridge when she saw more people rushing up towards her, weapons drawn. It had not been a far fall, only a few yalms down. She was just trying to get him out of the way, out of the way as more armed people came charging up the wooden stair leading up to the Nanawa Mines. 

 

These people -- they were not the terrorists or smugglers she and Natalie had been led to believe. They were--

 

How did this happen? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Roen, what do you think about laws?" 

 

Roen arched her eyebrows at Natalie. It was an odd question to be sure. Was this part of her Sultansworn trial? Her mentor had gathered both she and Kage, a lalafell who was also aspiring to be a paladin that Roen had been helping to train, for a special meeting. And it had started with this cryptic question.

 

"They are what we uphold," Roen answered earnestly, looking to the miqo'te Sultansworn standing under the canvas shade of Ruby Road Exchange.

 

Natalie nodded, regarding them both. "I could use some assistance, and I am hoping both of you can help me. But... it might not be entirely legal."  When she was answered with a questioning look from both of them, she shrugged. "Think of it as an undercover operation." Natalie chuckled quietly. "Just one that isn't sanctioned by my superiors. If something goes wrong, it will be mostly on my head."

 

"Well if it is on your head..." Kage grinned.

 

"Alright." Roen agreed, not needing to hear more.

 

Natalie raised a brow. "That was easy, Roen. You agree already?"

 

Roen gave her a shrug and a smile. "I trust you. You ask for help, I say yes."

 

The miqo'te Sultansworn seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment, and that did not happen with Natalie often. 

 

"A dangerous thing, that... but thank you." Natalie nodded, then leaned in towards both of them. "A shipment of ceruleum has been stolen. We suspect that the primary purpose is to make explosives." She kept her voice low. "This almost went completely under my notice, but I managed to get hired as a mercenary for the heist. So we will have to go in not as ourselves for this deal."

 

Roen blinked. With a glance she could see that Kage was surprised as well.

 

"If the Flames or the Sultansworn stormed in, they would just scatter and we would never figure out who was ordering this and why." Natalie's green eyes flicked to each of them in turn, making sure they were still with her. "I need to know this explosive is not meant for Ul'dah. We are going to go in disguised, and first prevent casualties. So aim to disable, not to kill. Then we try and figure out what where this is headed. And we will stop it if it will endanger Ul'dah."

 

Roen nodded. Her heart was racing already; this would be her first undercover operation. With disguises. She knew she did not do well with any lying or play acting, she had hoped to just stay silent and follow Natalie's lead.

 

They gathered later that afternoon to meet with their "handler," their disguises in place. Roen could not help but be impressed by how different everyone looked.  Kage was wearing a caster robe and a large pointy hat that covered most of his face, and Natalie wore fierce-looking face paint, and had colored her hair. She also wore a long thin lance on her back, her plate armor and breast plate traded for a light leather armor. Roen chose a chainmail shirt with boots, and a mask over her face and hair. She left her shield and longsword in her room, opting for a shortsword at her belt. She thought the disguise was good enough, so long as she did not have to talk.

 

Not talking came easy enough, for she was stunned to silence when she met their "handler." He was a dark skinned Keeper miqo'te, with a dark bob of a hair and a sly smirk that she did not forget. Roen had met him before. Many moons ago, in Gridania. Erik had fallen ill, and she and Siha went to try and cheer him up. The miqo'te, Cicero, had walked up and introduced himself as a poet, joining them at their table without an invitation.

 

And here he was again, under a different guise.

 

"Call me Rose." The miqo'te said, his white grin splitting his features. He wore a light tunic and breeches with leather vest and boots, for easy travel. He gave them a flourishing bow. "Shall we?" 

 

The Cicero that she had met spoke of flowers and things of beauty, that first day. And he had made them laugh. It didn't seem as though this was the same man at all.

 

"First, some info." Natalie held up her hand. "Who are we stealing this from?"

 

The Keeper miqo'te arched a brow. "Simple smugglers," he purred. "It should go off without a hitch."

 

"And what will you do with it?" Natalie pressed. "I'm fond of this city. It would be bad for business if you blew a hole in it."

 

"So many questions." Cicero said languidly, peering at Natalie. "For a hired mercenary, you sure do ask a lot. Are there perhaps aphids in the garden?"

 

Roen was glad for the mask that hid most of her expression as she felt herself stiffen. But Natalie seemed unfazed. "I'm a mercenary, not a terrorist. I have no problem fighting or stealing from smugglers. But if you have a problem with my questions, speak plainly." 

 

Cicero rolled his eyes. "Well, I can guarantee you that the item in question will not be used for any terrorist plot. I would not be so open about my face were I concerned with being named a terrorist."

 

"I'm fine with terrorism." Natalie laughed. "As long as it's not in my backyard. Hard to get a drink if people are blowing shit up." She looked over the Keeper miqo'te and finally nodded. "We're with you then."

 

"So there is honor amongst the thieves of Thalanan," Cicero drawled. "Who would have known." Quiet footsteps behind him drew his attention as he turned around to spot another miqo'te -- this one a Seeker -- approaching the three. "Ah, the star of the show has arrived," Cicero said. "That must mean it is time to raise the curtain."

 

Roen blinked as she recognized the Seeker, again thankful that her mask hid her expression. It was C'kayah Tia, one she had met some time ago through Siha and Erik -- and a male who had also recently become Natalie's beau. She resisted the urge to glance to her Sultansworn mentor as he joined them. C'kayah had been investigated by Natalie in the past and cleared, although the two shared a ...complicated history. Roen has suspected that C'kayah's connections in Ul'dah were vast, and now here he was, working with them on this undercover case. Things had come a long way, it seemed.

 

The group was led by Cicero to the Nanawa Mines. The sun was setting when they approached, and from a distance the mines looked deserted. Cicero held up his hand up to have them stop just behind a large cropping of rocks. Four figures stood at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the mines, with two sentries as lookouts on the top of the stairs. The two sentries both had bow and arrows. Roen could not see the figures clearly in her quick glance towards the mine, but they were facing east, as if looking or waiting for something.

 

"We can go around to the west, I know a path that leads up to the mines." Natalie squinted at the two sentries up top. "Then even if a fight breaks out, they would have to come to us. We would have the higher ground."

 

"I can get into position at the bottom to cover the sentries." C'kayah added, pulling out his bow.

 

"And you can put them to sleep?" Natalie looked to Kage.

 

"I need to be somewhat close." The lalafell nodded. "And I need to be covered so I can finish the cast. I can put down the most dangerous-looking one first."

 

"We'll cover you." C'kayah nodded to Kage, rising slightly to scan the mines over the rocks. He ducked back down. "Six in total," he confirmed. "I'd like it if we can do this without any fatalities. We don't need that sort of attention. Although they look like smugglers after all."

 

The miqo'te who called himself Rose grinned to them all. "This is where the script ends. I leave the rest to you all." He bowed. "I shall remain here, waiting for the news of your success."

 

Natalie set her lance aside, pulling out her sword and shield. "I did not want to be seen using these, but..." She gave C'kayah a look. "It looks like we might need it."

 

Ckayah answered her back with a nod of his own as he drew a blunt-tipped fowling arrow from his quiver. "What's your take on this?"

 

"Let's sneak around from the west, and take out the sentries first." Natalie poked out her head again from behind the rocks, her sharp miqo'te eyes narrowing. "One of them looks like an Ishgardian with that armor and lance. But why Ishgard would need ceruleum..." She shrugged and glanced to Roen as if to sense her nervousness. "I guess I am about to find out. You ready?"

 

Roen nodded, inhaling sharply to steady her nerves. And then...

 

Then everything happened too quickly.

[Roen]

A choke hold. That's what Natalie said to do. A hand over the mouth and an arm around the throat. They both quietly approached the two lookouts from behind, and before Roen could blink, Natalie was dragging off one of them without a sound. 

 

But hers was on the wooden stairs, and when Roen stepped onto the plank, it creaked. It was just enough sound to make the sentry turn his head slightly, his eyes going wide in alarm just as she reached him. She felt him struggle as she wrapped her arm around his neck, his feet kicking the wooden ground. It was loud enough to be heard by those below.

 

"The sentries!" came a cry, from where the other four were gathered below. Roen began to drag the man in her arms backwards, and as she did so she slowly felt his struggle lessen from being robbed of air. But her eyes shot to the first figure that charged up the stairs, an older man, armored in chain coif and mail, his blade drawn.

 

"Ruva, wait--!" came a call from below.

 

"ALA MHIGO!!" The first man let out a booming cry, heedless of the protests behind him.

 

"Curses! You cover me now!" Kage yelled, standing up and drawing his staff.

 

Natalie rushed forward with her sword and shield, ready to meet the man they called Ruva, trying to place herself in front of Kage. Roen heard a sharp split in the air as an arrow sailed by, just missing the charging man. She quickly spotted C'kayah down below near the base of the stairs behind another outcropping of large stones; the miqo'te was drawing another arrow. Roen shoved the man she had been holding to the side, and he fell to the dirt landing a few yalms below the wooden planks. She drew her short sword, readying herself for combat as the other figures charged up the stairs.

 

She recognized one of them.

 

The gleam of the dark blue armor and the frighteningly large lance he carried... Roen had seen that armor and lance before. 

 

It was her Master of Arms. Her mentor. 

 

Gharen Wolfsong was rushing up the stairs to meet them, his lance drawn.

 

She froze. Her spinning thoughts held her limbs hostage. She saw Kage casting with his staff in hand, sending crackling dark aetheric energies towards the lancer. With a sinking feeling, Roen saw Gharen falter for a moment in his ascent, one hand going to the wooden stair to steady himself. But Gharen shook his head and remained upright. Kage muttered something about his spell being resisted.  

 

Another sharp whistle broke the air; this time a blunt tipped arrow finding its mark on the third figure rushing up the stairs. Roen could see he was a younger highlander, perhaps eighteen winters by his face. He had no weapon in hand, he was rushing up armed only with his bare hands. C'kayah's arrow sent him stumbling forward on the stairs, a low grunt escaping his lips. He looked dazed, but not down. Past him clambered up a highlander girl who also had no weapon in hand. She looked no older than sixteen, but was charging up the stairs to meet them in full fury nonetheless.

 

"Pa!!! They are shootin'!" the girl yelled, her eyes going to the first man who had charged up. She had nearly reached the top of the stairs when she fell forward. "Kuugh!" She grunted, clutching her side. C'kayah's blunt arrow had found another mark, cracking the girl in the ribs. The miqo'te archer leaped over the rock he had been using for cover, running to the base of the stairs.

 

Natalie met Ruva's charge, ducking low with her shield aimed at his legs. That sent the older man stumbling to the ground, but he quickly recovered with a swing of his sword aimed at her midsection. Natalie leaped back just barely dodging the edge of the blade. Their swords clashed, the metallic ringing echoing into the night. And yet Roen could still not move.

 

"Wait--" She finally managed, holding out her hand towards Kage who was preparing another spell. Things were happening too fast.

 

Natalie glanced back to Roen, and she could see that the Sultansworn seemed confused as well. Clearly their war cries and makeup did not speak of smugglers or profiteers. She swung her sword hard at Ruva's trying to knock it away. She backed up a step and planted her weapon into the wooden planks. "All of you! Stop for a moment!" she shouted.

 

Her calls for a pause did not go heeded. Indeed, things were still happening at a breakneck pace. Ruva took a moment given by Natalie to look to the girl -- his daughter -- coming up behind him. "Flee, girl! The boy too! This deal's done!" He began to circle Natalie, seemingly trying to find an opening or buying his daughter some time.

 

The girl did not stop. "Can't, Pa! They are still shootin'!!" As soon as she was back on her feet, she charged for Natalie, trying to tackle the miqo'te. The girl was quick, and had impressive momentum. But she was still no match for a trained and battle-hardened Sultansworn. Natalie caught the girl in her hands and used her momentum to swing the girl back around, sending her crashing into her father.

 

Roen's eyes widened at what followed. The older man was too close to the edge -- and it looked as though they were both going over the side of the bridge. 

 

Ruva kicked back at his daughter, shoving her forward and himself away, trying to get her back to the edge of the bridge as much as possible... before he hurtled out of sight, plummeting to the ground at least twenty yalms below.

 

"Daena?!" came another call, the younger man on the bridge sounding panicked. He had risen after being knocked down by C'kayah's arrow, and leaped down to face off against the archer, who now had a barbed arrow trained on him. 

 

The highlander girl twitched for a moment, looking at Natalie. There was retaliation in her eyes and her white knuckled fists shook with anger. But when she glanced to the empty space where her father had been, she froze with horror. "Pa!" With a choked sob, she turned and made a dash down the stairs. "I'm coming," she called out, her voice hoarse.

 

"Please... wait. Stop!" Roen cried out, her hands going up, dropping her sword. Even as she did so she saw Gharen leap over them all with quickness and height that seemed almost supernatural. She saw him swing his lance at Kage's feet, knocking him to the ground. But he paused, his helm turning her way. It was obvious he had recognized her voice despite her mask.

 

That was when she heard that familiar sharp hiss in the wind, another arrow let loose. Except this one was not from C'kayah. It was from behind her. She realized too late that the sentry she had released and pushed off to the side had regained his bearings. That's when the piercing pain from behind robbed her of breath and sent her to the ground.

 

"Damn it!!" She heard Natalie cry out. The Sultansworn's face twisted with rage, and in an instant she spun with the swing of her shield, sending its sharpened tip into the throat of the sentry who had just let loose his arrow. The sickening crunch of the spine churned Roen's stomach as the highlander archer crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his throat.

 

Gharen let out a low feral growl, his lance spinning and slamming onto Natalie's sword arm, stunning her, then spinning and crashing his haft against her feet, knocking her to the ground. He pointed the tip of his deadly lance at her throat, and let out an ear splitting whistle. "Stand down!" 

 

"There has been a mistake..." Roen began to say between gasps, but her words were drowned out by a low rumble behind them that also shook the ground. It was all she could do to steady herself on her hands and knees. Natalie fell on top of her protectively, shielding her with her own form. 

 

Roen looked back up towards Natalie and Gharen. They both had their hands up to shield their faces, and were looking over their shoulders towards the mine. 

 

From the mine entrance now billowed black, ominous smoke. Tendrils of flames could be seen licking out out from the mouth of the cave. Natalie held up one hand towards Gharen as she curled the other under Roen's, helping her to stand. Gharen lowered his lance just a little, and motioned with it toward the descending stairs.  

 

That was when the next explosion boomed, deafening them all.

 

[cuideag]

On his third time through the room, Hroch Greyarm finally stopped himself. There was nothing left that could identify the man who had slept here, nothing at all to even say that anyone had stayed aside from an unmade bed and a piece of whetstone left on the table. Brynnalia said there would have been nothing to find: Aylard kept his contacts in his head and only in his head, memorizing names and faces and occupations of acquaintances new and old alike. The man was no fool. He was careful. That was how he survived.

 

Hroch rubbed his face with a hand, catching himself pacing about in tiny circles. That was how he survived, he echoed in his mind, doubt sinking deep and dark in the pit of his stomach. It was the third sun and counting since Aylard had failed to meet them at their mark and no one had so much as heard a thing from the old man.

 

"This isn't like him," they'd say. "Something is wrong. Where could he be?" Angry, accusatory eyes had sought him as if it was Hroch himself that was behind Aylard's disappearance. It was his father, after all. How could he possibly lose sight of his father? "What are we going to do?"

 

What are we going to do?

 

Tensions had been high among he and his peers after their catastrophic failure to secure the ceruleum he and his father had been sent to Thanalan for, after the attack and explosions and fire, after Ruva took a fall that may very well have cost him the ability to walk and most certainly cost another man his life. Somewhere along the line something had gone wrong and none of them could decide what it could have been. The attack itself had come as a complete surprise: they'd snuck up from behind, their presence detected only as one of them made a false step on the bridge as they attempted to neutralize the lookouts. Only after Ruva had fallen and one sentry was murdered did they retreat, both parties licking wounds and wondering what exactly had just happened.

 

Ruva. Hroch's eyes pinched shut at the stinging chill in his chest every time he thought about Daena's father. He could still hear the painful crunch his body had made when he fell, and the terrified look in his red-haired daughter's eyes. That should never have happened. Never. We should have been careful. What are we going to do?

 

They set the leg as best as they could but there was no telling if it would ever fully heal. But he's alive and accounted for, Hroch caught himself thinking bitterly. Never would he have dared say it aloud and the mere act of having thought it filled him with shame and loathing. Battered as he was, Daena still had him. No self-respecting Ala Mhigan would let himself die tumbling off a catwalk and Ruva Ghurn was as proud an Ala Mhigan as any.

 

But so is da, and where is he?

 

His breath left him in a heavy sigh and he felt all the more empty for it. The compulsion to sift through the drawers and comb through the armoire hit him once more but he knew there would be nothing to find, just as there was nothing to be found at the mines after the attack save fire and rubble and just as he was left with fewer and fewer leads left to follow. Gharen Wolfsong spoke of to them of a student of his that had participated in the brief battle but was insistent that he be the one to speak with her. "We've enough wounded an' dead o'er this," he said to Daena in particular. "Rushin' in blindly with youthful anger an' stupidity won' help either."

  

"Things are nae add'n up," he said, shaking his head. It was an obvious truth no one else wanted to admit, for admitting it would have only proven that they were not as in control of the situation as they had previously believed. What do we do?

 

Hroch Greyarm fidgeted and tugged at the bed sheets into some semblance of order. Then he swore and messed them up just as they were. He'll come back and I'll have a word with him about responsibility, Hroch told himself. A man's nothing without discipline and making their beds is what responsible people do. Quietly he sat himself down on the edge of the bed and, alone and in silence, Hroch waited. It was not until bells later that he would realize that he had been weeping.

[Gharen]

Sparks flew in all directions as the hammer repeatedly struck the Cobalt billet with the rhythmic ring of metal striking metal. Gharen had folded the billet what felt like hundreds of times in the creation of this blade; he was using this time to think, to replay events in his head and weigh the information out. Days earlier he’d returned to Nanawa mines, the scene of the explosion, figuring he would not have much time before the Brass Blades, Immortal Flames, or even the Sultansworn arrived.

 

He’d removed his armor and changed into something less conspicuous; to the passing observer he looked like one of the refugee miners who were attempting to douse the few remaining fires that were still going. Hauling a bucket of water, he moved to where he guessed the explosion had come from. Gharen scanned the ground; the blast had done well to cover the evidence at its epicenter. But amongst the tracks, he spotted footprints in the dust and dirt that didn’t match the more recent tracks of the miners attempting to put the fires out.

 

Kneeling down to examine the them, Gharen could see that they were lightly made, as if someone was moving with speed and intent coming from the flanks of where their scuffle had been. He surmised them to be Miqo’te or Midlander possibly, based on the size and weight of the print, and they were heading toward the epicenter of the blast. He followed the footprints until they emerged from the mouth of the cave again, this time heading away from the site. The steps now carried more weight, as if carrying something it had not before.

 

Gharen plunged the billet into the forge, preparing to fold it yet again. Why in the hells had she been there? On its face, the facts pointed to betrayal, he had put members of the Resistance in contact with her at her request. Now the man who had intended to meet her has gone missing, and she had been part of the group that had ambushed them at the Nanawa Mines.

