Second Hand Faith [Complete]

[Roen]

“You look a bit better than you did yesterday.”

 

Jenlyns looked up from the stack of parchment that never seemed to diminish, his eyes going to the man who was standing at the entry. Jameson Taeros was leaning on the archway with his arms crossed, looking every bit the finely dressed noble he preferred to be these days. His impeccably tailored white doublet and fitted pants seemed to glimmer even in the soft afternoon light that filtered through the windows, his look completed with a brilliant gold chocobo feathered hat and polished white dress shoes. Always preferring the fineries. “Good to see you too, James.”

 

“You need to leave the Hustings Strip and get more sun, Jenly.”

 

The leader of the Sultansworns furrowed his blonde brows at the nickname that seemed to rear its puerile head at the oddest times. He set his quill down onto the inkwell and folded his hands atop the pile of papers. “You only call me that when you have bad news or you want something from me. Which is it, James?”

 

Jameson pushed himself off the wall and approached the desk, tossing a large envelope in front of him. “A little bit of both.”

 

Jenlyns arched an eyebrow as he suspiciously eyed the envelope. “What is this?” He gave the man he had known since childhood a questioning look, before taking up the parcel and opening it to study the contents.

 

“Evidence, my friend. One that I sincerely did not want to bring to you. It pertains to three of your Sultansworns, conspiring to hide a ceruleum theft, cause of the explosion and the ensuing fire at the Nanawa Mines, and not apprehending those responsible for it.” Jameson was now standing across the desk from him, his arms crossed. Jenlyns’s eyes narrowed as he spread the contents of the envelope onto the desk, to give them a proper study. What he saw began to draw his brows into a deep frown.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

“From a month-long investigation spearheaded by my employers.” The silk of the doublet rustled quietly as Jameson leaned on the desk, his fingers splayed onto the carved maple surface. “Their patience had grown thin with the lack of results from the original inquiry.”

 

“Your employers.” Jenlyns leaned back on his chair with undue ceremony, shooting the noble an incredulous look. “Surely you do not expect me to take any evidence that they present seriously, James.”

 

Jameson held up both his gloved hands in acquiescence. “But in your position, you cannot ignore them either! Look over the evidence yourself. Yes, they may have got the investigation rolling, but it was carried out by the officers of the Immortal Flame. Commander Swift saw to that.” He curled a sly grin. “Impartiality and all.”

 

Jenlyns frowned and leaned forward again, eyes scanning the documents. “Mcbeef? Kiryuu? Deneith?” He covered his eyes with his hand, as if that would make this go away.

 

“You had your suspicions about Deneith’s true dedication from the start. And Mcbeef… she’s always been a black sheep, yes? She and Kiryuu are as thick as thieves.” Jameson clucked his tongue with a shake of his head, as if regretting having to repeat things that Jenlyns had told him in confidence. “Mcbeef swore them both in. Of course they would be loyal to her.” When the Sultansworn Captain just gave him a baleful glare, Jameson answered with a look of pity.

 

“Two witnesses came forth about the cover-up. And the core that was returned to the plant, the one that was vouched for by Kiryuu? It was not the one that went missing. The engineers have looked it over to verify it. There is another one missing. One that seemed to have found its way to a Castrum.” Jameson leaned against the desk, meeting Jenlyn’s eyes at level. “There is more. The core was initially stolen by the Ala Mhigan Resistance, and they were let go. Even after your Sworns fought them at the Mines, they were just … forgotten about.” He waved vaguely into the air between them. “Because Mcbeef favored her apprentice’s loyalties over that for the Sultana.”

 

Jenlyns could feel the anger rising within him, suspicion tugging at the edge of his thoughts. “How come you are bringing me this information, James? Why not Commander Swift?” Despite their unwavering friendship for the past many cycles, Jenlyns could never forget the different course their paths had taken. Where as he himself had sided with the Royalists and the Sultana and trained to become a Sultansworn, his friend threw his lot in with the Monetarists. But they had always kept their friendship despite this division in loyalty, for both found common ground in that they looked to serve the greater good of Ul’Dah. Jenlyns was suddenly questioning whether his friend still held to that same conviction.

 

Jameson met his gaze with a steady resolve of his own. “I only want the truth discovered, Jenly. That is why I am here.” He lowered his eyes, a gloved finger coming to press down upon a single parchment. “Because this case was closed by Sergeant Melkire, and he is one of Swift’s favored officers. I had to press upon a second Immortal Flame to continue the investigation. And she discovered the second witness to verify and further expand on what the first witness said. You cannot deny their confessions, Jenly. A conspiracy is afoot.”

 

Jenlyns let out a long sigh, gathering the papers, and giving each of them a long accusatory stare, as if that alone would prove them false. “I need to review them more thoroughly. The accused will be put on leave until I sort this out. There could be a justifiable reason for their actions.”

 

“Of course.” Jameson nodded, though there was a hint of regret in his voice. “I did not want to bring you such news of your own, Jenly. And any disciplinary action is entirely in your hands, of course. Perhaps they do have a good reason! I wish them proven innocent myself, for you and I know, we cannot lose any more Sultansworns. There are few enough as it is!”

 

Jenlyns did not respond, instead angrily tapping the gathered parchment together on the desk to align them in his grip. He knew his own inquiry into this matter had to be flawless and irreproachable. Else he himself could be thrown into this controversy and the Monestarists would like nothing better than to further mar the reputation of the Sultana’s Elite.

 

“Why, I have an idea.” Jameson curled another broad smile, one far too cheerful for Jenlyns' comfort. He gave his friend a cautious arch of the brow. James chuckled at his expression. “Why not prove to my employers the integrity of these Sultansworns? Have them come to work for the Brass Blades. They can still serve the people of Ul’Dah, and perhaps if my employers cannot find fault with them, they will also let this matter go. Should you find them… innocent, that is.”

 

“Brass Blades.” Jenlyns said with skepticism. “You want my Sworns to work as Brass Blades.”

 

Jameson held both his hands up beside him in an exaggerated shrug. “Why not? Given the Brass Blade’s sullied reputation, give them shining examples to follow! Or are you afraid that the three accused are indeed corrupt?”

 

The Captain of the Sultansworns exhaled through his nostrils, his jaw set. “Mcbeef might be rough around the edges, but she has always been faithful to her Oath. Until I find this conclusive,” he tapped on the gathered documents on his hand, “I am not assuming her guilt.  Very well. I will assign them to serve the Brass Blades during their leave of absence.” Jenlyns grimaced, for he knew this was a painful demotion for any Sworn.

 

“Excellent,” Jameson answered with an enthusiastic nod, the chocobo feather on his hat bobbing excitedly. “Worry not, Jenly. I am certain your Sworns will be shining examples of justice and righteousness for the Brass Blades to look up to. They will lead them well.” His grin widened. "They've no choice, really."

 

 

 

 

^{((Posts regarding events of the mines can be found here: the mines, investigation, and conspiracy ))}

[111]

Jenlyns can hear her coming from down the hall, the tromp of armored boots and clanking of plate heralding her arrival. He can always tell when it’s Natalie, whereas most Sultansworn affect a slow steady gait, appropriate for the ancient guardians of an ancient dynasty, she strides around headquarters like a woman possessed.

 

“You wished to see me Sir?”

 

He nods to her, and Natalie enters the room, threading through the chairs and stacks of papers before coming to attention at the foot of his desk. It is evening now, and he studies her features by lamplight for a moment, lingering over the scars on her face. He can put a story to each of them, a story of service to the Sultana, and it makes him hate himself for what he’s about to do.

 

Jenlyns rubs his temples for a moment before beginning, “Sergeant, some things have come to my attention that are troubling, and I must take action on them.” He exhales and shakes his head slightly, “I do not wish to, but I fear both the honor and loyalty of our order will be besmirched if I do nothing.” He gives her a steady look, “I think you know what I’m talking about”.

 

Natalie blanches, and the normally imperturbable woman looks out of her element. “I…” she swallows, having trouble meeting his gaze. “I know what you’re talking about” she says, before taking a deep breath. “It’s the chili isn’t it?” She bites her lip, “It was my idea, and I take full responsibility”.

 

Jenlyn nods, “Good, this will be easier if you can admit…” he blinks, “What chili?”

 

Natalie looks back at him in confusion. “This isn’t about the chili night I started?” She sighs, “I know it was a bad idea to have it before the ceremony, but we played it off, told that Gridanian diplomat the trumpets were practicing”. She exhales, “Couldn’t do anything about the smell though…”.

 

Jenlyn looks at her mouth agape, “You mean those weren’t trumpets?” He frowns at her, “I was told the trumpeters were tuning their instruments, and that the sewers were backed up again”

 

She nods, “Ah… that’s a good excuse. Anyway Sir I accept full responsibility” she stands rigidly.

 

He sighs, “No punishment is required, just have more foresight before changing the menu in the future”.

 

“Thank you sir, will that be all?”

 

He almost nods by reflex, before remembering why he called her here. Though he no longer feels so bad about it. “No” he tosses her a packet of orders which she barely catches, “You've been a busy woman Sergeant, and have attracted some of the wrong attention”.

 

She glances at the orders, “This is…?” she looks back at him. “You can’t be serious”

 

“I’m completely serious. I’m throwing you to the lions to protect the reputation of the order” he sighs and rubs his temple, “I trust that whatever you've done, you did for the right reasons, but unfortunately that doesn't go for much. There are people far more powerful than me out for your blood. Go meet Jameson, he’s an old friend of mine, and has graciously provided us with an out.”

 

Natalie bristles for a moment, then seems to deflate, “Yes sir…” she replies. She gives a sharp salute, and as Jenlyns dismisses her, she sadly tromps out of the office.

 

After she leaves he pulls a bottle out from a drawer and fills a glass with amber liquor. He swirls it around, having mixed feelings about this whole affair. “Well…” he shrugs, before downing the drink, feeling it burn its way to his stomach, “At least she’ll be someone else’s problem for a while”. He laughs and attempts in vain to finish his paperwork.

[111]

Jameson Taeros strides into the Quicksand, the feather on his hat bobbing with each step as he approaches a certain scowling Sultansworn. "Ser Mcbeef." He tips the edge of his hat in greeting and gives her a smile. "I understand we need to talk."

 

"Oh great," Natalie sighs. "Let's get this over with."

 

Jameson gives her a charming smile. "Somewhere private would be best."

 

"The airship bar?" She begins to lead him out of the tavern. "My friends prevailed upon me to resist the urge to break your jaw."

 

"That would be rather unfortunate, I am quite fond of my jaw."

 

Natalie turns and regards his dress for a moment. "I think you're quite fond of all of you."

 

They ride the elevator to the airship dock in silence, and walk towards the cozy bar set off to the side.

 

Jameson gestures to a seat before he takes one himself. He smiles and folds his hands on the tabletop. "Ser Mcbeef. I understand that there is an opportunity for you to work under a different... leadership?"

 

Natalie sighs and rubs her forhead. "Let's not play these games Jameson, just call me Natalie," she rises. "Do you drink?"

 

"I do. Rum."

 

She nods and heads to the bar, returning with a bottle and two glasses, which she fills.

 

Jameson watches the woman with his hazel eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

She takes one of the glasses and returns to her seat. "I won't pretend that I'm not at a disadvantage here. That is evidently clear to me."

 

"Natalie." He takes up the glass, but swirls the liquid in it for awhile. "What my employers are offering you is... an opportunity. To make amends. To prove your ... integrity. To form new alliances," he smiles at her. "Even to forge new loyalties, perhaps."

 

She cups her own glass in her hands, and leans back, "And I'm supposed to believe it's all simple as that?" she sips the drink. "That I do this for you, and this all will blow over?"

 

He rests his elbow on the table, the glass hanging from his fingers in a dainty hold. He swirls it still. "When my employer is satisfied, perhaps."

 

She studies him for a moment, "How about we make a deal? I'll do as you wish, but you cease charges against Kage and Roen, they acted under my orders."

 

Jameson arches a brow, the motion of the glass and the liquid in it stops. He curls a broader grin at Natalie. "Ah, but Natalie. My employer has gone through great lengths to obtain your services. Including, hiding some very incriminating evidence against one of your apprentices." He shakes his head, a look of sympathy bending his brows. "Not everything we discovered was given to dear Captain Jenlyns, you see. Else, I fear you and I would be speaking with bars between us."

 

Natalie shakes her head. "The thing with the core can be explained, Kage was told it was the same as the one that was lost..." she pauses and furrows her brow. "Whatever do you mean sir?"

 

He sets the glass down and leans forward, lacing his gloved fingers. "The second witness that came forward, fingers your apprentice and now Sultansworn, Roen Deneith as a Garlean spy. You and Ser Kiryuu knew of it, and covered it up."

 

She sips her drink with an outward appearance of calm, though slight ripples appear in the liquid from her trembling hand. "That's an interesting accusation."

 

"Those would be charges enough for treason. Certainly the noose or beheading for the Garlean, and perhaps the same, for those who hid the spy." He shakes his head slowly. "But you see, my employer knows of... your valiant service to the city-state. And would think it a terrible waste for lives to be lost so senselessly. Would you not agree?"

 

Natalie downs the drink, and places the glass onto the table. She exhales and steeples her fingers for a moment before reaching for the bottle. "I have conditions."

 

Jameson watches her, still that smile in place. He arches one dark brow at her in question. "Oh?"

 

She uncorks the bottle, "I want an official document giving Roen refugee status, which will be effective upon the end of all this." She refills her glass and eyes his reaction.

 

"Hm." He cups his chin with a hand, hazel eyes narrowing slightly. "I think that can be arranged. If... my employer is satisfied with your service."

 

"Without that," she recorks the bottle, "I have no guarantee you won't simply go back on your word."

 

"Indeed so." He smiles to Natalie, his white teeth gleaming. "I will have the document drawn up. But ... my employer will have to be satisfied with your service first. Though we do not seek to execute the girl, else it would have been done so already. This way... we both get something we want."

 

"Fair enough..." she exhales, and swirls the drink. "So, you've collared me. What do you want this trained dog to do?" She smirks. "Though I still haven't told you my second condition."

 

Jameson smiles broadly. "Oh, you will be thrown into quite a few tasks, but let us start small first. Once you get oriented and uniformed properly, I am certain you will be given more tasks..." he pauses as he is about to continue. He arches another brow. "Second condition? You are a firecracker, this I've heard." He looks amused as he waves a hand into the air, as if for her to continue.

 

Natalie takes a sip, "I want a promotion."

 

"A promotion?"

 

She smirks again. "Nothing fancy... a Lieutenant is fine. The blades don't pay as well as the Sworn you see. And I have expenses."

 

"Understood." He narrows his eyes. "I will speak to a few Blades and see what I can arrange. I will get back to you on that. You do know, the Blades income... does not actually come from the city-state? Perhaps we need someone to acquaint you with their ways of obtaining extra funds." He smiles. "They are quite creative, the Brass Blades. Entrepreneurs as matter of fact."

 

She smiles back at him. "I'm sure you can smooth things over. If you just wanted another sword, you wouldn't go through so much trouble to get me." She steeples her fingers and looks at him. "Make me a Lieutenant, and allow me to choose my own people," she leans back. "And I'll have no issues proving my loyalty..." she pauses, "And Roen's," she says heavily. "As for funds, Lolorito pays their salaries, though I know most acquire more than that. I'd not like to go down that route though."

 

Jameson leans back on his chair, then he nods slowly. "It will be done. With more under your wing... perhaps we can see greater things from you, Natalie."

 

She shrugs. "You'll see as much as you need to see," she grins. "As long as you hold up your side of the deal."

 

He leans forward. "You have your conditions, and they will be met. But ... do remember the collar. There is no 'I do not like to'... You will be told of your tasks, and you will do them." He smiles at her.

 

"Aye.. aye... though if you've gone through all this to have me shake down merchant caravans..." she chuckles. "It seems a rather poor use of resources."

 

"Indeed! That would be rather a wasteful thing, considering your talents." Jameson shakes his head. "Do get comfortable with the Brass Blades and their ways, Natalie. Make others know for certain, that you are a Blade and not a Sworn. When that is convincing enough, we will give you more tasks, that puts you closer to proving your worth to my employer."

 

She sighs and nods, "I get it Jameson, I'm not stranger to a leash. Though I suppose I better let Roen and Kage know. Let's keep our arrangement a secret from them though."

 

He cocks his head to the side. "You will explain to them then, why they are Blades? I can certainly give the orders to you and you only. As long as you carry them out."

 

Natalie nods, "I'll explain it, but I'll just say it's for the investigation. I'd rather not have the treason charges hanging over their heads."

 

"Of course." He waves his gloved hands into the air. "As you will. Do make certain they fall in line withe Blades way of doing things. We would not want them to stick out like sore thumbs amongst the ranks."

 

She chuckles, "I'll do my best" she holds out her glass to him, "Shall we drink to it?"

 

James grins, looking pleased. He lifts his own glass to her. "To profitable alliances and new loyalties."

 

She raises her own drink. "To doing what we have to," she grins and swallows the remainder of her drink before continuing, "And making the best of it."

 

"Indeed." Jameson brings the drink to his mouth, eyeing her over the rim of the glass, then he sets the glass down with nary a sip. He stands. "Now, do look to the Brass Blades Captain, and he will get you settled with uniforms and such. I will send over the proper papers of your promotion in the morn. Kiryuu and Deneith though will have the rank as grunts, they were just freshly sworn in after all."

 

She rises as well, nodding, "Fair enough, though perhaps something can be arranged for them as well in time."

 

"Perhaps, if they prove themselves." He smiles at her, "To the right people."

 

She laughs bitterly, "Why do I hate the sound of that."

 

"We do what we have to. He glances to her over the shoulder. "You will hear from me soon, Natalie. Do not let my employers down."

 

"I won't..." she smiles at him, with a hint of warmth. "Despite the fact you're simply using us, the fact remains that you're protecting Roen," she laughs. "So despite my best instincts, I can't hate you."

 

Jameson narrows his eyes, there is an odd expression in response. He watches her for a moment before he breaks his gaze and picks up the glass of the remaining rum, taking a full swallow of it this time around and emptying it. "Do not mistake my intent, Natalie. You are going to be used as Blades. And sharp ones at that."

