What You Are In The Dark【Complete】

[Nero]

"Even if I didn't want to cancel construction, I can't provide you with any more materiel."

 

The response that came through the pearl was a calm and verbose yet indignant series of jabbers. It was the closest to annoyed that Arturieaux had ever sounded.

 

"Then repurpose them. You've got a creative mind, haven't you? I'm sure you can reuse them for something else." A sigh. "We can talk about this later. I'll update you if I manage to continue the supply." Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear and absentmindedly dropped it into an empty wine glass that was resting nearby. The water rippled and splashed against the sides of the bathtub as he sunk deeper into its warm embrace. 

 

It'd been a few days since his...mental collapse, but the most important questions had thus far failed to find answers. Had he actually given up? It was true that he'd ceased the shipping of steel and ceruleum, but that was mostly because he'd lost his main source of income since the mutiny on the Forte. He did have relatively livable sums of gil streaming from his investments, but not nearly enough to fund a project of that scale any more. He barely had enough to pay Shael for her last shipment, and then she'd inevitably hear about his inability--or unwillingness--to pay for any further materiel.

 

What did it matter, anyway? What did Ul'dah mean to him? 

 

"Did you really believe in what I believed in, or do you simply seek Ul'dah's betterment because you felt that such a righteous and noble vision justified your existence?"

 

He'd questioned Roen's involvement, but it seemed that his own involvement in his own plan was no better. Maybe that was all he wanted. Something to justify his existence. Nero reached for the wine bottle that rest on the floor outside the tub. He noted that he'd been drinking far more often as of late, not out of anguish, but simply because he'd never really noticed the fine taste and quality of such beverages before. The smuggler had been far too caught up in his day-to-day business to indulge in such hedonism that often.

 

The most fatal mistake a businessman could make was to buy into the sunk cost fallacy. Cutting losses now and saving something was better than investing everything and gaining nothing.

 

Ul'dah, Ul'dah, innocents, women and children...Nero's mind involuntarily spiked with pain at even recalling that last phrase. Suddenly, he violently threw the wine bottle across the room with as much force as he could muster, the unfortunate vessel splitting apart in a magnificent shower of glass and velvet-coloured liquid.

 

"What do I care about their innocents anyway?" he said out loud to nobody in particular, sinking into the tub until the water reached the bottom of his chin. "That's all they want. Defending their innocents. They don't give a rat's ass about anyone else but their precious innocents." As long as they felt like they were doing their job, they couldn't care less about whether or not they were actually doing it. Bandits, corruption, violence...there was no point to trying to stop these things, in the same way that there was no point in trying to stop it from raining. All one could do was build a roof over their heads, and Nero had managed to build quite a sturdy one in Vylbrand.

 

As for who "they" were, the term brought up a myriad of faces. Roen's, the Sultansworns, the nobles, all of them who were obnoxiously self-righteous. If they're content with it, then fine. Let that city fester and rot until it's nothing but bare bones.

 

Maybe he'd just go ahead and give Scythe some of the spare magitek. That'd certainly make things more entertaining. A raid on the nobles, perhaps? The Brass Blades were equipped to deal with Amal'jaa and bullying unarmed merchants, nothing more. Explosives, maybe? The rifles were already quite substantial in terms of firepower. Nero had told Scythe that the latter should focus on recruiting as many bodies from Pearl Lane as possible. After all, those innocents don't matter, and they can't be poor if they're killed by Brass Blades or Sultansworn or whoever else decided that the status quo was satisfactory.

 

It really doesn't matter anymore, does it.

 

Nineteen years of his life down the drain, only to be stopped by the people he thought would help him. At least he quit before the climax.

 

As long as they get to protect the innocents.

 

He picked up another wine bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth.

 

Either way, my involvement is done.

[Coatleque]

(( Beware the wall of text below. And curse me for my thoroughness and unwillingness to summarize good dialogue! ))

---

The sun had long since set and the party at the Bismark was beginning to die down as people slowly trickled off to their homes or other business ventures. Coatleque had said her own goodbyes a few moments before. Earlier than her still was seen Verad Belleveil doing the same. They had spoken only briefly - in such social interactions, she was more wont to do the listening - but this was not the place to discuss business matters. Drinks were agreed upon before she would have to flee the city to return to Thanalan. Even now, moons since the incident at Moraby, she was not entirely welcome in La Noscea.

 

Entering the Drowned Wench, she spotted her quarry sitting alone at a table across the way. She made her way towards him but not before scanning the tavern for any Jackets in uniform. At this point being perfectly paranoid of potential premium placed upon her head, she could take no chances. Taking the empty chair across from him at the table, she smoothed her dress and folded her hands in front. He had seemed to contend himself, in the mean time, with a rather foul-looking mug of grog and was quietly muttering to himself.

 

"It's almost no fun to drink here, you know. They have no 'worst drink'."

"Master Bellveil. You could opt for something less than wost once in a while." She interrupted his thought.

"Ser Crofte! But I do! After I've had the worst. The best is much better that way."

"That... does make sense." She replied as she found herself seriously considering his method.

"I do make it from time to time. I take it this has naught to do with the coupon?"