 

His initial response had been one of raw anger, but then he started asking questions: why had they called for everyone to halt their attack? They were expecting something, or someone else, but by the time they realized this, things had already spun out of control. Then there were the foot prints he’d found at the blast site, her people seemed every bit as taken by surprise by the sudden blast indicating that wasn’t part of their plan. A third party? Who then?

 

Gharen pulled the billet out of the fire with his tongs and placed it over the anvil and began the process of hammering it over onto itself again. It was only when he saw her step into his line of sight that the echoing ringing stopped, the hammer coming to rest against the glowing metal.

 

Roen Deneith stood there, dressed in plain cotton tunic and breeches, with only a dagger at her side. She was not dressed in her usual paladin armor, nor had she come as one. One hand rested on her stomach, and there was a look of nervousness as she regarded him. But despite whatever her intent may have been, Gharen could feel his rage quickly rising even at the mere sight of her. He let out a low growl and looked to the doorway behind him then back to her. A part of him expected to see armed backup waiting outside.

 

“What did ye do?” He demanded, jaws squared. His words were direct, to the point, and were filled with anger. He did not wait for her to answer as he turned and plunged the billet back into the forge. Perhaps he thought that continuing to work would cease the rising fury he felt within. He gave the bellows a pump, feeling the heat growing hotter from within the forge.

 

"Master Gharen. I... we did not know." Her voice was quiet. Uncertain. "Are you alright? Did the man who fell... did he live?"

 

Gharen withdrew the glowing billet, setting it back on the anvil again. "He'll live, likely with a limp." His hammer struck the metal once more. He glared at her accusingly, "Nae so lucky fer th' young man with th' crushed throat."

 

"We thought... we were told that..." Roen bowed her head. "We thought we were going to find terrorists." She shook her head, her expression dark with sorrow. "I did not know we would find you. And the Resistance."

 

His hammer answered her with an unforgiving ringing blow. "Aye then how'd ye know?" The glowing metal spat out more sparks. "An' what of Aylard, hmm?" Another strike. "What'd ye do with him?" A part of him knew he should not be this angry, but striking the billet was all he could do to keep from exploding.

 

"I..." Roen looked confused. "Aylard... Greyarm? What of--" His words and strikes came fast, and the anger that fueled them made her flinch.  "What did I do? I... I do not understand." She blinked rapidly and gave him a look of surprise and disbelief.  "What do you think I did?"

 

The hammer struck the billet again harder than before, cutting her question off. He turned and kicked shut the thick wooden door behind him. Gods, how he wanted to yell at her. "He's missin', I put ye in contact with him… he turns up missin', an ye show up with an armed ambush." His voice was barely controlled.

 

He grabbed the tongs and plunged the billet into the fires again and worked the bellows. He was keeping his hands busy else it would have shook with anger. He'd gone over the facts in his head repeatedly and suspected that her group didn't know they were running into The Resistance. Then why in the hells was he so angry at her?

 

"What do you think I did... Master Gharen?" Her question came slow, and her voice shook. "What do you think me capable of?"

 

Gharen stopped the bellows but his grip never left the handle. "I can tell ye what it looks like on th' surface." He took a breath. "But tha' dinnae explain th' calls te stop th' fight, which indicates tha' ye dinnae know who we were… or th' fact someone circled aroun' durin' our scuffle an' took somethin' from th' supplies before they went an' exploded." He took his tongs and moved the billet, flipping it to ensure it is heated evenly. He gave her a hard look. "So I'll ask ye again, fer yer account o' things. What did ye do?"

 

"I do not know about Aylard Greyarm, Master Gharen.” She stood there, stalk still and stiff, but with her chin lifted. “He sent a boy to set up a meeting with me. But he never showed. I waited for him at Fesca's Wash. I did not know he went missing." She sighed.  "As for the mines, Natalie got a tip. About smugglers who were possibly going to sell stolen ceruleum to terrorists. We thought we were looking into see someone threatening Ul'dah. That is what we were told!” She looked to him beseechingly.

 

Gharen's jaw tightened as he moved the billet again and gave the bellows another pump. His eyes looked over to meet hers. "Who then provided tha' tip? Because if'n they took what I'm fairly certain they did, we've all got a whole other problem on our hands."

 

"A miqo'te. I met him once. He called himself Cicero. That day, he called himself Rose.” Roen answered earnestly. “He had contacted C'kayah for this smuggling job. So C'kayah told Natalie, who then recruited me and one other to help. We were there to make sure the ceruleum was not sold to terrorists. But after fire... Rose could not be found."

 

Gharen used the tongs to pull the glowing billet from the forge. He could feel his anger slowly abating, as he started putting puzzle pieces together. This Miqo'te, Cicero, was the likely thief and source of the explosion and resulting fire. And, there were other potential players. "What do ye know o’ this Delial woman?"

 

Roen blinked, clearly surprised. "Miss... Delial? I met her while I was at Little Ala Mhigo. She helped me find out more about my mother's ancestors. Why would you ask me of her?"

 

Gharen's hammer struck the billet. "Because she's the only other person who knew I'd be arranging fer ye te meet with Aylard. Unless o'course ye let others know?" His movements had become more rhythmic, more controlled.

 

Roen shook her head,her own voice steady. “She told me she wanted to join the Resistance. That she found her current job tiresome and meaningless. She wanted to do something that was right. Her gaze drifted to the anvil in thought. “I let her know when I was going to meet with Aylard Greyarm. I thought she could meet him for a chance to join the cause for her homeland."

 

"Did ye tell her where ye'd be meeting him?"

 

"I did."

 

Gharen reached for a thin plate of steel and inserted it into the center of the folded billet, bringing his hammer down on it a few times to lock it into place before plunging it back into the forge. This task allowed him to think. This Highlander woman had the time and the place; another potential ambush would be simple to set up and execute especially if he'd arrived early. And only few suns ago, "Miss Delial" had sent a missive, wanting to speak to him directly.

 

He looked at Roen,"I'd be wary of any information ye share with Miss Delial. I have a feelin' she's nae as trustworthy as ye might think, considerin' she's want'n te talk te me now."

 

Roen stared at Gharen for a long moment. Disbelief was clear in her eyes. "She-- but...” She shook her head. “Every word she has shared with me was that of encouragement and comfort.” Silence fell between them as she considered his words. Her deep frown betrayed her conflict and reluctance to believe him. "What will you do, Master Gharen?"

 

He shifted the billet in the forge, “I’ll talk to her. See what she has to say. Might see about put’n a tail on her, I’m nae sure.” He watched the metal turn bright orange with the heat. He’d long since lost count of how many folds he'd made in the beginning of this blade. This was likely going to be one of his best.

 

"Also, I'd like fer ye te pass along a message." Gharen paused, turning back to Roen. He gave her a firm look, his tone darkening. "Tell tha' Miqo'te lass... Natalie was it? Tell her had it been anyone other than ye on the ground there she'd likely nae have walked away from tha’ fire let alone continued breathin' after what she did."

 

Roen nodded, clearly conflicted. "I am sorry, Master Gharen. For all that happened."

 

"Tis what it is." Gharen answered, resigned. His anger had completely faded. He returned to the task at hand.

 

Roen regarded him for a long moment. "You thought I betrayed you," she said quietly.

 

He stopped hammering the billet but his gaze didn’t leave it right away, "Initially, aye. Th' thought had crossed my mind, but th' events dinnae add up te tha', I needed te hear it come from ye te confirm tha' it was nae true."

 

Roen took one step closer, despite the heated metal that hissed between them. "I would never do that. I would never betray you." She looked to him with a steady gaze, intent. "I just needed you to know that." She said quietly, stepping once more towards him.  "If you were to leave for Ala Mhigo… I did not want you to leave thinking I would do that to you."

 

Gharen looked at her fora long moment then nodded. Newly arising guilt made him grip the hammer tight. "Aye lass. I thank ye," he rumbled low.

 

They met each other's gaze for a moment longer, before Roen bowed. "I will leave you to your work, Master Gharen." She turned to leave, then glanced over her shoulder. "I hope you are wrong about Miss Delial."

 

 Gharen kept silent on the matter of the Highlander woman, instead glancing at the cooled billet and shoving it back into the forge. He looked back to Roen, his hand on the bellows. "Aye lass. Take care o' yerself alrigh'?"

 

Roen nodded. "Staywell, Master Gharen."

[Roen]

_{This post follows the events from} 

_{this post.}

 

 

Bitter Ashes

 

 

 

 

Roen threw the drawers open, snatching up her tunic and breeches, and threw them haphazardly onto the large bag that awaited on the bed. Her eyes darted around the room, wide with panic. She ducked under the bed, pulling out a pair of leather boots; if there was walking to be done, she would need them. She stood, and her eyes caught sight of the white and blue embroidered fabric that still laid on the bed: her Sultansworn tabard. Roen found her breath caught, her body unable to move. What was she doing? Was she really worried about walking through the desert? Did it really matter what she put into that bag?

 

In a flash of anger she threw the boots in her hand across the room, knocking plates from the table. The dish crashed to the wooden floor, the glass shattering. Roen cared not. She crumpled, sinking to a seat on the floor, her head buried in her hands.

 

They had her father. Ana Deneith had found Roen in Western Thalanan, just as she was returning from her Trial of Courage, to relay the shocking news. Roen had bid farewell to them that morning, kissing young Brenna and Brayden on the forehead and embracing Ana and Brenden warmly. Brenden had been treated by the royal physicians of the court suns before, and he was feeling stronger. He felt well enough to return to their home in Southern Thalanan; the medical corps had done their job well. 

 

But the Deneith family never completed the journey. They were set upon by Garleans who materialized seemingly out of thin air in the middle of the desert, and were taken away. From Ana’s harried description of the events, Roen surmised that they were teleported away and taken to a Castrum. Ana, a farmer by trade and the wife of a simple merchant, did not know which Castrum it was, only that she had been surrounded by large, dark, frightful machines, and technology she was not familiar with.

 

What Ana Deneith did understand, however, was what they wanted. Why the family was taken. The Garleans made their demands clear to her when they let her and the children go: releasing them was their sign of good faith and willingness to let her father go eventually. But the only thing that would free Breven Deneith was Roen herself. She would need to trade herself for Brenden Deneith. She would need to return home. To Garlemald.

 

When Ana told her this, the woman’s brown eyes were fixed on to Roen, unflinching. Her gaze held sadness and despair, but also unbidden accusation. Ana never voiced it, but Roen knew. She had always known. Roen believed as much, even as they took her in for all those years after the Calamity, they never asked where she had come from. But her armor, her uniform, her foreign accent… they knew. But they did not care. Brenden never cared where she had come from, only that she was in need of a home.

 

And now the man that saved her life, who made her part of his family, were in the hands of the people who had brought death and destruction upon the land Roen now called home. Her adoptive father was being held by her birth father’s people, demanding for his daughter return home.

 

How naive was she to think that her past had been forgotten? That Dorien van Luraes had forgotten about her? That where she had grown up, the army she illegally joined, the fact that she was from a land that all of Eorzea considered their one true enemy? She was foolish to think it didn't matter.

 

It did. All of it. And now it had caught up to her. Now the life of Brenden Deneith was at stake, and she was the one who had put him in harm’s way. It was up to her to see him freed, even if it meant her own freedom.

 

Roen stared at the pile of her belongings, haphazardly thrown onto the bag on the bed. She looked to the blue tunic, the tights, and the dress shoes. Erik had given them to her many moons ago, telling her she needed to step out of her armor every so often. 

 

Then there was the longsword, the hilt made of mohagony with an ivory falcon taking flight set upon it. It held a beautiful and fine cobalt blade that had been meticulously hammered and smoothed; the sword given to her by her Master in Arms. And the white and blue royal tabard and armor, laid out next to the sword on the bed, granted to her through the trials of becoming a Sultansworn--trials she had completed a short few bells ago.

 

She was packing them away, as if to bring them back with her to Garlemald. To bring something to remember them by, all those who mattered to her. But as Roen continued to stare at the contents on the bed, the things that spoke of love and friends here in Eorzea, her breath slowly left her, her chest sinking with the realization.

 

She would not say goodbye to them. How could she? What would she say? Could she bare the look of shock, anger, and maybe even hatred in their eyes when she told them where she was going and why?

 

Natalie had said time and again how she would happily run a sword through any Garlean she came across. Each time she said it, Roen felt her blood run cold, but she had never intended on the Sultansworn finding out about her past. It was a thing of history, it mattered not to the friendship they had forged. And yet were the truth to ever come out… Roen doubted that Natalie’s hatred for Garleans would remember who Roen had been for the many moons they have known each other. Natalie had always been about duty, and duty would call upon her to arrest her apprentice who had been lying about who she was.

 

And even if Natalie and the others could see beyond her place of origin, no Sultansworn would ever have a Garlean apprentice. The ranks of the Sultansworns would not accept Roen's past, even if her friends and mentors did. And the consequence of that would ripple beyond just Roen herself. It would fall upon everyone she knew; it would cast a traitorous shadow upon all who cared about her and called her friend. Roen could not allow that.

 

Pushing herself from her knees, she finally rose from her seat upon the ground, making her way to the broken plate on the floor. As she gathered the scattered bits of glass, she also took a cloth napkin to grab up the half eaten marmot steak that had fallen. 

 

Roen paused at it as she looked to the cold brown meat, recalling the night when she was taught how to cook it by Master Gharen. Her fingers tingled with the memory; she had accidentally burned herself, and remembered how he had held her hand as he wrapped it with a cool cloth and an ice crystal. 

 

She could not say goodbye to him either. Not after he had forgiven her for all that happened at the mines. Not after he then gifted her with the sword that he had forged during their talk. That very thought twisted her stomach and robbed her of her breath. The thought of leaving him, and her friends, never to see them again...

 

It brought an emptiness she had never felt before. Pinching her face, she refused the tears that threatened to rise, instead steeling herself with resolve as to what must be done.

 

I have to.

 

All that was left was to meet with the Garlean agent, to negotiate her return to Garlemald for Brenden Deneith’s freedom. She was told that she was being watched, as were her friends and the Sultansworns. She was told that if she dared to inform anyone or to gather help, the contact would cease and Brenden’s life would be forfeit. And she was given only two suns to prepare.

 

Roen carefully set the remnants of the broken plate and food wrapped in a cloth napkin onto the table. She looked to the contents on the bed again. It would all remain here, all the things that brought her joy and hope in this new land. She would leave her new life behind to return to the old. All that would be left were the bitter ashes of sweet memory.

 

Roen pulled her cloak tight around her and walked out of the room.

Edited March 5, 2018 by Roen

[Shael]

 "Let's go hunt some Garleans."

 

These are words Shaelen never thought she would say. And yet here she was, looking at people she hardly knew, hearing herself say the words she swore she would never say again.

 

Who were these people anyways? She knew Hroch, son of Aylard. It was because of Aylard she had come to seek out his only son, to demand where he was. (As if it was the boy's fault.) But it felt cathartic to throw him against the pillar in Black Brush station and demand angrily to know where his father was.

 

Just because it wasn't right didn't make it any less cathartic.

 

He didn't know, of course. If he knew, she wouldn't be looking for him. But too many suns have gone by without a word from the old man, and even on that first day, when Aylard failed to show for their rendezvous, there was that hollow feeling in her gut that told her something was wrong. And Shael's gut was never wrong.

 

Her gut told her this was wrong now, and, being bullheaded and (on occasion) stupid, she was ignoring it. The fire that burned in her chest tensed her muscles, making them jumpy. She needed to do something about it, and hunting Garleans was the best idea she could come up with at the time.

 

It wasn't as though it might not lead to Aylard, after all. It very well might! And it would let her release the knot that twisted her up inside. The blackness that she thought she had let go long ago when she left the Resistance.

 

And what was left of this faction of the Resistance anyway? Hroch seemed like a lost puppy at times, trying desperately to hide the despair and doubts about his father's fate behind a puffed-out chest and false bravado. Then there was Ruva and Daena Ghurn. Once proud -- no STILL proud and damn stubborn -- old man Ruva could barely walk, his leg a mangled, patched up mess since his fall at the mines. And Daena, his daughter, hot blooded and overflowing with conviction, with anger brimming just beneath the surface about her father's state. Gods, she reminded Shaelen of herself when she was that young. Too much so.

 

Then there were two complete strangers. One was a Midlander bounty hunter named Xydane Vale who Hroch met and hired to help find his father. Shaelen knew it was mostly out of desperation, and being that Aylard Greyarm had been missing for so long, she could not argue against it. But the midlander was quiet and kept details of himself out of the conversation. Brynnalia, another member of the Resistance, noted he acted like a knight of some sort. As if chivalry would win any trust with me. Shaelen snorted. But it was good enough for the rest, so Shaelen went with it.

 

She also knew nothing about this Gharen Wolfsong, a Highlander who had only recently joined the Cause. She had seen him a couple of times at the Grindstone tournaments, but knew nothing of the man. But she gave him some measure of trust because Aylard seemed to trust him implicitly. But things had gone to shite since his arrival. Shaelen could not in honest blame him though, they were dealing in the city of Ul'dah after all, the land of corruption. Too many ways things could go wrong here. She hated dealing in this town, but it was her biggest source of income. What with greedy bandits, Syndicate, and Monetarist abound, smugglers were always being sought after. And now... there were Garleans as well.

 

Hunting Garleans. Shite.

 

Shaelen hated the taste of the bloodthirsty bile that often rose in her mouth when she thought this way. When she felt the need to hit something, beat it to a pulp, to release some of this pent up anger and frustration. But that was her way of life when she was with the Resistance. And it left her feeling so hollow after years of serving The Cause. So she left. Against Aylard's wishes, even though a part of her always hoped he had understood, somewhere deep within. Sailing free on the seas, letting the whims of fortune dictate their destination, that had calmed the fire within. Traveling with Shooey by her side, it had brought a lightness to her being, as if lifted by the same winds that fed the sails of Peregrine.

 

But now that Aylard had gone missing... and learning that there were Garleans about, it woke that fever within her again, one that devoured her thoughts until she could do nothing else but look to feed it somehow.  It had not helped that she had sent Shooey away to stock up Peregrine. The Roegadyn always had a way of grounding and calming her and his absence reminded her of it all the more. But it was with hopes that she could just turn around and leave after meeting up with Hroch, to leave this matter behind once she knew what had happened to Aylard. Leave Hroch and the rest to figure things out themselves.

 

But she could not. Shaelen delivered the news to the Resistance of a secret Garlean rendezvous in Central Thalanan, and the next thing she knew she was leading the ragtag group up the railroad tracks to the hidden spot only she knew how to find. She held up a hand when she came to the mouth of the cave, hearing voices echoing from within.

 

"Do I have your word that this exchange will go as you say?" The woman's voice was barely audible.

 

"My orders are direct from Garlemald. We need to ensure this will be a secure and incident-free transaction." A man's voice. Clipped dialect. Shaelen recognized Garleans accent easy enough. "You have the word of my superiors. The Empire was not built on lies."

 

Shaelen nearly snorted then as her hands closed around the cesti at her side, drawing them from her belt. They could not take over Ala Mhigo without lies. False promise of peace and freedom. She glanced behind her to motion to Wolfsong to make his way towards the other mouth of the cave. "Make sure they don't escape," She whispered. But the cursed wind carried her voice too far into the cave. Just as she rounded the corner, she saw the cloaked male turn her way, as if hearing something.  "Shite..." she muttered.

 

"Traitors!" The male Garlean hissed, drawing his blade and raising his shield. It immediately crackled to life, flashes of electricity shimmering on its surface. Magitek.