 

"To live in Ul'dah is to be used, Jameson." She offers a weak smile. "One can only hope they're being used for the right reasons." She gives half wave and walks off, heading back towards the lift. "See you around, Jameson."

[Kage]

Kage walked towards the armory, letter in hand. Natalie had just given him the news. “We’ve been shitcanned.” She had said. Those had been the words she had used. It had been a surreal experience. She had called him over the tribe linkshell, saying that they had to talk. He had known it had to have something to do with her talk with Taeros. So they had decided to meet at the airship bar and he had waited until a female Miqo’te in a Brass Blades uniform had walked to him.

 

Was he going to be arrested? For the core?

The familiar voice and her simple words had shocked him.

 

The conversation was fresh in his mind as well as the warning. At least, he was pretty sure it was a warning.

 

With the letter in hand, Kage smiled as he passed it over in exchange for the Brass Blades uniform. The masked Lalafell looked at what was written before leaving Kage standing there. When the Lalafell returned he handed a bundle with the letter atop of it to Kage with a smirk splayed across his lips.

 

“Apologies, ser.” Kage could hear the sarcasm and mocking tone. “Unfortunately we’re out of the Vermillion Sollerets for your size and stature. You’ll have to make do with these dyed Templar Sollerets.”

 

Kage blinked as the other Blades snickered. He glanced at the other Lalafell Blades with a small raised eyebrow. Their smirks told him all he needed to know. He put a smile on his lips and nodded, “Aye, of course. Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you, ser. Welcome to the Brass Blades. We’re happy to have you.”

 

“Aye, I as well.”

 

Kage took the bundle, heading to the tribe house quickly. He clenched the letter as he grit his teeth before letting out a breath.

 

He would do what was his duty and what was expected. There was no choice it seemed. He donned the uniform, the white kneepads of the sollerets a glaring reminder of what was in store for him. He put his turban on and left, starting patrol.

[Roen]

Roen fidgeted with her mask.

 

Captain Anden Anduron smirked from behind the desk, a glass of dark amber liquor in his hand, as he watched her adjust the Brass Blades turban on her head. “It’s a little crooked. Here let me, Sultansworn,” he snickered as he set the glass down and stood, reaching over and tugging at the mask.

 

“Gratitude.” Roen stood still despite the fact that his hand seemed to linger a little too long on her mask and cheek, giving him a nod in thanks when he withdrew them. She still was squinting to adjust to the mask over her eyes, she could not understand how the Brass Blades worked with these on.

 

Captain’s one pale eye narrowed in a sly smile, one finger tapping on the patch that covered the other eye. “I am spared the mask, I prefer to have this on.” He looked her up and down. “Why, in the chainmail and the turban, I’d never know there was a Sultansworn under there somewhere.”

 

Roen nodded, looking over her new armor. The haubergeon was lighter than the plate-mail she was used to, but the way it hung from her shoulders, she still needed to get accustomed to it. Her hand came to pause on the large scimitar that hung from her hip. She unsheathed it, swinging it a few times in the air to test its weight.  

 

“Standard weapon for the Brass Blades.” Anden scratched his chin. “Are you familiar with the scimitar... Ser Deneith?” The pause before he spoke her title was obvious, with a veiled disdain in his tone.

 

“Ah, just Roen. Please.” She offered him a polite smile. “And nay, I have not wielded these before.”

 

“Well Roen, I’d advise getting familiar with them. We wouldn’t want you to seem out of place with the rest of us, mm?” He paused when she looked back at him, one corner of his lips crooked oddly; whether it was from contempt or amusement she could not say. “Best forget your days as Sultansworn while you are with us. You are a Blade now, you need to look and play the part.”

 

Roen blinked, feeling her jaw tense at his words. Undoubtedly the reminder of her suspension stung, although it was more guilt than hurt pride that rose. Natalie had told her that it was the investigation into the fire at the Nanawa Mines and the resulting theft of the ceruleum core that resulted in their leave from the Order. Roen knew that had Natalie filed a timely report on the matter, perhaps some of this could have been avoided. But she had not, because she had let the members of the Ala Mhigan Resistance go. She had taken Roen’s word that her Master at Arms and his associates sought to bring no harm to Ul’Dah. Instead, Natalie had quietly turned her efforts into finding the thief, and retrieving the stolen core. But before wrongs could be righted, the theft, the fire, and what looked like a cover-up by the Sultansworns, were uncovered by the Immortal Flames.

 

‘We have enemies, Roen. Those that would like to see the Sultansworns fall. So rather than disgracing the entire Order, we need to take the blame for this.’  Natalie had said in a reassuring tone, no blame in her eyes. ‘We work for the Brass Blades through our suspension, and this will get sorted out.’ She had given Roen a small squeeze on the shoulder, as if to reassure her again that this was not her fault. She would not accept any more apologies.

 

Roen straightened and nodded to Anden, the Captain who took it personally upon himself to orient her at the Brass Blades headquarters. “I am looking forward to serving as a Brass Blade, Captain.” A part of her knew this to be a demotion; Natalie’s furrowed brow had made it clear that this was something she should not be looking forward to. But despite their somewhat tarnished reputation, Roen believed that most of the Brass Blades did serve the good of Ul’Dah, protecting the citizenry as best they could. It was the Brass Blades after all--not Sultansworns or Immortal Flames--who tirelessly and thanklessly patrolled the streets of Ul’Dah.

 

Captain Anduron arched a brow at her then chuckled low. “I think you actually mean that, Roen.” He stepped out from behind the desk, walking around her as if to examine her front and back. “It is not just looking the part, you need to learn how to work as a Brass Blade. We work as a tight unit. Trust amongst your fellow Blades is a must. What we do, we do as one. We cover each other’s backs. The strength of the Blades fails if even one of us falters.”

 

Roen gave him a sidelong glance as he came back around. “Aye. The Sultansworns have a similar Oath, we stand shield to shield. We have faith in--.”

 

Anden silenced her by putting a finger against her lip. Roen stiffened as he leaned in, ilms away from her face, his one eye narrowed with scorn. “Tsk. You are no longer Sultansworn now, remember? No Oaths here. Just loyalties to your fellow Blades. Understood?”

 

“Aye. Captain.” She said sharply, trying not to obviously lean away.

 

He answered her with a smile that rose too quickly and easily. “I am glad we have an understanding, Roen. You heed my words and we will get along just fine.” He glanced from her to the door as a large Roegadyn lumbered in. “Broken Nose! You are finally here.” He waved him over.

 

Roen glanced over her shoulder then turned about face, as she looked up to the looming figure of the Roegadyn. She gave him a polite nod, recognition lifting her lips upwards. She had seen him patrol near Ruby Road many times. He answered her with a grunt, his one cheek bulging with grassweed he was chewing.

 

“We have some new recruits! It seems a few Sultansworns will be gracing our ranks with their esteemed presence.” His tone just barely hid the ridicule. He stepped up next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps Roen here can follow you a bit? And you can take her out on a few caravan patrols outside the gates?”

 

Broken Nose quirked a dark brow at the Captain, eyes darting between her and his superior. His chewing came to a pause.

 

Anden smiled back at him, his hand still resting atop her shoulder. “Show her how things work, Broken Nose. She is one of us now. Best she learn the ropes quickly.”

 

Roen managed the best smile she could, nodding in reassurance to the Roegadyn. “I am eager to learn.”

 

Roegadyn narrowed his eyes, and exhaled with obvious disappointment. But he voiced no complaint in front of the Captain. He saluted to Anduron and turned back towards the door, motioning for her to follow.

 

The Captain pat her back before she stepped towards the door. “Welcome to the Brass Blades, Roen Deneith.”

[Roen]

Broken Nose dismounted from his chocobo, his armored boots landing onto the dirt and raising a cloud of dust. He spat out the grassweed he had been chewing, his masked gaze going to the caravan that had come to a stop. Two other mounted Blades flanked each side of the wagon, and one gave Broken Nose a knowing nod. The Roegadyn grunted with satisfaction, then looked to his side where the newly recruited Sultansworn-turned-Blade came to join him. Her lips were drawn down in question.

 

“You never know what could be smuggled into the Jewel of the Desert,” he said with a snarl as he made his way to the back of the caravan. He did not pay attention to the wagon driver at the front calling out whatever excuses they would always offer. He had learned to drown out the incessant pleas long time ago. He rounded the back of the wagon and gestured to Roen Deneith. “Search away, make sure nothing gets missed.”

 

The red-headed hyur gave him another glance; though he could not see her eyes, there was clear uncertainty in her hesitation. That will be erased soon enough. Roen turned to look inside the wagon, and paused when two children waved at her. They were two young miqo’tes, furry ears flicking with curiosity and eyes wide with awe and already scrambling towards the edge of the wagon as the Brass Blades approached. Broken Nose only noticed them when the new recruit paused, extending a finger for them to grab onto.

 

Broken Nose cleared his throat loudly, that it made the hyur woman stiffen. The adult female within the wagon offered words of apology as she gathered her giggling children back towards her. The new recruit waved at the children with a finger, before returning to the task of searching the various boxes.

 

“I see nothing here of suspect…” she began to say when Broken Nose tossed a small pouch that landed on a box next to her.

 

“What is that, recruit?” Broken Nose jutted his chin forward, crossing his arms.

 

She paused, staring at the pouch. She glanced over her shoulder back to him, then picked it up warily and fingered it open. She sniffed it and the Roegadyn could see the frown under the mask. “It is somnus,” she said with a hint of disbelief.

 

“Oh ho! Smugglin' in illegal contraband is grounds for arrest,” Broken Nose uncrossed his arms, approaching the wagon. He looked to the miqo’te woman within expectantly, hands going to his hips. “Of course, I can let you off with a heavy fine.”

 

“Please. We are poor and have no gil to offer. Take anything you like from what we own. We came from afar with very little…” the mother began to plead and Broken Nose swore silently to himself. Gil was always easier to spend and exchange, not tribal goods, blankets, or clothing. He groaned until he spied something glimmering on the miqo’te’s neck. “How about that necklace you wear?”

 

The mother gasped with her eyes wide, immediately tearing up. She shook her head with both hands wrapping around the gem that hung from her neck. “This is an heirloom! It is the only thing of value, I was going to sell it within the gates to afford lodging and food for the children until I can find a job…”

 

Broken Nose began to shake his head, one hand extending towards the woman. “Pay the fine, or it’s the gaols.”

 

“I-I think I was mistaken about this.” The recruit suddenly piped up, stepping in between the Roegadyn and the family within the caravan. She held up the pouch in front of him in her hand. It no longer held the somnus that he had filled it with before, it was filled with dirt that also rested on her open palm.  It coated her gauntlet as if she had quickly scooped it up with her hand.

 

Broken Nose’s eyes narrowed into slits immediately as he scanned the ground. Sure enough, there was a mark on the dirt where it was scraped up in a hurry, and another area where the dirt seemed to have been hastily kicked and brushed aside with a foot. He could not readily see where the somnus had been dumped in that mess. He growled.

 

“Apologies, Miss…” Roen Deneith turned around and held up her hands to the miqo’te woman. “My mistake.” She tapped the side of the wagon loudly with her gauntlets and shouted to the driver in the front. “You are free to go! On your way!”

 

The driver’s head popped out from the front of the wagon with clear surprise on his face. Broken Nose could see his eyes, as well as the eyes of those who flanked the wagon on their chocobo mounts on him, staring in disbelief. He frowned deeply. “Well what are you waiting for! On your way!” He bellowed.

 

The miqo’te woman leaned against the edge of the wagon, offering strings of thanks and praise to them all, but Broken Nose heard none of it. He only glared at the back of the red-headed hyur, as she waved at the children who even now were jumping up and down with excitement, clueless as to what had just passed.

 

Broken Nose wondered if the Sultansworn realized at all what she just did. He doubted it.

 

But she would soon find out. This would not go over well with the Captain. This would not go over well at all.

[111]

Natalie winds through the tattered canvas shelters and pools of filth that marked Ul’dah’s refugee encampment. It was raining, and none of the inhabitants could be seem as they huddled in their makeshift homes. She spies a well dressed man standing under an awning, some distance away from the main camp. She tromps towards him, mentally cursing the work it would take after this to dry her armor. "You called?"

 

Jameson smiles, "Ah! Looking quite smashing in that Blades outfit."

 

She returns it, "I work with what I have."

 

He smirks at this, "So. Now that you have been walking the -beat- as you will... we want to actually see you acting the Blades. Full-fledged. Caravan runs and all." He pauses and gives her another sly smile, "You -do- know what the Caravan runs are...?"

 

She nods, "Who doesn't know about Ul'dah's own special flavour of taxes.” “But really...?” she groans, “Don't you have other people who can do that?"

 

Jameson quirks a brow and then shakes his head clucking his tongue at her, "Of course we do. But this is -your- test. I have yet to have an inkling of your willingness to do what is told. Other than put on the uniform. You and I. We need to build trust."

 

Natalie sighs, "I understand their role. There is a reason the Brass Blades are far better equipped than the Wood Wailers or Yellowshirts. But still, It just seems... dirty"

 

"You made your conditions known. You already have your promotion." He says bluntly, but then laughs "Of course it is dirty! But sometimes, we need the grit and the dirt in our fingertips to get the gears rolling."

 

She exhales and looks up at the tarp, "Fine..." she says softly, "Did you have a specific target, or should I just roam the road like a bandit?"

"A few specific targets yes. But more caravans you hit, better you will look. But we are looking at a few cargo shipments being delivered to some specific families as well."

 

“Very well... but if people refuse I won't harm them, just turn them around"

 

"They do not refuse the Blades. Because you always make them an offer they can't refuse. Find a way, Natalie. I know you to be resourceful."

Natalie grumbles slightly, "I'll do my best. Do you at least have any names?"

 

"The names will come in missives, once I get them myself and know their cargo schedule."

 

"Natalie. To build trust, these runs will be accompanied by a few men I already know well. They will report to me of your successes. I hope to hear -many- tales. And do take Kiryuu with you. Show him the ropes. The way things are to be done now. I know he will follow your example implicitly."

 

She nods stiffly, "If that is what is required of me, then I will carry out my duties."

Jameson smiles, "Natalie. Make no mistake. We want you and Kiryuu and Deneith to set an example. That the Sworns can work just like the rest of us, in the dirt. Captain Anduron has taken special care to orient Deneith, I expect -you- to acquaint Kiryuu on what exactly is expected of him."

 

"Jameson, the fact you think we already didn't betrays a lack of knowledge on your part," she smiles "But don't worry, we'll live up to your expectations as long as I'm convinced we're doing good for Ul'dah. Of course I understand that the Brass blades don't do good in... quite the same matter. However I understand my role and my part. The Flames nor the Sworn have the resources to patrol Thanalan's vast expanses. In order for the Blades to do so... they sometimes need to get creative." She nods "Better to be stopped by the blades than the Amaj, and I’ll handle Kage”

 

Jameson nods in return "You understand your role well then, Natalie. As I knew you would. Blades have a brotherhood. They do protect the citizenry. They just expect to be thanked... individually. He smiles "There is nothing wrong with that."

 

She chuckles, "There would be in a safer world. But Ul'dah's trained wolves are better than the wild ones circling our borders.” She says with a sardonic smile, “As I said before, I'll wear my collar well. Just remember your end of the bargain"

 

"I know it well. But remember that was hinged on my employers being satisfied with your work. So far, they have seen their time and interest go to waste. You were not put in that uniform to walk the beat."

 

"Have no worries, give me the orders, and they'll be carried out"

 

“Good. Ah. And another thing. The Immortal Flames and the Red Wings. I would like updates on them."

 

She blinks, "What makes you think I'd know anything in particular about them?"

 

"Because you were a Sworn. Your connections run deep. Something that none of my other Blades have."

 

She shrugs, "As for the Red Wings, Erik is missing, some private named Kahn'a is taking over, and as for the Flames, I have no friendship with Osric. If you wish to know something specifically... perhaps I can find it out though"

 

Jameson smirks. "Well, Osric did do his best to not get you convicted. Perhaps you and he should become friends."

 

She grins in return, "He has is own reasons for things.” Patting her armor, "And it seems his efforts had little effect"

 

"He does. And I want to know them."

 

She sighs, "Fine, I'll at least try to get to know the man, But there is little love lost between us."

 

He scratches his chin. "He was quite unwilling to bring you and the Resistance to justice when I offered this case onto his lap. Which.. brings me to the third and final task for the day."

 

"I wouldn't use the word ‘Justice’, but continue"

 

"The Resistance. My employers lost plenty gil in that fire. Wolfsong, Ghurn, Greyarm. They want someone hung. Arrest me some members of the Resistance you fought at the mines."

 

Natalie frowns, "Jameson... I have no idea of their whereabouts. But you do technically have the right of it, Gharen does deserve to pay for his crimes. She nods, "If I can track them down I'll bring them in."

He smiles, "I believe a former Sworn knows exactly how to find him. Do you not agree?"

 

She tilts her head, "Oh? Could you elaborate?"

 

"Delial reported that Deneith, is related to Wolfsong.” He makes a vague gesture with his gloved hand.

 

She sighs, "Ah... that's what you meant"

 

"She would know where he is, She trusts you."

 

"She does, but since I'm doing this for Roen's safety, betraying her would defeat the purpose of this whole exercise. I'd jail Gharen, she'd die trying to free him, and this all will have been for naught on my part"

 

"Then kill him. I need a body. She does not have to know it was you."

 

"That... can be arranged" she says slowly. "I want a promise though."

 

"Hm?"

 

"Roen's Amnesty for Wolfsong's body. Once he's gone, Roen is out of this

arrangement"

 

He narrows his eyes slowly, “That is a big demand, indeed."

She crosses her arms, "Wolfsong is a big target."

 

"Bring him in alive, my employers will see to his execution after he's given up the names of the rest of the Resistance, then I will see about getting Deneith released. It can be done privately and she will be none the wiser. You can kill him yourself after the interrogation. "

 

Natalie laughs, "I'm not interested in killing him, I want a promise."

 

Aldyet lies still, she had followed Natalie, and crept from shelter to shelter until she was finally within earshot. She mouths to herself the word "Resistance?" as she thinks about what she has heard.

 

"I will bring this to my employer. As you know, he has the final say. But... bring him in, we get what we want..."he nods. "I believe it can be arranged." Jameson cocks his head. "You do not want yourself released from this arrangement? Or Kiryuu? Only one of you obviously."