 

He spoke of a certain coupon she still carried which was issued and endorsed by Dubious Distributions for a full one quarter off of the price of a good or service. Earlier that evening it was made known that the palace carpets had incurred a few new stains due to the mishandling of a leve. Dubious Distributions had taken up responsibility to clean said stains and Coatleque intended to use her coupon on behalf of the city-state.

 

"You are correct, however. I am not here about your cleaning bill. I have heard you make sense before. Such as your rather heated views on Ul'dahn politics."

 

She spoke, of course, about a certain poker game they were both present for at the Mandercrown Manse. Things did not end quite as expected that night. Both left the estate knowing far more about each other than they had any right to. Once the assembled had their tongues losened with wine, however, Mister Bellveil could not help but state to all exactly what he thought of their current involvements with each other.

 

"You've certainly heard enough on that point, I'm sure."

"Nearly every day for the past cycle at least.", she replied curtly.

"Huh! Well, I haven't spoken to you on the matter, so I am puzzled as to how you've heard that."

 

She tilted her head slightly before realizing her own ambiguousness.

"Oh, I meant politics in general that I hear about. You, on the other hand, were rather loud at Mandercrown's Manse."

"A matter I continue to not regret, for a variety of different reasons. And a stance I still hold."

"Such is your prerogative. I thought perhaps I would give you the opportunity to question me privately over the matter. Perhaps I can offer you a chance to affect the situation more directly."

 

There was a pause as the Duskwight gazed at her over his mug of bitter sadness.

"Mayhaps I will take that, if only to satisfy my own curiosity on the matter. What, pray, are you allowing me to ask?"

Her expression turned slightly amused at his priety over the matter.

"You may ask whatever you wish. I may chose whether to answer of course."

 

Coatleque was not prone to monologuing her entire dealings within the Sultansworn, and especially not with her external contacts. There was a fine rope she tread between either side and keeping her balance was tantamount to ensuring proper justice. Lately this balance was shifting further from her to a darker end she was not comfortable with. Tonight she aimed to rectify this however possible. Verad watched her as he considered the sanction he was just given.

 

"Hrm. Quite a lot to answer, there."

"Indeed. Though at this point you seem to have a more firm grasp of the situation than even I."

"How so? I can't say I've been involved in it since that evening at the manse."

"Nor have I, in truth. My investigation has been stalled while I was distr... busy with distracting someone else."

 

She had hoped her verbal slip would be unnoticed. In truth she was distracted. Her goal of keeping Jameson busy for Roen had meant she herself was also kept busy from Lazarov. While she was wasting time here, his plans would still be in motion. She was running out of time. Verad scratched the side of his beard while considering the matter now.

 

"What was Taeros planning to do with that first shipment, anyhow? The one that started all this and has not been seen."

She sighed. It always came back to that one night, and she had grown tired of re-hashing those events.

"I wish the man never even bothered with that nonsense. We were investigating the deaths of a fellow Sultansworn, and the poisoning of Roen in the palace gaols. Per his words, he was attempting to trace where large quantities of Somnus may have been originating from outside of Thanalan. Lazarov just happened to be the smuggler who made the shipment."

 

"Somnus? That's not what I'd heard were the shipment's contents."

"T'was the bulk of the shipment. What, pray tell, did you hear was the rest?"

"Steel and ceruleum. The same things Nero has been seeking for some time."

"Ah, not this shipment." She replied as she readjusted her seating.

"Mayhaps. The one that Roen was supposed to 'intercept' from Nero's tip-off."

"Exotic goods, contraband, Ishgardian imports, and Limsan made firearms."

"The less I hear of Ishgardian imports the better.", he quipped almost knowingly. "And the shipment, the firearms especially, vanished. Nobody could account for them. Where did they go?"

 

"Quite so. All of it was turned over to the Blades by Natalie. Most of it remains in their hands, except for the arms which I am told have disappeared. I had no idea until just after Starlight when there was a firefight in Pearl Lane. One gang trying to muscle out a rival. They used Limsan made small-arms."

 

"Interesting. The very same?"

"That I cannot say. The originals were never inspected closely enough for comparison. But what else could they be?"

"That gets to my next question - what exactly is Nero's plan? Or was? As far as you know."

 

What indeed was Nero Lazarov planning. The question that Crofte herself had been pondering for weeks now. She heard many theories, but had little evidence for any particular one. All she knew was that he was a very determined Pirate, and the monetarists were feeling the effects now. If trade began to dip further, the wrong people may decide to take action.

 

"Your guess is as good as mine. If you believe Miss Llorn, he is building some sort of Garlean doomsday device."

"I'm not sure what else he could be doing with that much ceruleum and steel."

"From what I recently heard from Roen, whatever they are planning it involves Ul'dah and a radical change of a 'corrupt system'."

 

It was true she had recently spoken with Roen herself. The meeting was not mutual, they were practically thrust upon each other by a third party. A party who was now holding yet another smear article over their heads as a threat unless one of them finally acted to shift the balance. Verad continued on.

 

"I was there to see him make that deal. Large quantities, regular shipments. I doubt he intended to build low-income heated housing."

She shrugged at Verad with a slight smirk.

"One can hope? Compared to the Goblet, that would certainly be a radical change..."