 

Shaelen leaped over the wooden fence that stood between them, slamming her fists into the ground with fury and might. Her chakra flowed from within, cracking and shaking the earth around her. She heard Daena yelp behind her as she was tossed back by the impact, but Shaelen cared not, her stormy eyes on the two Garleans. They too both stumbled, trying to regain their balance. She saw Xydane rush forward with the blunt end of his axe swinging, having recovered remarkably quick from her move. His swing struck the bladed Garlean in the head, sending him stumbling to the side. She could see the blood trickle from his lips.

 

Then the Garlean did something she did not expect--though she's should have. One Garlean suddenly turned on the other, slamming the cloaked woman as she too was regaining her bearings, knocking her down. He leaped over her onto the boxes behind them, and activated something else on his wrist. The fallen woman was in the way of Shaelen's pursuit. She could do nothing as she watched as the familiar blue aetheric energies formed a circle around the man, and he disappeared from sight. Garlean teleportation. Shaelen cursed.

 

"Damn it ta hell!" Daena shouted from behind her. "Get the other one!"

 

The Garlean woman seemed stunned as the rest, as she looked to where the man had teleported away. Xydane quickly brought his axe upon her, putting the bladed end just before her throat. The cloaked female froze, and wisely held up her hands in front of her, showing them all that she was not armed. Shaelen could see the grey eyes of the Midlander woman. She looked more horrified than fearful.

 

"Ha! Stinks ta be a Garlean, don't it! Ya dogs don't know the meanin' of loyalty!" Daena ran up behind them. "Keep them hands high!"

 

Shaelen gave Xydane a glance, and he seemed to recognize her meaning as she said, "I am not taking any chances." He lowered his axe just enough, as she delivered a lightning quick round house kick to the woman's head. The Garlean crumpled to the ground unconscious without a word.

 

"Think she'd have more coming? Reinforcements?" Hroch trotted up to join them, as was Gharen who still kept his eyes on the other end of the cave.

 

"Can't be too sure with Garleans," Daena muttered as she delivered a hard kick to the unconscious woman's ribs. "Let's get 'er sorry arse back for questionin'!"

 

"Aye. Let's not stay here for long. One of you pick her up and let’s get out of here," Shaelen said coldly as she rehooked the cestis onto her belt. She watched Gharen bend over the Garlean to pick up the unconscious woman. That's when the hood fell away. It was a pale Midlander woman, with red hair. Shaelen narrowed her eyes. She looked familiar.

 

"Damn it." She heard Gharen mutter the words under his breath.

 

"Need help there strong man?" Daena hovered over the prisoner.

 

"Go! I got her," Gharen barked.

 

Shaelen gave Gharen an odd look for a moment as he lifted the unconscious woman in his arms. Then she remembered where she had seen her before: it was at a number of the Grindstone tournaments. Stormy eyes flicked between the Garlean and the Highlander that now bore her in his arms. She would sort this out, but not in the cave. Fates would be decided at Lost Hope when they held the prisoner to question. She motioned them out of the cave, taking up the rear, eyeing the surroundings for any reinforcements that may come. Her fingers closed and unclosed around the cesti at her hips. But as she glanced back to the Garlean prisoner, she once again felt that hollow feeling rising in the pit of her stomach.

 

Hunting Garleans.

 

Shite.

[Shael]

The group began to make their way back to Lost Hope, Daena and Hroch looking hopeful with a Garlean prisoner in tow. Xydane remained aloof as usual, but Wolfsong was strangely silent, looking over the prisoner in his arms. Shaelen tried to convince herself that this was at least a mild victory; they had captured a Garlean and would put the woman to question. Certainly she would know something about Aylard’s whereabouts.

 

“She don’t look so tough.” Daena glanced back to Gharen and the woman. “I bet she’ll sing like a bird.” She gave a grin to Hroch who was next to her. “We’ll get some answers for yer pa, maybe.”

 

The group came to an abrupt halt when they came to the mouth of the cave at Lost Hope. A tall cloaked figure had been exiting--a duskwight with a heavy hood drawn low over his face. Shaelen narrowed her eyes, as silence fell over the rest of the group. Suspicion was immediate. Who in seven hells...

 

“Oi! Who goes there!” Daena called out.

 

Shaelen walked out in front, her hands resting on her cesti. “Hey!”

 

The tall duskwight nearly loomed over her. He held out his hands to the side. “Am I being robbed?” His voice was calm, but cold.

 

“Whatcha doin’ ere,” Daena said. “Yer trespassin’.”

 

Shaelen glared at the elezen under the hood, then her eyes glanced beyond his face to the sharp lance that hung on his back. The bladed tip… was bloodied. 

 

“Shite…” she muttered as she reached for her cesti. But it was too late; the tall elezen had seen her eyes go to his weapon behind him, and he bolted away from them, with surprising speed.

 

“Where’s…” Hroch began in surprise, dread clear in his tone.

 

“...Pa?!” Daena immediately called out, darting into the cave. “Pa! Answer me!”

 

Shaelen did not wait to find out. The duskwight was getting further away with every tic. She left Wolfsong with the prisoner, and Xydane with the rest as she took after the fleeing lancer. But as she exited the row of tents, she saw the duskwight on a chocobo, riding off in the distance. She was not going to catch him.

 

Dread constricting her throat, and she ran back to Lost Hope. Inside, she found what she was fearing: Ruva Ghurn lay dead, his throat pierced by a lance. The look on his face was pure fury, even in death. Daena was bent over on her knees, holding her father’s bloodied corpse. But it was not just an assassination; crates were opened, boxes overturned, and tents and canvas ripped.

 

Shael passed the two younger Highlanders to a deeper cavern in the back where she found Gharen and Xydane. They were both looking over the prisoner who had been laid on the floor, still unconscious.

 

“The elezen was an assassin," Xydane was saying to Gharen. "If they are not hesitant to kill the old man, they will not be hesitant to kill their prisoner. We must find out what we can from this woman, and we must do it fast. I will not fail the boy.”

 

“Aye, I’m aware. I’ll speak te her when she awakes,” Wolfsong answered, just as the woman started to stir.  

 

Shaelen came up to stand behind the two men, her eyes going to the Garlean. The woman was just regaining consciousness. As soon as her lashes started to flutter open, Gharen knelt down in front of her. 

 

His tone was stern, but not hostile. “What were ye doin’ there? An who was that’ ye were talkin’ to?” 

 

Shael gave him an odd look; he just expected her to answer him, just like that?

 

The woman blinked, her brows furrowing as she looked to Wolfsong. There was recognition in her face. But when her eyes cleared, they widened with a look of horror. 

 

“Oh… this.. he… no!” She sat up quickly, then grabbed her head where she was struck. Xydane moved as if to restrain the woman, but Gharen held up a hand.

 

“Best answer his question and best answer it fast,” Xydane hissed.

 

Garlean woman shot a look to Wolfsong, one hand grabbing his arm. “They are going to kill him,” she gasped.

 

“Kill who?” Gharen asked.

 

“The boy’s father?” Xydane stepped closer to the woman.

 

“The boy’s… who...?” The woman glanced from Gharent to Xydane, confusion in her bent brows. She shook her head and looked to the Highlander again, her eyes wide. “They are going to kill my father.”

 

Shaelen has had enough. The woman was not giving information fast enough. She pushed past the two men, kneeling in front of the prisoner. “Were you just bait? Was I fed bad intel?” She didn’t care how distraught the woman looked.

 

“I know this lass,” Gharen interjected as if to calm her down. “She’s my student... an’ a prospective Sultansworn.”

 

“I knew there was something between you.” Shaelen spat, arching an accusatory brow at Wolfsong. She had seen her at the Grindstone tournaments when the Highlander was overseeing it. But that only raised more questions. She spun back to the woman on the ground. “You were meeting with a Garlean. Are you a Garlean?”

 

The woman froze at the question, her eyes wide. Shaelen recognized that stunned look all too well. “Garlean,” Shael repeated, this time it was not a question. Both men fell to silence behind her.

 

“Give me a few minutes with her,” Gharen sighed, finally breaking the silence. Xydane seemed to oblige easy enough, slipping out of the cave and saying he would try and ask the locals about the elezen.

 

But Shaelen stood her ground, her stormy eyes narrowing on the taller Highlander. “She’s our only lead to Aylard. And now Ruva is dead. She’s gonna pay for that.” She could feel that hunger grow inside her again.

 

“No, she’s nae.” Gharen met her gaze with a steel of his own.

 

Shaelen’s brow twitched. “What do you mean, she’s not.” Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “She’s a Garlean.”

 

Gharen did not flinch, a low feral growl escaping his throat. “Let me clarify. I was nae askin’ fer a few minutes te talk te her.”

 

“She’s awake. Good.” Daena stormed in behind her with Hroch not too far behind. They both looked angry and eager.

 

“Out!” Gharen barked at them all.

 

“Don’t think so.” Daena cracked her knuckles. "I got as much right ta question ‘er as you do.”

 

“That woman’s got a lot to be answerin’ for.” Hroch added.

 

Gharen stood in front of the Garlean prisoner in a defensive stance, his fists clenched. “I’ll be th’ judge o’ tha’ now unless ye feel like hobblin’ out, I suggest ye walk out now!”

 

Daena was seething. “No,” she rasped. “She ain’t yers. She’s ours. Me pa is dead. I want answers.”

 

Hroch crossed his arms, sounding very much like his father with his jaw squared and his eyes taking on the calm that Aylard used to have. “We ain’t here to make small talk with this filth. We’ pilin’ corpses all over and she’s got to know something about it.”

 

Daena stepped forward, her hands in fists. Her glare at Gharen was pure fury. “I dun care who you are. Ain’t no one standin’ in me way on this.”

 

Gharen growled. “Ye want te take a crack at ‘er, ye’ll need to go through me then.”

 

Shite. Here we go. Shaelen saw the invitation snatched up without hesitation by Hroch as the younger Highlander rushed Wolfsong, with his fists sailing to strike the bigger man. She could sense that the young ones were getting restless before, and now with the old man's murder....

 

Hroch still unable to find his father, and Daena had just lost hers. Wolfsong’s strange and inexplicable need to protect the Garlean was all the spark they needed to explode into action.

 

Hroch’s fist went sailing wide as Wolfsong smoothly sidestepped him and leaned away from the swing, grabbing his arm and turning his momentum to the side, sending him towards Daena. The man’s had extensive training, moving like that. There was no mistake; this was going to be tougher than she thought.

 

“Who’s side are ya on?!” Daena shouted, frustrated, as she staggered back, Hroch crashing into her. She stumbled back up, grabbing the nearest ceramic pots that lay around her. She began to hurl them towards Wolfsong and the Garlean woman behind him, who was now trying to stand.

 

“I’m on th’ side tha’s think’n clearly,” Gharen said as he took one pot on the shoulder as it shattered. Another he ducked, and it crashed just finger width from the cloaked woman. The Garlean raised her hand as well, to shield herself from more flying pots, some breaking against her arm.

 

“He’s a fuckin’ traitor!” Daena screamed in anger. “How’d the elezen know where me pa was, huh?!” The girl had a good arm, she was shattering those pots against whatever they hit. Shaelen took a wider course not to be in her missile path. But she was eying the Garlean woman. She would settle this whole thing.

 

“Wait!” The cloaked woman pleaded with her hands held in front of her. “He is not a traitor! He had nothing to do with why I was there!” More pottery crashed and broke around her as she ducked out of their path.

 

“Ngh. Shut yer trap, Garlean!” Daena snarled ferally, her eyes wildly seeking out more things to throw. “I’ll deal wi’ you in a bit!”

 

“He’s innocent!” The cloaked woman edge out from behind Gharen, who was still blocking what flying pots he could while keeping Hroch and Daena in front of him. “I will go freely!”

 

Shaelen curled her hands around her cesti by her side. She was not going to let the youths battle a trained fighter alone. From what she could glean of his skills so far, they would be no match for Wolfsong. Shaelen would even the odds a little. But as she approached, the Garlean woman turned to her and stepped in between her and Wolfsong, holding up her hands. Too easy.

 

Shaelen snatched the woman by her wrist, swinging her around with the other arm going to wrap around her neck. Her eyes went to Wolfsong who was still engaged with Hroch, spinning and sending the youth back into a pile of crates and dodging a spinning brazier that now Daena had taken up. The girl was enraged. But Gharen caught the view of Shael and the prisoner she now had well in hand.

 

“So tha’s it then, any Garlean will do? Eh?” Wolfsong scowled. “Dinnae matter if she had anythin’ te do with it or nae?”

 

“I don’t know why you feel the need to protect a bloody Garlean, Wolfsong, your student or no, but she’s ours," Shaelen snarled. "Let’s get on with it and find out what she knows!” Shaelen aimed her words at the two still engaged, even while she tightened her hold around the woman’s slender throat, pulling her back forcibly away from Wolfsong. Hroch was still stumbling in his pile of crates. 

 

Shaelen put her other hand on top of the woman’s head, preparing to break the woman’s neck if she needed to. She could tell that Gharen realized this as well. The woman’s hold on her arm tightened, but she was helpless now in her grip. “Now I don’t wanna kill her. But you know I can. So both of you stop, eh?”

 

Wolfsong’s expression turned dark in a flash and he growled. With surprising speed, he launched to his left, dodging the brazier and sending a punch to the back of Daena’s knee. She fell forward as he stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her in a rear neck choke. “Yer a little too eager te visit yer father, lass.” He put her to the ground, even as she struggled. But his gaze was quick to return to Shael and her prisoner.

 

Shaelen narrowed her eyes, but could see that he was only holding Daena until she was unconscious. She watched the girl struggle, but eventually her kicking stopped and the she fell unconscious. Satisfied, Shaelen shoved the Garlean woman toward Hroch who had come up behind her, walking over to kneel by the unconscious youth.  

 

“The girl’s just lost her pa.” Shael knelt and put a finger to Daena's neck, feeling for a pulse there. “She’s gotta hit something.” She hovered her hand in front of the girl’s nose to assure herself she was breathing evenly, and once she was satisfied the girl was just unconscious, stood again, glaring at Wolfsong.. “She’s going to want a piece of something. And we have a Garlean. Why shouldn’t she?”

 

"All th' more reason she's nae goin' te have anythin' te do with her." Gharen met her gaze steadily. “An' if we had Cid Garlond here himself, ye think we should hand him over te her jus' cause he's Garlean?"

 

Shaelen arched a brow at him. “You saying that’s what she is? A traitor to his own kind? What has she done for Eorzea?”

 

“She's soon te be Sultansworn, an th' father she was talkin' about is an adoptive one from Eorzea. Course yer all so bloody hotheaded ye'd rather beat her bloody." Gharen's words were cold.

 

“With Garleans, best hit first and ask questions later.” Shael wrinkled her freckled nose. “Even though they don’t give us the same courtesy.” She glanced over her shoulder to Hroch, where the younger Highlander still had a firm hold on the cloaked woman. But as the situation was calming, she could also feel that anger giving way.

 

“So. Let’s hear out the story then,” she said with a sigh, glancing back to Wolfsong. “And if we don’t like it…” Shaelen gestured between her and the taller Highlander. 

 

“Then we have a problem.”

[Roen]

A Moment’s Respite

 

 

 

 

 

Roen sat at the edge of the cliff, her eyes looking out to the water. It shimmered under the night sky, the moon’s reflection a dancing white pool in the rippling dark sea. Her grey eyes followed a distant shooting star that streaked the dark canvas above, and as she watched it fade into the distance, she could not help but remember the last time she watched a shooting star. It was when she was ten, over the skies of Garlemald. She had managed to get herself onto the roof of her home -- after much coaxing since she was not fond of great heights -- and had spotted one: a streak of silver across the eastern sky. How beautiful she thought the sky was then. And it was under those stars that she declared that her path would be to knighthood.

 

How naive had she been? Striving for knighthood within the Empire meant she would do all she could to protect the citizens of Garlemald, and through that, the world, for the Empire sought to protect the world in its ever-expanding embrace. 

 

But her ideals and patriotism were shattered like the lesser moon Dalamud that descended from another dark sky, its angry fire seeming to burn the heavens themselves. When she ran away from Carteneau that day, she also ran away from her beliefs, and all that she held dear. She lost her home and her beliefs.

 

But when this day dawned, Roen had been prepared to go back. She was meeting with a Garlean agent who was to arrange for her transport back to the Empire in exchange for the safe return of Brenden Deneith. 

 

It did not go as intended. The members of the Ala Mhigan Resistance somehow learned of the Garlean spy within Thalanan and had interrupted their meeting. The man she had come with had come prepared, however, and had made his escape.

 

Roen had not. She was knocked unconscious, and when she had come to, she was greeted with pains and aches... and a familiar voice. 

 

Gharen, her Master in Arms loomed over her. The face that she was often most eager to see was the one she least wanted to gaze upon now. But before she could explain why she was there, other members of the Resistance demanded to interrogate her. Gharen refused to turn her over. A fight ensued, despite her best efforts to stop them from doing so. After all, he knew nothing about her adoptive father being kidnapped, nor her intention to trade herself for his release. She did not want him turning against those he had allied himself with because of her mistake.

 

But when the fight came to an end and tempers calmed, they finally listened to her -- even the young Highlander girl who had been brought to unconsciousness by the hand of Master Gharen. The girl, Daena, woke up furious, but held her tongue long enough to hear Roen’s plea for her father. Roen learned that the girl's father was Ruva Ghurn, the man who had fallen from the bridge at Nanawa Mines. Roen also learned that while the Resistance was ambushing the Garlean agent she was meeting with, an assassin had come and killed Ruva Ghurn at Lost Hope.

 

The members of the Resistance who were there -- Hroch, Shaelen and Daena -- all remained suspicious of her, but… when she explained the events, and with Gharen Wolfsong’s support, they seemed to believe her story. And they agreed to help her rescue her father, who they guessed from the location he went missing that he may be in the Castrum in Western Thalanan. Daena even extended her hand to Roen at the end, and offered to help rescue him, in exchange for Roen’s help in whatever the Resistance needed. Desperate to help her father, Roen agreed.

 

And now Roen sat by the cliffs on the Northern end of the Black Shroud, looking out to the sea, while her Master at Arms worked behind her to set up camp. He had brought her to one of his remote campsites to stay under the Garlean’s notice while the woman named Shaelen worked to obtain schematics and plans to Castrum Marinum. Since the exchange never happened, Roen was still a wanted woman by them. Perhaps by staying hidden, she could buy some time for Brenden Deneith, if they thought she was captured as well by the Resistance. Unless they assumed that the ambush was a planned treachery on her part…

 

Roen lowered her head over her arms and rested against bent knees, finding the crushing weight of worry and dread for Brenden Deneith too heavy to bear. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out all of the events that had happened. Just yesterday she was standing in the ravine in Western Thalanan with Natalie...

 

“What are ye thinkin’ lass?” Gharen broke the silence that had fallen.

 

Roen glanced up behind her to her Master at Arms who had come to stand just behind her. A campfire was crackling behind them. She sighed. “I … passed.” She looked up at him wistfully. “I passed the Trials.”

 

“For?” He arched a brow.

 

“Sultansworn. I passed all the Trials. Yesterday was the last one.” She looked out to the dark sea forlornly. “I suppose that does not matter now.”

 

"Why? Ye think they would nae accept ye?" He settled to a seat next to her.

 

Roen blinked, looking at him. “Not after they learn where I was born.”