 

She grins, "Released? Why? I just got promoted. Also, Kage and myself are not under threat of death. Or at least, not a certain one. We could probably squeeze out of it somehow if we had to.” She shakes her head, "But once Roen's heritage is revealed... there won't be anywhere for her to hide."

 

"Hm. I suppose. It takes a lot to execute Sworns. Even if you are sympathizers. Indeed. Deneith would be good as dead."

 

Aldyet grits her teeth.

 

Natalie nods, "Hence the deal, This will save her from this, and any future... threats"

 

Jameson inhales, chest lifting and falling. "I will bring this to my employer. But ... I am confident it can be arranged. -If- you produce the goods. Wolfsong brought to me. Alive, for questioning.” He smiles, "Now, Natalie. Let us go .. have a drink on the matter. Your first missions! I would say we are growing closer, no?"

 

She blinks, "Uh..." she coughs, "Maybe we can save that for after it's over. I don't like to count my chocobos before they hatch"

 

His smile grows, "I myself like to enjoy the process, each and every step."

 

She grins back, "I prefer anticipation myself. Patting his shoulder, "Don't worry, I'll give you plenty to look forward to"

 

His smile turns into a sly grin. "I had not thought that about you Natalie. But.. very well. Perhaps next time.

 

"Perhaps… Until next time Jameson."

 

Natalie walks back towards the city.

[Nhago]

Seventh day of the Sixth Umbral Moon, Year five of the Seventh Umbral Era

 

---

"Words cannot describe my contempt towards the Monetarists at this point. The way t"

 

 

The azure-haired girl stops her writing, quill quivering in her trembling hand as her knuckles run white and threaten to snap the thing in two. With a low, rumbling groan, she tears the page from her leather-bound note and sets it ablaze against the dancing flame of a lone candle perched neatly upon the corner of her desk. She watches the parchment be consumed by the fires of cleansing destruction before tossing the last scrap she could hold aside and letting the blaze finish the job.

 

"Nobody can know. There can be no evidence. Just myself...and my thoughts." She leans over her desk and cradles her forehead in her palms.

 

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Not even a moon ago, Aldyet was on her way to becoming a fully-fledged Sultansworn. She would have graduated with her peers and joined the ranks of her comrades...her family. Now it seems like that dream grows further and further from reality with each passing bell. That there is nothing to do about Jameson's wretched hold on the people she cares for most in this world.

 

No. There is something.

 

Gharen Wolfsong. Ala Mhigan, resistance fighter, terrorist. They want him. Why? To root out other members of the resistance? A man with a reputation such as his doesn't seem to be the kind of man to so easily sell out his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. The Ala Mhigans are a hearty, stubborn bunch. Even the less-violent types are given a wide berth by Thanalanian law enforcement. To think Roen would be related to such a man, it defies belief.

 

Roen...a Garlean, just like herself. A kindred spirit in this unforgiving city. She is rightly troubled by all this, insistent on telling Aldyet to stop her incessant prodding, but Ald is too far in to turn back now.

 

She stands from her chair and crosses her dimly-lit room towards the door, reaching for the hand and freezing dead in her tracks. She turns about to return to her desk and before long she is pacing about the room, biting her nail with anxious thought after anxious thought.

 

Roen is a Garlean...Wolfsong is Ala Mhigan...that...doesn't make sense. What is going on here? What isn't Natalie telling me?

 

Natalie. Her ally, her mentor, her Jali, her family, and the one person who knows everything and refuses to explain regardless of what Aldyet has proven she can do on her own.

 

Why does everything have to be a godsdamned secret with her? If she doesn't trust me, she'd only have to say it and that would be that.

 

She's not the only one who knows more than they let on...

 

Osric. What's his stake in all this? Something about that woman, Rema, the vials of "antidote," C'kayah's own vial, the man who "cannot be killed" because of some bizarre regenerative property. There's too many pieces on the table, pieces of a larger, perhaps even unrelated puzzle. For now, all the girl can do is focus on the task at hand.

 

 

Capture Gharen Wolfsong without Roen knowing her involvement.

 

A daunting task. Aldyet sits upon her bed, sighing heavily while she falls back and stares up at the ceiling. "It's just a mess...a massive, ridiculous mess...I should've stayed with my weaver training..."

 

Aldyet rises from her bed to sit upon it and look around her empty room with an absentminded stare. She rises to her feet and walks over to a small dresser and leans against it, pondering. She continues to meander about the room, thinking, biting her thumb nail, glancing about at nothing, sitting on, beside, and against the meager furnishings. She gows about like this for the better half of a bul, until, as she is toying with a strand of her deep blue hair, her heart skips a beat and a shuddered gasp escapes her lips.

 

"The core...?"

[111]

Natalie grumbled softly to herself as she led the party of Brass Blades through the desert. The mood was quiet, solemn even, except for the hushed whispers of those behind her.

 

“Did you see what she did to Teyris’s jaw?”

 

“I heard she was kicked out of the Sultansworn for being too violent”

 

“I’ve never seen someone’s arm bend that way before”

 

“Hm…?” Natalie growled and turned around on her Chocobo, “Someone else want to make a snide remark? Perhaps devise an insulting nickname for me?” She scanned over the squad with cold eyes, as they all frantically shook their heads. “Good!” she smiled warmly, “Let’s do some work then”.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The group threads down to meet a small coach, and she stops it with a wave of her blade. “Hail traveler, you have the honor of being stopped for a private inspection.” She grins at the elderly Roegadyn driving the carriage. “Mind if we take a look around”

 

That man appears crestfallen, “Take a look, but I’m just a simple merchant”

 

She nods, “Thank you sir, but before we do, might you be interested in making a donation?” She smiles at him from under her visor, “The Brass Blade support charity could use your assistance.”

 

“The what?” he says slowly, “I’ve never heard of that before”

 

“Oh? You haven’t? Well it’s simply to help equip the tireless protectors of Thanalan. Willing to risk their humble lives so the caravan’s get through. New boots… swords, things like that. Times are tough you know, and we have to look out for ourselves. Surely a man like you can spare a little something?”

 

“Well… I would love to but…” He hesitates, “Perhaps some other time.”

 

“Ah, that’s unfortunate” she sighs, “The men are tired and hungry, with old boots, and it makes them ever so clumsy on inspection.” Natalie chuckles, “Why on the last caravan, Silent Pebble over there accidentally knocked all the goods out the back” she points to another Blade, “And then Tamon accidentally stepped on it all.” She laughs and the rest of the squad laughs with her, “What a klutz he is.”

The man looks at her nervously, and then down at his fingers as he does some quick calculations. “H-how would 2000 gil be?” he asks tentatively.

 

“We would be thankful for it, but it would not go far” she winks at the man, “You wouldn’t believe how expensive our boots are. And the men are so cranky, with the blisters and all.”

 

He sighs and pulls out an abacus, doing some more serious calculations. “Fine… 3500.”

 

Natalie smiles warmly, “Excellent, the men will be very pleased, why don’t you all thank the man for his generosity”

 

A chorus of throaty “Thanks…” appears from the squad, then one man walks up to nail a small card to the side of the wagon. It has a stylized sword and scimitar and reads, “I support the Brass Blades.”

 

He turns around, “Hey, what are you doing?”

 

“Don’t worry sir, it will just let the other Blades know you support our work” she smiles, “And we appreciate those who appreciate us.”

 

He coughs, “Ah… thanks”

 

One of the Blades walks to the back of the wagon and quickly flips up the back,

“Looks good Lieutenant, just some silverwork, and crates of wine.”

 

Her ears perk up, “Wine?” she looks at the merchant, “Could you possibly spare a bottle or two to quench our men’s thirst?”

 

He waves a hand, “Sure, take a few, I’d never heard of the stuff. Called Morbol Wine, it’s from the Shroud. I have no clue if it will even sell in Ul’dah.”

 

The Blade grabs a pair of bottles from the crate, and closes up the back of the cart.

 

“My thanks sir” Natalie bows slightly, “Safe travels and thank you for supporting your humble protectors.

 

He chortles, “Hah, somehow I prefer this better than the Somnus thing”

 

Natalie grins back, “Somnus thing? Why sir, whatever do you mean?”

 

The merchant commands his chocobos forward, “Hah, what somnus indeed.” He shakes his head with a chuckle.

 

“Safe travels to you sir” Natalie replies as he rides off.

[Roen]

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

 

Roen stood at attention, her back straight, her hands at her side. She had been brought to a Goblet housing ward by a Brass Blade she did not recognize, on Captain Anduron’s orders. He had his back to her, his hands clasped behind him, as he looked over the railing of the rest of the hamlet, overlooking the magnificent view of a waterfall and stone-carved architecture before him.

 

Roen barely noticed the thin shower of mist that rose from the waterfall to cool the breeze that wafted through the residence, or the slowly darkening skies littered with stars that was starting to emerge from their daylong slumber. Her grey eyes remained with unease on the blonde Captain that had yet to face her, for she suspected the reason she had been summoned here.

 

It was the caravan run. It was obvious that the rest of the Brass Blades of her unit were there to extort money from those who sought to enter Ul’Dah. She had vaguely heard mention of the practice in the past, but had been fortunate (or ignorant) enough to never have encountered one personally to believe it. So when the pouch of somnus was dropped next to her two suns ago, she did not know what to do. And when the family on the wagon was so obviously poor… she could only make one choice.

 

But judging from the silence of the rest of the unit on their way back to Ul’Dah, and the cold glares shot her way from them suns after, she knew her actions were not well received. Broken Nose no longer deigned to show her around; he just told her to stand watch with Rand, near the Immortal Flames headquarters. But he did mutter something about the report he was going to make to the Captain.

 

Two suns later, she was summoned to him, escorted by a burly and bald Brass Blade who only gave his name as Stank Balls. He left it to her to figure out why he was called that, and she did not walk close enough to him to find out. He kept calling her Pinkie, referring to the her red locks.

 

“Come closer to the rail, Deneith. I am not here to throw you to your death.” Captain Anduron said in his usual precise, clipped tone, without turning around.  When she came to stand at his side, he continued, his pale eyes looking to the view below. “Look down at all the lights below. Do you see them? Do you know what they mean?”

 

Roen blinked, following his gaze to the distant steps, windows, and the streets of the Goblet. Lights were just starting to be lit with the arrival of the evening. "They light the streets, for us to walk at night. The lights in the windows... families. Homes."

 

“What you see is progress, Deneith.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the cool breeze of the sundown. “Progress for the people of Ul'dah. Tell me, what do think other cities think of our precious Jewel, mm?”

 

"They flock here, the refugees. For the promise of wealth. Haven."

 

Anduron shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “You see, you are wrong. This is why I am glad we are having this conversation. I asked what the cities thought of us. Not their castoffs.”

 

"I... do not know, Captain."

 

“They fear us, Deneith. They fear progress. They fear what we have, as a city, and what we can build.” He turned partially towards her, his one good eye shooting her a look. “You are partially right, however. We are able to do what we do because of their castoffs. Their dreck.”

 

He crossed his arms and looked back towards stone buildings. “They come to Ul'dah, and they are enveloped in our collective arms. Some are crushed by this embrace. And so be it. Not all can bear Ul'dah's prevailing heat. Some rise above, stronger for it. We are not the welcoming arms of a mother, Deneith. We do not coddle. We temper.”

 

Roen tensed, her jaw set at those words. She trained her gaze towards the waterfall but said nothing.

 

“We remake in our image. We are the furnace; we are the forge of humanity.” His voice rose above the din of the distant rapids, spoken to the skies as if to declare it to the night itself. “I am of Ul'dah. One might say I am Ul'dah. We Andurons... we are an old family. We have ruled the Gladiator pits for two hundred years, earning praise and honor and, yes, wealth. Our wealth was not easily made, but wrought in sweat and blood, and yes, even death. We paid a price for what we became.”

 

He turned to her, to face her fully. The falling darkness lent harsh shadows to already a severe facade. “Deneith, tell me: who rules in Ul'dah?”

 

She turned to him in attention. "The Sultana. Captain."

 

He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Ah. You see. I knew this day would bring about an education.” He exhaled patiently. “The Sultana rules in name, because the other cities would spit on us if we did not hold up this gilded mask for them to gaze upon.” He narrowed his eyes. “The Sultana does not, however, rule.”

 

Roen heard raspy laugh behind her, reminding her that another Brass Blade was still there, watching the street.

 

“Power is it's own mirror, Deneith. You were once a Sultansworn, and yet are one no longer.” He cocked his head. “Why?”

 

Roen swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully. "There was an incident. We made a mistake and a ceruleum core was stolen."

 

“Ah. Ceruleum.” He was regarding her oddly, as if to take her measure. “An expensive material. And so this one mistake came with its own price. A worthy lesson. Do you find the punishment to fit the crime, Deneith?”

 

Roen bowed her gaze. "It is what Commander Jenlyns has dictated. I find it fitting. Sir."

 

“Good.” He uncrossed his arms. “Remove your mask.”

 

Roen paused, blinking with question, but obeyed him as ordered. But as the mask passed before her eyes and obscured her vision, she felt the hard impact of his fisted bronze gauntlet against her face, sending her staggering back. The turban and the mask fell from her hand as her vision blurred with pain.

 

“Help her up,” she heard the Captain say. She suddenly felt a strong grip on both her arms from behind, and the unmistakable stench of the Brass Blade that came up behind her. There was a coppery taste of blood in her mouth now from her split lip.

 

“We have a different sort of justice here, Deneith.” Captain Anduron stepped up close to her, just as she was blinking to clear her vision. She felt the rough yanking of her swords from her hip and her shield and weapons from behind her. They were tossed over the railing as the bald man behind her laughed.

 

Anduron nodded approvingly as he looked her up and down, stripped of her weapon and shield. "You had a task the other day. The caravan sweep.”

 

Roen swallowed, staring at the Captain. She was starting to focus beyond the burning pain rising on her face. “Aye… Captain.”

 

“It's a simple task. Exact entry taxes. Do you know how we enforce this taxation?” He leaned in, ilms away from her face; she could smell liquor on his breath. She shook her head.

 

“By any means we can.” He hit her again with a backhand, and the gauntlet blow would have sent her to the ground if it was not for the man holding her forcibly by the arms. She was then lurched over the railing by the same odorous Blade, her hand desperately grasping at the railing as she was bent over it. Below, distantly, sharp rocks awaited any fool unfortunate enough to fall over. The waterfall's thunder seemed much louder suddenly.

 

“They are not of Ul'dah, Deneith,” the Captain continued without missing a beat, unmoved by her precarious state over the railing. “They might be, one day, but they will have to let Ul'dah decide. They are, until we say they are, worthless drains on our society, leeches and maggots feeding off the refuse we, as a unified city, grant to them.”

 

Roen felt her breaths coming quick, her eyes going wide then closing shut, dizzied by pain and by the depths looming beneath her. The height of the drop was making her senses spin. One hand shot reflexively to her head as she felt a painful grip on her hair from behind, and a heavy elbow forcibly pressed down onto her back. The rancid Blade has his full weight on her, his knee keeping hers bent. She could not move.  All the while, the Captain’s voice still cut through the night air.

 

“Because you interfered in the collection of taxes, you allowed a portion of the money that flows back into progress, into advancement, into the homes and livelihoods of the people you see all below you, to fall away.”

 

"Captain.. they had nothing but clothes on their back..." she gasped out, trying to explain.

 

Anduron snarled. "And with a little coin you think they would have been worth something to our city?"

 

She gasped again when the hold on her hair twisted further, arching her head up and back towards the Captain. "I'd suggest less talkin' when the captain's speaking'," the Blade sneered.

 

That was when Captain Anduron struck her again, hard behind the ear, sending her senses reeling, her knees threatening to buckle once more. If they want to throw me over, they can, she realized with growing panic.

 

“You stupid sow," he hissed. "If all they are worth is coin, then it is their coin we should have. If they have nothing else to offer, I assure you, they are already quite dead.”

 

The large Blade held her up still, one hand in her hair, another restraining her by the arm. She shot a desperate look to the Captain. Anduron’s expression was cold and cruel. “Or has your time in Ul'dah taught you nothing?!” He struck her again and this time her knees buckled.

 

She felt a knee driven hard into her leg from behind, jostling her forward over the railing again. Roen saw droplets of blood from her lip fall to the swirling waters, far, far below.

 

"She's mouthy, cap'n. I don't think she respects authority." The foul stenched man taunted.

 

Captain Anduron leaned against the railing next to her, tilting his head as he watched her hang there. His next words were quiet, barely heard above the pounding waterfall and her pounding heart. “Your oath, as Sultansworn, was to the Sultana. You failed in that regard, you stupid, stupid girl... and so you. Fall. To. Me.” His last words came razer-sharp and pulsed in her ear, as if to hammer through her pained senses.

 

“Captain… I…” she began, but the rest left her with a guttural gasp as another hard punch cracked her rib.

 

“Who do you serve here, Deneith?” He hissed into her ear, as the Blade jerked her head back again with a twist of her hair. “WHO. DO.YOU. SERVE. HERE?”

 

"I serve... Ul'Dah... Captain." Roen gasped.

 

Anden Anduron grabbed her chin with his hand, squeezing it in his gauntlets as he turned her head towards him. He leaned in close, his words angrily breathed upon her. “You serve Ul’Dah. And do you think Ul’Dah will be as merciful as the Sultana when you fail her?”

 

Roen could not speak. She just shook her head.

 

“No indeed, she won’t.” Anduron smiled.

 

"Lemme show 'er how things work, Cap'n. I'd teach 'er a thing or two." The Blade who held her sniggered.

 

Anden released his hold of her chin, and just as her head dropped, he struck her again behind the ear yet again. She could feel the pain sing in her skull, and blackness was starting to threaten at the edges of her senses.

 

"I like 'er pink hair,” she heard the Blade growl from behind.

 

“You can have her hair. I do not like it at all,” she heard the Captain say as she fought to stay conscious. “And clearly it is a hindrance to her.”

 

She could see Anduron step away. “Ensure when next I see her, Deneith's skull resembles yours much more than hers does now.”

 

The Blade grunted with approval. Roen felt the cold steel of a knife that rose to her cheek near her ear. She hissed as it sliced into her face. The Blade laughed.