"If I were able to buy out the shipments, mayhaps that'd be true."

 

His suggestion gave her pause.

"I can't imagine what that would cost."

"Between the inheritance and dividends from Vesper Bay, it's more feasible than I originally believed."

"I am glad to hear you are doing so well at least."

"It undermines my selling position," he snorted with some measure of disgust "but I manage. Most people assume I'll be free of the worries of gil ere long. Mayhaps they're right."

"That is not such a bad problem to have, is it?"

 

Verad took a drink, swills it around with a pained look - probably from the drink itself - and set the mug back down again.

"I have to engage in the levemeets because many people assume I am running a scam on the Goblet. Strict compliance is my only defense. I am not taken seriously by the wealthy, and I lose my credibility with the poor."

 

The sudden conversational shift to the merits of fiscal responsibility had her eyes glaze over. She rolled them to the side with a tilt of her head.

"This is why I leave finances to others."

"It's a digression at any rate. The next question is simpler - why would I want to be more involved?"

 

She found his directness refreshing.

"Simple. You sounded quite angry at the apparent lack of action by either side. I am preparing to move against the pirate soon, but I need help."

"I am. But, the more I thought of it, the more of a comfort it appeared to be. Inaction, after all, means ineffectiveness. I would be comfortable with a stalemate of move and counter-move once I extracted myself from it - and given my last conversation with Miss Deneith, I've done that quite ably."

 

"Roen..." Coatleque's voice lowered with her eyes as she studied the wood grains in the table. "I fear she is losing herself to this man."

Verad rested his hand on the hilt of one of the daggers at his sides. Not in a threatening gesture - his grip being too light and in the wrong place to draw.

"Let her be lost, then."

Her eyes widened at that as her attention snapped back to him. "You do not mean that..."

 

"What else is there to do at this juncture? I've spoken with her. I've heard the words from her own lips. She is as much a part of this plan as he is. Do you ever think of how little we think of her, to think she could only come to this conclusion because of some man?"

"I... no. What I do think is that he is not telling her his true intentions."

 

Her words were a half truth. Verad was right, and she knew it. For all the time she had known Roen, she was always treated as a child by those around her. As a teenager about to be thrust into the world, and all the parentals around her were doing their best to shelter her from it. Had it ever crossed her mind that the woman truly was convinced and accessory to Nero's plans? This was not the place for such musings, however. She continued.

 

"Have you heard what he is capable of? About the noble house he had extinguished?"

"I had not." He replied with a shake of his head. Coatleque cleared her throat and lowered her voice once more for fear of being overheard in this place.

"The man ordered the execution of an entire Ul'dahn noble house. Men, women, and children."

Verad widened his own eyes now, but only for a moment. His jaw set. "Does she know this?"

"She does now. He did not tell her when it was done."

 

Coatleque swallowed hard then as the relization of what she had just revealed set into her mind once more. Yet there was that other piece of truth which continued to claw at her mind every time she repeated the words. You have no proof. She never did. All of her leads were based off rumor and happenstance. In the end, she had no hard evidence that the man was anything more than 'just a pirate'.

 

"And yet, given her absence here, I can assume that she is still in his presence.", Verad continued.

"It is as you say."

"Let her be lost, then."

"She swore to me she would have stopped him if she knew of the plan." Coatleque protested suddenly. "She swears she would still do so. This tells me he is not being honest with her. She asks me to believe he will not do such again, but..."

 

Verad took another drink, finishing the foul liquid and setting the empty mug aside.

"You know, she came to me about whether or not to reveal information to someone, knowing that doing so might hurt Nero."

"Oh?"

"No minor gossip, either - Nero had done the man a great wrong. But she was conflicted all the same. And the more I listened to her dilemma, the more it sounded as if she weren't certain because it would put Nero and the man's plan at risk. In the end, she had decided to withold information from the man. I wonder what she's withholding from you?"

 

"I would say I was surprised if not for what I now know. Did she reveal this information?"

"Only after I undermined her and told him she knew. We argued, of course - this was just before the card game, in fact - and she insisted that he would have found 'closure through other means,' I believe were her words. Means that I assume meant no harm to Nero."

"Indeed."

Verad inhaled slowly.

"So, no, I do not trust her. I think she's in love, and it's very easy to convince a person like that to do anything. It's why I don't indulge in the emotion myself."

 

The two sat in silence for a time as she mulled over his words. How distracted had she been exactly? How long had she now pulled herself away from larger issues that she could not see any of this happening right before her? She found herself staring at the table once more. Her mouth twitched when Verad broke the silence.

 

"But I think it's also possible that she's decided for herself, lies or no, that Nero's path is the right path."

"I know not which of us is the greater fool then. Though I did encourage her to pursue his affections."

"With or without knowing the extent of the matter?"

She blinked and looked up sharply.

"Without, of course. T'was moons ago before any of this came to light. Just after that shipment was taken."

"Then I can hardly fault you for the matter."

"Despite all of this, Master Bellveil, she is my friend. Yet now she is forcing me to draw a blade against her to protect the city she once served. As well as the man she seeks to destroy."

"Ah, right, that - there's another question. Now, when I was lying in the street, half my ribs broken, my face a pulp, and what I'm fairly sure was at the time a shattered family jewel, and you appeared to mend my wounds before others could pull me away from the Blades - were you already at Taeros' arm? As I saw you at Starlight?"