 

"Who say's they're te know.” He shrugged. “An' worse case if'n they dinnae accept ye, tha' such a bad thing? Tis a title. An' one tha' binds ye at tha'."

 

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then gazed back out to the water. "I will gladly give up any title if it meant saving my family." She nodded to herself . "I still have my Oath. I can still serve."

 

"Good, ye'd be a poor Sultansworn otherwise. 'Sides, no harm in bein' a lowly free paladin." Roen could hear a hint of sarcasm. "Able te serve all people rather than jus' those o' Ul'dah."

 

Roen paused and looked back at him. “You are a free paladin.” He was the one who taught her some of her skills after all.

 

“Aye. As part o' my training as a weaponsmaster, I follow tha' path." He nodded. “I think ye’d make a fine Sultansworn. But th' title carries with it many things, an oath tha' binds ye te th' word o' th' Sultana's fer one.”

 

She sighed and rested her head on her arms again. “I will be lucky if I do not end up in the gaols. But after tonight, my future is the furthest thing from my mind, Master Gharen. Safety of those I care for takes priority. It is the reason I wanted to be Sultansworn in the first place.” She frowned, growing more sullen. “But instead I brought danger to their doorstep. Perhaps starting anew, was never meant to be. Perhaps you cannot run from your past.”

 

"Oh come on now. Tis nae so bad. We'll wrestle yer da out from under them soon enough. An ye don' need some fancy title like Sultansworn te do tha'."

 

Roen blinked, looking back at her mentor, some of her darkness fading. "If you say we will, then I will believe in that. He saved my life. I will do the same."

 

He grinned back at her, lightening the mood. "Good. Sides how many o' th' stuffed n' shiny armor wearing folks in there can say they raided a Castrum an’ walked away? T'will be fine."

 

Roen’s lip twitched, suppressing a smile. "Aye." She nodded, as if to herself.

 

"Alrigh' then. We best get yer sword and armor ready.” He stood, extending her a hand. “Cannae send ye in there jus' armed with harsh language."

 

Roen blinked again, accepting his hand in getting to her feet. “I… would wield that poorly, I imagine.”

 

She could see amused lines appearing around the corner of his eyes as the fire crackled beside them. "Aye, t'would be entertain'n te behold I bet."

 

Roen almost chuckled. After a pause, she met his eyes squarely. “Thank you,” she murmured, for all the things she could not say.

 

He regarded her thoughtfully. "I can understan' why ye dinnae say anythin' but I really wish ye had told me." When she furrowed her brows in shame, he gave her a look of reassurance. “Jus, no more surprises fer th' time bein' okay?”

 

Roen nodded, lowering her gaze. They walked back to the campfire, and as he readied the tents, she attended to her armor and sword that she had retrieved from Ul’dah. She laid the cobalt winglet across her lap as she held the whetstone in her hand, and studied the reflection of the fire against the finely crafted sword. “This is a fine blade, Master Gharen. I thank you.”

 

"Yer welcome lass. If anythin' ye deserve it." Gharen looked over his shoulder as he propped up a canvas of tanned leather for shelter.

 

“I did nothing to deserve it.” She shook her head. “I only seem to bring trouble to those I care for.”

 

"...Ye worry too much lass. Ye know tha?"

 

Roen blinked. “Do I?”

 

Gharen continued to set up the tent, hammering spikes into the ground to anchor some ropes. “Aye. There are some things ye cannae do anythin' about. Where yer born is one o' those things, what matters is what ye decide te make o' it and what ye do with yer life.”

 

She pondered that for a moment. “And what do you want to do with your life, Master Gharen?” she asked, paused in her task, watching him.

 

"Used te be simple.” He shrugged. “Get by day te day, an' become a greater Ala Mhigan weaponsmaster than my Guardian claimed te be." He tugged on the rope to test the tension, the tanned leather canvas held aloft above their heads. He turned back to her. "Now? Tha's nae quite so important. Bein' a good an decent individual's th' goal."

 

A smile rose to her lips. “That is a worthy goal.” She began to work the whetstone against the blade, sharpening the edges.

 

"Strivin' fer tha, was my trainin' te become a paladin. Nae always easy, but bein' decent an' good te others certainly helps." He tied the last corner of the canvas, the rope winding around a trunk of a thick tree.

 

"But other than the ways of a shield and sword, being a paladin is..." She paused. "It is a path. And not an easy one. I am still struggling with it.”

 

"Aye, one ye ultimately decide te walk on yer own. Was nae easy, if'n tha's what ye think.” Gharen sat down next to her and reached into a pouch to pull out a light blue soul stone. “When I received this, I had nae prayed te th' twelve in many cycles. Afterwards? I cannae count how many times or how many rivers I almost threw this inte."

 

Roen blinked. “It was given to you?”

 

Gharen continued to study the small stone in his hand, rubbing his thumb over it. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Before we’d  met, a friend o’ mine had gotten ill, and I left lookin’ fer a cure in Coerthas. I was wounded after fightin’ a pack o’ wolves one night and was stranded in a cave by a blizzard. I thought I was goin’ to die there, so in th’ dirt o’ the cavern floor, I made symbols of Halone and Azyema and said a prayer fer my friend.” He glanced to the campfire, where the flames were dancing against the wind.

 

“I passed out after tha’ and sometime later I woke te find a fire started an’ my wound mended. A man was there, he asked me who I’d prayed for, an I told him. Cannae recall much else… but I passed back out soon enough. When I came to, he was gone an’ had left this behind.” He held out the stone as if to show her.

 

Roen blinked, staring at him then the stone. “He was a paladin then.”

 

"Mayhaps, although there be no sign o’ him the day after. Fer a time I wondered if'n I was crazy an dreamed it all.” He let out a chuckle. "It took a lot o' lookin' inside myself an more'n a few visits te th' Sanctum o' th' Twelve to find th’ path. But in order te walk the path o’ th’ Dragoon and th’ Paladin, I needed to find th’ acceptable balance. ” He tucked the stone away. "It has nae been... easy te say th' least."

 

“I see…” she pondered. “If anyone has the will and strength to find peace and balance, I would trust that would be you, Master Gharen."

 

"Well, I thank ye lass.” He glanced up at the drumming of heavy raindrops against the leather shelter above them. “Places like this help… when o' course it's nae droppin' a torrent o' rain upon ye."

 

And as he predicted, the raindrops quickly turned into a stormy downpour, the stars having escaped behind thick black clouds. Roen closed her eyes and breathed in the wet air, listening to the rainfall. She always could take some measure of comfort in the rain, heavier the better.

 

“I like the rain,” she said quietly. “It reminds me of her.”

 

“O’ who?”

 

“My mother,” Roen stared out into the rainstorm. “She smelled of lavender, and sung me lullabies when it rained.” A wistful sigh escaped her lips. “Not all Garleans are monsters,” she added, and looked back at her mentor.

 

His gaze upon her was warm. "Course, if'n I thought that I'd nae have started a fight back in th' cave. Problem is perception.”

 

“Aye.” Roen nodded, and offered him a meek smile."I did not want to cause trouble for you. I am glad they listened. Eventually.”

 

"Tis fine. Though I'd prefer next time I'm tryin' te defend ye," he grinned. “Don' turn yourself over."

 

Roen frowned ruefully. “I thought that would stop them from attacking you.” She rubbed at the side of her head where that ache had returned with the cold.

 

Gharen narrowed his eyes, then stood, setting out a bedroll near the fire. “Ye’d best try and get some sleep lass. That’s goin’ te be a hell of a knot when ye awake.” He then crouched by the campfire to stoke the flames. “Go on, sleep. We got a big day ahead o’ us tomorrow.”

 

Roen set her sword aside and curled into the bedroll set out her for. Her eyelids were growing heavy as soon as she laid her head upon the ground. She had not realized how exhausted she was.

 

“Sleep well, lass,” she heard him say, as sleep took her.

Edited March 5, 2018 by Roen

[cuideag]

(( With thanks and some apology to the lovely Xydane Vale. <3 ))

 

Hroch expected little enough of his expedition. He set off from their hideout in Lost Hope with the intention of combing Ul'dah one more time for any sign of the prodigal Aylard Greyarm but his mood was grim and his prospects sour. As the suns came and went (the number of which he stopped counting if only to soften that particular anguish) he came to understand just how far out of his depth he was. Aylard was a wise man and an excellent teacher but it was often said that he was too soft on his boy, the boy who should have been the man to take control and lead their group to better times.

 

He was lost and without direction and it showed. The looks Shaelen gave him were sharp and he could almost taste the disappointment every time they met, for he was his father's son by blood and nothing more. Brynnalia seemed even less impressed and there were times when he worried Daena felt the same as well though she was always kind despite her father's obvious disapproval.

 

Hroch shook his head as to clear his thoughts. His footsteps were slow and measured as he marched the road south out of Black Brush. He had his goals and his hopes to heart and one way or another he intended to deliver upon them. As long as his people were to stay in Thanalan, he would have to do what he could else risk more harm upon those who would trust in him.

 

The road dipped low into a dusty basin where a tavern of some sort had been built into the foot of a crag. He and his father both had passed this location many times before in their walks between Ul'dah and wherever location they were needed, but today it was noisy and raucous. A crowd was parked out on the porch of it, many sporting drinks and some even foodstuffs, and people in red uniforms were greeting anyone and everyone who would approach the doors. It did not strike Hroch as some place his father would stay for the crowd was much too thick but as he strode past he could only remind himself that he had next to nothing left to go on.

 

A pretty miqo'te woman welcomed him as his boot steps brought him through the door. The tavern was crawling with all manner of people, all races mingling over mugs of drink and loud chatter. The setting immediately set Hroch on edge, having not the stomach for crowds. Carefully he edged his way towards the bar, scuttling between free-floating pairs and groups of strangers that hovered in any and all of the open spaces between the occupied tables. The bar itself was a little less crowded: a blue-haired elezen woman at the far end looked about with boredom in her eyes, and a black-haired hyur man watched the crowd with a mug in his hands. As Hroch approached he quickly noted that the hyur's attention shifted square to him. 

 

"Would you care for a drink, sir?" An elezen in red piped up from behind the bar, bowing politely to the highlander who had settled in before her. Her attire was like that of the miqo'te at the door and of several others who were milling about the crowd. 

 

Not wanting to seem rude, Hroch flashed to her a faint smile. It gave him reason to ignore the hyur man who was still staring, besides, his silver eyes sharp even in Hroch's peripheral vision. "Uh, sure. What do you recommend?"

 

"We've a fine chamomile tea, perfect for soothing frayed nerves," chirped the elezen helpfully. Her smile was professional and courteous but it could not be said whether or not there a hint of amusement there as well.

 

Hroch could feel his cheeks reddening slightly. Was it that obvious...? "Tea? Well... Yeah, that'd be good. I'll have one of those, then, if that's okay."

 

"Certainly, sir. Pray give me a moment, please."

 

Hroch nodded and snuck a glance down the bar. The other hyur was still staring and so caught him looking his way. There was something about the man that struck Hroch as odd but, given only brief glances, he could not pinpoint what. That feeling only grew more potent when the man raised a hand and gestured for him to come nearer, to take some space at the counter beside him. "There aren't any tables," he said over the din of the tavern. "You can come stand over here if you like."

 

A quiet clunk on the counter in front of him drew Hroch's attention away. A fine and earthy smell touched his nose even before he realized that there was a stout mug of gently steaming tea set before him with a beaming elezen behind it. "Here you are, sir. Please enjoy and have a lovely evening." As Hroch nodded his thanks to her she favored him with a friendly wink and turned her attention to the next attendant shuffling up to the bar.

 

He noted the dark haired hyur was still looking him expectantly. There was nothing malicious in his eyes, at least insofar as Hroch could tell: it was his father who was better judge of character, able to sniff out suspicions and doubts with the best of them. Hroch's wary gaze lingered before he finally opted to scoot over, dragging his tea along with him until he had come to the stranger's side. "Dunno how I never noticed this before," he started, picking up some small talk to give him some time to size the man up. "Seems kinda... nice, though, doesn't it?"

 

He was a midlander, this other man, built more compactly than he but still bearing an air of someone who knew his way about a fight. He leaned over the bar like a man well familiar with the surroundings, or at least more than confident enough to be comfortable in them. A sword was sheathed at his hip and though he wore a simple woven tunic, below the counter he could make out the dull sheen of armored greaves. In his hand was a mug of something that smelled sweet, and he sipped at it before responding to his new company. "The drinks are free under the tavern's owner, Quarimar Baenund. It's his generosity."

 

"Can't be cheap being generous to all these people." As if to illustrate his point, Hroch glance around again to a crowd that only seemed to be growing. "Seems like it's a rare thing these days..."

 

"He offers sanctuary for weary travellers," replied the stranger. "You look like someone who has... gone a few steps yourself."

 

Hroch eyed him a moment while he took a sip of his tea. "I guess I have. Not so much as others, though. It hasn't been..." He paused as if to search for words, cautious as to just how much he should say to an suspicious unknown in a crowd of unknowns. "Well, I guess it hasn't been good for any of us really."

 

The stranger kept himself turned to face the bar while he nursed his drink, silvered eyes studying Hroch sidelong. The feeling of being inspected as such made the hairs at the back of his neck stand. "You have a look of concern on  you," the midlander said at length. "What's your name?"

 

"I'm... name's Hroch."

 

"Hroch? Heh. Good name." The last of his beverage downed, the midlander then turned to face Hroch fully, making it even more obvious that he was studying the larger man to every minute detail he could see. He couldn't see himself, of course, but his eyes were darkened with sleep or stress or possibly even both, and though he kept his clothing in decent shape he wore them uncomfortably, as though the cloth were constantly itching against his skin.

 

Absently, Hroch spun his mug between his fingers while he turned his head to peer elsewhere in the tavern. Near the center of the room a bard seemed to be setting himself up for a performance and there was a steady stream of faces coming and going through the swinging doors. "Ya think so...? I like it. But I guess it isn't very common, uh, 'round these parts."

 

"I know it isn't." A quick smile touched on the hyur's thin lips. "You looking for someone?"

 

"Aye, sort of. Uh, was gonna have another look around Ul'dah again but... then I saw all the people here. Thought maybe he might have..." Hroch frowned to himself, trailing off his words. He would find himself looking to the other in surprise when next he spoke.

 

"I'm Xydane, by the way. You're new to this place aren't you?" It was a question gently asked, one which seemed to amuse the shorter man. "I could tell you were lost the moment you walked inside this building."

 

It unnerved Hroch, the casual way to which it was asked and ease with which his manner was being picked apart. Warily he grinned at his companion, thankful at least that he could hide his expression behind a quick sip of tea. "Is... is it that obvious?"

 

"Only to some." Again, Xydane grinned. "Relax, man, I'm not going to do you any harm. Ease up a bit and enjoy that drink." He inclined his head towards the mug which Hroch had stopped spinning and, unconsciously, started squeezing.

 

"S-sorry. Just... things haven't been so good is all." That was an understatement if there ever was one: bit by bit, their group was being weathered down and before too long he worried there would be little enough left to save. He muttered after another gulp, "I'm sure you're a decent fella."

 

"You need help with anything? Perhaps I can help you look for... whoever it is that you're searching for?"

 

Hroch balked at that, his suspicions sharpening. It may very well have been the case that Xydane was indeed being friendly and offering genuine aid, but he almost seemed over-eager. "Sorry, friend. I can't really be... It's something I gotta do myself, you know what I mean?"

 

Xydane easily picked up on his suspicions, just as he had easily picked up on his nerves. "Listen. Your business and your story are none of my concern. There is, however, nothing wrong with seeking help every so often."

 

"I know, I know. It's just that... I can't help but wonder if that's what might have got us in trouble in the first place?"

 

"You looked lost and I am merely lending out a hand. If you don't take it, it's all on you and you can keep looking lost and confused." Xydane shrugged and tilted his head towards the young highlander. "If you take it, however, you may not be in the situation you're finding yourself in. All on you."

 

Hroch took one last gulp from his still-warm mug and set it down with a heavy sigh. The elezen that was attending the bar gave him a questioning glance but he shook his head at her. "I know it's all on me. I know that," he said, failing to hide the frustration in his voice. "I just don't know what to do about it. I got nothin' to go on."

 

It was several moments before Xydane spoke again. He was watching Hroch closely, studying the emotions shifting across his face. "Listen... If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Like I said, it's none of my business. If there's something on your mind, just know that there are some people in this world who have been in your same shoes. And sometimes, we all just need the right people to point us in the right direction."

 

Hroch's jaw set as he listened and considered the midlander's words, his advice. It occured to him then that he couldn't have been much younger than Xydane: the man was a little more weathered about his face but he was obviously still young. At length he turned to face Xydane and spoke in hushed tones. "... I got... people missing. People hurt. Spirits are broken, an' it's up to me to fix it somehow. What do you think I should do...?"

 

The desperation in the highlander's voice was plain, especially to Xydane. A slow sigh heaved its way out of his nostrils and briefly he closed his eyes, pondering. "Know that it's sometimes a problem one person can't fix. There is nothing wrong with seeking aid especially when you aren't equipped with the exact tools and mindset for confrontation. Stay calm and remember every single detail about where you were and whom you've met. Think to yourself how a person, place or thing can relate to a situation. It's a puzzle and your job is to fit the pieces together. Retrace your steps but do not tire yourself out when doing so. Take a moment to breathe and slowly assess your situation."

 

"Problem is... I didn't get to meetin' everyone. And I can't find his contacts. He didn't keep them written down anywhere. Old man had a me--" Hroch frowned as he quickly corrected himself. "Has... a memory like a hawk."

 

Steel-colored eyes fixed themselves back on Hroch. "This... 'old man'. Is he your relative?"

 

Hroch paused once more. It's a big risk he was taking, babbling on like that to a stranger who could very well have been working for the wrong sort of people. There are people asking questions, Aylard told them once. Asking after father and son. He had little else to go on. "Aye... Aye, he is. My da... been missing for many a sun now."

 

"A soldier assess every single scenario possible. You have to think of all ends. Perhaps he was injured on a trip? Maybe he has lost his way? Perhaps he was kidnapped?" Xydane spoke calmly even as he broached on the thought no one wished to entertain, casually brushing a hand back through his hair. "We are in Thanalan after all and kidnapping for ransom isn't uncommon here. Trust me when I say I know."

 

"He's old but he's tough. If he was injured... no he would have found his way back to us by now. And no way he'd let himself get lost, not with everything on the line... Aye. It's a dangerous place around here. We found that out quick."

 

Xydane's expression grew intense as he peered at him."Lost for a couple of days without anyone knowing where he went. Think carefully about that."

 

On the other end of that gaze, Hroch struggled not to falter. The notion had crossed several of their minds many time before but no one wanted to speak too heavily upon, as if doing so might make it even more true. Yet what signs they could discern all seemed to be pointing at that terrifying conclusion. He thought of a room that looked as if it had been abandoned; a whetstone and an unmade bed. "... I don't wanna believe it. I really don't."

 

"In life, you meet the wrong people and sometimes... you meet the right people. Hroch, you've just met the right person. One of the things I do for a living is that I search for the missing." He was not boasting but there was still pride in his voice. The sword made a little more sense then, for the man was plainly not an everyday citizen. "Just know that you can't do everything by yourself. It takes a man to finish a job but it takes a bigger man to ask for aid. Don't be ashamed. I've been down your path a long time ago."