 

The Captain seemed unaffected by the bloody scene. “Deneith, you are given a twenty-four bell furlough. Report once more to me in one sun. I will have another task for you.” He nodded to the Blade then marched off, bootfalls ringing.

 

Roen felt another rough tug of her head, then the knife hacking her hair off. The cut on her cheek stung. All she could do was to try and stay conscious. Upright.

 

“Awful pretty." The Blade muttered, pleased. He grabbed another fistful of her hair and hacked it off, but this time Roen felt a burning pain as he took some of her scalp as well. She fell onto her hands and knees, trying to focus her vision. But her body screamed with pain everywhere, and her shaking hands and spinning senses would not allow her to mount any kind of a defense. What was it… kidneys, lungs… spine… Her thoughts swirled. She was unarmed against a stronger foe with a blade. There was no rock or dirt beneath her hands. She reached for the stone railing in hopes of trying to use it to pull herself to stand.

 

"Yer lucky, Pinkie. Lucky the cap'n didn't say yes this time." The Blade slammed up against her from behind and put his knife to her throat with a speed that surprised her. Or was it she who had slowed? She could not tell. He leaned against her fully, his weight threatening to crush her against the rail. He robbed her of any remaining breath she had. "Next time, I bet he'll let me take whatever I want."

 

She felt the blade then go close to her ear again, and with another sharp pull, he scraped off one last fistful of hair.  He stepped back and laughed, even as she slid back to the ground at the release of his weight, gasping for breath. But the reprieve was short. He kicked her in hard in the ribs with his steel-toed boot. He held in his hand her unevenly hacked hair and bleeding bald-patched scalp with beady-eyed pride. He bent low to wave her bloody locks before her as she lay on the ground. She could only manage to curl her arms around her head and stomach when she saw another kick coming.

 

Her senses barely registered the laughter and the wave from the Blade as he walked away leaving her on the stony ground of the Goblet, bleeding under the lamplight.

[Kage]

With a new sense of his self, coming to terms with who he was now, Kage had returned to where he had set up a small camp in the Central Thanalan outside of Ul’dah from his time spent in the desert. The call came over the tribe linkshell. It was Natalie. Her voice brought a smile to his face before he remembered what it most likely meant. Brass Blades. His face hardened a bit before he moved to change into the uniform. He would go looking for her while she called to him. While she was explaining that she needed to see him Kage entered Ul’dah’s gates and spotted her quickly.

 

Kage walked up to her. Noticing that Natalie had not noticed him standing before her he said simply, “Natalie. I was just outside the city and saw you. What do you want me to do?”

 

He blinked as she jerked in surprise. “Ah… you snuck up on me.” Kage gave her a small smirk, the upturned corners of his lips could be seen while the turban covered his sparkling eyes. “I think that might be good for me then,” he commented.

 

A tall female figure with a large hat approached them. Kage recognized her as Amadreruil Grayham, whom Natalie had once introduced him to. She had also been one of the first to see him his new form. She was also with C’kayah when he finally saw Kayah for the first time since their encounter outside of the Quicksand near Pearl lane. “Demotion must be tough,” Amad said as she came upon them.

 

Natalie nodded to him, “Well… you might not like this.”

 

Kage glanced to the side, pursing his lips as he returned to gazing at Natalie. He asked, “What do you need me to do?”

 

“I received orders from above, the Quicksand is behind on its… protection taxes.”

 

“Protection taxes?” Amad interrupted. Natalie nodded to her before exhaling, “They wanted to see the new guy in action Kage.”

 

Kage furrowed his brows, unseen under the turband as he felt as if he smaller than when he was shorter. “... you mean Aya?”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

 

“If Momodi isn’t there, you’ll have to get them from her,” Natalie clarified. Kage narrowed his eyes before Amadreruil commented before walking away, “Well aren’t you two disgustingly corrupt.”

 

Natalie handed Kage a paper with a large amount of gil written on it. Kage took a deep breath. Underneath the turban, his eyes were clenched shut as he took the paper.

 

“Kage…” She leaned down a bit to whisper into his ear. “They know about Roen, if you don’t get the money…” She grimaced before saying, “Just do whatever it takes… whatever.”

 

Kage took a look at the paper, grimacing at the large sum. Fifty thousand gil. He tilted his head as slowly his nails dug into his palms. He held in a growl at her whisper, his face hardening and his eyes sparked of rage. He nodded affirmatively, “Aye, what must be done.”

 

“I’ll provide back up, but it needs to be you who does it.” Natalie leaned down once more to whisper, “They’re watching…”

 

Kage nodded once more before giving Natalie a salute which she returned. He glanced at the stairs leading to the Quicksand, before nodding and hardening his resolve. Inside he looked around, hoping to see Momodi where she usually was. She was not. He clenched his fists, seeing Aya working hard but cheerfully as ever. He did not want to do this to her. But he had to. Everything. Anything. For Roen.

 

He slowly walked up to Aya, a fist still clenched before clearing his throat softy. “Aya, I need to talk to you. Outside.”

 

Aya looked surprised as she turned her head quickly to him. Taking a step back she said, “Oh.. it’s… um, oh?”

 

Kage tilted his head for her to follow him to the other exit of Quicksand, towards pearl Lane. He could hear her follow, both of them. Natalie and Aya.

 

“Alright,” Aya asked, “What’s the matter?” She looked over her shoulder hearing Natalie’s boots on the pavement. Kage could see her squint a little at Natalie.

 

He shook his head, “The Quicksand’s behind on its… protection taxes, if you will. Momodi’s not around to pay it up. 50,000 gil. You work for her. You're responsible for it. Or else... Well, we can't be sure the Quicksand will be free of its unruly patrons."

 

Aya blinked, tilting her head, “What are you talking about?”

 

Kage crossed his arms, the visor hiding his glance at Natalie over Aya’s shoulder. “You can't honestly expect that the Syndicate pays for the protection of the Quicksand out of their own pocket? Businesses must also pay the tax. Protection taxes. The Quicksand's taxes are due. It's time to pay up." He walked forward, leaning closer to whisper into her ear. “Aya, we need to do this. These are orders coming from the top.”

 

Natalie walked inside. His eyes followed her and widened as she retrieved a platter of empty glasses. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the place while Momodi is gone.”

 

“Wait, Natalie?” Aya tried to stop her. But Kage could already see what was going to happen. What was happening. She threw the tray against the wall, sending shattered glass throughout the alley.  Aya glared at her, “You bitch.”

 

Under her own visor, Natalie grinned at Aya. Kage clenched his teeth. He glanced at the broken glass before looking back at Aya. He could already see this was not going to end well. All she had to do was go in, go to the box, get the gil and hand it over. No fuss, no mess. Momodi knew what had to be done. It’s the way of the Brass Blades… apparently.

 

“Kage I know better, you’d never th-” She stopped mid-word. “That’s it. Of course… what a ridiculous story…” She backed up unexpectedly, bumping into Natalie. She drew her foot up, slamming it down with all the force she could manage into Natalie’s toes, trying to break them with the heel of her boot. She then took off as quickly as she could down the alley. Natalie tried to grab her as she herself yowled in pain. Kage twitched, jerking his head, shouting, “Hey!”

 

“Get her Kage.”

 

And he took off after her.

 

This was not going well. It was not going to end well. The puppetmaster and the Blades weren’t going to be happy. Not with him. How would this affect Roen?

 

He searched for her, up and down Pearl Lane. He searched through the market. There was no sign of her. He had lost her.

 

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

After a confrontation between some busybody Quicksand patrons who were looking out for Aya, Natalie and Kage stopped to speak with one another after he failed to catch her.

 

“Kage, you’ll need to give your report.” Natalie grimaced, “It might be… unpleasant for you.”

 

“Aye..”

 

She continued, “But they probably won’t act against Roen if you clean up your mistake.. and make an example so it doesn’t happen again.”

 

Kage looked up at her, before whispering, “I don’t care. I'll do whatever it takes. For you. For Roen. For Shifu."

 

“A bruise on that pretty face might suffice.”

 

Kage grit his teeth before nodding. “Aye, she comes around.”

 

Natalie said, “I’ll leave it to you though.” She sighed as she walked away, “This sucks..”

 

Kage resisted the urge to scream before he noticed her walking back. “Oh, How was the desert?”

 

His face turned red, “It… it was… enlightening.”

 

Natalie blinked, “What..?” She looked at his face, “Did you get laid out there or something?”

 

Kage shook his head furiously, “No, no. I.. I just realized just how much you and Roen and Shifu mean to me. I’ve learned to love myself. Even with all this… twelve-damned shit going on. I can’t love you all without being ok with myself.”

 

Natalie grinned, tilting up his his visor before kissing him softly, “I’m glad.”

 

He blushed slightly, returning her kiss softly before pulling away with a grin. “Me too.” He sighed, “I should turn in a report soon… and hopefully I can see Shifu soon.”

 

Natalie’s face hardened for a moment, “I hope so too… See you later Kage.”

 

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

 

Kage quickly walked in before dropping a written paper report and a sack of gil. It detailed the events as they had happened.

 

It also included, falsely, that Kage had found Aya and got more than originally asked, for the trouble caused. An example for those who thought they would run. 65,000 gil would be found in the sack.

[Roen]

Roen did not recognize the woman who looked back at her in the mirror.

 

She stood in front of it, her hands against the water basin, her fingers curled around its porcelain edges as she leaned her full weight on it.  Her knuckles were white, and she forced away the trembling of her hands by tightening her grip.

 

Her own reflection haunted her. Her head was completely shaved clean, by her own hands, to hide the evidence of the violence that had been visited upon it. She had healed the wounds left by the knife that was so recklessly and zealously wielded by the Brass Blade who had attacked her from behind, although the faintest scar remained by her ear and on her scalp. She had struggled in her channeling of the aether when she healed herself, leaning against the railing of the Goblet, the one that she had almost been thrown off of. Roen had healed many wounds before, but upon others, and had always done so with practiced calm. But her own wounds… and the events that had brought them on…

 

Even now it shook her. Roen looked back down to her hands again, and saw the trembling there. Her eyes went from her fingers to the scant evidence of auburn locks that littered the basin.

 

"Cheat, run, or die."

 

Words from her first and only pugilist lesson. It echoed in her memory.

 

“Running is not an option, Sergeant.” Her own words. It still rang true to her.

 

“Who do you serve here, Deneith?”

 

Suddenly the voice of her Brass Blades captain, her new superior now, came roaring back, pounding painfully in her ears.

 

“WHO. DO. YOU. SERVE. HERE?!”

 

Roen hung her head, fighting the nausea that rose. She served Ul’Dah. This was the Oath she swore. But what Captain Anduron expected of her, that was not her Oath. It could not be. He wanted to take from the people to make the city-state greater. But what good was a majestic city and impenetrable towering walls if people in it were bled dry?

 

A slow intake of breath filled her lungs and steadied the fluttering within. She released her hold on the basin, standing straight and looking at herself back in the mirror. The woman that stared back at her had shed some of that darkness that was hanging over her like an apparition. She pulled her Brass Blades turban tightly around her head, hiding any sign of what lay underneath. She would return to duty this day, and she was determined that she would not let her convictions waver.

 

She would still serve Ul’Dah, its people. Not the walls. Not progress. Not the illustriousness of the city-state, but the people that breathed and walked within. That was the true heart of the Jewel in her eyes. Captain Anduron’s words be damned.

 

“I will not falter,” she repeated the words again of her Oath, one she swore in the middle of the Sagolii Desert, her hand joined on top of Natalie and Kage. She will not, she swore in her heart. Even as she fought the dread of what that would mean in days to come.

[Coatleque]

(( Meanwhile, back at the Palace... ))

 

The sound of steel on stone echoed down the Hustings Strip. Clear, separated footsteps with both purpose and authority. A few heads of passing citizens turned to regard the Knight as she passed by, but the alchemists paid her no mind, so used to that sound as they were.

 

She stopped outside the door to her Captain's office, saluting the guard with a nod. "Ser Crofte. You are expected. One moment please," he said as he disappeared inside. His comrade on the opposite side merely looked on, taking no apparent notice of the woman. A moment later the guard returned. "Captain Jenlyns will see you now." he said, stepping aside with the door held open.

 

Coatleque hesitantly stepped forward into the office. She had been here only twice before - for her induction as a knight in training, and again for her first official orders after completing her trial and swearing her oath before the Sultana herself. To be summoned here was to receive either a blessing or curse, and her mind was racing over her past few patrols looking for some hidden fault of her own that was about to receive just retribution.

 

As the door latched shut behind her, she snapped back to reality and quickly stepped to the side, at attention. Head held high and hands clasped behind her back, her eyes quickly scanned the room as her guard's instinct took over. Though it was only mid-day, the drapes were drawn and lanterns were lit. It was not hard to determine why, once her eyes adjusted. To the left stood Grandmaster Papashan. More surprisingly, the Flame General himself stood to the right. Both remained quiet as if in serious thought.

 

"Miss Crofte." Jenlyns began. "Ser!" she replied with a click of her heels. "I offer you a seat, though I know you won't take it." He continued. Of course she did not sit, but stood at attention awaiting instruction. "Very well. I have called you here to discuss something of a rather sensitive nature..."

 

The Captain, seated at his desk, rose at this time and turned toward the window behind. He parted the drapes and looked out to the plaza below. "I'm sure you have heard of some recent allegations levied against certain of our members. You need not answer, I am no fool to expect that word has not travelled fast. It is no question that such rumors have done much harm to our reputation, a question of our loyalty, but even worse - the influence of the Sultana within her own realm."

 

The Knight swallowed hard, but remained quiet, looking forward still. He pulled his hand back and the drapes once again closed. Turning to face her he continued, "We must needs counteract the growing negative influence of the Monetarists, and the best way to do that is to assure the public that the Sultana is still in charge of her reign. While the Flame General does what he can, the fact is that the Flames themselves are still seen as a hand of the Syndicate. It is we who are the very hand of the Sultana."

 

The man paused in his speech just long enough for the silence to turn awkward. She decided she had best speak up, "What would you have me do, Ser!", she said with some feigned eagerness to let him know she was still paying attention.

 

"Miss Crofte," he continued, "Your name is beginning to carry inside some circles. You are still yet new to us, but your loyalty and dedication are being noticed by the public. We must capitalize on this before that name moves too far up the aristocracy."

 

"S-Ser?" she responded with a tilt of her head, unsure how to take this news.

 

"You are doing good work for the Sultansworn." he continued on, paying her no mind. "Work that must needs continue in order to win back the peoples' favor from the Monetarists. What I want... what we need for you to do is to continue. Continue your duties. Patrol the streets. Guard the public squares. In short, we need you to continue to represent the strong authority of the Sultana outside the Hustings Strip."

 

"Ser, yes Ser!", she snapped in reply as her head was once again held high.

 

"In addition, Miss Crofte, I must address certain rumors of your own affairs that I presume are long in the past."

 

Her face suddenly paled at this, mind once again racing, hoping he was not talking of what she thought he was.

 

"A Sultansworn must needs be above all reproach, personally, professionally. I care not of what past events you may have been forced to take part in. You have shown where your loyalties ultimately lay in your own actions. If you can promise me that you will continue to walk this path to better yourself and those around you, then I will assure you I shall not let rumors of your past be used against your station in the Elite Guard."

 

"Y-yes Ser! Of course, Ser!"

 

"Your re-assurance is enough for those present then. Finally, I must needs fill a vacancy in command. Miss Crofte, in witness of those present I hereby promote you to Sergeant. You shall be my eyes and ears in the public spectrum now. You may also be called upon to take new prospectives under you wing. I must say, this is MOST unorthodox. Times being what they are, and with our decline in numbers, swift action is sometimes called for. Do not feel slighted by this sudden elevation. I would not do this if you had not earned it."

 

"T-thank you, Ser!", she snapped with new-found confidence.

 

"I expect you to wear the armor of your station with pride. But now for your orders. You have no doubt heard rumors of your former comrades recently implicated in... less than noble acts. You are not to engage them. Do not seek them out, do not pursue their actions. You are to be our beacon in these dark times. Our enemy will surely make you a target and seek to subvert you, and they will no doubt be used as tools against you. Understand that these orders are for your protection, and ours."

 

"I understand, Ser!"

 

"Thank you, Ser Crofte. You are dismissed." he said as he retook his seat. Quietly leaning forward he lifted a document from his desk and began perusing over it. Quietly, the Knight turned and opened the door, the mid-day sun blinding her temporarily as she stepped back out of the office and closed the door behind. Neither guard paid her any mind, once again, as she walked off. The sound of steel on stone echoed down the Hustings Strip.

[111]

Natalie leaned back in the chair and looked at the rafters, motes of dust drifting lazily in the lamplight. “Twelve preserve me…” she mutters, rubbing her forehead, “What am I doing here?”

 

The idea had been perfect in her mind. Who better to carry out the task than a known Garlean and past enemy of the city? Askier was convenient, easy to manipulate, and disposable. If he spoke about his mission, none would believe him, and if he became too troublesome, he could be eliminated. Why, then did she feel so uneasy?

 

Perhaps it was the task itself.

 

“Roen…” she sighs, silently cursing her friends troublesome heritage. If the woman found out, she’d never forgive Natalie, oath sister or not. Natalie chuckles bitterly, not only would she take away a brother from Roen, but a sister as well. Finally she exhales and stands, “Roen is strong” she reassures herself, “And after this, she’ll have nothing weighing her down…” she smiles and seats her Brass Blade helmet onto her head.

 

“I’ll envy her.”

[Roen]

Blackness.  

 

"Are ya wantin’ back in with The Sworn? Ya need somethin' ta show yer still worth yer salt?”

 

Voices started to filter in. There was a distant tug of recognition. It belonged to the Roegadyn, Crimson Mountain.

 

"If so... I need help with a task I'm gettin' ready ta finish. I infiltrated a band o'... bandits... that sounds dumb, but... it was part o' my work fer the Flames. I don’t trust the Blades. But she trusts you, so I trust you. You can help me, and maybe get in good with the Sworns again."

 

He was Delial’s ally. Along with Askier who was there as well. She could not refuse his offer, to possibly raise her worth in the eyes of Ser Jenlyns again. Then she was staring at a door, with Crimson Mountain in front of her, Askier behind her. “I'll go in first. You come in behind me. Askier, you bring up the rear." The armored Roegadyn nodded to the Miqo’te. "We get one chance at this. Make it count."