 

She found her stomach twisting in knots suddenly. Of all the lines of questioning this one she was least prepared for. Yet it should not have been compeltely unexpected. She certainly had made no amount of effort to hide their relationship in recent weeks. Her expression became slightly serious again as her training took over and set her nerves to 'business' mode once more.

 

"I... no, I was not."

"And you know it was under his orders that I found myself in that state, do you not?"

"Half true, if at all. Natalie Mcbeef gave the order."

"Why, pray, would she do that?"

"Why did Natalie do anything? Misguided senses? Fell on her head once too many? In this case, she was working with Jameson rather closely. I still do not know what she knew about him."

 

Verad shook his head, obviously unconvinced.

"On her own initiative, of course. He keeps his hands clean. He was hardly at risk when I found the milkweed milk in one of his warehouses, the relics in another. There was always someone else who would suffer for those discoveries."

"Considerable setbacks as they were to him."

"So, knowing this, knowing that because they were his setbacks - and these were no small things, no safe and legal goods that were lost to him - I found myself in that state on the street. And you know this. And still you are at his arm."

 

There was another pause as she realized the implications he was levying at her.

"It... is complicated. More-so than you may like to believe."

"Convince me. Because Roen has done a very poor job indeed of the same."

Coatleque looked back down to the table, her hands were knit together in a tight ball.

"Roen is my friend, as I said. You are aware of her history with Taeros? And her brother?"

"I only met her brother recently. Beforehand she had not told me he existed. But yes, I am aware of the history with Taeros."

"After she was released from the gaols and cleared, I had aimed to help her further investigate Taeros. Our intention was to gain leverage to finally bring him low."

"Of that I am aware. Indeed, I played my part."

 

She continued.

"After the incident with the Blades, after Natalie... died... the balance shifted. I had to do something to keep him distracted. I had nothing else to throw at him but... but myself."

He looked at her flatly.

"I would not blame you for thinking the worst of me."

 

She had expected beration, consternation, and further accusations about Oaths and Morals. Instead Verad just raised his eyebrows at the confession. "Of course, such tactics are far from uncommon. You've read my memoirs, and I engaged in them myself in at least two chapters. Similarly, part of the problem with such tactics, as happened in one chapter, was that I found myself so thoroughly charmed by the hidden depths of the succubus that I was loathe to banish her. Do you find yourself charmed by hidden depths?"

 

"... yes, of course. Of course you did. There is nothing I can say to make it sound any less tawdry. Only that I have done far worse in my past."

He shook his head.

"That's not my question. I'm not judging you for the act, Ser Crofte. What I am asking is if it is no longer an act."

"Whether it is or not at this point, does it matter anymore? Roen has lost sight of her original goal. I cannot continue to distract him and make Ul'dah weaker while Nero is planning Twelve-knows-what against the city."

 

"It matters because on the one hand I am assumed to be loyal to someone who is acting against the city I hold dear on the one hand, and am being asked for assistance by the agent of someone who had me beaten half to death on the other. Who knows he had it done."

 

"If I had known what Natalie was going to do..." She began to defend herself then stopped and slowly shook her head. "Nothing I can say will excuse it. I will not even try."

 

"Then that Anden fellow from the trial would have done it. I do not fault your actions at the time, Ser Crofte. I believe you when you say you didn't know. What galls me is knowing it now and still coming to me for aid."

 

"I understand it is ... much to ask. I would leave if you wish me to, with nothing further, but know that your assistance helps me more than him still. He is starting to trust me..." As she said this her hand reached up to her neckline and pulled forth the silver key on a chain around her neck. "I have access to his personal office."

"And?"

"And... Even if I wanted to leave, I may not reach the door alive."

"He trusts you, and therefore you know too much."

"Whether deception or not, I am no longer free to decide."

"Therefore you need some other person to make use of that key around your neck."

 

"I... perhaps. Even still he will know where it came from. I can find his secrets myself in time, I am sure of it."

"Then I have to confess my confusion. What involvement do you seek, if not that?"

 

Back to the task at hand. Her expression turned serious once more and her voice steady.

"As I said, there is a greater threat that needs to be dealt with first. What good is destroying Taeros if Nero then destroys us the next day?"

"If you like I can throw a dragon at him. Mayhaps convince him to make use one of these relics that have been lurking about."

"... if you can summon such things to your will then perhaps there are two threats now..."

 

She spoke with some measure of sarcasm which elicited an inquisitive, almost dumbfounded stare from the Duskwight.

"You have no idea what's been going on around the desert, do you?"

 

She tilted her head just then. "I have been rather distracted lately, if you were paying attention... Something I plan to remedy while James is away on business again."

"No, I understand, it's fine. Suffice it to say no, I cannot summon such things to my will, and even if I did I would use them to trail advertisements in the Thanalan sky. But please, go on. This greater threat. What would you have me do?"

 

"Oh, right. The night of Natalie's death she had secured a note with an address in the Goblet. It was to be a meeting place between Sebastian Redgrave and some unknown contact. I now know that Redgrave is just an alias for Nero. Whoever he was meeting may have information on where to find him, or stop his shipments at the least."