 

"Now," he continued, reaching into a pouch on his belt to retrieve a gil piece which he then left atop the counter. "We can either stand here and talk about it or we can do something about it. When it comes to the missing, time is everything."

 

His gaze turned to Hroch, fiercely determined, and Hroch could not help but feel his own spirit lift. There was no doubt that he was still taking an enormous risk bringing an outsider into their affairs: the man was without a doubt not of Ala Mhigo, but he got the distinct impression that that was not an issue. His words felt genuine and the quiet fire in his voice was, in a way, comforting. Just briefly, the man called Xydane reminded him of his father.

 

"Alright," Hroch conceded at last. Sometimes, we all just need the right people to point us in the right direction. He turned away from the counter and cast one last look around at the patrons in the tavern. It did not surprise him that the greyed, rough face of his father was not among them. Hroch expected little enough of this expedition but a new ally was as good a lead as he could have hoped for. "Alright. Do you think we might... talk somewhere a little less...?"

 

Xydane's grin came easily, as open as though they had been friends for years. He raised a hand to wave his goodbyes to the bartender and some of the other red-garbed figures in the crowd, all of whom seemed delighted enough to bow and nod his way in return. "As you wish, my friend. Now, lead the way!"

[cuideag]

(( With apologies and love to the even more lovely Daena Ghurn. <3 ))

 

 

Suns later.

 

This is all wrong. It was Aylard's voice in his head grumbling low like gravel on gravel, disembodied and all the more disappointed for it. Hroch could almost see the weathered old man standing there beside them with his face set into a stony scowl. Look at it, boy. Look at it. Where's the song? Where's the drink? 'Tis a man fought proud all his life. Where's the fire to send him home?

 

Gharen and the Garlean took off for the night despite Hroch's protests. Though it took some talking, even Hroch began to understand Wolfsong's concerns: he had actually dared attack Wolfsong for protecting the woman, after all. He hardly remembered it but the bruises and scrapes were there from when he was tossed around the cave like the fool he was and Daena had actually been rendered unconscious thanks to Gharen's choke hold. There was no chance he nor Daena could have taken on a warrior like Gharen Wolfsong yet they tried anyway. Ruva had lain murdered after they'd gone to catch the Garlean and they were left seeing red.

 

In the end, it changed nothing. Gharen got his way, the Garlean (Roen as she was called) was left uncut, Xydane offered his condolences before leaving to sniff out possibilities, and Shaelen eventually stormed off hunt down maps and schematics. Hroch and Daena were alone in their cave hidden at the back of a place known to be called Lost Hope and so the task of grieving fell to them.

 

The pyre was small and clumsily built. Both of the youths had seen their fair share but those were built by men and women who had seen and built hundred more. Every body they wrapped and mounted upon the flames made the motions all the more familiar. They were not children by age but by inexperience, for the lives spent fighting for the Resistance were measured not with years but with the number of friends they had laid to rest.

 

Daena wept in silence when she wept at all, angry lines that came down her cheeks in waves she seemed desperate to ignore. Hroch stood by her side while the flames eventually licked up and embraced the body offered to it. It occurred to him at one point that there were songs to be sung but he did not know Ruva, and he did not know how to sing besides. Now and again he noticed Daena's lips moving but she was ever silent and he assumed she did not know, either. He did not think to ask and eventually decided that she might not hear him even if he did.

 

So Hroch Greyarm stood at her side and watched the fabric char and crumble, watched the body of his father's most trusted friend turn to ash. And even as the moon ran its course arcing through the stars overhead, Hroch waited and watched. She stood as the warrior she was groomed to be, proud and defiant against sorrow and weariness. Strong and beautiful and perfect, a true daughter of Ala Mhigo.

 

After the scuffle had died down and everyone had come to their senses, Roen was given an opportunity to explain herself. She did not deny being a Garlean nor plotting with a Garlean but it was not as they had thought. Wolfsong was right all along: the woman was, in her own way, a victim though Hroch would never admit to such aloud. In the end it all boiled down to family and while his father was missing and Daena's was dead, hers was being held like an animal in the nearby Castrum. Just as she had unwittingly ruined their plans to retrieve the ceruleum, they had interrupted negotiations to see her father freed safely and if they did not act it could very well cost an innocent man his life.

 

The thought of infiltrating a Castrum did not sit well with Hroch. There were too many things that could go wrong with the handful of them marching into a Garlean stronghold and that was assuming it was not a trap to begin with. The woman spoke earnestly and there was great sorrow and desperation in voice and eyes alike; Wolfsong was quick to vouch for her and guarded her fiercely, and for that there must have been a reason. Yet Daena, for all the rage she held towards the woman, came to offer her help as well. A consensus was made even if Hroch did not approve; the Resistance would take on Castrum Marinum and, if the Gods were willing, save Brenden Deneith's life.

 

The sun was already high when Hroch bothered to look and Daena was still standing still as stone. He was not certain if he had slept on his feet through what had remained of the night but they ached; the whole of him ached in a way he had not felt since the night his mother was put to the fire. The flame had gone out at some point and left behind a broad mound of ash still gently smoking beneath the Thanalan sun.

 

"We should go," he said eventually. The words did little enough to please her, of course, for she still stared long and hard at the shape that was once her father. The lines in her arms tensed and her fists balled into fists but, after a time, she nodded.

 

"Aye," croaked Daena Ghurn, only daughter of Ruva. "Aye, we should."

 

==================================

 

The others were waiting for them in Vesper Bay, chatting up strategy and schemes. The Castrum would not be easy to approach, much less break in to. Wolfsong had managed to procure disguises for himself and Roen but the rest of the would have to keep back, follow along when the path was cleared. Xydane had been tasked in taking up the rear for while Hroch and Daena were capable in their own ways, they could likely not stand for long against Garlean weaponry. Even from below the cliffside that coiled up into Garlean territory, they could hear the hum and grind of magitek machinations stomping about the grounds.

 

Not to mention the sounds of combat. Disguised as they were, there was little hope that Gharen nor Roen could make it very far without someone being alerted to their presence. He huddled beneath the stone overhang, listening to the clang of swords and the strangled cries of men being cut. Daena fidgeted beside him, seeming a little more energetic than before. He could not imagine she had allowed herself any rest throughout the night but he was, after all, a child of Ruva: with the task at hand she would never allow herself to appear weak nor weary. She paced, flinging the occasional glance up to where Xydane was awaiting the signal to proceed.

 

At least, that was what she had been doing up until she sighed in frustration and stepped up beside Hroch. He did a double take when she looked his way, startled by the odd intensity in her eyes. They had been friends since the first time they met on that sunny day weeks ago, beating down slimy orobon in the river to the tune of Ruva's barking and howling. More often than not that barking had been directed at Hroch, ever paranoid that the older boy would make a move on his firey-haired daughter despite his obvious apprehension.

 

He could hear him then, that hoarse bear growl of a voice: Sixteen summers, ya shirtless dog! Iff'n ye so much as think to put yer worthless mitts on her, Rhalgr save ye, I'll have 'em stuffed 'n mounted fer all t'see!

 

It was not Ruva who was speaking, however. Daena was still staring at him strangely, her brows knit tight as if in concentration. She was not looking at his eyes though, no; she was looking at his lips, at his mouth that was slowly growing agape at the growing panic in his heart.

 

"Iff'n this ends up bein' the last thing we do," she was muttering. "C'mere, you."

 

They did not hear Xydane calling for them from above.

 

 

 

 

[Roen]

Castrum.

 

It was the most impressive thing she had ever seen.

 

The dark metallic walls rose up before her, towering into the sky, its smooth surface seeming infallible and unassailable. Uniformed guards stood at every entryway, though many of them gave the little girl of ten years no mind as she walked past them, her grey eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

 

Or perhaps it was her taller companion she was following that invited their gaze instead. Fenn's stride was long and confident; the pale-haired hyur youth did not pause for any guard, and the flash of his keycard got him through any door he wanted. Roen had to quicken her pace to keep up, but she often found her head turned, gawking at whatever presented itself when she rounded a new corner. Some magitek creations seemed to even look at her way as she passed, glowing eye watchful.

 

"What do you think, Roen? Beautiful, aren't they?" she heard Fenn say too late. She crashed into him before she could see that he had stopped to wait for her. She would have bounced right off of him onto the floor if it wasn't for his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She peered sheepishly up into his light blue eyes. He smiled at her.

 

"The technology behind them is more intricate than you can imagine just by looking at them," Fenn said as he approached one of the dark machines, Roen following tentatively behind. When she came to stand by him, he took her hand and laid it flat against the dark metal surface, lightly pressing down with the weight of his own. "Feel that pulsing hum?"

 

Roen blinked as she watched a web of faint light appear beneath her fingertips as if to respond to her touch. "Is it alive?"

 

The pale-haired youth let out a laugh, full of mirth and amusement. "Well, no. It isn't. But it is sophisticated enough to fool you sometimes." His hand left hers to open a small panel on the side, displaying an array of controls within. "You just have to know how to tell it what you want. Magitek is powerful, and it can be can be very dangerous in the hands of someone who knows what it is capable of.”

 

He took her hand again, guiding her to a nearest terminal. His use of the keyboard was quick and efficient, and within a few clicks the monitor displayed the schematics of the floor they were on. Fenn tapped his finger against the screen. "We are here, and..." he clicked on the keyboard again. And a blinking light appeared on the other side of the screen. "And there is Ferah."

 

Roen squinted at the blinking light. Ferah was Fenn’s serious older sister, but she never had any mean words for her. "And Sera? She is with Ferah?" She knew Fenn’s younger sister was usually not far from her siblings. Sera was Roen’s age, and was often prone to fits of temper or dark moods. Roen always thought something made her unhappy, much like her own father, and Roen often took it as a silent dare to try and find something to bring cheer to the fickle girl. When Fenn gave Roen a knowing look as an answer, she smiled and studied the floorplan, anticipating what he was going to say next. He always did love games.

 

Fenn grinned back at her. "Let's see who can get to them first." He clicked the terminal once more, turning off the monitor. He turned to her, giving her his keycard, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You can use my keycard, and take any route you want, but you can't be seen by the guards. If you are not with me, they will likely question you.”

 

Roen took his keycard with wide eyes, she did not have one of her own, despite the fact that she knew her father to be a very important man in this building. He had never seen it fit to bring her to a Castrum, nor allow her any access to where he spent the most of his days. It was Fenn who had brought her here on a whim, declaring that day he was going to give her an impromptu tour of one of the proud paragons of the Empire. She closed her small hands around the keycard, holding it carefully as not to lose it.

 

"And you? You do not need a keycard?" She peered up back at Fenn.

 

He winked back at her, confidence clear in his gleaming smile. "I will have to maneuver without. That's my challenge." He nodded to her. “Are you ready to play, Roen?”

 

Roen grinned wide at him and nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

“What… is that..??”

 

Hroch’s question was high pitched, betraying his bewilderment and utter confusion. He was staring at the screen over Roen’s shoulder, as she worked on the terminal to bring up the floor plans.

 

Prisoner: Brenden Deneith. Eorzean. Floor 24. Section 5.

 

A blinking light appeared on the screen within a grid. Roen scanned it quickly, as she was taught to do as part of a game when she was a child. She silently thanked Fenn in that moment, even though ironically he would be opposing her if he were here this day. Had her life taken a different course, Roen could have been in this facility working against the Resistance now as they worked to free her adoptive father. The brief reflection of herself in a Garlean uniform as she turned off the screen, only seemed to punctuate this twist of fate.

 

Donning uniforms from a few Garlean soldiers that Gharen had ambushed the night before, it had made sneaking into the Castrum and taking out a few more guards much easier. And while her mentor dispatched the guards with quiet efficiency, Roen preferred to take on some of the Vanguards that patrolled the area instead, finding faceless magiteks easier to swing her blade against than living breathing guards. Those she did have to face however, she left them wounded and unconscious, but still breathing. Eventually the two had cleared the way enough for Xydane, Hroch, and Daena to join them within the walls. And while Gharen and Xydane took to dealing with more patrols, Hroch and Daena followed Roen as they searched for her father. She knew of ways to get around some of the security measures, as she was familiar with the layout of the Castrum, but even with disguises in place, they could not rely on subterfuge for too long. Roen knew they had to hurry and find Brenden Deneith before all of Castrum Marinum was alerted to their presence.  

 

“Found him,” she said as she snatched up the keycard she had confiscated from one of the guards. If her mentor noticed earlier that she had left them alive, he did not make it known. Hroch and Daena now accompanied her, and their fists delivered hard blows to knock out any other guards they came upon as well. She tossed another keycard at Hroch who caught it in midair, then stared at it with a befuddled eyes.

 

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

 

Roen flashed him a nervous grin and answered with the toss of her head toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

 

Floor 24. Section 5.

 

Roen flashed her keycard for Hroch and Daena, then slid it in into the slot by the door. It hissed open but was empty. Roen motioned them down one hallway and pivoted towards the other. She could hear the sounds of steel against steel outside the bunker, and more yelling and shouts that were quickly muffled. Their luck was holding out in that alarm had not gone off yet. But Roen knew it could not last for long.

 

Her heart raced as she ran from door to door, sliding the keycard and waiting for that glimpse into the room. It was the third door before she saw a familiar face within, an older man that raised his hand in front of his eyes to shield it from the bright light that flooded the darkened cell. Roen smile widely as she stepped in.

 

“Aren’t you a little short to be a Garlean trooper?” He muttered, slowly rising to a seat from his prone position.

 

“Hm? Oh the mask,” Roen pulled off the mask and the helm. “I am here to rescue you!”

 

Brenden Deneith blinked. “Roen..?”

 

Roen rushed forward to take the man in a fierce embrace, her grasp tight with overwhelming relief. Her chest sunk just a little to find his form more frail than she had remembered. Even in the two days he had gone missing, it was already obvious he had received beatings, and likely little to no sustenance. “Can you stand? We need to get you out of here.”

 

Brenden Deneith nodded as he began to rise, although Roen could see he was moving slower. She slid her arm under his to support him. He reassured her with a weak smile. “Aye, I can manage.”

 

Soon they were moving with as much speed as they could manage as they made their way out of Castrum Marinum, with her Master at Arms heading up the front, Daena and Hroch guarding their sides, and Xydane covering the rear. Roen tried not to notice the mercenary’s axe that was stained and dripping darkly red.

 

As the final guard fell before Gharen Wolfsong’s feet, Hroch and Daena rushed out past, with Brenden Deneith managing to follow closely behind. Roen paused at the gate, turning around to wait for Xydane. He had dispatched another guard behind them and trotted up, his eyes lit with a fire she had not seen before. She nodded to him as she turned, giving a look to her mentor as well. But as Gharen and Roen made their exit, she heard Xydane’s footsteps heading away, running back into the Castrum.

 

“What are you doing??” Roen called out after him, eyes wide.

 

Xydane shot her a wicked grin and a small salute. “I am going to make sure no one follows.” He spun away and disappeared around the corner.

 

“He knows wha’ he’s doin’ lass,” Gharen put a hand on her shoulder.

 

Roen glanced up at him, nodded, and trotted after Brenden Deneith.  She would see him to safety. It was not long after that she heard the screeching alarm sound through the Castrum walls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roen watched him sleep as she sat on the edge of the bed, the man who saved her over five cycles ago, the one who took that delirious wandering girl as if she were one of his own, and loved her as he did his own two children. That same strong man seemed so gaunt and weak now.

 

“They will both be fine,” Gharen Wolfsong’s voice broke the listless silence, turning both Roen and Hroch’s gaze toward him. Her Master at Arms was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

 

Hroch was sitting across from her on the edge of the second bed in the room in Vesper Bay, next to Daena who was tossing and turning in her sleep. Roen glanced to the young Highlander girl as well, her eyes narrowing at the beads of sweat that were on the girl’s brows. She had been bitten by a yarzon during their escape from Castrum Marium, and had collapsed just as they arrived in Vesper Bay. They had given her a dose of an antidote, and Roen had used conjury to help her body fight off the toxin and mend her from within. She reassured Hroch that the girl just needed to rest through the night to allow her body to recover, but the young man hovered near Daena still, clear worry in his bent brows.

 

Roen would be forever grateful to them, for helping her rescue Brenden Deneith. She would forever owe them for this. She had already given her promise of aid to Daena and Hroch, for whatever they would ask of her in the future. She was indebted to this Xydane Vale as well, although the quiet warrior asked for nothing in return. And then of course, her Master at Arms. She did not know how to repay them all.

 

But her thoughts did not linger there. She had to get the Deneiths to safety. The eyes of the Empire would seek them out again, and because of their association with her, they were no longer allowed to return to their previous lives. Roen would see them to some semblance of normalcy and safety. This she vowed.  

 

Brenden Deneith had always wanted to see Limsa Lominsa, and to fish off the coasts of La Noscea. Perhaps she would make arrangements to move them there. She knew Nazeru had connections with the Maelstorm, and Dandaroun had a farm in Summerford. She would return to Ul’Dah in the middle of the night to retrieve Anna and the children, and leave with Brenden from Vesper Bay for Limsa in secrecy.

 

Still. What of after? The Empire still sought her out. This entire ordeal was orchestrated with the purpose of returning her back to her Garlean home. Even with her family safe, could she return to her life as before? Would they dare try again while she walked amongst the people of Ul’Dah? And trained amongst the Sultansworns? And what of the Resistance who helped her rescue her adoptive father? Roen sighed quietly and returned her gaze back to Brenden, absently tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

 

“Even if I get my family to safety, they would still be searching for you all,” Roen said quietly, giving Hroch and Gharen a sidelong glance.

 

“Aye. I say we start figurin’ out how Aylard disappeared, and see who is on who’s side.” Gharen uncrossed his arms, as he pushed off from the wall. “I intend tae track down an’ start tailin’ Miss Delial. I think she be our strongest lead yet.”

 

Roen frowned a little at the thought, but did not offer an argument as he made his way toward the door. “Take care o’ yerself lass, and yer kin, ye hear?” he said as he paused at the door.

 

“Stay well, Master Gharen,” Roen answered with a nod. As she always did at their parting.

 

She did not know that that would be the last time she would see him as he was.

[Roen]

_{((This post follows the events from this} 

_{post and this post))}

 

 

 

 

Bonds and Secrets

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roen twisted her wrist, testing the manacles. The cold band of steel that wrapped around her wrists and ankles were heavy and tight. All she could do was to sit on the chair she had been pushed onto, with her hands bound behind her, her feet also restrained. Roen pulled at her shackles again, only to realize her efforts were futile. The irons were unrelenting, as much as the stare of the woman who had put her in them.

 

Roen glared back at Natalie who was seated near her reclining against a sofa. The Sultansworn’s green eyes were cold and ungiving.

 

 

 

 

Kage was only trying to help. Roen knew this; Kage always had the best intentions. The lalafell paladin-in-training had come seeking her out after she was dismissed by Natalie, to try and understand why.

 

Roen was not surprised. She had not given Natalie a good enough reason, only that her family was in danger and her choices had been solely driven for their safety. Natalie dismissing her so quickly... did that surprise her? Perhaps. But Roen could not blame her mentor. She had left before, to make gil for Brenden Deneith’s medicines. And now she had done so again, without a word to Natalie, who had given her a second chance. She was just few suns away from being sworn in, and instead had disappeared without warning. Could Roen blame Natalie for her anger? How foolish was she when she thought to return to Ul’Dah, in hopes of returning to her duties as before? That perhaps amongst the Sultansworns she would find her haven, her safety, and her new home?