 

Crim kicked the wooden door in, sending splinters into the air as he rushed in. Roen followed, blade drawn, expecting armed opposition. But soon as she entered, she heard rushed steps behind her, immediately followed by an explosion of pain at the back of her skull. The ground came rushing up to meet her.

 

Blackness loomed again.

 

More voices.

 

"What's done is done. But now... where the seven hells do we take 'er?" Crim said, his voice somber.

 

"We gotta get her out of Thanalan. She said there would be searches, so we get her out of their area of power. I'm thinking the Shroud. So many huts and forests up there, would be easy to keep her hidden. I hadn't, exactly found a place to hide her yet." Askier sounded uncertain himself.

 

"Either that or on a ship... I dunno..."

 

"And how many captains you know who are going to let us stow a prisoner away on a boat?"

 

"None. That's why ya kill the captain an' take the boat.."

 

She felt sensation returning to her fingers. But as her eyelids fluttered open, she saw Crimson Mountain and Askier looking down at her, and suddenly a liquid was being forced down her throat. She choked and shook her head, her hands fumbling to push away the Miqo’te's hand that held her mouth closed. The hold would not relent.

 

Then a shadow fell over her as Crimson Mountain brought his massive armored boot onto her throat, steadily increasing the pressure there. She swallowed the liquid in her mouth to try and take a breath, gasping as she did so. But the weight of his foot did not give way, and air was not forthcoming.

 

“Just drink and go to sleep,” Askier said quietly as he held her still.

 

Blackness fell again.

 

“What in hells happened to her since we saw her last?” Her senses were swimming through a sea of murk and shadows, but she could feel a soft pressure against her shaved head. It was the Miqo’te’s hand. “The Twelve must hate you, Roen.”

 

"They don't hate 'er.” There was sorrow in Crim’s voice. “We'll be judged fer this. What we're doin'... it ain't right. It ain't right at all. We know better than this... Who are we?"

 

"This was all her idea to keep Roen safe, Crim."

 

"I don't care 'bout the Sworn. Her hands 're dirtier than mine... an' that's sayin' a lot."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roen took a deep breath in, light finally filtering in through the darkness that had held her consciousness hostage. Her body felt weighted, and she remembered the sour taste of the sedative that ran down her throat. But what drew her from her drug-induced slumber was that familiar warmth of aether, washing over her body. It brushed over her old and new wounds like a warm summer breeze, mending the ache on the back of her head, the last traces of her broken ribs, the scars on her scalp and ear, and bruises that were left there only a few suns ago. It took two more breaths before Roen realized the weight of the hand that was against her ribcage, the source of the healing energy.

 

Her memory came flooding back with clarity. Alarm made her twist and jerk away from the hand at her side. But that was when she realized her hands were bound behind her. She spun in the bed, her eyes wide on the large Roegadyn that sat at the bedside, his eyes closed. She pushed away from him, squirming away to the opposite side of the bed. She placed her back flat against the corner of the room she did not recognize, and as her bare scalp touched the wall behind her, she felt a subtle chill there in the stone. She was no longer in Thalanan.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that…” Crimson Mountain slowly opened his eyes, his brows furrowing in a somber expression. His tone was muted, his voice just barely above a whisper.

 

Her grey eyes darted from the rest of the room to Crimson Mountain. “Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

 

"I'm afraid I don't have many answers for you. I only just became a part of this moments before you walked up on me. I'm still... I don't know what..." He shook his head, his brows bent. He looked confused. "I made a mistake, but... If you will be calm then I may be able to fix it."

 

Roen recalled that he drew her to the Nanawa Mines with the promise of a deed that would gain favor with the Sultansworns. Then she was hit from behind and forced a sedative down her throat. “You and I shook hands, promising no blood between us,” she hissed, her anger rising quickly. She had been fooled yet again, had trusted his words and called him an ally many suns ago when they last spoke. “This is how you keep your promise?"

 

Crim’s expression still held on to a shadow of regret about him. "We did shake hands, and that's why I'm trying to work something out with you. I need you to listen because I'm not smart enough to figure this out on my own. They're going to kill him, Roen. I need you to focus. I know it may not seem so right now, but I am not your enemy."

 

"I believed you, and now I am here, bound, against my will. And you expect me to make the same mistake again?" Humiliation quickly gave way to bitterness and his sober tones only emboldened her. “Untie me. If you want me to listen, start with untying me.”

 

In a flash, Roen saw his sullen look vanish, and his features grew hard, his shoulders rising. She could see the muscles of his neck growing taut. “You are not in control. If I let you go, I die. If you don't work with me, your brother dies. Now focus and help me or just sit here and rot."

 

That made her pause, even as fury waged a war with dread in her heart. She had instinctively leaned away from the Roegadyn, her back against the wall. “...What about my brother?”

 

As quick as it came, the Roegadyn’s temper faded, and his expression fell to one of apology. "This whole plan is about saving you. But... to do it, Gharen must die. I... I can't allow that, but... I can't stop it. Not on my own."

 

Roen stared at him, eyes wide.

 

"I don't know all of the details.” He met her eyes, ignoring her look of disbelief. “You came up on me right as I was finding everything out. It... it has something to do with you being a Garlean. Someone important wants Gharen dead. Someone said that if Gharen is killed, you'd be pardoned. The plan is to kidnap you, drawing Gharen out. When he's vulnerable, looking for you, the Syndicate will kill him." He leveled his gaze back at her. "After that, you're free to live your happy life as an Ul'dahn citizen, I guess. The part about losing your brother doesn't really seem to be on anyone's mind as far as I can tell."

 

“Wh-what...?” She was still numb with disbelief.

 

 

“All I know is that I promised Delial that I would never hurt you or your brother. Knowing of this plan to kill him... Don't get me wrong. I don't like him and I don't trust him. I believe with all of my heart that he will try to kill her. But I made a promise, and I won't break my word. Sitting back and doing nothing... letting him die... It's the same as killing him with my own hands. I can't. I can't..." He shook his head, his voice growing soft. “I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do..."

 

"I am the bait?” Roen finally managed, even as she tried to absorb all of the things Crim has just said. “To draw him out? You... you took me. You are setting him up!" She pushed herself off the wall, grimacing as she pulled on ropes that bound her hands. "If you do not want to see him die... then let me go. Do not carry out this plan!"

 

"I didn't want to. I wanted to talk with Delial but... you came. You just came right to us. I couldn't just let you go. They would have found someone else, and then I'd be in the dark. They'd never trust me with another detail."

 

"Who? Why does the Syndicate, why would they want him dead..." Roen paused, furrowing her brows in thought.. "Is... is this because of the Mines?"  

 

"I don't know. All I know is that one of the Sultansworn set this up. If I let you go then they'll know the plan failed from the inside. I'll be in danger, as will Askier. Gharen won't be any better off, they'll just go about it a different way."

 

Roen’s eyes instantly narrowed with disbelief. "One of the.. Sultansworns?"

 

Crimson shrugged, seemingly oblivious to her quickly rising distrust. "I don't know, I guess she doesn't like Gharen. I don't know everything."

 

There it was. Roen suddenly felt herself grow cold, her fear and urgency for her brother quickly giving way to suspicion and humiliation. She had been fooled too often. “Now I know you are lying.” She felt her insides twist, that she had believed this tale so readily. “You... you lie almost as well as Delial does."

 

"I am a murderer. I am a thief. I am a horrible, horrible man who has committed deeds for which there is likely no redemption. This world will truly be a better place when I die. But one thing I am not is a liar. My word is something I take very seriously. You would do very well to heed what I say." He sat still at the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, his words stern. "Tell me this, Roen. What reason do I have to lie to you? All I have to do is keep you here and do nothing. Gharen will look for you and you know it. If I do nothing, he dies. What possible reason could I have for letting you know all of this?"

 

She shook her head, refusing to be drawn in by another lie. Her misplaced trust in Delial had brought so much suffering to others, she could not let that happen again. "I do not know," she said, her words measured. "All I know is Delial brought me a head of a man, and told me of the fate of my brother, just to tell me to keep quiet about it. To act as if nothing was amiss. Only suns later, she tells me her true intentions: for me to murder my allies." She turned her gaze back to the Roegadyn, her eyes alight with renewed anger. Some old wounds would never truly heal. "Why did she do that? Just to witness my torment! To see me struggle for suns while she continued to witness my brother’s torture!" She spat out at him, her words full of bile. "So do NOT ask me why people lie. Trying to convince me they are trying to help my brother. You are trying to turn me against a Sultansworn, using my own brother to do so."

 

The Roegadyn’s eyes slowly narrowed, and the sullen expression instantly vanished. A dark shadow of anger fell over him as he leaned towards her. "I can't speak for the actions of others, but know this. I... hate your brother. I hate him. If he ever takes Delial away from me then I will do anything and everything in my power to make him suffer, even if it means burning the entire world, do you understand me? The only reason that I defend him is because she made me promise not to harm him. I hate him. Do you still think I am lying, you sharp-tongued little bitch?”

 

Roen stiffened at his sudden rancor and leaned back against the wall instinctively, to put what distance she could from her and Crimson Mountain’s angry visage. His teeth flashed as he snarled at her. “You're no Sultansworn. My brother, he was a Sultansworn. It meant something for him to don the uniform. You and your friends, you're nothing but pretenders. You march around like you have a purpose, but you have no honor. Is that enough honesty for you? But even though I believe this to the very core of my being, I promised her not to cause you harm. And so here I am, coming to a worm to ask for help, you who are but a shell of those who have walked before you. I detest the fact that I need your help. I loathe the fact that I don't have the strength to do this on my own... but I don't. Here I am, reaching out to you, even as you spit my word and my honor back in my face. Wake up, Roen, or he... will... die."

 

Silence fell between them as she stared at him, conflict swirling her mind. “You hate him. You loathe me. And yet you do it because a woman that once regretted not killing us both asked you to spare our lives.” She slowly hung her head, her shoulders going slack. “And you expect me to trust you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You ask the impossible.”

 

The Roegadyn settled back into his chair, his voice forcibly calmed again. "No, I don't expect you to trust me. I expect you not to trust me. I just don't know what else to do but reach out to you. But since you're so short sighted, I'll give you a piece of information that I wanted to save you from. Natalie is the one who sold you out. She's the one who put the hit out on your brother and plans to feed him to the Syndicate. Natalie is the one that arranged all this.”

[Roen]

^{((Warning: This post contains some mature content and some adult oriented themes))}

 

 

 

 

“Natalie is the one that arranged all this.”

 

Roen froze, staring at her lap, eyes wide.

 

"It's all justified, of course. She's doing it all for you. She cares for you, and apparently not for him. But hey, the Sultansworn are good people. Right?"

 

Her heart started to pound again, painfully so in her chest. "You are lying."

 

"I never lie. I feel sorry for you on the day you realize just how true that is."

 

Roen gritted her teeth as she shot a look back to the Roegadyn, her face flushed and twisted with disbelief and indignation. "Natalie would not-- he is my brother. She would not."

 

"Like I said, Roen... I'm many things. But a liar? No... I tried to kill my own brother, you know. The one who was a Sultansworn. I was going to kill him for our father's inheritance. I failed... and shortly after, he sacrificed himself to save me." He shook his head, chuckling darkly. "I've tried to be more like him since. I see your order, your beloved order, and I see nothing of what he was. He was a man of honor. The Sultansworn of today are no better than elite Brass Blades. Corrupt to the core with no true sense of purpose."

 

"Do not speak of the Order that way. You are not Sultansworn. Your brother held the honor, he wore the mantle. He swore the Oaths. He may get to judge, but you do not. You do not know the sacrifices that some make to uphold the Oaths. You do not know them!"

 

In that instant something snapped in his eyes, and his gaze turned murderous. "SHUT UP! You spit on his legacy! He gave up everything to serve, and you bastards just threw it all away!" He rose up, towering over her, his fists clenched angrily. "The Sultansworn are corrupted. And your 'friend' has betrayed you to murder your brother. You willingly participated in some activity in the mines, something you knew was wrong, and you did it with Natalie and Kage. You all now serve as Brass Blades and here you are telling me that the order has honor?”

 

Roen swallowed, lowering her own voice seeing his anger rising like a sudden tide. "You pass judgement without knowing the facts. You condemn them for corruption seeing the same things the Monetarists accused us of. If you oppose the Syndicate, why do you believe what they want everyone else to believe?"

 

"Everything the Syndicate says isn't true. But everything they say isn't a lie, either. You truly think that your order is beyond being bought?"

 

"And do you truly think everyone within the Order has been bought?"

 

"No, I don't. I think that too many have, but not all."

 

Roen inhaled deeply, regarding the Roegadyn earnestly. "Do you know why we have been demoted to Brass Blades? Because we were loyal to the Sultana. But at my behest, Natalie let my brother and the Resistance go after we faced them... unknowingly at the Mines. Because I pleaded that they and we fought the same enemy. And the Syndicate used that to frame us."

 

"I do think that the friend you're so quick to defend apprehended a woman on nothing more than suspicion and tortured her. And all the while, she was protecting a known criminal. Even if my words to you are overly harsh, you know that she's ruthless. You just don't want to believe it because you care. At least I'm honest about my failings."

 

Roen stiffened as shame twisted her stomach. She slowly nodded. "Aye. I heard about... what they did."

 

"I'm sorry that I'm not a better man.” Crim slowly lowered into a seat again, his voice growing sullen once more. “I'm sorry that I'm the one standing here trying to help you out. I'm sorry that I've let my hatred rule my words for you and your brother. I'm not a good man. I have so much further to go... I know I'm not an ally you would ever choose."

 

Roen stared at nothing in particular. "I cannot trust you. But... I cannot ... I will not risk his life. But I do not know if believing you will help or hurt him." A breath’s pause as she looked back to the Roegadyn. “But I cannot sit here and let him be lured out."

 

"Believing me is irrelevant. Even if what I'm saying about Natalie is a lie, you know the Syndicate will strike him when he's most vulnerable if they have it in for him. Choosing not to aid me just means that he doesn't have someone trying to warn him. I've heard that he's a fine warrior, but... you throw a hundred men at someone..."

 

"And you will not let me go to warn him?"

 

"I wish I could let you go. I'd lead you to safety myself. But if I do, Askier will go to Natalie. Then Natalie will go to the Syndicate. They will abort their plan and form a new one. Matters will not be better... only changed..."

 

That was when the door opened with the turn of a key in a lock, the sound of howling winds entering the cabin along with the new arrival. With a slam of the door behind him, Roen could hear mutters in the other room and shuffling feet. With wet footsteps, Askier entered the bedroom, his nose and cheeks red from the stinging cold as he unwrapped the scarf from his neck. "Hey, Big Guy. How's Roen?"

 

Roen only briefly caught a pointed look from Crim and a quick nod, before the Roegadyn stood up, his hands on his hips. “Awake. Mouthy lil' bitch. Full o' insults, of course. Can ya believe she actually asked fer me ta untie 'er?" Her eyes narrowed at the sudden change in his speech, his accent, even his tone.

 

"Why am I not surprised?" Askier chuckled, his golden gaze flicked toward her. "I brought her some food so we can shove some rolls in her mouth if she gets out of hand." Roen spotted the wet snow he was tracking through the room as he set a box down onto a table. He then turned, giving her a bow. "Sorry about all this. How's the head?"

 

Roen only answered him with a glare, curling her legs to herself. His thick coat, the melting snow on the ground. They were in Coerthas.

 

"We can't keep 'er in them ropes ferever. They fray too easily, an'... well, they'll cut 'er wrists. We gotta get somethin' more... official? Think you can pull somethin' like that off? Somethin' fer wrists 'n ankles both. Maybe even a collar."

 

Roen blinked and stared at Crim. She was not sure if this was an act. Why would he...

 

"Crim, you and I think alike.  Part of why it took so long.  Cost me a pretty gil, but..." Askier began to dig into the box, pulling out books, food, clothes, and multiple whiskey bottles. "Here we are." He grinned, pulling two pairs of shackles from the box, the metal clanking ominously in the stone room. "Figured it might be more comfortable than that rope and would let Roen use her hands to read." Askier cocked his head her way with a smile. "See?  I'm not a total ass."

 

"That's fer the best. Only one problem that creates, though. Lettin' 'er hands be free means it's more likely she can try 'n hide things from us, try an' get free. We have ta eliminate that as much as we can.” The Roegadyn frowned.

 

"Well, we could break some of her fingers." Askier mused and then shook his head. "But I'm not fond of doing that to a woman." Askier looked at his own hand for a moment and then sighed. "I'm not cut out for this kind of work. We shackle her and then use some leather thongs to bind her fingers together. Crude but will work."

 

"No, that ain't what I mean. That won't work anyroad, trust me. I done a little bit o' slavin' back in my raidin' days. She's gotta be naked. Completely naked. An' any time she gets her hands on somethin', she's gotta be searched. Thoroughly. We can give 'er a blanket cuz that's easy enough ta shake out, but... Twelve, I hate this shite."

 

Roen felt herself shrinking back against the wall, her attention snapping back to Crim.

 

"Naked?"  Askier said with a hint of incredulousness. "You want her to freeze here? I-" Askier reached for one of the bottles of whiskey, pulled open the cork and took a long draft and then sighed. "Look Roen, you're awake and a rational woman. You want to talk about this or should Crim and I just keep planning how we are going to bind you. I'm trying to be civil here since your friend hired me."

 

"Would you believe me if I said I would cooperate if you kept me unbound?" Her words sounded sharper to her ears than she had intended. Her eyes narrowed on Askier. "And who is this friend of mine that hired you?"

 

"I might, eventually." Askier only paused for a breath. “Natalie,” he answered her flatly.

 

Roen frowned instantly, distrust and anger quick to return. But what words she may have said in protest stalled in her throat when she spotted that change in Crim again. Any sign of challenge seemed to trigger something dark in the Roegadyn. Or perhaps it was his hatred of the Sultansworn. Or Natalie. She could not tell.