"Do you want his shipments stopped?"

"If it helps, then of course. Otherwise, my goal is to bring the man in to face justice. But the address is in the Goblet, and my face is well known in Thanalan."

"If you want them stopped, give me Taeros' funds, and they will be stopped.

 

She quirked an eyebrow while sitting in stunned silence at the request.

"This is no jest! I can stop them, but I require the funds. Do so, and Nero will never lay hands on another without resorting to outright piracy."

 

The very idea of trying to reallocate Jameson's funds brought a rather unpleasant memory to light. She instinctively rubbed her throat slowly.

"It is not Nero's hands I am worried about in that case."

"Propose it to him openly, then. Is he the type to require a business plan?"

"It may help. I could propose the idea to him. What I cannot do is re-appropriate them myself."

"As for the warehouse, I am gathering you want another body there for the investigation?"

"Aye, that is what I am looking for."

"In that case, I have to decline."

"It need not be you." She interjected at his refusal

"I will not send another in my place."

"I see... and understand."

 

They sat in silence once again for a good while as both had much to think on. Again it was he who spoke up.

"This is the last I'll speak on the matter. If Taeros accepts the idea of simply buying out Nero's shipments, by all means, let me know. But I have other

concerns, and Roen clearly does not desire my assistance - or anyone's, I should think."

"... she was your friend once as well... Verad. If we simply abandon her altogether will it not only push her further away?"

 

Coatleque's expression was almost imploringly. For that instance all she could think of was losing her friend to whatever path of madness Nero was leading her down. "It is not a matter of what she wants, but what she needs..."

 

"Hardly. I think acting in a manner counter to what she wants before she's reached the same conclusion we have will do that. How she will -rage-! Imagine those eyes turned on yours as she insists that she could have -saved- him, if we'd only given him more time. But you misunderstand. She was never a friend. Not that way. I can count on one hand the number of times we met and I was not there to console her from a crisis of faith."

 

His confession shocked her into silence once more. Slowly she sat back before continuing.

"Perhaps we differ in our ideals of friendship then. No matter... your mind is set, as is mine."

 

Verad leaned back and closed his eyes in thought.

"No, never a friend. She was an ideal. I saw her at her lowest point, moons ago, and never have I seen someone who so embodied my principles in that moment. What could I do but help her? But more fool me for treating people as principles, I suppose."

"So what am I to you then, Master Bellveil? I should like to know where I stand in case our lives depend on one another again."

 

Her voice was low but serious. The conversation had taken an unexpectedly dismal turn. Verad only tipped his head to the side and rested his chin upon his hand as he gave her a scrutinizing look. She held his gaze but the expression she returned was forlorn. She did not want to lose yet another friend over a difference of ideals.

 

"A stoic Sworn with poor luck when it comes to the unfair sex and a desire to defend the city - even its worst. My savior - and I know a genuine one, and for that I hold you in great respect." He looked up to the ceiling before continuing. "And there's something to be said for someone who can put up with me in the altogether. No, I think I'd call you friend more than I'd call Roen that. I feel a need to help you because you are you, and not because you embody something else to me."

 

Her expression turned most serious for a moment after that as she took in his words. "Thank you, Verad. And I would defend such again if I had to. So we are clear - my duty is not influenced by my personal life. I will not allow Jameson Taeros to cause me to harm others for his little games."

"I have faith that will prove true when it's put to the test. And if you find yourself on the end of his wrath, I have a house full of heavily armed Keepers, as you've seen. Safe harbor is an option."

 

Managing something of a smile at that notion, she rose from the table to be on her way for the night. "I pray every night it does not come to that. I will continue to influence him as much as I can in the mean time. If you have no further questions, I should return to the city before I am missed."

"Likewise I believe I have an appointment that I may have kept waiting. Oschon guide you on your path, Ser Crofte."

"And on yours as well, Master Bellveil. I pray we meet again soon, and in better light."

 

She gave the man a slight bow before turning and making her way to the airship. Her heart was heavier than she would have liked to admit though. With no further help, it seemed she would need to turn to another organization for her plans.

[Coatleque]

Nothing.

There was no evidence. No new leads. No information. For all her planning she was no closer to finding Lazarov than before. The sting on the merchant house in the Goblet lead to nothing more than angry words and bitter accusations. After losses had been cut it was Miss Callae who insisted Coatleque herself report the results to Jameson. Had Gharen not been present she might have lost her composure right then and there.

 

On top of this, she had received word that one of Jameson's latest trades had gone awry when bandits attacked the shipment between Highbridge and Drybone. Mister North had been injured in the attack. She was not privy to the specific events that had unfolded, and while she knew Jameson held no personal love for the man it would not do for his favorite valet to be maimed.

 

The woman's fears only grew until she at last came to the inn where Mister North was being tended to. After inquiring on him of the attendant on duty she was given the room number and let into the back hallway. Cautiously she approached the opened door and wrapped lightly on the frame. The man looked up as calm and composed as ever, despite being in what appeared to be a patient's gown and wearing some kind of supportive brace under it.

 

"May I assist?"

She barely stepped through the threshold before looking him over at a distance.