 

Roen had told her Master at Arms that her future was the furthest thing from her mind when she made the decision to do this on her own with the Resistance. But that did not make Natalie’s dismissal of her any less devastating. Perhaps she had hoped for too much. But she had never intended to get Natalie or any of the other Sultansworns involved from the start. How could she? Too many questions would inevitably lead to the reasons why her family was taken, and that would lead to her own heritage as a Garlean.

 

This she could never share with Natalie. Roen knew Natalie’s hatred for Garleans all too well.

 

So when Kage asked why, Roen did not answer. But she still needed help. She had snuck her family away to Limsa Lominsa, and had desperately asked Dandoroun to hide them in his farm at Summerford. But they could not stay there forever, they needed papers, a new identity. They needed to be hidden away from the reach of the Empire. So she had returned to Ul’Dah to ask for Kayah’s help and that was when she ran into Kage, a fellow Sultansworn in training.

 

Kage was so earnest about his concern and his desire to help, so when he offered his aid, even without knowing the reasons why, Roen believed he would. She followed him to the Mist where he said he could find Kayah.

 

And that was when she ran into Natalie again. She too had come to find Kayah, for he was attending to an injured friend. But her regard of Roen was cold and distant, her words clipped. Roen met it stoically. She had already accepted that Natalie’s anger and being barred from the order was a kinder fate than telling her she was a Garlean. And possibly facing execution at her hands.

 

But she was never given the opportunity to speak with Kayah. After a short exchange of words with Kage, Natalie stepped up behind her while she was talking with Kayah, and locked her wrists in manacles without a word. And now she sat on the chair in the Night Blades headquarters, with her hands and feet in chains.

 

“Natalie... why are you doing this?!" Her voice still shook with disbelief.

 

“Roen, you're willing to let me hate you, is that correct?" Natalie crossed her arms. "You'd rather face that than tell me what I want to know? Because if Kage is right, and you are telling the truth about your family… that's the only possibility."

 

When Roen refused to answer, Natalie sighed, tapping a finger against her cheek. "I must admit, I was rather disappointed in you. But certain meddling people convinced me to think about the situation differently.” She leaned back, hooking her arms against the sofa cushions behind her. “So, you'd rather let me dismiss you than speak of what happened? I'd rather face your hate than not know. So it seems we are at an impasse.”

 

Roen narrowed her eyes on the smug grin that Natalie flashed her way. She turned away from it, instead looking to Kage bitterly. He who had brought her here with words of trust and reassurance. He stood on the other side of the room, but his head was bent, his gaze unwilling to meet hers.

 

“How long do you mean to keep me in manacles then, Natalie?” Roen asked quietly.

 

"Until you tell me what I want to know". The Sultansworn shrugged. "I'm convinced you're in danger, and I mean to help whether you want it or not. So get comfortable." She kicked her feet up onto the table in front of her.

 

Roen's chest sank as all the air left her. She closed her eyes. "Natalie, please. I cannot," she pleaded. "I cannot tell you."

 

"Alright," Natalie sighed, tapping her chin again. She changed tact. "Let me ask you a theoretical question. Back when I took that somnus, did you wish you had stopped me?"

 

Roen blinked. That was moons ago. When she was trying to figure out who had sent an assassin after her, one posed as a beggar that then stabbed her in the middle of the street in Ul’Dah. That investigation had come to a dead end only after finding out that the one who hired the assassin was also distributing a mysterious drug in form of a licorice. Natalie had boldly tried the licorice herself, to discover that it was somnus. She had done so against Roen’s advice.

 

"Then? Right as you did so? Aye."

 

"Because you knew I was doing something dangerous, something foolish." Natalie pushed off from the cushions, leaning forward. "In fact, I could have died, had the dose been slightly more concentrated. So, knowing all that, why didn't you?"

 

Roen turned her gaze back to Natalie, her words still coated with bitterness. "I trusted your judgement. Your reckless and unpredictable judgement. Natalie, can you not do the same, and allow me to do what I need to do?" Her voice was beginning to shake. “I trust you with my life! And giving up your friendship was not easy!"

 

"I know.” Natalie calmly answered. It only fueled Roen’s indignation more.

 

"But I had to do it. And I would do so again, Natalie. As much as that would kill me to do it, I would!"

 

"That's why I'm doing this.” Natalie’s words continued to be cool, though her green eyes were intent upon her. “The other day… I let my anger rule my judgment. But not now. I'm not giving up on you, Roen. Even if you curse me for it all your life."

 

Roen closed her eyes again, bowing her head. Her red locks fell around her face, hiding her pained expression. “Natalie, please. Just let me do this.”

 

“What did I tell you before, Roen. I’m always on your side. For twelve’s sake, we slew a primal together. Whatever this is, I won’t let you face it alone.” Natalie pounded an armored fist onto her thigh. “I can’t. I will not.”

 

When Roen looked back to Natalie, her vision was already blurring with emotion. “Natalie. I cannot. I cannot tell you. Please do not ask it of me.” She had to make her understand that what she was asking would only make things worse.

 

Natalie seemed moved for an instant, gnawing her lip. Her expression softened as she closed her eyes and exhaled. "I am asking it, Roen.” She opened her eyes again. “I am.”

 

Roen met the miqo’te’s eyes for a long silent moment, as what little hope she had left her. She finally lowered her gaze, resignation and sadness falling upon her like a shadow.

 

"Can't we help her without asking for the why?" Kage finally turned from his self-imposed exile, earnestly pleading to Natalie as well. His voice was heavily weighed with guilt. “We can still help her family, keep them safe! And Kayah can have their names changed!”

 

Natalie answered him with silence. She only kept her eyes on Roen, her gaze unrelenting.

 

"I wish for their safety above all," Roen whispered, staring at the manacles around her ankles. If she told the truth, those manacles would never come off. But did she have a choice now? At least her family was safe. "What happens to me does not matter,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She resigned herself to tell them the truth. Perhaps she owed that to Natalie.

 

Roen did not look up when she heard Natalie’s gauntlets drop to the floor. But she did as she heard the miqo'te's armored footsteps approach, only to have her head snap to the side as Natalie struck her hard across the face. Her cheek began to burn immediately.

 

"Don't you ever fucking say that, Roen!" Natalie growled, her chest heaving. “Don’t you dare.”

 

Roen ignored the stinging in her face, looking back to Natalie with defiance and anger. “It is my life, Natalie! I know its worth!”

 

It took only an instant, but Roen saw Natalie’s fist curl and rise, next to those angry green eyes. She shut her own and flinched when she heard the violent slam just next to her ear, as Natalie’s knuckles cracked the wall. Roen could feel the woman’s breath just above her cheek as her own chest rose and fell. Then she felt a wet drop on her face.

 

Roen opened her eyes just as the miqo’te spun away from her. She only caught a hint of glistening on  her cheek. “Just… just sit there then,” she croaked. “Until you’re ready to talk.” The Sultansworn quickly rounded the corner of the room, walking into the office next door.

 

Roen turned from where Natalie had retreated to the sound of the main door opening as the towering figure of a Roegadyn entered the room. It was Dennthota Ahtahrmwyn, one of the members of the Night Blades. The purple haired Roe wore a smile on her face, but it soon dissipated when she spotted Roen.

 

“What... what the hell is going on here?” The woman’s eyes went to the shackles. In two long steps she was towering over the red-headed hyur. Roen saw her large hands extend towards her. “Give me your hands, child.”

 

Natalie quickly rounded the corner, her eyes bloodshot. “Get out of here,” she growled as she stepped in between Dennthotoa and her prisoner.

 

“You didn't put her in these, did you?” The Roegadyn woman paused.

 

"What's it to you.”

 

“I ain't here to start no trouble with you.” Dennthota eyed the Sultansworn. “But you simply can't take away the freedom of another. It’s not right.” She straightened, as if to use her looming figure to punctuate her next words. “Now move so I can get her out of those.”

 

"You have no idea what you're walking into, Denn,” Natalie lowered herself slightly, in a ready stance. “Taking off those cuffs would likely be the same as killing her myself, now." She snarled through gritted teeth. "Leave us be."

 

Dennthota narrowed her eyes. “You tryin' to get somethin' out of her, ain't ya?”

 

"I am."

 

“I thought as much,” Denn shook her head. “Some secrets are best left untouched, Natalie. Remi did the same to me once, and it ruined our relationship. People hide things for a reason. You need to respect that.”

 

"No," Natalie spat back. "I don't. Some bonds run thicker than others, Denn.” She glanced over her shoulder to Roen. “Even if people don't realize it. The bond of a sister in arms is stronger than you could know."

 

Roegadyn’s eyes became slitted. “Well you're a bloody idiot then. I'm going to ask you one more time to move, else I'm putting that hard ass head of yours into the wall.”

 

“You can try.” Natalie did not budge; her voice was laced with steel.

 

Denn flashed her a grin. “I was hoping you would say that.”

[Roen]

“Natalie, stop! Just let me leave!”

 

Roen struggled to stand, leaning against the wall next to her for balance. But her precarious stance did not last long as she was roughly shoved down again by the miqo’te Sultansworn.

 

Natalie’s eyes only grazed her for a moment, before it returned to the towering form of Dennthota looming over her, but Roen could see the unwavering stubbornness in her gaze.

 

“No, Roen. You do not believe in your own worth. This is what you’re worth.” Natalie crouched in a defensive stance.

 

Dennthota’s only warning was a subtle tensing of her jaw before she reached out and tried to snatch Natalie’s sword from her sheath.  Their close proximity had brought it within easy reach. Natalie did not stop Denn from grabbing her sword, instead she yanked on her arm to pull her down even further, ramming her armored pauldron against the Roegadyn’s head.

 

Dennthota reeled back from the impact, but she still managed to grab the Sultansworn’s sword from Natalie’s hip. She shook her head to clear her senses, then spun the sword in her hand. “Well then, shall we get serious?”

 

“Natalie! Do not do this!” Roen shouted, struggling to right herself in the chair.

 

“If you’re worth nothing, then neither am I,” Natalie growled. She was not going to budge against an armed opponent.

 

“What the hells?” Another voice broke the tension as three more figures entered the room: Stanzie, Siben, and Remi stood at the entrance of the headquarters, looking stunned. Stanzie, who had spoken, and Siben... those two Roen knew well enough; the miqo’te woman and the hyur male had helped her in the past. The third, a miqo'te female, Roen had met briefly before. Remi belonged to an alliance company to the Night Blades called Grim Echo.

 

“What’s going on here?” Siben Farnesworth stepped up next to Stanzie. He was frowning openly, although his attention was mostly directed towards the Roegadyn bearing a sword. The Roegadyn and he exchanged an uneasy look between them.

 

“Nothing. This does not concern any of you, save Roen, Kage and I.” Natalie glared at all of them. “Now leave us be, and take that one with you.” She jutted her chin towards the Roegadyn. Dennthota had paused as well, perhaps hesitant to attack with company about.

 

“As a ranking officer within our own building, it does concern me.” Siben’s eyes finally went to Roen and the manacles. “Why is Roen chained up?”

 

“Because I did it.” Natalie said stubbornly.

 

“On whose authority?” Siben arched a brow.

 

“Mine.”

 

“In an official capacity?”

 

“No.” The Sultansworn’s tone was getting more recalcitrant.

 

“Because I say so?” Remi snorted. “Definitely takin’ the attitude of the city in that ‘Sworn uniforum I see.”

 

Siben crossed his arms, meeting Natalie’s gaze squarely. “So start talking.”

 

“I will not.” Natalie snarled.

 

Stanzie, whom Roen has always known to be patient and amiable miqo’te, stepped up to Natalie and Roen, her voice in a low growl. “You will all tell me what is going on.”

 

“I will not.” Natalie met Stanzie’s intensity with one of her own.

 

"I'm sorry, Roen.” Kage pleaded, stepping in between them, his cheeks red and his eyes glistening with tears. “I know you hate me for this. I messed up. But please! You can't expect me to let this go when you think you’re not of any worth or that your life may be forfeit! How do you expect us to take this?"

 

Roen looked to Kage with sympathy, and in that short moment did not see the yellow vial that Siben withdrew from his coat. But she saw when he hurled it at the double main doors. It shattered with a pop, creating a large sticky splatter that spanned the width of the doorway.  

 

“Well, now no one is going anywhere. That glue is not going to dissolve for awhile.” He said nonchalantly, turning back to the rest of the group. “So we have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on.”

 

Stanzie looked alarmed by Kage’s words, staring back at Roen. “Why are you trying to convince us that you are worthless and deserving to die?"

 

Roen shook her head. Her words were starting to be spun out of control. “No! I… I just meant... I just have matters that I must deal with, that I cannot speak of. Natalie, Kage, Kayah… they want to help, but I do not want it! I can take care of this. I do not need to involve any of you.”

 

“There seems to be mounting evidence to the contrary, Roen.” Siben crossed his arms again.

 

"How can you expect Natalie and I to not get involved when you're willing to give up being Sultansworn forever?" Kage had tears streaking down his face.

 

“Because I made my choice, Kage.” Roen said soothingly, trying to comfort Kage with some semblance of reassurance. “I will live by it.”

 

Stanzie stepped up closer to her, her expression easing. “Too late for that now. You have people that care.” She glanced to Natalie, Kage, and the rest. “You can’t expect them not to help.”

 

“Nat, will you unbind her?” Siben pulled out a chair and took a seat. “She's not getting out that door for a while, we can offer her some modicum of decency until we get this sorted out.”

 

Natalie seemed to relent as well, as she studied Siben. “You promise to keep her from leaving? Until this is all… resolved?”

 

Siben thumbed towards the door. “That isn’t going away for at least another bell at least.”

 

Natalie nodded and came to stand in front of her with the keyring in hand, her gaze locking the hyur’s. “Now, Roen. The secret must come out.”

[Roen]

"I am ... a runaway." Roen shook her head. "My home is not here."

 

All eyes were on her. Dennthota leaned against the wall, her massively muscled arms crossed, her expression dark. She had stayed to listen to her story, despite the fact that her disapproval of Natalie’s methods were clear and she still held her belief that some secrets need not be told.

 

Perhaps Denn was right. But as Roen looked to the rest of the faces that were staring back at her, Siben, Stanzie, Remi, C’Kayah, Kage and Natalie, she could not see any other choice.

 

"The people who took my ... adoptive parents. They were working for my real father." She sighed, her gaze going to her balled hands on her lap. "Their condition for my step father's safe return was for me to return home."

 

“Which would be where exactly?” Siben asked.

 

Roen felt that constriction around her chest tighten. She forced out her next word. "...Garlemald."

 

Silence fell across the room. “Oh, gods… that would be it.” Stanzie finally sighed.

 

Then suddenly Natalie began to laugh out loud. It grew in volume maniacally, and the miqo’te nearly doubled over in her seat.

 

“Natalie…” Siben began worriedly.

 

“Roen…” Natalie sighed loudly, wiping a tear from her eye, a strange smile lingering. Roen stared at her oddly, not knowing what to make of the bewildered look that the miqo’te wore. “Is that really all it was?”  

 

When Roen sat there stunned still, Natalie continued, sitting up. “I was tempered by a Primal for godsake, Roen. And you didn’t abandon me then. Do you think I would abandon you over something so little as your blood?” She shook her head chidingly.

 

Roen stared at her still, blinking. She was still trying to believe the words that were spoken. Was… Natalie accepting her heritage? Without anger? Or hatred?

 

“I have to agree with Natalie.” Kage piped up as well, relief clear in his demeanor. “You thought  that would make things worse?”

 

Remi shrugged nonchalantly. “So you're from Garlemald. It's not like you're charging at Limsa on a magitek walker screaming Death to Eorzeans!".

 

"We don't judge you on 'what' you are, but on 'who' you are." Stanzie added softly, laying her hand on top of Roen’s.

 

Roen glanced from one face to another. They were all offering her words of acceptance. She was struggling to believe her ears. "I... I joined the Garlean forces, Nael van Darnus' army at Carteneau." she heard herself say, once she admitted to one truth, the rest seemed to come easier.

 

"And are you still with them?" Natalie tapped her jaw.

 

“Does it matter?” Dennthota shot the Sultansworn a look. “I mean, you said the bond of "sisters in arms" was strong. It shouldn’t matter.”

 

"I ran away from the war,” Roen shook her head.

 

Siben gave a pointed look to Denn. "It could matter, though at least half of us here have no moral high ground to stand on in that regard."

 

Natalie rose from her seat, and came to kneel in front of Roen. Her hands wrapped around the hyur’s and squeezed lightly. “Roen, everything you told me in our time together… your goals, your hopes and dreams, your desire to help. Was that all true?"

 

"I did not lie. Not about any of that." Roen met Natalie’s gaze steadily. "I only did not speak of my past."

 

Kage chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, as he looked to Kayah. “Thank the Twelve. Because I bet my oath, my sword and my shield on everything Roen saying to be the truth."

 

Natalie nodded to Roen then stood. “Applicant Deneith!” She shouted, her words crisp. “Front and center!”

 

Roen bolted to a stand, her back rigid.

 

Natalie curled a small smile. "You will report tomorrow for your normal duties, in preparation for your oath swearing. Is that understood?”

 

Roen blinked. “I am… reinstated?”

 

Natalie pulled out a folded document from her pocket and extended it her way. "Your leave was approved after all.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug, her grin lingering. "It's understandable you'd want to visit your family before the ceremony.”

 

"Aye. I - I will.” Roen nodded quickly. “I will return to my normal duties in the morn."

 

Natalie smiled at her warmly for a moment longer before returning to Kayah’s side to whisper something in his ear. Roen stood there for a few more minutes, glancing about the room. She watched as the rest of the Night Blades who had heard her story simply went about their business as if nothing had happened. They did not care that she was Garlean. There were no strange stares at her way, no air of suspicion that hung after her admission. Stanzie was exchanging some business details with Siben, and Remi and Dennthota were leaning close to each other exchanging quiet words.

 

Roen inhaled. She felt lighter somehow. She stood in silence as she continue to watch everyone, as a slow grin lifted her lips. As the room was beginning to clear as the rest went about their tasks, Natalie approached her again, coughing into her hand.

 

"I won't say I regret doing that,” Natalie looked a bit sheepish. It was a look Roen had never seen before. But under that veneer, there was still that hint of stubborn mischief. ”But do you think you can ever forgive me for it?"

 

"There is nothing to forgive." Roen smiled.

 

Natalie blinked, her brows raised. “I… I don't deserve that.” She curled a sheepish grin. "But thanks."

 

"Reckless. Unpredictable." Roen chuckled. "That is your way." She eyed the miqo’te, holding her gaze. “I still trust you."

 

"It always makes sense in my head..." Natalie muttered before nodding to Roen. “And I you.” She extended a hand. “And let it never fade."

 

Roen took her hand and shook it with a firm grip. "Aye. Shield to shield.”

[cuideag]

Delial Grimsong counted the bells as they rolled by. The previous day she had spent a whole four bells walking back and forth along the market stalls much to the annoyed eyes of the merchants who tended them. Her steps were slow and deliberate and her frame, however slight for her race, was still larger than most who dwelled in Ul'dah. She loomed over stall and merchandise dismissively and on several occasions instilled upon potential customers the notion that they should be dismissive as well. Yet it was not for their sake that she walked and snubbed all manner of goods.