 

Crim’s icy blue eyes seemed to stare through her and his voice had a cruel tone running just beneath the surface. "I'm just sayin'.. the best way ta do it ain't somethin' I'm willin' ta do. See, ya put a collar round 'er neck. Then, ya bind 'er wrists tagether... pull 'er arms up so that 'er wrists an the collar are attached. Pull the elbows tagether, preferably touchin'. Pierce the nipples and the nose 'n put rings in 'em. Then, mind the ankles together. You can use the collar ta lead 'er 'round, an' she can't run or do nothin' with 'er hands. But like I said, I don't wanna cause harm, 'n... well... she ain't no slave."

 

Roen felt the blood drain away as she stared at Crim in horror.

 

"Hells, Crim!" Askier grunted in shock, nearly spitting out his whiskey. "I was just think of binding her ankles and wrists together, not start shoving things into noses. I mean I see how that would work but I'm supposed to return Roen in good condition. Nat's orders. Don't think Nat would take kindly to nipple piercings."

 

"How do you know? Nat might like nipple piercin's..." Crim shrugged his shoulders and looks back to Roen, giving her a very stern look. "Just lettin' the girl know what I'm willin' ta do if she tries to escape. I don't play games, an' if she tries ta run away, I'm gonna be so pissed that Rhalgr 'imself'd be givin' pause."

 

Her breathing was starting to quicken as her eyes darted between Askier and Crim. She no longer knew who this Roegadyn was anymore. Was he the same man who offered to help her brother?

 

"Roen, Crim here isn't joking.” The Miqo’te turned to her with a dark look as well. “He will do whatever needs to be done, so lets be civil, shall we? I have you here to keep you safe. My sister will be here soon to help us keep an eye on you and she is a very good tracker, so running won't get you far. Are you willing to let us chain you my way or?" Askier motioned with his head at Crim. "Do I let our big friend her start piercing body parts?"

 

Roen gave a baleful glare to Askier but shook her head and lowered her gaze and head. Her voice was one of swallowed pride when she answered him. "Your way, Askier."

 

“I'm okay with bindin' 'er yer way, but what 'bout 'er clothes? We ain't gotta pierce nothin' ta be careful. Plenty o' blankets in 'ere ta keep 'er warm."

 

His words drew another incredulous glare, anger and betrayal in her eyes. One truth remained ringing in her mind. He was not the ally anyone would choose.

 

Crim met her gaze, and his expression grew darker. "Better yet... she don't need blankets. I'll just keep a nice fire goin'. That sound better, Roen?"

 

"I agree we should take her clothes but we'll give her my coat in addition to the fire." Askier said, a degree of pity in his eyes as he looked at her. "I know that jacket like the back of my hand and every pocket and hole it could have. She makes a change or tries to hide anything, I'll know, and she can keep some of her dignity."

 

Crim sucked on his teeth. "No, ya won't give 'er yer coat. Not at first, anyroad. She wants ta throw an attitude then she can be humbled. When she realizes she has somethin' ta work for, an' starts actin' like a good girl... then we'll see."

 

Roen tore his gaze away from them both, looking down to the floor. Her breaths were coming quicker and she was trying to quell the dread that was quickly filling her chest.

 

"So you want to just strip her down and bind her now?" Askier cleared his throat, his discomfort with it all clear in his tone.

 

Roegadyn grunted, turning to the bed, his shadow falling over her curled form. “Get off the bed and on your knees, girl,” he said coldly, pointing to the middle of the room. “And if you behave and ask nicely, I’ll letcha even undress yerself.”

[Roen]

There was no restful sleep.

 

The weight of her shackles woke her every time she shifted in bed. Just before dawn she finally lost herself to sleep, but when the morning arrived and she opened her eyes, she was staring at the shackles again around her wrists. They reminded her that this was not a nightmare she could wake from.

 

Her gaze went to the Roegadyn sitting by the bedside: Crimson Mountain, a frighteningly large man in blood-red armor that befit his name. Her eyes narrowed in remembrance of the events the night past; he had forced her to undress in front of him, and grovel on her knees expressing gratitude for the opportunity to do so. Askier was there too, and had purposefully turned his back to the scene, choosing to stare at the fire instead. But Crim made it plain that he enjoyed her humiliation. She knew he was trying to rob her of hope, to prove that he had complete dominion over her... but with this new day, she was determined not to let it happen.

 

“So, not just a bad dream.” Askier’s voice broke the silence of the room, the Miqo’te rising from his seat and stretching with a lazy yawn. “How are you two?”

 

When Crim did not answer, Roen sat up, clutching the blanket around her naked form. It was the only thing she was given. “Thirsty.”

 

“Well, we've got water, or whiskey. Or I can try to make some tea." Askier said as he stood up and started digging in the box sluggishly. He glanced her way but his eyes never quite reached her form.

 

"I would like some tea," she conceded quietly as her eyes roamed about the room again.

 

"Yer gettin' ready ta earn yerself a hood without a hole fer ya ta look through, Crim rumbled. "Yer trouble... too much trouble. This was a bad idea. A bad idea..." His massive arms crossed. He seemed to have lost that sadistic glimmer in his eye from the night before.

 

"If this was a bad idea, then just let me go. I will..." She pressed her lips together before continuing. "I will figure out how to protect my brother."

 

Crim sneered. "I never thought of it that way. Askier, whatcha think? I suddenly feel compelled ta just set 'er free. I'm sure nothin' bad could possibly happen. It's the best plan ever, don'tcha think? Then we'll have absolutely no leverage at all when Natalie shows up with 'er goons ta kill us."

 

“We can discuss this, supposing we all agree to be civil.” Askier threw a look to Crim as he set a kettle of water with tea leaves onto the hot embers in the hearth. “At this point, it’s too early to toss in the towel. Nat hired us to keep Roen safe, and so long as we actually keep her physically here, she has no reason to come after us.”

 

Crim gave a shrug and stared coldly back at her. "There you have it. I guess we can't just let'cha go like nothin' never happened. Go figure."

 

Askier turned away from the fire, dusting off his hands. "I doubt Roen would act like nothing ever happened, anyhow, after what you did."

 

Roen scowled, looking this time to Askier. He seemed more reasonable, perhaps less cruel. "But keeping me here is meant to lure my brother to his death," she said. When she turned back to Crim, it was with a controlled voice. She did not want to spark his ire again. "If you truly mean to keep the promise you made to Delial, you cannot just do nothing but keep me here. As you said, he will be looking for me."

 

Crim rose without a word, striding toward the fireplace as he slid a gauntlet over his right hand. He grabbed the kettle and flung it violently into the far wall, causing a loud crash as the kettle bent with the impact. It rolled onto the floor, its contents spilling forth, hissing.

 

Roen flinched at the noise, and did her best to hide her disappointment at the loss of hot water within. It was as if the Roegadyn could hear her thoughts and see every glimpse for any opportunity to escape.

 

"Hells, Crim!" Askier yowled as he dodged the flung kettle. The Miqo’te clenched his fists as he stood back up. "Crim, would you stop complicating matters for a second?"  Askier was doing his best to keep a snarl out of his voice. "I'm trying to be civil here and figure out how to turn this all around, and you aren't helping!"

 

"Couple o' things. First off, I know what I done an' I don't need nobody remindin' me of it. Ever.” The Roegadyn stood over her again, looming. “Second, I'm half an ilm away from gaggin' yer mouth so I don't gotta listen to ya no more. I tried ta offer ya help an' ya threw it in my face. Now yer shite outta luck."

 

Roen saw the warning signs, but she had to press. Perhaps if she could reach what vestige of honor he may still have left, perhaps there was still hope. "Then that is it. You are going to break your word. You are going to do nothing and let him die."

 

Crim was not moved. "Gag her, Askier. We don't need ta be arguin', an' I ain't listenin' to 'er no more. Gag 'er."

 

"I'll gag her once I've gotten a chance to get a few words edgewise with her. If you don't want to hear her voice, why don't you step outside for a second and I'll get you once I'm done with her."

 

Crim did not respond, he just settled back into his chair across from her, crossing his arms and staring at her.

 

Roen fixed her gaze on Askier, some small hope rising in her chest. "I want to save my brother. You know this. Death does not have to be your only end to this. And it does not have to end in his either. Just help me,” she pleaded.

 

Askier regarded her for a moment, then grabbed a waterskin from the box and dragged his chair towards her side of the bed. He extended his hand with waterskin toward her as his golden eyes studied her for a moment longer. When she accepted his offering, he took a seat. “I wanted to save my sister by blowing up Ul'dah, Roen. I'm aware of those feelings. I'm willing to try to work something out, but I want a few promises from you."

 

Roen welcomed the water to her parched lips. "What promises?"

 

"First off, you need to stop pissing Crim off, 'cause that isn't helping anything. Seriously. You antagonize him again, I'm going to let him do whatever he wants. Second, I want your word that, if I help you, no matter what happens, whether Gharen lives or dies, you will not come after my head, Crim's head, or even try anything against me and my own. Because in the end, we are supposed to let you go. And I can’t do that if you are going to turn around and hunt us down. You agree to these two, I'll work with you. If you can't swear by the Twelve you will, we're done here."

 

Roen set the waterskin to her lap, tugging the blanket around her again. "All this will be for naught if he dies. If we save him... I will..." She straightened, nodding. "I will not pursue this when this is over. But you cannot hold me here in chains."

 

"If we save 'im." Crim snorted, looking pointedly to Askier.

 

Askier sighed. "That's not what I asked you to agree to. I asked you to agree, even if we failed.  I'm not going to try and help you if you are going to come after me if he dies, because that end is already in motion. We may not be able to stop it.”

 

"Then how do I know that you are not just saying this to ensure your own life? You said it yourself, you will have to let me go. You know this cannot end well for you if things go as planned.”

 

"You don't." Askier shrugged. "You have no reason to trust me, but I kept up my end of my bargain to not destroy Ul'dah in exchange for my sister’s freedom. Obviously, I'm pretty good at keeping my end of bargains."

 

"You let me go after this plan is done, your life is forfeit. You kill me, then you have to kill..." Roen paused, biting her lip. "Then you have to deal with whoever hired you to do this."

 

"You mean deal with your friend Natalie?” Askier arched a brow and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I already have a plan to handle her. I have a friend who would love to know about what she planned and use it. I have my plans, question is, does trying to help you save your brother get added to them or not."

 

Roen narrowed her eyes. "You underestimate Natalie. That would be a mistake."

 

Crim snorted. "How ironic. All you can do to the guy who actually wants ta help yer brother is piss 'im off, an' all ya can do to the guy who don't wanna help 'im is grovel."

 

Roen spun back to Crim, the memory of the night before rushing back all too quickly. "Would you make me grovel again then? Get on my knees? Beg you for things? Is that how you will be satisfied?"

 

Askier raised a hand at Crim. "Easy, big guy, I'll gag her in a sec."

 

The Roegadyn narrowed his eyes dangerously at her. "We're past talkin'. I tried ta make a deal with ya an' ya just called me a liar. Then, when I said we were done talkin', ya said I was gonna break my promise. I ain't got no interest in what'cha gotta say no more. I'm just humorin' Askier so he can see how worthless any conversation with ya is."

 

Roen recognized those signs well enough. She swallowed and lowered her eyes, her hands clenched around the blanket. "I will... I will agree not to come after you." She said hoarsely, her words aimed at Askier. "But you must give me your word that you will try and save him."

 

“I give you my word that I will try. Nothing more." Askier extended his hand to her. "I only took this job to help you, a fellow Garlean out you know. Well, that and I was bored to tears."

 

Roen stared at him for a moment, before her own hand emerged from the blankets to take his. "Are you going to get me out of these chains?"

 

"Nope." Askier shook her hand. "Those stay on for the time being. You don't need your hands for us to plan just yet. Okay then, Roen, the Syndicate is after your brother, we have you, Gharen will probably find out soon. Question is, does the very angry Hyur go after us, the little pawns, or the brains he thinks are behind this?"

 

Roen narrowed her eyes on the Miqo’te. "You said it yourself. You were going to bomb Ul'Dah and kill countless people for your sister's safety. What do you think?"

 

Crim picked up a foot and smashed it into the bed with a loud thud, jolting her suddenly and firmly planting the frame against the wall. "Mind yer tone."

 

"Thank you, Crim." Askier smirked, putting his hands behind his head and scratching. "Might mean, Crim gets his fight if we play this wrong. Roen, how much do you care for Nat's well being?"

 

Roen glanced from Crim back to Askier, scowling. "I still do not believe you. I do not believe Natalie had anything to do with this."

 

"See? She's hopeless. Can we gag 'er now?" Crim gave Askier another pointed look.

 

"I cannot believe she would do this. Have me kidnapped... and my brother killed?" Her voice shook in full denial. "She would not. She... would not..." She said again, as if to herself, her gaze lowering to her hands. "We are talking about saving my brother, not about hurting Natalie."

 

"Roen, I don't know how to make you believe it but seriously, what would I have to gain by lying to you about this?” Askier leaned in towards her, as if to press his case. “The point of my question is that Nat might get hurt if we do this. I don't plan on it but there is a chance the Syndicate might do something. I have no idea if they would since they don't know about this, but you need to consider it."

 

Her lips curled down with suppressed anger that rose within. “You say you want to help my brother, you say you are doing this for me, but then you accuse my mentor. Do not expect me to believe everything you tell me so readily. You bind me and strip me, and expect to just believe you when you accuse someone I consider my sister!"

 

Crim growled in warning. "You didn't believe me before I did that, so yer argument ain't worth shite."

 

"Roen, shut your gob and listen to me or I'll gag you and make you listen," Askier snarled, teeth flashing. "By all the hells I will."

 

Roen scowled at Crim. A part of her knew she should not, but she had to know. He offered her help yesterday, only to... “We were talking about a letter, remember? Yesterday? You said you would help me. Then you had me strip and kneel and grovel. Am I to thank you for that again? And this? This knowledge you lay upon my lap about someone who saved my life... wanting me kidnapped?"

 

"Yes!" Askier exclaimed in exasperation, trying to control the conversation. "I'll admit, Crim went too far--"

 

“I was listening to you,” Roen locked her gaze on Crim, embers of bitterness still there from his betrayal. “Then you became cruel.”

 

The Roegadyn’s expression darkened in an instant and with speed that belied his size he rose and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her towards him. He tossed the blanket aside and struck her. And struck her again. She tried to brace herself against the blows but they kept coming.

 

"Crim!" she heard Askier shout. The blows finally came to a stop when Crim tossed her back onto the bed like a rag doll, as his other hand pulled away the blanket that Askier had thrown at the Roegadyn.

 

Roen tried to scramble onto all fours, but the shackles hampered even that, and she fell over. Her muscles coiled in panic, even as her body burned and ached with the blows she just took. She pushed them aside; she needed to get away. She saw Askier facing off with the Roegadyn with a bottle in hand.

 

Crim’s hand was moving toward the hilt of his massive sword at his hip, his eyes blazing with fury. “You gag that dumb bitch... NOW!"

 

"Crim, you insufferable...!" Askier growled and he hurled the bottle at Crim's head. The Miqo'te's face was flushed blood red. "I hired you ‘cause I thought you had a brain, but you are just as barbaric as Kahn'a said!" Askier seized his satchel from the table and pulled out a small item clenched in his fist. He flicked his gaze at Roen and took a step towards her, but his attention quickly returned to the Roegadyn.

 

Crim did not move as the bottle struck his face. His expression seemed frozen for a moment, and Roen thought he actually looked surprised for a brief instant. As if he truly did not believe that Askier attacked him. The bottle fell to the floor with a clang, as Crim slowly turned to the Miqo’te. The murderous look that came over him made Roen’s blood run cold. With a metallic hiss, he drew his massive blade and took a step towards Askier.

 

“You should run now,” the deadly warning rumbled from the Roegadyn.

[Roen]

Roen’s heart felt as if it would leap out of her chest in fear as she scrambled off the bed, trying to make for the other room.

 

“Was planning on it, Big Guy!” Askier snarled as he threw whatever was in his hand onto the ground. It exploded into a bright flash, followed by a thick oily smoke with a smell of sulfur and salt pepper. Roen instinctively held her breath, recognizing the choking effect. Askier turned and curled his hand around her waist, and he too darted for the door.

 

But Crim was not stalled for long. His heavy armored steps were still quick enough to close the distance to the arched doorway, and he swung his massive sword in their direction. Even fighting the glares that the flash left, he was meaning to stop anyone from exiting.

 

With a violent shove from Askier, Roen was thrown into the other room just ahead of the swing of the blade, and the Miqo’te leaped back. The sword tip just barely caught Askier on the face, drawing a line of blood. “Really, Crim, this is what it’s come to?!” he shouted, his hand digging into his satchel even as he backed away from the armed Roe.

 

Roen barely spared them a glance as she darted for the door, the shackles around her ankles making her stumble more than once. She yanked free the coat that Askier had hung there; she knew she was not going to make it for long outside without some protection from the cold.

 

“You ass!” She heard Askier snarl from the other room as her trembling hand worked to open the locked doorknob. “I’m ashamed that you ever got to taint that tea house and Delial with your madness! Take another step and I’ll make you regret you ever hunted me down after my trial!”

 

“You little bastard," Crim roared, "I was gonna just knock ya good. Now I’m gonna grind yer bones inta powder!"

 

Roen clicked the door open. It was then that she heard rushing armored footsteps. Terror gripped her heart when she glanced over her shoulder and saw the blood-red armored Roegadyn sprinting her way, his blade drawn and a sinister grin in on his face. He was not going for Askier’s baiting--Crimson Mountain was coming after her.

 

Roen threw the doors open, only to have the howling winds and the cold hit her like a brick. She had no time to don the coat she grabbed, only clutched it tight to her chest as she darted out. She did not hear the shouting of the Miqo’te from the other room, nor the crash of broken glass and wood. But the thudding, armored footsteps sprinting after her could not be ignored.

 

To her dismay, the manacles around her ankles tugged at her gait with each step, shortening it unnaturally, and her bare feet slipped on the ice-coated stone steps. She paused only for an instant to regain her bearings, and that is when Crim’s hand grabbed her arm, his blade coming around for her throat. She jerked herself free, her wrist raised to glance off the edge of his blade with a metallic hiss. She stumbled forward and fell to the ground, her hands and knees plunging deep into snow. The chill gripped her limbs instantly.

 

Roen saw from the corner of her eyes Askier rounding the cabin in a full sprint, having found his exit through a broken window. He hurled odd-looking stones, and they exploded with a deafening roar, the shockwave sending her face forward into the snow. She covered her head instinctively, ducking and trying to protect herself.