"You? Assist? Even in this state?" She would not yet approach, however.

"Ah. Miss Crofte. Pray forgive my somewhat... unproductive circumstances. I would bow if the situation permitted."

 

She blinked incredulously. "You will do no such thing! Not until you are feeling well, anyway. It is bad enough Master Taeros's favorite valet had to meet such a state. I'll not have him exacerbating it." He inclined his head nevertheless as she crossed the room just then to stand at the foot of his bed, suddenly emboldened by her purpose.

 

"Rest assured, Miss, I am doing my utmost to tend to my own inconveniences. The local medics, for whatever reason, seemed loath to allow me to use my OWN restorative arts." He paused. "Well. I should not linger on the negative. Miss's concern is appreciated."

 

Coatleque's eyes looked up towards the ceiling with no movement of her head. "Of course not. You know there is no shame in allowing someone else to serve you now and again. That is why they are here, after all."

"Nonsense. Surely if I have spent this long studying the art of servitude, I should prove wholly capable of applying the same principles to myself--ah, pardon."

 

She shook her head slowly as her eyes turned downward again. "You confound me at times, but I understand you - I think. We all serve in our own ways I suppose." To this he gave a wry smile.

 

"I am pleased to clarify, Miss. However, my earlier question still stands. Is there any capacity in which I may assist?"

She blinked a few times before quirking a brow.

"I believe you do enough as is, Mister North."

"Yet Miss is here requiring something?" he replied with a tilt of his head.

"Requ... no. I heard what happened when the shipment arrived. I felt it necessary to see to you personally. For both our sakes."

"Ah, so Miss is here requiring reassurance." he said with a knowing nod.

 

The man was very astute. His grasp of the situation gave her some comfort however. She could not deny the feeling of being alone on this path and it was good to see someone else making the attempt at keeping some semblance of order.

 

"James.. Master Taeros will return soon. I believe we both have ill tidings for him. Doubly so for me if something happened to you."

"I hardly expect milord would be altogether aggrieved, unless such an attack marks a deliberate movement by one of his adversaries. Happily, my assailant appeared far too disorganized, and indeed too incompetent, for this to be the case."

 

He paused then with furrowed brows as he recounted the events prior. Her expression did perk up slightly once she realized the attack was not as serious as the initial reports sounded.

"Are you positive? You did not recognize this attacker?"

"Not in the slightest, Miss. A bare-chested hooligan with no apparent insignias, with movements bespeaking ruthlessness and muscle rather than discipline and intent... who nevertheless managed to wrest me from Chesterfield's back. Most appalling."

 

Her thoughts turned back to a dire warning she received some days before, along with a feeling of helplessness at the situation.

"Honestly, I am surprised you had no escort for this trip."

"Strictly speaking, Miss, I WAS the escort. I am not altogether untrained in self-defense."

He paused again, appraising her tone as if unsure she was slighting him.

 

"Apologies, I meant no offense... I simply meant... well... I've no idea what was being delivered."

"None taken. Miss may rest assured, however... milord's commodities remained untargeted and unharmed, and I myself should be fully recovered within a scant few days. Minimal damage done, all in all. I should hope the entire incident should not cause undue stress on any account."

"No... no, of course not. James trusts you, and so I do as well. As often as I stay the night, that should be apparent."

 

She did not lie in this. Her presence was becoming a more regular sight around the estate, though she mostly kept to herself or close to Jameson. She found herself watching the servants carefully more and more since Roen's warning. She folded her hands in front of her, wringing one within the other nervously before switching to the other. Gideon inclined his head with a satisfied smile.

 

"I presumed, Miss, that that was for an entirely different set of reasons."

"Hmm Oh, you jest, aye?" she stated halfheartedly. There was no sign of mirth in her voice.

"Of course, Miss. Forgive an invalid his whimsy."

"Apologies, I have been on edge lately after receiving word from someone. This attack was not entirely unexpected."

 

It seemed to her that someone else ought to know what was happening. Someone should be prepared in case she was not there. Who better than the man second closest to him? Gideon raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Indeed, Miss?"

 

"I was told by Miss Deneith that ... people would be coming for James. That I should not be in their way. I fear this is only the start, or rather a continued assault."

 

"...Hrm. Is Miss in any danger?"

Her expression straightened and she looked at him almost incredulously, as if the question was insulting.

"Might I remind you of the Order I serve? I can certainly handle a blade. Her Grace trusts me with such. No.. I do not fear for myself."

"Indeed, Miss... but as Starlight proved, the finest may yet be hampered by... unfortunate circumstances. Let me rephrase: is Miss to be targeted?"

"No. No, Roen would not target me. Despite all of this we are still friends. She is just... misguided. Yes, that is all."

 

Her words fell forth as if she was trying to convince herself of their truth. She had already told Roen she had no desire to draw steel against her. But after her conversation in the Drowned Wench with Master Bellveil she was beginning to doubt it could be prevented. If Roen truly believed in what she was doing... that these rumored actions could be justified...

 

"Is she the person in question? Who you believe would be instigating these attacks...?" he continued.

"Possibly. I mean... no. Perhaps I have said too much already. She warned me they would be coming, that is all I know."

He hummed in thought.