 

Their last conversation was more a battle than anything. Gharen Wolfsong was no fool: he suggested little and confessed even less, sparing only the most obvious details of his experience with the Resistance. His expression was solid and he wisely kept opposite from her in the small alleyway in which he had found her, giving little room and little opportunity to get too close. He watched her sharp-eyed even if his features were neutral, never missing his cue to grin or frown or, more often than not, remain guarded.

 

He may not have looked like much more than a battle-worn warrior, but he was certainly not a fool. Unlike his dear protege, sadly.

 

Bells in the markets revealed nothing to her. The suspicion was there, shared between his hazel gaze and hers oddly matched. Neither trusted the other so far as they could spit and if she could have told anything of Gharen Wolfsong from what he had shared during heir meeting or from what dear Roen Deneith had given to her, it was that he was a cautious, goodly man. The sort of man who would wonder after Aylard Greymane's fate. The sort of man who would not trust the matter to bumbling Sultansworn.

 

The morning found her optimistic and she spent far too long luxuriating in the Quicksand over a cup of spiced tea and some form of local breakfast pastry. She ignored the chatter around her, the gossip over who was sleeping with whom and which one of Ul'dah's desirable bachelors were eating from the hands of the Syndicate. Rarely would she ever hear words pertaining to the world outside the city, and briefly she caught herself wondering if that was why the starving masses were, for the most part, kept clinging outside the walls.

 

When she finished she left more gil than her meal was worth and, noting an absence, left. She wore supple soft-soled boots instead of her usual heeled ones and they made quiet sounds on the stones as she strutted through the streets, making for the dusty road driving into Western Thanalan. The gate yawned overhead as she passed back into the sunlight and there she made careful show of peering this way and that, left and right and most obviously behind her. And when she was contented that she was not being followed she made show of nodding to herself and, turning upon a heel, began to walk.

 

Her pace was hasty enough to suggest she was in a hurry but not too much of a hurry and within a bell's time the gates of the Silver Bazaar welcomed her. She made a beeline towards the small dock at the bottom of the hill, taking care to pause once more as she handed the ferryman his fee to peer pointedly behind her. There was, of course, nothing to be seen. It did not stop her from grinning as she carefully stepped aboard the small boat. 

 

Crescent Cove was quiet as the ferry pulled in to dock. The few that were attending to racks of fish and nets in need of mending did not so much as spare the highlander woman a glance. Working so near to the shadow of the Castrum came with a multitude of benefits, discretion being chief among them. The door to the small house beneath the cliff side was unlocked as she had left it, its interior undisturbed. Those who attended to the Cove understood the nature of that house as well as the intent of the woman who returned to it.

 

The house was as dark as ever but she knew it like the back of her hand. What furniture there was stood dusty and disheveled, arranged haphazardly along the walls as if by blind men. Only one piece stood with purpose, occupying the center of the rear half of the house: an enormous armoire set against the center of the far wall, perfectly visible from the door at the other end. It was to this that Delial strode, her boots making hardly a sound as she glided over the floorboards. She could not help the smile that crept over her face.

 

"Hello again, sweetling," she said to the cold figure of Aylard Greyarm. "Just one last thing..."

 

---

 

It was at least two bells before the door creaked open with agonizing slowness. Delial had assumed it would take one at the very least to follow her trail, give or take another one or two account for his cautious nature. A column of sunlight stretched across the floor, piercing into deepest dark of the house. Wolfsong's shadow nearly obscured the sight he was meant to see and she was convinced he had missed it until she heard the low growling intake of a breath.

 

She heard rather than saw the hasty steps he made towards the back of the house. He could not see her either as he passed, could not see her as she silently slipped out from where she had been hiding. The light at his feet flickered as her form placed itself between him and his exit and as he started to spin around to face her, Delial delighted in imagining she could see the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

 

All it took was a touch. Her hand reached out to him, her palm outstretched to graze over the nape of his neck. The configuration of her fingers was just right to trigger the ring she wore, an ingenious little thing an old ally had managed to scramble up for her on remarkably short notice. A tiny needle withdrew from its surface and as it pierced the flesh of his neck, another twitch of her fingers released it as well as its payload.

 

Wolfsong raised a hand to swat hers away but it was already too late. She stepped back as he turned around to face her fully. "Honestly," she sighed as she lazily pulled the poison ring from her finger. It made small, hollow sounds as it bounced and rolled into silence somewhere beneath a dresser. "It took you long enough."

 

He touched upon the thin bead of blood welling around the needle's tip, his expression dark and his tone even darker. "So it was ye," he growled. His hand balled into a fist as realization settled in.

 

"Yes, yes, and aren't you a clever boy for having figured it out." Arms crossed as she began to count off seconds in her head. The poison would be kicking in soon enough. "And how very fortunate for me that the last son of Wolfsong would happen right into my hands! It must be fate."

 

Gharen swayed on his feet, the anger in his eyes steadily clouding over. His teeth clenched as he lurched forward to swing his fist at her but it was obvious he was quickly losing his battle against the toxin in his veins. The strength in his body left him like the breath in his lungs and he crashed into a heap on the floor while the other highlander stepped out of his way.

 

"Now, now," she chuckled. "Do not stress yourself, shhh." Delial dropped low to kneel beside him, studying him as a jackal might carrion. "You already know what is coming. But worry not - there are plans for you, much unlike him." Her mismatched gaze rose up to the sight that had so adequately lured Wolfsong in to the house in the first place. Greyarm had been left chained to the armoire just as when the last of his life bled out of him, seeping out into a broad and inky swell that stretched around his body like a shadow that had forgotten its shape. His skin was greying and sunken; his belly was hollow.

 

She lowered an icy smile at Wolfsong while he strained and gasped upon the floor. She reached down to cup his cheek, taking a moment to admire his features up close. It could not be said that he was not handsome for a man who should have been dead. The thought curled a corner of her lip even more tightly. "Embrace the dark, Gharen Wolfsong. Your friends will fall soon enough. The boy, his girl, and the rest. Aylard came to be very generous, but... ah. What of little Roen?" Her head tilted, pausing just long enough to hear another growl gurgle from his throat. "I wonder. We'll just have to see, won't we?"

 

Unfocused as his eyes were, she could still feel the flare of anger that rose in them even as his consciousness slipped away. She was already stepping over Wolfsong's body when his head thudded loud upon the floor, already rolling the sleeves of her favored robes up her arms. There was no telling how long the poison would keep him down and she still had a corpse to dispose of. Delial smiled to herself as she began to work free the chains that held Greyarm in place. "How very like you," she crooned. "All too easy."

[cuideag]

A mere sun had passed before the white-haired woman arrived. Raelisanne Banurein had first approached Delial out of the blue in Limsa Lominsa and spoke of promises and shared interests. Delial found herself thinking back on that first meeting now and again in the idle moments between assignments; that the woman had known her name, her true name, should have been an indicator. That she also knew of Delial's work was another; few ever spoke favorably of her nor her predecessors nor of the odd art they indulged in. Banurein was not a woman of much emotion, no, but that she was actually interested in her methods...

 

It seemed a silly notion to worry of a woman who did not balk of the thought of blood and sacrifice, considering she herself indulged from time to time. True, it had been a while - Aylard was the first in many moons, and that was largely given to a need for discretion. There were few who knew of her allegiance but there was no telling when a wrong move might throw her into the spotlight.

 

The highlander had been awaiting outside the house beneath the cliff-side when Banurein arrived at long last. A aether portal glimmered into being just over the rickety bridge that separated Delial's hideout from the others and from it the smaller woman stepped. She was but a midlander, this Raelisanne, and she made little effort to hold herself as anything more. Her posture was rigid and her bearing was proud in a less glaring way than Delial's own, as if she was content with the cold airs about her going on unnoticed, as if she preferred it as such. Her attire was modest as ever, a long robe of white and blue that played off her elegantly worn hair. Different from usual was an odd mask which seemed to hide her eyes from light. Upon its forehead, a single blue gem glittered.

 

Banurein took a moment to scan her surroundings before she turned to approach the awaiting Delial. Her boots knocked softly over the old wooden planks as she crossed over the bridge to stand before the woman she had come to see. Delial never knew Banurein to he expressive but the mask did well enough to inhibit all but her voice, and even that was almost always cold and flat, not quite a monotone but still sapped of anything to betray her emotions. "Miss Delial," the midlander spoke in her usual even tone. The mask's pitted black eyes seemed to be directed at her company.

 

Their first meeting left her perplexed but Delial did not quite understand the woman then. It could not be said she understood her any more now, and somewhere along the line she had inherited an unconscious feeling of dread whenever the woman was nearby. When they had met in Limsa Lominsa, Delial laughed and mused over her tiny employer. Now she simply nodded, regarding Banurein's precise stride and the shock of icy white hair as warning signs. The missive she had sent was brief and to the point, just as Banurein liked. That she would have come so quickly, however, surprised her. "You came," Delial said. "Good."

 

Banurein gave a single nod. "You have something for me." Somehow, the woman sounded pleased.

 

"I do. Come, come," Delial spoke with a smile, gesturing for the other to follow. Together they rounded the small dirt lawn and up the porch steps. Delial fiddled with the door a moment before she swung it open, going so far as to bow herself towards the smaller girl. "Let us not keep him waiting, hmm? I expect he will be very cross by now."

 

The air inside the house reeked of blood and viscera. Delial had become quite used to it by then but if it bothered Banurein, she showed no sign of it. When she had nothing to say, the mask pointed straight ahead of her as it did then. From the door she could see her prize slumped upon the floor. Gharen Wolfsong stirred, rattling the chains that bound him just as they did the prey that had come before. A single lamp glowed far above his head, bathing him in soft yellow light. The floorboards beneath him were still stained dark even without his shadow pooled over them. He wore nothing but his small clothes and tiny red pinpricks lined up the length of his arm hinted at how and why he was able to be kept in so dull a state. Even with the scant toxin still in his veins, he was able to give Delial a glare so vile and full of rage that she knew if he had even the slightest of purchase upon freedom, she would likely not remain alive and breathing for very long. That glare fixed upon the masked woman, a stranger to him, and he growled low in his throat.

 

"May I present to you," continued Delial, "The one and only Gharen Wolfsong."

 

Banurein's rhythmic footsteps continued along the floor, halting only when she came close enough to be just beyond his reach. "So, this is he," she said curtly. Pitted black eyes contrasted sharply against the pristine white she wore, empty and cold and sterile. There was a pause as she appraised the man as well as the stains upon which he rested. "Mister Wolfsong. You will be my finest specimen yet."

 

"The pride of the Resistance," Delial chimed in. She chose to maintain her distance, settling into a relaxed stance with her arms folded near the open doorway that separated the rear of the house from the fore room. She flashed a predatory smile at Gharen, the points of her canines gleaming.

 

"Miss Delial. What happened to Aylard Greyarm." There was no question in her voice, as if stating it were a mere formality. It was entirely possible she did not even care.

 

"I kept him as long as I could but, alas, he was an old man and that did him no favors. He has been disposed of." Delial's own voice turned flat. She may as well have been talking about the garbage. "The crows have had their feast. I did keep a little something, though. A gift for our friends."

 

Banurein made a small noise of dismissal, a disinterested hum. The gem on her mask glimmered in the relative darkness of the space, a glow faintly mirrored deep in her pitted eyes. "I see no marks on this one yet. I would require your special skills."

 

"I did not wish to spoil him before you had a look," replied Delial. 

 

It was as if to respond that Gharen tested and strained against his restraints. His hands had been bound firmly behind his back, pinned between himself and the front of the ancient armoire. Another low growl rose from him as the masked woman lowered herself to a kneel as if to look upon him closely, examining him bit by bit as though he were a mere lab rat. "Mister Wolfsong. You are undoubtedly strong. Physically." Her voice was even and smooth. "I wonder... How strong are you within. Let us test that. Shall we?" She spoke without venom in her voice, almost as if she were offering him tea or cake. It was almost pleasant.

 

Gloved fingers rose and plucked the gem from the face of her mask and even in doing so it continued to glimmer by its own volition. Her arms moved in careful, delicate motions as she leaned closer and reached out to place the gem upon Wolfsong's forehead. As soon as the gem made contact with his skin, it flared into a darker hue, tendrils of smoke appearing at its edges. Those tendrils groped and fumbled over his flesh before, seemingly contended, they abruptly and soundlessly snapped rigid. Gharen's teeth clenched and his jaw tightened as if in pain, and it was not long before Delial came to realize why. The gem itself was somehow burrowing itself into his flesh.

 

Wolfsong shook in pain and rage but he did not scream. Hateful eyes fixed on Banurein and his voice rose as a snarl. "I'm... goin'... te kill ye  both."

 

From over Banurein's shoulder Delial continued to stare, her mild confusion at the events unfolding before her  betrayed only by the squinting of her eyes. She stared at the dark gem that sunk inside Gharen, quivering violently. Banurein had her ways, and it was not Delial's place to question it.

 

"Mm. Rage." The blue glow from within the black of her mask flickered. "It is an easy emotion. Let us work on that." Banurein rose to her feet and turned to stride towards Delial. "You know the man? Can you elicit more rage?" She spoke quietly in words clearly not meant for the squirming man upon the floor. "Provoke what you will. I would study him for a bit."

 

Delial's perplexed look was shaken off just as quickly as she looked to the masked woman. "Your... pet," she chuckled. "He is quite fond of your pet. The Sultansworn?" She pressed on as Banurein made an unimpressed sound and turned to look back towards Gharen. "Shall I fetch her? Oh, this boy has warned her against me. But we are thick as thieves, she and I."

 

"This will not do," replied Banurein. Her voice was cool and Delial suspected she could hear just the faintest hint of impatience. "I would like to see him angry, Miss Delial. He is trying to compose himself. Discipline the sensations."

 

Looking upon Gharen, she could see her meaning. The man shivered as he gave the two a dark look, obviously pained by whatever the gemstone was doing do him. Delial snorted and set her hands to her hips. Slow, lazy strides brought her further into the room, closer towards Wolfsong. Her heels clicked loud and cold in the otherwise quiet house. Gharen Wolfsong was a cautious man but since she had cornered him, he had made little attempt to hide the rage that burned in his heart. He wore it plainly then, and it lit the otherwise warm hazel of his eyes into something bestial.

 

"Master Gharen, she calls you," Delial began. Where others fought with blade and spell, her preferred weapon was her tongue. Thus far it had earned her the trust of a Sultansworn in perfect connection to the Resistance, as well as the head of the cell's leader. Gharen had little enough to hide behind then. A smirk settled on her lips as she picked through words like one may blades. "Such a sweet thing, so pure of heart. Yet I wonder what you know of her, Master Gharen? You taught the girl. You very nearly fought her. Broke her precious little heart."

 

In her peripheral vision she saw Raelisanne situate herself a few fulms away with a tome opening in her hands. An eerie blue glimmer flickered over her eyes and she could vaguely make out symbols appearing upon the pages of said tome. Gharen himself curled his lip into a slight snarl. He was struggling uselessly, testing his bindings as though persistence would reward him with anything more than wrists rubbed raw.

 

As he worked away, Delial's hand slipped beneath a fold of her robe and she withdrew a drawing. The artistry was fine and of slightly uncommon skill, its subject wrought out elegantly: a pair of highlander women, one old and one young. One of the most striking things about it was the older woman's hair: a vivid mane of red that contrasted sharply with that of her daughter's. Delial sighed wistfully as she held it out for Gharen to see, for he would see none other but the face of his own mother smiling back at him.

 

"The old man had this," she said, careful to inject a note of regret into her voice. It was diffficult; sorrow was difficult to fake, after all. "Faces I'd not seen in years, not since my youth. Of course, they never looked like this when I saw them. They were... much more pained. It was a good hunt. You must have been young." She studied the man as he glared darkly up at her. He worked even more fiercely against his binds, shuddering at the pain it brought. The gem in his skin had turned almost jet black, and the tendrils that stretched out from it seemed to be growing thicker. 

 

"The seed of dissidents could not be tolerated, you see, and would that we had not let you escape. Look at you now: parading about as if you actually cared about the struggles of Ala Mhigo." Genuine disgust seeped into her voice, a contempt that rose up her throat like bile. "Insulting. Ah, but we were speaking of Roen, were we not?" She dropped the drawing and it fluttered down, down, down, landing upon the floor between them. Aline Wolfsong and her red haired mother continued to smile up at their wayward descendant. "You must have wondered whatever happened to that squealing little thing that was with you."

 

A mask tilted off to her side. Before her, Gharen Wolfsong began to growl in warning.

 

Delial smiled in a sad way, completely fake. "How blind you must be to your own clan that you could not recognize the blood of your traitorous ancestors walking about before your very eyes. Learning under you, yearning for your companionship. Pleading your forgiveness." She resisted the desire to click her tongue, settling instead with but a slow, disappointed shake of her head. "It is a fortunate thing, then, that she ceased to be yours that night. The Empire takes care of those it desires. The Empire loves its own. You are a cruel thing, Gharen Wolfsong. Roen deserves a better family than you."

 

Gharen's reaction was explosive and had he not been bound, Delial was certain it would have been violent as well. "Ye LIE!" he barked, his eyes drawing wide with shock and rage. The tendrils that snaked over his forehead pulsed, new branches of smokey black stretching out towards his cheek.

 

"Ah!" A hand fluttered to Delial's chest in mock surprise. "Did you not know...? Oh, dear. The secrets we keep from those we love. I would say that you should ask her, but... I wonder if you shall ever see the poor thing again. Indeed, I understand that her father - ah, her... proper father, not that corpse we left in Ala Mhigo... I hear he has been awaiting his dearest princess."

 

Wolfsong was shuddering before her, his powerful frame straining so hard against the chains that held him that for the briefest moment Delial actually worried that they might break. There was no mistaking the sheer hatred in the way he stared at her, nor was there mistaking the way the gem and the magic that seeped from it pulsed and grew as if being fed by the raw emotions burning in his body. "I'm goin'," he snarled, "Te tear yer... lyin' throat out."

 

Banurein remained silent as she observed, turning her masked gaze to Delial but for a brief moment. The blue of her gaze flashed and flickered more intensely, and the pages upon her tome mirrored the pattern of illumination as they flared to life.

 

"It was a mercy," Delial continued. She edged forward another step to kneel and lean close, dangerous close, to the bound man. "Could you have protected your darling little sister then? Could you protect her now? She should have been cut like the rest of your house. Who do you think handed her to the empire." Eyes narrowed and she smiled - no, sneered - at Gharen. "You should be thanking me."

 

The low, persistent growl that had been rumbling out of his throat turned into a vicious snarl and with little enough warning, Gharen Wolfsong lunged hard against his restraints. The heavy armoire groaned and scraped against the floor as it shuffled along with him, chains snapping between flesh and splintering wood. He should  not have been able to gain any purchase but had Delial not the sense to back away with a hiss of breath and the scraping of her heels, she would have found herself with the wolf's teeth in her throat. She had little time to consider the anguish that colored his outburst and as she stepped back out of a wider lunging rage, she cast a look towards Raenlisanne.

 

The white-haired woman was regarding her tome intensely, or at least Delial had the impression of intensity. The blue lights flickering over her eyes and upon the pages were unnaturally bright and flaring brighter still as even more of those shadow-tendrils sprouted and sunk into Gharen's skin. After a pause she gave Delial a measured nod. "Excellent." Then she muttered something beneath her breath, turning to regard as three new aether portals appeared beside her, each leaving behind a single featureless cube.