 

The armored Roegadyn looming behind her blocked much of the stone fragments and debris that flew in their direction, but the blast sent her senses spinning and her ears rang with a high pitched ting. Before she could recover, a gauntlet gripped her hard by the arm and jerked her up and backwards. A blade came leveled against her throat, and his arm crushed her breasts as he held her firmly against him.

 

"Stop what'cher doin' or the girl dies."

 

Roen felt her body starting to stiffen already from the exposure, the coat she had grabbed now laying lifeless on the ground where she had fallen. Her trembling fingers slipped against the cold armor as she tried to pry his grip away with no avail. She saw Askier walk in an arc to stand before them, next to the cliff that the cabin oversaw. His nostrils were flared, breath misting in quick puffs and trailing south in the Coerthian dawn.

 

"Crim, it's over. You kill that woman... Gharen, the Flames, they will hunt you down. Do you think Delial would ever forgive you for it? Didn't you make a promise? Come on, big guy," he shouted into the icy winds. "You said you were a man of your word. Killing her would make you a liar, and I never knew you to lie before. Don't be a liar now."

 

"I did what I had ta keep 'er safe. You started this fight, ya coward! Now yer tryin' ta talk me down 'cuz ya can't win? Ya got no honor, Askier. Getcher arse over here, kneel down with yer hands up, and surrender. Otherwise, she dies, and so do you. It don't even matter if I kill ya 'r not. All the others ya just mentioned? Think they won't hunt you down fer all o' this? Give up while she still lives."

 

"She dies, I have no reason to stick around, Crim." Askier said, his voice leveled and careful. "I'll admit, I started this fight and I'm sorry, but this can't go on. I'll gladly turn myself over to the Flames and suffer their judgement than give myself over to what I know you are now capable of doing, Crim. Delial spoke so highly of you before. You really going to let her down now and kill Roen? Think this through. I'm begging you here."  Askier got on his knees, though he still held onto the objects he had in his hand. "Let her mount my chocobo and ride away. Please."

 

"I wanted ta help 'er." Crim's words sounded choked now. "I offered 'er my help an' she called me a liar. Then you wouldn't make 'er shut up. I toldja I'd do it my own way, an' when I did? You attacked me." He shook his head. "So no. I ain't lettin' 'er go. I got a mission ta finish. But if you don't put'cher lil' bomb down, well... then I'm gonna have to make 'er scream. I'm not askin' ya, Askier. I'm tellin' ya... give yerself up ta me right now or I'll cut 'er pretty li'l head off an' send it ta Natalie in a box as a reward fer all the good this 'as done 'er."

 

Roen hissed as the blade pushed further against her flesh, the cold steel just shy of cutting her skin. Her body was starting to shake, though from the blade or the cold she did not know.

 

"And if I give myself to you, Crim, what happens?" Askier narrowed his eyes as he rose to his feet, distrust burning in his eyes. "How do I know you won't kill us anyway? Here you are promising to kill Roen after promising not to kill her. What do I believe now, Crim?"

 

“You believe that yer tongue is what gotcha inta this mess ta begin with, but it sure ain't what's gonna getcha out. Now I've done showed ya time an' again that when I get my way, I ain't hostile. But you didn't wanna play that game. So make yer decision, Askier. Either piss me off more an' see what happens, or give up. I'm past carin' which way this goes right now."

 

Roen stared at Askier and blinked as she watched him pull a linkpearl out of his ear and toss it over the side of the cliff. Then he discarded what he had in his hand over the edge as well; when it landed, heartbeats later, it gave a quieter boom than the one that had struck the cabin. Smoke rose from behind the Miqo’te as he took his robe off and tossed that aside as well, the wind carrying it away. He narrowed his eyes intently as he withdrew one more thing from his satchel.

 

"Will you at least respect the rights of a prisoner of war?"  

 

Crim flexed his wrist ever so slightly, the sharp metal scratching at her skin as if in warning. The suspicion was clear in his low rumbled words. "You were my brother once. I owe ya that much."

 

"You swear on the Twelve?" Askier curled his hand tighter around that object in his hand, dropping the satchel now at his feet.

 

"I swear on the Twelve that words ain't my strong point, an' if you don't give yerself up in the next ten seconds, Roen dies." The blade at her throat slid just an ilm, and cut the flesh just enough to draw blood. Roen held her breath, readying herself for the last moments. Even as a single rivulet of blood trickled down to her chest, she knew it was not a mortal wound, but another ilm would end her life. Crim's voice was a white puff of frost next to her ears as he growled at the Miqo'te, "And I swear that on all Twelve."

 

"If that’s your answer, big guy," Askier gritted his teeth and his golden eyes met hers for an instant. He had a look of an apology as he traced the red line that grew down her throat, but all he could offer was a small, odd smile. Roen’s own eyes widened as she then saw something flash before the Miqo’te’s expression. She saw his chest rise in a long inhale as if he was bracing himself for something. Askier looked back to Crim, his jaw clenched.

 

“This is repayment for complicating my life,” Askier said bitterly.

 

His thumb pulled a pin on the explosive. The pin landed onto the snow without a sound. Roen parted her lips to call out something, but Askier just gave her an odd expression as he held out his hand away from him.

 

“Roen, I’m sorry." He sounded sincere for the first time since she has met him. He then narrowed his eyes on the Roegadyn behind her with disappointment and resignation. "I surrender, big guy. Good luck.”

 

Roen gasped one half-heartbeat before she saw the blinding flash of light from his extended hand, followed by the explosion that obliterated the Miqo’te’s arm. She saw blood and flesh erupt from where the appendage used to be, bone and muscle burnt and shattered. It spattered onto the white snowy ground beneath his feet and against his face, even has his eyes began to roll backwards. Roen felt her scream die in her throat as the smell of burnt flesh assaulted her senses. She felt Crim's hold against her chest tighten painfully as they both watched Askier’s body start to fall back, the Miqo'te now limp and unconscious from the shock of the wound. His bloodied hair was tossed against his pale but blood-stained face by the icy wind that howled all around them.

 

And then he was gone. Askier's mangled frame plunged over the edge of the cliff, blood and smoke trailing after him.

[Roen]

“Gharen Wolfsong,

 

I need to speak to you urgently on a matter concerning your sister. It is a matter of life and death. Please meet me alone, tomorrow evening on the docks outside of the Silver Bazaar. I have placed Roen outside of reach until this is over. If you truly wish for your sister to live a life without fear, meet me there, her future is in your hands. Any trickery will doom her.”

 

--Unsigned

 

 

 

Seagulls glided through the blue skies, their shadows skimming across the water’s surface as quiet waves lapped against the wooden pillars of the dock. Gharen Wolfsong stepped onto the pier with the letter in hand, delivered the sun before by the mail moogle, the ominous message within unsigned. He narrowed his eyes onto the figure clad in armor at the end of the landing. He stopped half way, the still afternoon air between the two figures was thick with humidity.

 

"Ye've alot o' nerve. Ye know tha'?" he called out across the pier.

 

"I'm aware. I think it is a condition we both share," the armored figure answered, as if to note that both of them had come alone to this meeting. Only the seagulls and the sun bore witness to their exchange.

 

There was a moment’s pause before the helmet was lifted off her head, and Natalie Mcbeef looked at the Highlander. “Gharen,” her voice was somber.

 

Gharen narrowed his hazel eyes, jaw set. There was no surprise on his countenance. "Ye don' know anythin' about me. Lets get tha' straight."

 

Natalie smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. "I knew enough to get you here.”

 

"A simple "Need te talk te ye" would have sufficed,” he rumbled.

 

Natalie slowly shook her head, her expression darkening. “I don't think it would." She sighed, before she leveled her gaze at him. "Gharen, I need you to turn yourself in."

 

"Fer what?"

 

The Miqo’te held up her hand and ticked off her fingers one by one. “Terrorism, stealing a ceruleum core, consorting with Garleans…” she paused for a moment, her voice lowering. “And because the Syndicate said so."

 

"Don' know what yer talkin' about. Terrorism?” He placed his hands on his hips, regarding her squarely. “Consorting with Garleans? Won' deny th' bit about th' core. Though I had nothin' te do with tha' regardless."

 

Natalie let out a long exhale, sadness falling like a shadow over her features. "It's the last one really, that's the most important. I've made a deal with them you see. Amnesty for Roen, a chance for her to live a normal life, and all they ask for in return... is you.”

 

A pause fell between them. The water continued to lap below their feet.

 

"I see. So I'm te be th' sacrifice ye make te keep yer superiors happy? How do you think that'll go o'er with her?"

 

Natalie rolled her shoulders in a shrug. Her cool demeanor did not waver. "She won't know. I don't plan to tell her. She deserves a better life than to be shackled to her past and to her fugitive of a brother.” She narrowed her eyes onto Gharen, her tone turning grim. "You don't want to know what they promised they'd do if I didn't cooperate."

 

The Highlander regarded the woman, no anger in his voice. "I pity ye. Yer road te hell's goin' te be paved in these good intentions o' yers. I wonder how long ye'll be able te live with 'em and keep up th' charade."

 

Natalie let out a hollow laugh. "What would you have me do then? Scoff at their demands and watch as Roen is led to a scaffold and hung as a spy? This won't be the first or the last time I've pushed my ideals aside to deal with reality." Her facade lost all hint of amusement.

 

"Oh, ye don' have te convince me any, but it sounds like yer trying te convince yerself more'n anythin'.” He inhaled, his own expression resigned. “But as I said ‘good intentions’. So, do I jus' let ye cuff me here an' drag me off te th' dungeons? Or am I te die here at th' tip o' yer blade?"

 

The two stared at each other a long moment across the pier. "You don't seem very surprised by any of this.” She canted her head. "Did you already know....?"

 

"I suspected, visit from a flame about a moon ago mentioned th' blades. Two an' two.”

 

Natalie’s expression fell just slightly, betraying something beneath the cool facade. "Yet you came unarmed." She frowned and pinched her nose, turning to face the waters behind her. "...Gods, how did it all turn out like this?”

 

She stared out for a moment longer, her frown only deepening. When she turned back to Gharen, her eyes were once more narrowed. "To answer your question Gharen, I'm under no illusions that what I'm doing is just, or even good." She grimaced. "I just can't see any other path."

 

A pair of shackles were slid from the Miqo’te to come to a stop at Gharen’s feet. He looked to her before picking them up. "'fore we go anywhere with this. Where is she?"

 

"Safe.” She nodded in reassurance. “I hired someone to hold her away from the city. I don't know the exact location, but she'll be returned to the city after this.” A pause. "If I don't know myself... it can't be tortured out of me."

 

He stared at her a moment longer, then bent to pick up the shackles, closing one around his wrist. He pulled his arms behind him to bind his other hand. "Ye'd better hope she is. Because if she's nae, I'll rectify lett'n ye walk away from th' mines."

 

Natalie approached him, her armored boots making the wooden boards creak beneath her feet. "She wouldn't even be in this mess if it wasn't for you Gharen. They knew you two are related, and used her to get to you." She stood before him, her expression somber despite the fact that she now had her prisoner in tow. "Don't worry, as if I'd let harm come to her after I've gone to these lengths."

 

She checked the bindings, then looked up to him. "Any last requests.... or messages, before I take you back to the city?"

 

Gharen set his jaw, and grumbled low. "Let’s jus' get this o'er with."

[Roen]

“Hello, Jameson,” Natalie greeted blandly.

 

The finely dressed nobleman walked out of the Gates of the Sultana, with three large armored men escorting him. He squinted in the afternoon sun, his feathered hat lending little in the way of relief for all its fancy embroidery and a golden feather from the bright glare of the desert. He spied the armored Miqo’te woman and her taller shackled prisoner and smiled.

 

"I see that you have delivered on your promise."

 

Natalie held up her hand to give him pause. "Before you get too excited... I need to know if you've delivered on yours.”

 

“Ah, the bargain we struck. For Deneith’s amnesty.” He lifted his gloved hand, two fingers motioning his guards to surround the Highlander.

 

“Aye, the bargain.” Natalie frowned, green eyes glancing to the armored men. "Jameson...? That won't be needed, he came willingly."

 

Jameson shrugged. "He may be willing now, but he may not be soon enough." He turned his attention to the Highlander. "Wolfsong is it? My employer has gone through quite the trouble to find you." He gave him another smile when he was met with a narrowed gaze.

 

Natalie stepped in between them, her brows furrowed. "You haven't answered my question," she growled.

 

"The bargain is nearly done, Natalie.” Jameson tugged on his white gloves. “I need to get him into custody and see what names he gives up. My employer will be happy, and happily agree to the amnesty." He gestured vaguely into the air. "Or... burn the documents with proof, anyroad. Else you want the documents delivered to you?"

 

Natalie gave him a dangerous look. “That wasn't the deal Jameson, she gets amnesty, regardless of what he gives up.”

 

Jameson clucked his tongue. "You do not recall clearly then, Natalie. The bargain was that I satisfy my employer, and the amnesty happens. This…” he looked Gharen up and down, like a piece of meat. “...goes a long way though. Perhaps his execution will satisfy them." He gave Natalie his usual sly smile.

 

"No perhaps," Natalie said sharply, her eyebrows twitching.

 

Jameson seems unfazed by her ire and rolled his shoulders again. "Or a whipping?  Or beheading? Hanging? Who knows? Names would be nice. His fate may not be so hard then." He glanced back up at the Highlander who was continuing to hold his tongue. "What do you say, Wolfsong? What will it be? Some names to spare your life? Or a quick death?"

 

"Well I'd show ye but these shackles'd make it tough fer me te shove yer head up yer arse," Gharen finally answered, his eyes still intently studying Jameson’s face. "But I'll get aroun' te tha' eventually, I'm sure."

 

Natalie’s hand curled into a fist by her side as she growled again. "I'm not in the mood for games, you fop. I didn't do this for maybes and possibilities."

 

"Hmm." The noble hummed, unimpressed. He gave Natalie a sidelong glance. "I will get for you what I promised. But you do realize, I do not make these decisions." He bowed his head slightly, meeting her eye for eye. He smiled. "But I am certain my employers will be satisfied. You have been a model employee so far.”

 

Natalie exhaled, her eyes closing. She nodded reluctantly. "Fine... just.... just hold up your end." After a pause, she stared back at Jameson, the look of warning returning. "Gods help you if you do not." She turned away, as if to hide the deep frown that was bending her brows.

 

Jameson smiled brightly at her. “Why so sullen, Natalie? You did a good job! Turning in a terrorist!"

 

Natalie snapped back around. "Don't insult me Jameson, we both know what I really did."

 

Jameson only answered her with a smirk, before he turned back to the Highlander, appraising him. “Now Wolfsong, you look much too comfortable. My employers will not be happy seeing you without a scratch, understand." He gave Natalie a sidelong glance, shaking his head. "I expected some wounds on him. Color me a little disappointed."

 

"Dinnae want te hurt th' lass, me bein' a dangerous criminal an' all.” Gharen rumbled, looking down at the shorter hyur. “That'd nae be proper."

 

Jameson sniffed, holding up his hand again and motioned to the men. “Now be a good prisoner while we mark you up a bit. For.. presentation, obviously."

 

"...Right." The Highlander did not move, his jaw set.

 

Jameson Taeros sighed and stepped back away from the Highlander as the three armored men closed in around him, two flanking him on each side, one behind him. With no warning, Gharen received a hard kick to the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. The two men next to him started to deliver blows to his face, kicks to the stomach and ribs. The Highlander grunted, but remained stoic and silent, receiving the blows as they came. His hands bound behind him, there were no ways to shield himself from the beating nor did he attempt to. And the men that surrounded him were strong, and they were brought here for this purpose. They knew how to deliver a vicious beating.

 

"Now... had you delivered him a little bit more presentable, I would not need to do this." Jameson looked to Natalie, a near bored expression on his face. "Alas. Presentation is everything to my employer." He paused for an instant however, his light eyes glancing immediately to the Highlander when a low rumbling growl emerged from Wolfsong’s chest.

 

"Don't you fucking dare put this on me, this was never part of the deal!” Natalie hissed. "I don't hurt anyone I don't have to!”

 

Jameson’s gaze lingered on the Highlander for a moment longer, but when the growl did not give way to anything else, he turned back to Natalie with his sly smile back in place. "What did you think would happen, Natalie. That we politely escort him to our dungeons?"

 

"Yes," she said plainly. "I'm not stranger to torture, but you're not even asking him questions." She scowled. "This... is just wrong." She shook her head. "You're beating a man just because you can."

 

Jameson shifted in his stance, almost as if to keep the view of the Highlander in his periphery. The three men still beating on him however did not seemed to notice or care of Wolfsong’s underlying temper. "The questions will come, Natalie. But only those broken in are likely to answer." He shrugged nonchalantly then curled the sly smile again. "And yes... because we can."

 

Natalie glowered. "Just get it over with then." She flicked the barest glance toward the scene of the beating, as one armored man grabbed Gharen by the cuff of his shirt, bringing his fists onto the shackled man’s face without mercy or reprieve.

 

“Not so tough are ya…?” The bearded guard sneered at his prisoner, spittle flying at his face.

 

Wolfsong only met the gaze coldly, his furrowed brows the only sign that he was concentrating intently on keeping his emotions in check. As if he knew why he was here, and why he had to take this. And it was not for his sake.

 

Jameson sighed restlessly as he watched for a while longer, until the three men started to show signs of exhaustion, and Wolfsong was dropped back to the ground. The guards were breathing heavily.

 

Natalie turned away from the scene, her eyes going bitterly to Jameson. “He's your responsibility now... whatever happens. I'll expect those documents within the next few suns." Her green eyes burned with a threat of its own.

 

Jameson answered her with a pleased and easy expression. “And you shall have them, I expect. Yes, my employer will be pleased indeed.”

 

Gharen spat out blood onto the stoney ground, looking up at Natalie’s back. His lip was split and bloody and his face was adorned with multiple gashes from gauntlet blows. He spoke with a low rumbling voice. "Till we next meet Miss Mcbeef,  An' may th' road before ye always be well paved."

 

Natalie stood still, her head lowered, but did not turn to meet Gharen’s eyes.