"She is obsessed with destroying the man. I cannot allow that. Not any longer. Please, be careful."

"I see. I shall keep a book close to bed. Miss's concern is most kind."

"Of course. If you have need of anything, Mister North, send word. It seems I must run things while you are away here."

 

The position was not one she had ever pictured herself in. As the apparent 'Lady of the house' she felt a certain responsibility to see things were kept running smoothly while Jameson was away. In truth it was Mister North who handled things, but with him kept here in bed the rest of the help had seen fit to slack off to an extent.

 

"My heavens. I did not mean to impose so large a burden."

Coatleque managed to crack a smile.

"Even you deserve a rest now and again. I will try not to handle everything for you though."

He closed his eyes in thought for a moment before perking back up somewhat.

"Ah, I know. Does Miss have any particularly favored foods, or treats? I will prepare something as recompense upon my return."

 

The question was certainly unexpected. She gazed at him in thought as she tried earnestly to remember every meal she had eaten in her nights spent at the Estate. There were too many to recall just one in particular. Then an idea struck her as she thought back to that evening at the Bismark.

 

"There was a lovely bit of lamb that I remember from the Bismark. It was served with some rather strong wine. Perhaps you remember that night? I have faith that you can replicate the recipe."

He blinked. His only sign of remembrance while his smile remained fixed in place.

"...Of course, Miss. I recall it well."

"Perhaps better than I. Hmm.. no matter."

"Then, yes. I will be more than happy to do so."

"Then I shall consider us even, Mister North. Do rest up. The rest of the help is lost without you - I am a poor substitute."

 

A sharp and sudden exhale marked a contained laugh from his position on the bed.

"As you say, Miss. Do not allow me to occupy more of your schedule than I am due. I will contact you if I have any further information."

"Ah, you do smile! Fear not, I shall not make it known. Until then, Mister North. Twelve watch over you."

The man looked down at her call-out, almost self-consciously before nodding with eyes averted.

"You as well, Miss."

[Coatleque]

Coatleque sighed as she quickly and quietly opened the door to Jameson's office. The day had long since ended and there were a few things she would have liked to have in place before he arrived back the next day. A small bundle of sealed letters were tucked under one arm as she rolled her way along the door into the dim light and closed it behind her. She turned only to stop dead in her tracks with a start, much like a child who was just caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

 

Jameson had returned early and was sitting at his desk and leaning forward slightly. He both smiled, and did not at the same time.

"Coatleque. I was not expecting you at this late hour. Are you unwell?"

She shook her head once with a blink still surprised at his early return.

"James. No, no of course not. I was only seeing to matters while..."

 

Even as she spoke someone else entered behind her, forcing her to stand aside unexpectedly. It was one of the manservants she had seen delivering news before. Jameson gave the man his professional smile and received a nod in return.

"Esmond. No need for alarm. It is only Ser Crofte."

The pair at the door exchanged glances before she straightened herself off to the side to wait.

"Of course, milord", he began. "There is a message."

"Ah."

 

An envelope was slid across the desk which Jameson promptly took. The man, Esmond, bowed curtly before seeing himself out. Jameson took up a small dagger to the side of the desk and slit a neat gash along the crease with a deft flick. His brow furrowed as he read whatever news it delivered.

 

Coatleque had meanwhile moved off to the side of the room just beyond the hearth where another table was placed against the wall. She dropped her bundle of letters there before turning to face him again. "What is it?"

 

Jameson sighed. The letter was folded and returned to the envelope as promptly as it had been read. "Business.", he murmured. Unlocking his desk drawer he quickly slipped the letter in before closing and immediately locking it. Coatleque had sauntered her way to his desk by then, with slow, alternating steps that seemed to cross each other.

 

"Now then. What can I do for you?" He sounded weary. Just barely, but she had spent enough time with him now to tell when things were not going as planned. "For me? Nothing. I am not here for me. I expected you back tomorrow. Is something wrong?"

 

Jameson pursed his lips as if considering just how much he could trust her with, and then inclined his head. "A few things. Would that the people I trust the most actually do their jobs." His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his tone taking on an accusing timbre.

 

She cautiously moved closer then, crossing behind him and even daring to reach out and rub his shoulders over the back of his chair. He flicked a slight look of displeasure in her direction before reaching over and taking another sheaf of paper from the unlocked portion of his desk. Coatleque slowly stopped and retreated back to his side and behind. Her head bowed, she said nothing more as she stared towards the floor.

 

 

Jameson ignored her as he began a new letter addressed to a lord named "Hand". His handwriting was slow and deliberate as if focusing whatever was angering him into the very quill against the parchment. She maintained her silence until he chose to break it. Softly, curtly. "Your task bore no fruit, I note."

 

"My task is not yet complete..." she offered in rebuttal almost immediately, yet softly.

"Good. You will be... pleased to know Anden Anduron will no longer be your problem."

"... Why is that?"

"I have arranged for his freedom... and deportment. Of a sort."

"You... are letting him go?"

 

He did not pause nor falter in his writing as the letter continued to grow. From her position she could not make any of it out herself. His voice had become quieter though, more focused. "I need beasts of burden I can count on. He is a blunt instrument to be sure, but no more than some. And he is... loyal." The word was cut off with the click of his teeth as if biting it off specifically.