 

A puzzled feeling returns to Delial but she pays it little mind. The woman was a scientist and one well connected within the Empire; the extent of her capabilities were not hers to consider, so she turned back upon the nearly prone figure of Gharen Wolfsong. He continued to growl but it appeared he was more in the throes of a deep and unbearable pain. "All it would have taken," she said softly, "Was for you to say, no. Alas, the poor choices we make."

 

Banurein had set her tome aside and was attending to the cubes. Daintily she held them in her palms, and just as daintily she set them down near Wolfsong. He cast his glare towards her but she does not seem to notice it; rather, she occupied herself with opening each of the three cubes. Then she stepped back to merely watch. From the depth of the cubes slither dark things, nightmarish forms of shadowy black. They moved as spiders did, skittering on dark legs not unlike the tendrils that bound the gem to Gharen's body. A faint purple vapor surrounded what could be made out of their bodies, and the very sight of them evoked memories of whispers of voidsent. "This will hurt, Mister Wolfsong," she heard Banurein say. It was a statement,  blunt and cold, moreso than a warning.

 

What occurred next was beyond Delial's understanding though she could imagine in some small way what the man was going through. Those spindly little creatures skittered towards Wolfsong's form and, upon nearing him, sprung to latch onto his flesh. What appeared as near ephemeral limbs sharpened somehow, losing their whispy quality as they seemed to nail themselves into the flesh of his hand and his chest. Oddly, there was no blood spilled; Gharen himself was silent though his lips quivered peeled back from his teeth. Delial hardly noticed that Banurein was speaking low: "Rage will be your undoing, Mister Wolfsong. It is what will break you." Her voice was frigid and precise and with every word those odd, glimmering blue eyes imposed over the strange mask she wore pulsed. "And break you I will. But for now... sleep. We have a journey ahead of us."

 

A silence befell the room as Wolfsong's battle against the pain wore out. He slumped upon the floor with his breath drawn ragged, and though he slept he did not look peaceful. The ugly black veins that had sprouted from the gem upon his forehead reached around to his ears and stained his skin with a sickly pallor wherever it touched. At last Banurein gave a near invisible nod. "He will make... a resilient specimen," she said.

 

Delial's eye could hardly leave the strange creatures that had affixed themselves upon his body. "I knew you'd like him."

 

"Do you believe in souls, Miss Delial?"

 

Such was a question Delial did not anticipate, and it was enough to draw her gaze to the masked woman. She stared at the midlander with as neutral an expression she could muster. "I... Yes. I do."

 

It was as if Raelisanne Banurein was making small-talk, but she was not the sort to do so without purpose. The blue glimmer that had flickered so vividly over sunken, pitch dark eyes were gone and so she regarded Delial with a face blank and cold as the shadows she had released on Wolfsong. "What is a soul?"

 

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Where is she going with this...? "It... is a spark, of sorts," Delial said. "A flame, that which makes life more than just... life."

 

Banurein turned her attention back down to the unconscious highlander. Delial had not yet decided whether or not she liked being unable to see her face, nor her expression. "I believe that spark you speak of, it is nourished by many things. And... it can be undone," she said thoughtfully, "By many things."

 

An odd sensation was tickling at the back of Delial's thoughts. "Is that your aim?"

 

"I want to undo them. And remake them as I wish."

 

"Remake a soul?" The incredulity in Delial's voice was impossible to mask, but Banurein seemed to take no notice of it. If she did, it could very well have been that she did not care about her highlander companion's disbelief. It was unlike a Garlean to hold such matters sacred, a fact Delial often forgot about the people who had made claim of her homeland.

 

"Perhaps. Or perhaps undo it, and see what remains. What is a man with a broken soul, Miss Delial?"

 

"No man at all." That odd sensation was quickly turning into a chilled feeling, a twisting sensation at the pit of her stomach. "A husk. A ghost."

 

"This one," replied Banurein, her unnaturally even voice somehow sounding pleased, "Will be a beast."

 

He had snapped at her like an animal. Had she not retreated, had she blinked, her throat would likely have been torn to shreds. Delial paused to stare down at the unconscious form of Gharen Wolfsong. Had he not recruited himself into the Resistance, she could very well have gone the rest of her life oblivious to his continued existence. When their home was sacked and set to the torch they knew the boy, son of Gregor, was not dead among the embers. It had not been until she had come to Ul'dah on the hunt for Greyarm that the name Wolfsong had even come to her mind. A mercy unkind, she thought. He should have died that night. "I expect he will make an excellent specimen," she said flatly.

 

Banurein knelt beside the man and produced from her person a second crystal which she gingerly affixed at the center of his bare chest. "Let us go, Mister Wolfsong. My lab awaits. The aetheryte crystal in your possession should also bring you to the lab," Banurein added over her shoulder, only half glancing at the other woman. "But I believe you have a delivery to make."

 

Delial nodded and twisted her lips into a smile, though she did not quite look at Banurein herself. "Indeed I do. I shall... attend this one, as you require it. He should be much easier to keep alive than Greyarm." Even as she said it, however, her stomach twisted again. The creatures latched upon his body were unknown to her and she had no idea what it was they were actually doing to him. If they truly were of the void then she had little doubt his life was indeed forfeit to Banurein's experiment.

 

"I will need you to join me soon. I wish to put your... skills, your magic, in addition to my voidlings. I think the two would compliment each other." She waited while the new crystal, a cold blue like the light of her eyes, attached itself to its new host. Then she rose rigidly to her feet and daintily brushed her hands as if offended more by dust or dirt than by the foul things she had held. "Once your spells are in place, you are free to do as you wish. He will serve as better bait, I predict, than the girl's adoptive father."

 

The girl was, of course, Roen Deneith. Delial's initial order had been to watch her and ensure that she would be ready to be returned to her father, a man to whom Raelisanne Banurein wished to gain favor. A man who, Banurein promised, would assist in returning Delial to Ala Mhigo so that she might return into the good graces of the Empire. The Sultansworn seemed little more than a source of annoyance yet it was made made very clear that Deneith was to remain unharmed. "She surprised me," Banurein continued,  her tone suddenly icy, "With that attack on the Castrum."

 

Delial raised her brows. Mere suns before she had heard the sound of explosions even from the house in Crescent Cove. Castrum Marinum was mere malms away, a towering shard of steel and light that stood off of Thanalan's coast. "Was that what that was...?"

 

"Her and the Resistance. I vastly underestimated their... resourcefulness." Just as soon as it had come, the emotion in her voice vanished, as if it were something she would switch on and off. Her voice went smooth again, cold in its own way. "I leave you to inform them of this one's capture. If they do not figure it out on their own soon enough. After my experiments are done, they are welcomed to free him as now I expect them to do."

 

"Ah," sighed Delial. Implications were adding up into an unpleasant picture. He had snapped like an animal. "Give them back the... beast, then."

 

"How else will I know my experiment is a success?" Slim shoulders rose as Banurein shrugged at Delial. "They came for the girl's father, who was no one. They will certainly come for this one." She turned back to Gharen Wolfsong, looking down at his collapsed form through that expressionless mask. He breathed oddly as if his lungs had found a distaste for air. "They will come for their champion. The one they placed their hopes on."

 

"Quite so." Aylard Greyarm had been persistent in recruiting the young traitor, stubborn even if Wolfsong, as far as Delial could tell, had done nothing to alleviate the struggles in their shared homeland. Old blood meant little if they were unwilling to spill it. A slow grin set to her face and she shook her head. Greyarm would never appreciate what it was he died for. "You are a terror, my little dove. Woe upon me should I ever find myself in your sights. Now, I should make my delivery. It would be uncharitable of me not to handle it personally, I think. I shall be along as soon as I am able."

 

"Indeed, Miss Delial. Your work has been... very satisfactory so far. The Empire will be pleased." The masked face gave her a single slow nod, a dismissal without so  many words. Banurein was fiddling with something at her wrist, a gleam of crystal to match that set to Gharen's chest.

 

A small bow bent Delial towards Banurein and in rising she turned as if to leave. Yet her gaze lingered upon Gharen Wolfsong a moment longer, studying him even as the aether whisked he and his new master away to whatever lab she had set aside for him. She found herself pondering once more if it was indeed a mercy to let the boy he had been run off into the night. "Matters not," she chided herself beneath her breath. The sharp click of her heels returned her to the present, returned her mind to the task at hand. In the other room, innocuously set upon a table, was a wooden box. She collected it, held it delicately in both her hands, as she strode out of the dark, shadowed house. "Still work to be done. I shall see you soon, my dear."

[Roen]

Drybone

 

 

 

 

 

Roen,

 

I’ve need of you. Please forgive my silence. Please forgive me.

 

Meet with me in Drybone. It is safer there.

 

Please.

 

D.

 

 

Roen approached the cliffs overlooking Drybone with a tightness in her chest that she could not dismiss. Dark clouds gathered above, the desert sun quickly giving way to the thick press of humid air and ominous shadows. It mirrored the dread that choked her breath and weighed her thoughts.

 

She had never heard such grim tidings from the Highlander before, the dark-skinned woman always ready with words of wit or comfort. Delial had been Roen’s confidant in her times of need since their meeting in Little Ala Mhigo; she had been there after the conflict at the Nanawa Mines, to lend a sympathetic ear to Roen’s distressed thoughts regarding her two mentors. Roen had despaired over her seeming betrayal of her Master at Arms, and the near deadly confrontation between her Sultansworn mentor and the Resistance.

 

Delial had reassured her that both mentors would come to believe her innocence in the matter, and the misunderstanding would work itself out. And she was right, Master Gharen did forgive her, and Natalie had decided not to pursue the Resistance in favor of tracking down the Rose.

 

But now this letter came for her, written in Delial’s hand. Roen did not know what to think. Even when Master Gharen warned her of Delial, and then decided to tail the Highlander for clues, Roen did not want to believe that she had anything to do with Aylard’s disappearance. But now…

 

She was not so certain. She had not heard from Master Gharen in suns. But if he was tailing her, and she was to meet Delial, perhaps there was hope that she could see that he was well. Surely he would give her some sign, or perhaps even tell her that he had found nothing on Miss Delial to support his suspicions.

 

So why was she finding it harder to believe it as she approached the lone Highlander overlooking Drybone?

 

Delial waited alone in silence, a palpable heaviness in the air as Roen approached. Perhaps it was the woman’s posture: her head was lowered, eyes closed, and her lips coiled into a sharp frown. This was not the usual coy and confident Highlander Roen had come to know. Stranger still was the wooden box that rested at her feet.

 

Roen approached, though even as she did so, her grey eyes darted about, looking for any other figures in the area. There was a part of her that hoped to catch just a glimpse.

 

“You came,” Delial broke the silence, her eyes opening.

 

“Your missive was alarming.”

 

“My apologies. I did not know what to say.” Delial turned to face her, although her gaze did not rise to meet her. Indeed, there was an uncharacteristic uncertainly drawing tension to the woman’s jaw.

 

“Something is wrong,” Roen tried to ignore the sudden dryness in her throat.

 

"I've... I've come to learn a great deal these past suns. Thinking I might take the initiative, I..." Delial frowned deeply as she paused. "I must apologise. I am so very sorry, my dearest Roen. I had to..." She drew her breath and looked down to the box at her feet. “I had no choice. I…”

 

Roen blinked quickly, her eyes shooting to the box. “What is… what is this?”

 

"It is probably better not to see. I needed to deliver it. She wouldn't… If it was not done, she would know. She knows everything."

 

Roen’s gaze darted between Delial and the box, dread drawing her brows low. "What is in the box, Miss Delial?"

 

Delial Grimsong closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. "I believe he is ...was... called Greyarm."

 

Roen felt all her breath leave her then. She darted forward, falling to her knees, her hands going to the box.

 

“Roen, don’t--” was the only warning that was offered before the lid was opened. And soon as it was given air, an overwhelming stench of decay erupted from the box. The severed head inside wore a furious and pained expression even in death, his grey skin taut and dried, eyes sunken and shrivelled into dark black things. Roen staggered back from the parcel, her hand rising to her lips to stave off the wave of nausea that rose.

 

"Do you know who -- no -- what it is that hunts us, Roen?" Delial asked, her eyes turned away from the grisly content of the package. "A monstrous woman. A Garlean. She seemed so…” Delial paused, shaking her head as if to correct herself. “I thought I might learn something. I didn't think she'd..."

 

Roen was still staring at the severed head, its mouth opened in a silent scream. The face was screaming at her even in death. “She… she did this?”  She could not pry her eyes from the dead man’s face.

 

There was a long pause before Delial answered, as she wrapped her arms around herself. “No. I… I’m so sorry. I had no choice.” Her voice was strained whisper.

 

“You…? You did this?!” Roen turned to Delial in horror.

 

Heavy raindrops began to fall then, drumming against box and streaking the gruesome countenance. Roen’s hand trembled as she slowly closed the lid over it, as if giving it shelter would give it some reprieve from the violence that was visited upon it.

 

"She knew everything. Aylard, Hroch. Shael and Ruva." Delial hesitated a moment as she leveled her gaze at Roen. "And... Gharen."

 

Roen felt a chill run down her spine, and she stiffened. She met the woman’s gaze with dread. “Miss Delial." Her voice shook. "Have you seen... Master Gharen?"

 

The Highlander nodded slowly. "He's alive. He is." Her eyes dropped down to the box, the closed with a frown. "She's had me watching him. I had to... prove myself. She wanted proof that I could be trusted."

 

The rain and wind were pelting the two women now, tossing their hair and robes haphazardly about them. “...Alive..??” Roen stared at her eyes wide with fear.

 

"I don't know what she means to do with him. Kill him, probably. Take what information she can from  him, as she did with Greyarm...."

 

"No... no!" Roen bolted to her feet, stepping towards the woman. "Where? Where is he?"

 

"I-- I'm so... so sorry, dear Roen, please believe me. I can't... tell you. I can't. You must understand."

 

Her thoughts whirled even as distant thunder rumbled above. She felt her panic give way to something else, her hands curling into a fist at her side. "Miss Delial, you did not call me here to apologize for his impending death." She gritted her teeth. "You called me here, because you knew I cannot let that be. You need to give me something."

 

"No. I... You must understand. You... your friends... You stormed a Castrum, did you not? They're on edge now. That I even told you is a risk. They have ears and eyes all over Thanalan. Everywhere. It is safer here , but... If they know that you know..." Delial grimaced. "I know it is not what you want to  hear. But... please. Give me time."

 

“Give you time? For what?”

 

"I swore that I would help you. Let me protect Gharen. I ... I think I can find a way. He is the key to everything. I must..."

 

Roen spun away, her hands digging into her hair as panicked eyes looked to the greyness all around. A part of her was desperate to see a figure, some sign, to show her that what Delial was saying was untrue. That she would see the his face, out there, watching them. But all she saw were whirling and spinning leaves ripped from trees bent by the storm.

 

"I... misjudged. One forgets that not everyone is as they seem. Please, believe me when I say I thought I was working for the good of Ala Mhigo. I was wrong." The Highlander let out a heavy breath. “Call it haste, or desperation. I needed to act, to do something... and in doing so, mayhaps I sealed my own fate. I do not expect to walk away from any of this alive. But seeing what I have had to do... it would be but a fitting punishment."

 

Roen still stared out into the dark stark landscape, clinging to the last vestige of hope. "You said he is alive..?"

 

"He is. She's keeping him safe."

 

"Who is she, this woman you speak of?" Roen turned to face Delial, her hands trembling.

 

"She is called Banurein. A cold woman, heartless. I would dare say she is a voidsent in a hyur's skin, so... so empty and cruel as she is. I expect that my usefulness will run low soon, and I will likely vanish as well. Time has never been more important. So I am begging you, Roen.” Delial took a step towards her, her pale eyes pleading. “Let me help. Let me atone for my wrongdoing. Give me time to fix this."

 

"What will you do?” Roen narrowed her eyes, suspicion now steeling her voice.

 

"She's been doing something to him. Some sort of wicked magic, the likes of which I have not seen before. I need to attend to him, ensure he survives it. And when he is strong enough, I will... I will send him on his way. Break him out. I think. I don't know." Her voice lowered morosely. "I'm no hero, Roen. I'm no adventurer. But I must do what I can."

 

All the air left her chest and Roen felt herself grow cold. "So what are you asking me to do…?"

 

"Nothing. Go on as if nothing is amiss. I know it is difficult, I know it is... infuriating. But that is what you must do."

 

"As if nothing is amiss..?" She asked incredulously.

 

"This woman, she is... it is an unnatural spirit she carries about her, this knowledge of things believed secret. The Garleans are here far more entrenched than either of us could imagine. Eyes and ears all over Thanalan, and all over Ul'dah itself." Single pale amber eye stared at Roen with a warning. "One false word and she will know. And she may kill Gharen rather than risk another attack."

 

Roen turned her gaze back down toward Drybone, the torrential downpour now having soaked through her hair; water was running in rivulets down her face. Was Delial to be believed? Roen desperately looked about as if to search for any other option than to accept what the Highlander was telling her. If she were to arrest the woman… then what of his fate? What did the woman have to gain by telling her all this? By bringing her Greyarm’s decapitated head? Did she have any other choice than to believe the woman? To save his life?

 

"... I could not risk exposing this within earshot of anyone down there. There is no telling who is who. People are not as they seem, my dearest. You are with the Sultansworn, yes? Do you truly know everyone who wears the title?"

 

Roen Deneith twisted her lips, not liking the answer that rose from her lips. "Nay. I do not."

 

"Then you know I am not wrong in asking this of you."

 

Roen narrowed her eyes, taking a step towards the Highlander woman. “Miss Delial, perhaps I can do something. They wanted me back. They were willing to trade for a man’s life, for my return.” She pleaded desperately, her mind racing. “I will return. This time with no deceit. I need to help him. If there is anything that they want from me..!”

 

Delial stared back at her, certain keen intensity gathering about the woman. “I know, Roen. I understand. Believe me, I do. I can only promise you that I will come to you, and only you, if I think I may need your help.” Delial rubbed at her temple and gave her a small pitiful grin. "You are of stronger stuff than me, I expect, though I may carry myself otherwise. If there is anyone I can trust, if there is anyone I could turn to... It could only be you, naturally."

 

There was naught she could do. She felt her stomach twist with a pit of despair. “I will continue as if... nothing is amiss." She surrendered.

 

Delial stepped closer to her, clasping her hands about Roen’s shoulders. “I swear to you, Roen. If it is the last thing I do, you will see Gharen Wolfsong again. I will do whatever it takes to get him back.”

 

Roen struggled to remain stoic, meeting the Highlander’s gaze. “Please. Keep him alive.”

 

"I will keep you informed. But please. Burn the letters after." The darker woman canted her head. “We will be... strong for him. Together, yes?" her gaze drifted to the box at their feet. "Please beg the son for my forgiveness. I ... wish I could in person. It is a most painful thing I have done to him. It is not only to you whom I must atone."

 

"I do hope you find your atonement, Miss Delial." Roen heard her own voice, dull to her ears. She was still trying to grip with this news. Her eyes sought that of the Highlander. "I am taking you at your word. That you will do whatever you can to bring Master Gharen back."

 

"It will be so. Trust in me." Delial nodded once, then glanced about cautiously before she walked off into the swirling grey winds.

 

Roen watched her leave, her silhouette slowly swallowed by the dark storm. She turned then to the rest of the desert, desperation tightening its grip around her heart.

 

It was a long moment before she buried her face in her hands and wept.