 

Jameson nodded to the three men. “Take him to the cell.” His light eyes squinted in the afternoon sun as he watched the two heave the Highlander by his arms, dragging him away. He looked to Natalie, who still stood next to him, her back turned to the prisoner being taken away. Her feet seemed rooted for a moment, her expression dark.

 

“Always pleasure doing business with you Natalie,” Jameson smiled, tipping his feathered hat to the Miqo’te. “Perhaps we can get that drink one of these days.”

 

Natalie just stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then shook her head and angrily strode back toward the gate.

[111]

"Why am I even doing this...?"

 

Natalie stares down into the wash basin with haggard eyes, her rust colored armor throwing a red tinge to all she saw. Appropriate, for that's what she was now. She'd always disdained the Brass Blades, thought them weak and greedy, blaming them for many of Ul'dah's problems. Now though, glaring at her reflection, she wonders if she is any different.

 

The pure and valiant Sultansworn and the cravenly Brass Blades, a staple of every story and tale, an understanding woven into the society and language of the city. This experience had changed her perspective. They were not heartless thieves, by and large, but simply victims of the beast that was Ul'dah. They all had their reasons, and they were as varied as the people themselves. Debts, duties, pardons, threats, favors, family, honor, faith... and simple avarice was rare to be found among them. They did what they did because they had to... as did she.

 

Natalie grimaces, regarding herself once more. She did what she had to, and in saving one, another was now sacrificed. But where did it end? She shakes her head, gripping the edges of the basin.

 

Where indeed?

[111]

Natalie walks down the street, her head spinning from what she had heard. Askier's employee had gone rogue? Roen was… actually kidnapped? It seemed too ridiculous to believe, and her source had been less than reliable, but she was unable to contact him and verify. “Twelves damned Garleans,” she mutters, “No wonder they can’t win a war, no professionalism.” She’d love nothing better than to tear into the heart of this matter, but first there was a problem to deal with.

 

A very well dressed problem.

 

She found him outside the Quicksand, speaking to Ser Crofte, an icy woman who apparently had taken Nat’s position at the order. She was everything Nat wasn’t, elegant, composed… and dreadfully boring.

 

 

"Ah! Ser Crofte. I have heard of you from Jenlyns..." he glances to the side spotting the familiar figure in Blades uniform.

 

Ser Crofte regards him, "And you are?"

 

Jameson bows courteously to Coatleque, "Jameson Taeros. At your service."

 

Natalie approaches, "Ser Crofte..." she grimaces "... Jameson."

 

Dressed as impeccably as always he smiled, "Dear Natalie. Good to see you again." He sounds so pleasant.

 

"Hello to you too." she says with a sardonic air.

 

Jameson laughs, "Why so glum? I bring you good news!"

 

Natalie smirks, "Somehow I doubt that Jameson, but I'm listening."

 

Ser Crofte clears her throat, "If there was nothing further, I doubt you would care for my eavesdropping."

 

He gives Ser Crofte a sly smile and a wink. "Alas, unfortunately, my business with Natalie here is of... private nature. But perhaps you and I can grab a drink one of these days?"

 

Natalie rolls her eyes.

 

Coatleque glances between the two. "Aye, anything could happen I suppose. Stay safe." She walks off down the avenue.

 

"Mm. Redheads." He says under his breath before turning to Natalie with a smile.

 

Natalie sighs, looking at him impatiently, "So...?"

 

"You delivered on your end, it is my time I delivered on -my- end, Dear Natalie. We can discuss it here... or outside the gates. It matters not to me." He looks completely at ease.

 

Natalie pauses and regards him carefully, "Somehow I'm not convinced you won't betray me at the last moment." She nods, "Let's at least get out of the street."

 

Jameson shakes his head and tsks as he follows her to a quiet alley. "So little trust."

 

She turns to face him removing her helmet and shaking out her sweat dampened hair, "Alright, tell me the good news."

 

Jameson cocks his head at her. "You should be happy to hear. My employer was -quite- pleased." He withdraws from his satchel a large envelope and extends it to her. "Here. Everything we have that would damn your girl." He smiles.

 

Natalie looks at it with trepidation, "What did Gharen have to endure for me to get this?" she takes it with a trembling hand

.

He curls a sly grin. "Do you really want to know, Natalie?"

 

She grimaces before nodding once, quickly. "Yes."

 

"He is underground, in a metal cell. The best furnace we got. We leave prisoners there to wither, and die. Turned into husks really. My employer has yet to make a show of him though. Perhaps the right inspiration has not hit him." He lifts his brows once, looking amused at the thought.

 

She shakes her head bitterly, "And for what? Why not just kill him? You have what you want from him."

 

He shakes his head and tsks. "Natalie," he says in a forced patient tone. "Quick deaths are so... boring!" He frowns slightly at the word, "My employer likes... satisfaction. Amusement if you will. Merciful executions are for Sworns and the Sultana."

 

Natalie bares her teeth slightly, "This cannot be condoned by the Sulanate, they torture... but not for pleasure, and I wasn't aware the syndicate kept it's own death chambers under the city."

 

Jameson curls another devilish smile at Natalie. "You would be amazed how many affairs you are not aware of."

 

She bites her lip and looks to the side, "I'm sure you're right."

 

He sighs and shrugs. "I am but one messenger though, Natalie. You know this already. I do as bid. And it does me well."

 

Natalie opens up the packet, "But this is it? Amnesty? No tricks?"

 

He leans in with a pointed look. "And as you have discovered, you do as we bid, you will get your rewards. But you almost sound disappointed."

 

She smirks at him, "I was looking for a reason to hate you Jameson.” She chuckles sadly, "But as you said... you're just a messenger."

 

"If words are not kept, then the cogs and webs that hold and run this city falls apart. We had a deal, and you delivered. Congratulations Natalie. Your girl, as at least free from our clutches. You should be pleased. Smile!" He smiles at her in example.

 

Natalie laughs in spite of herself, "Gods Jameson… If only you'd picked a different master."

 

He narrows his amber eyes at her, his grin still in place. "Then you would have that drink with me?"

 

She actually smiles now, "I just might."

 

He curls another smile, and this one... is slightly different. "Well, it is too bad your girl will never know what you did for her. But being that her brother's life was the price, perhaps it is best." He tilts his head, "Where -is- the girl? I have yet to hear how she has been doing. Since her ... obvious failure. Unlike you and Kiryuu, who have performed and adjusted quite well to the way of the Brass Blades."

 

 

Natalie shrugs, "All secrets are fleeing things Jameson, I'm sure she'll find out eventually." She pauses, her throat suddenly dry, “Ah, Roen? She's on a long patrol..." she clears her throat and laughs, "Have we been such model Blades? That's what worries me ."

 

"I heard from Anden that he has not been seen recently. I hope she is not deserting her duties. After all your efforts to exonerate her, it would not do her well to be in trouble with her superiors. ... Again."

 

Natalie shakes her head and shrugs, "Wouldn't know, she's not under my command."

 

Jameson lets out a long sigh. "Only if she would perform as well as you and Kiryuu have. Admirable indeed."

 

She smirks, "In my own way I'm proud that she hasn't."

 

"Oaths and all." He tsks with a shake of his head. "She will have to be broken in. Sooner or later."

 

Natalie smiles back at him, "That's where we differ. Not everything in this world needs to be dragged down into the muck."

 

He arches a brow at her. "What do you mean, Natalie?"

 

She keeps grinning, "Some trees can remain unbent by the storm."

 

His shoulders rise and fall with an inhale and he looks at her pointedly"Well, we like to put the Blade to those trees.” He breaks into a smile. "We will see who outlasts whom. Hm?"

 

She chuckles, "That we will Jameson."

 

"It is easier to bend, Natalie. Always easier to bend."

 

"That's true Jameson, but someone has to stay straight."

 

"Easier I suppose, if you were still a Sworn. To stick to the straight and narrow. But you had your chance at that already, aye?" His expression is... so smug.

 

Natalie shakes her head, "It's not that Jameson, if everyone bends, it becomes the new straight." she smiles despite his insult, "After the storm passes, we all need examples, of what we were like before we bent." She smiles and nods once, “Roen is that to me."

 

He blinks, his brows furrowing just slightly. The smug expression gives way to something just for a passing moment. "It is too bad, Natalie. That I work for the employer that I do. You and I could have been better friends."

 

She laughs, "Life is a mysterious thing Jameson, you never know what will happen. We might get that drink one day yet."

 

Jameson cocks his head then the sly expression returns. "Perhaps, Natalie. Perhaps." He inhales. "Well, job well done. You have your reward. Back to your usual duties you go."

 

She taps the folder, "Whatever happens in the future, thank you for this." she nods, "Until next time."

 

"I suppose I can check in on Anden about your girl's status." He bows courteously, "Always a pleasure doing business with you Natalie. Always a pleasure."

 

She nods and raps a finger against the packet with a smile, “Jameson, this is the first time I can say the same.”

[Kage]

((Introspection of a talk with Natalie just after the scene above as Kage is about to beg Osric for help before certain events))

 

Kage silently prepared. Just a bell ago Natalie had shocked and rocked his world. He would have asked and roared at her but he knew… he knew what it was that she had been thinking.

 

 

Roen deserved a life away from Ul’dah. Roen wasn’t meant to be a Brass Blade. She wasn’t meant for this life. What better way to do that then to get her out of it? To actually give her her life back, away from Jameson Taeros.

 

 

Roen would hate her. Roen had been willing to give up the oath for Gharen and her adopted family. Natalie would be fine with that. Was it not Natalie who had said she was fine with Roen hating her as long as she could ensure Roen was helped that night in the headquarters?

 

 

But now it was all messed up.This was the first time Kage had ever seen one of Natalie’s reckless decisions backfire so much. They had always worked before, but this… this time it hadn’t. Roen who they had thought was safely and securely outside of Ul’dah was actually in harm’s way and they didn’t know where she was.They still didn’t know where Gharen Wolfsong was being held. They needed help. But who?

 

 

… Sergeant Melkire.

 

 

Perhaps.

[111]

((put this in the wrong thread, It should be in 'what doesn't kill you makes you strong' ))

[Roen]

_{((This post follows the events from here and here.))}

 

 

 

 

 

 

She did not want to sleep. To sleep was to dream, and her dreams were filled with dark tormented things.

 

Roen sat near the edge of the cliff with her legs folded under her, in a meditative pose. Her eyes were closed, her senses filled with the sound of the pounding waterfall in the distance. The cool misty air soothed her skin as it drank in the warm midday Noscean sun.

 

Since Hornet’s visit to the camp Gharen had set up--a camp hidden within a remote alcove in Middle Noscea--her nights had been free of nightmares. Roen suspected it was in thanks to Hornet’s strangely scented herbal tea that she was no longer waking screaming in terror. But whenever she was left to her solitude to meditate, despite her best efforts to clear her mind and focus her thoughts, the forbidden memories returned. Memories of that cursed boat in the middle of the sea, to where she and the unconscious form of Askier were taken by Crimson Mountain after their hurried departure from Coerthas.

 

“I'm going to mark your body, signify it as my own.” The memory of the Roegadyn’s voice still made her shudder.

 

Screams followed; such screams filled with anguish, pain... begging for life, then begging for death.

 

Askier had wanted to die.

 

“We can escape. We can kill ourselves,” the golden-eyed Miqo’te had rasped, struggling to breath.

 

"If we are driven to end our lives... he wins," Roen had whispered back. "We must survive this.” Roen was clinging onto what little hope she had left, that singular intent to survive not permitting the despair and hopelessness to overtake her.

 

"Roen, if we get through this, is there any way I can repay you for the suffering I have forced you to endure?" Askier asked her, his swollen eyes closed, his head hung low.

 

“Let us survive this first,” she said, trying to reassure him, though her voice faltered at his first hint of true regret. After a breath’s pause, another plea suddenly rose from her chest: “Please do not die.”

 

Those words echoed in her memory and made her grimace. Even now, many suns since she and Askier were carried off that forsaken boat, and had been free of Crimson’s cruelty, even now she recalled the fear and loneliness, her desperation of not wanting to be left alone with the monster. She had asked Askier to live.

 

He was nearly dead by the time the boat docked on Crescent Cove. But thankfully, he still drew breath when they were both carried off of it together. Delial had agreed to exchange herself for the hostages, agreeing to sail off with the Roegadyn. Because in some twisted way, Crimson Mountain still loved the Highlander woman.

 

“And then Delial ended his life,” Gharen told her later.

 

Roen felt nothing stir within her. No relief. No vindication. It was like an empty call that went unanswered within the black chasm that pitted her insides.

 

"Roen. You're relieved of your duties.” Roen flinched in her mediation as Natalie’s last words came roaring back into her mind. Her former Sultansworn mentor’s voice had been cold and deliberate when she approached her at Crescent Cove. There was no sadness, no regret upon the Miqo’te’s unaffected exterior. “Ul'dah is no place for you. You’re far too weak for this city.”

 

Tears fell onto her balled fists as Roen bowed her head, her meditative form broken. Her frame shook, all vestiges of focus and calm lost.

 

All that she had endured, it had been because Natalie had arranged for her to be taken so that her brother’s death could be arranged. That knowledge crippled her like no other, shaking her to the core. Of all the people she loved and trusted, Natalie… she was the one who began all this.

 

“Get away from me!!” Roen still remembered her own distraught words as she shrieked at the Miqo’te. She had crumpled to the ground, after her hands were freed from their unnatural contortion, being bound behind her to a collar around her neck. She could recall now how weak they were; she could not even raise them to her face to hide her humiliation and anger.

 

Even now her fingers twitched upon her lap, as if trying to recall the simple task of moving again. Her arms had lost much of its muscle and strength, being held immobile that way for many suns. The recollections came with emotions that battered her with gale force winds of shame and torment.

 

“Focus on the clear waters. Calm your thoughts.” Roen's voice shook. She struggled to recall Gharen’s lessons on meditation.

 

Roen blinked through the blurriness of her vision as more moisture fell onto her hands that twitched again. Her form bent, she stared at her fingers as they opened, then closed into a tighter fist, her knuckles white. More voices flitted through her memory, like frightened fireflies skirting through the air, twisting and spinning, too flighty to catch and yet lending for a brief moment a glimpse of a promise.

 

“You do not have to remain in the mud they drag you through," Ser Crofte’s voice came back to her. She shared with Roen an insight about her past that Roen did not truly appreciate at the time. “You are what you choose to be."

 

"S'good t'see ye, too. E'en if tis a spectre." These from Qaeli Varily. The silver-haired Hyur had returned from her months of absence without explanation, and yet it only took her a few minutes to notice something was amiss. "Unwell or nae, ye're nae beyond repair."

 

“I am not broken,” she heard herself say. More than once. She needed to believe it. “I just need to learn to get back up.”

 

“Oh, aye," another voice said, floating past her conscious mind. "Even those things that I sell that are tangible - the blank books, the false maps, the fool's fool's gold - these are all things that have some kind of value, somewhere. They can be used, made good again. Even the most destitute, desolate thing, is worth something." Verad Bellveil, a curiously odd merchant of “dubious” goods that Roen had accidentally encountered in Limsa. He too had lent her threads of wisdom in their conversations. His words left her with inkling of hope, the same hope he held for his own goods.

 

"This isn't your fault," Osric offered, his growly voice promising retribution. "And you can be gods-damned sure the rest of us'll see to balancing Nald's scales."

 

Was that what she wanted? Would that close the gaping wound that still bled her from within? Crimson Mountain was dead; Delial, his lover, had done the deed herself. Askier had been tortured to an inch of his life. Gharen was free and alive, and Natalie…

 

Natalie was still back in Ul’Dah, serving as a Brass Blade, answering to the will of the Syndicate.

 

“This will most likely be my goodbye to you.” Kage had looked upon her with sad tearful eyes. “I... I couldn't let it only be my beret.”

 

That white feathered beret. Osric had delivered it with the rest of her things from her room in Ul’Dah. She knew it was not hers.

 

“Come now, Roen!" Kage's voice came to her from a simpler, happier time. "It’s the new trend! We both have one. You should too!” The Lalafell had worn such a proud grin when he modelled his newest prize, those many moons ago. The beret had a brilliant golden chocobo feather sticking out from one side.

 

The pristine white fabric seemed to drink in the shining gleam of the new white paladin armor all three of them wore. The dark blue Sultansworn surcoat hung proudly from the shoulders. Even many suns after the Oath ceremony, it had still made Roen pause with admiration at the paladin regalia.

 

Natalie had mirrored Kage’s smile, looking down at the Lalafell. Both tipped their beret in Roen’s direction, the slight breeze of the afternoon causing the fine golden feather fingers to dance and wave in the air. “You would look ravishing,” Natalie said with a laugh.

 

Roen just shook her head, her arms crossed in front of her with skepticism. “Ah, nay. I think I can do without. I prefer my helm.”

 

“You can’t wear your helm all the time! Especially not in the city!” Kage’s enthusiastic smile was almost contagious. “We are all Sultansworns now! I am just going to have to get you one, and you will have to wear it.”

 

“You would not dare!” Roen vehemently waved her hands in front of the Lalafell, though a smile broke through despite her dismay. The three of them had laughed, there in the middle of the Ul’Dah thoroughfare.

 

The memory seemed ages past.

 

"It has been a pleasure and my honor to have known you, and to have been your oath-brother." Those were Kage’s last words as he visited Roen, bearing the grim warning that Captain Anduron was planning to send men after her to bring her back on charges of desertion. Kage had been charged with the task, but he defied the orders in warning her instead, intending to resign as a Brass Blade upon his return. He seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited him after.

 

Roen glanced to the side where that white feathered beret sat, on the stones next to her. Her eyes lingered there, watching the wispy fingers as they trembled with each passing breeze. Such pride used to swell her chest before, back when the Oath was as real to her as the love her brothers and sisters of the shield bore her, and she them. And now…

 

It only brought her sorrow and doubt. Would it always be this way? Kiht had looked upon her with such pity, her dark ears flattened against her head. Was that how the rest of them saw her?

 

I am not broken. I just need to learn to get back up.

 

Roen slowly straightened, drawing a deep breath in. Her eyes followed the course of the white waters as it made its descent from the clifftops to the rocky landing below.

 

Such a violent fall...

 

But the mists that resulted from it caught the sun’s rays, calling forth an arc of colors that that shimmered and painted the blue sky.

 

Roen sat motionless and stared at the misty air, trying to discern the colors for a long time.