 

"It is not in my power to let him go. All I am doing is influencing those who do have the power to do my bidding. Surely that is not too hard to grasp?"

"... N-no." She took a slow breath and continued to stare at the floor, keeping her position.

 

"He will likely still be facing extradition charges, but anyone who even half cares will need venture up half a frozen mountain to find him." His voice dropped to a murmur just then. "And he can be my eyes, ears, and primary blade in that Halone-forsaken part of the world."

 

"James... is this entirely wise?" She ventured the question, unsure how he would react. She could not remain silent though, knowing what Anden had done. "N-not that I would stop you, but... he is not popular with the people. They will hear he has been released."

 

"Yes, they probably will." Jameson answered almost immediately, as if this had all been thought through. "There will be questions. They won't find their way back to me. I am telling you because you are my paramour and I trust you."

 

Coatleque found herself clutching at the silver key around her neck. She could only nod, quietly. Jameson continued his letter with every bit of determination. After a moment he nodded to himself and set it aside. "Lazarov is gaining on us." He spoke still in a murmur as if he did not want her to overhear. "With every ilm we lose."

 

"About that..."

He glanced to her sharply.

"Our raid in the Goblet was not entirely fruitless. Now that I know how owns the business. He and I have crossed paths before. A former lover of Natalie's. He does... owe me. Only he has proven elusive to track down."

 

C'kayah Polaali had in truth been absent since the night they attempted to infiltrate his business in the Goblet. She currently had squires out scouring the city to find him. She knew he would not have gone far and was eager to put this matter behind them. "Had I known he was involved beforehand... things would have gone differently." She added afterwords.

 

His expression turned somewhat thoughtful. "Name?"

"Polaali. C'kayah Polaali. A smuggler and vagrant."

"I see. And what are his feelings about Lazarov?"

 

"I do not know if he was involved directly with Lazarov," she began "but nothing would have passed through his house without him knowing. He is fiercely loyal to Ul'dah and has provided me with valuable information in the past. Which is why I... allow him to continue to operate. If he is aware of Lazarov's intent, I am sure he will talk to me."

 

Whether it was her confession or the news itself, his mood seemed to improve slightly. He did not reply though, only shot her a smirk from the side.

"We have one other lead, which..." She cut herself off before continuing as if she had reconsidered even mentioning this.

"... Master Gharen Wolfsong is tracking down."

 

"Deneith's... brother." he murmured in response with some distaste.

"James... even he can see that you tread the higher ground in this case. He may not like you, but he is helping me. Trying his best to disrupt supply lines to Lazarov. Hinder whatever he is planning."

 

Her concern over him caused another shift of his mood as his expression turned odd. "Love. My friends need not be yours, not vice versa. I rather enjoy our varied paths and associates." He sighed and rose, turning to face her.

 

"We will stop him. I promise." She replied in as reassuring a tone as she could manage.

Drawing closer to her, he seemed oddly melancholy for her words. "I have every confidence." A hand rose to toy with her collar as though it had been crooked again. His change of demeanor did cause her to relax from her submissive poise. "I count on you," he said quietly. "You know that."

 

Her head bowed once more. "I know. I wish I was more effective for you. My skills lay in... other areas. But... there was another issue, one of your shipments through Camp Drybone...."

"Oh?"

"Your valet was injured."

 

His voice remained low. "But you are learning more than a few valuable lessons. And--oh. Yes, he wrote me. I expect his return sometime this night."

"So soon?" she said with some astonishment. "I made the trip to be sure he was not on his death bed. With him gone, I have been directing the servants as best I can, but..."

 

Jameson only smirked at her. "Coatleque, that is beneath you. I did not always have a manservant. I assure you I thrived." This was not the first time he had expressed as much when she fussed over certain trivialities of the day. She was finally able to meet his gaze with some measure of confidence though. "And I am beneath you, am I not?"

 

His composure held for a brief moment as he adjusted the scarf around her neck. "Sometimes. Other times I am beneath you." It did not last long before he laughed his typical sly laugh. She looked at him blankly before realizing what she had said and turning her head away, cheeks nearly matching her hair.

 

"Oh, stop." He purred. "You would do anything I requested, barring a third party in the bed. I know you too well." His hand continued to toy with her collar.

"As I said... my skills are in other areas." She finally managed to stammer, choosing not to fight the situation.

 

He smiled. "Your news pleases me. I will accept some form of relaxation later tonight. I may have a specific request or two..." With that he tightened the scarf around her neck just a bit. She turned to look back into his eyes. "O-of course, my love. You have been away some time. I imagine you are quite eager." Her expression changed to worry as she examined the crease of his brow. "Yet... you look so weary. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"

 

Jameson's weight shifted as he drew closer to her, his voice turning sad even. "Much is wrong. Much is right. We struggle. That is part of the fun."

"But are not the wrongs easier to bear with someone else?" They stood silently together for a moment. "James?... Love?"

 

"Not if they add to the burden." He cupped her cheek with one hand to which she leaned into.

"There are times I fear... we walk too different a path."

"And other times?" she asked.

"And other times I feel we are precisely where we need to be."

He kissed her. Softly, swiftly. Her hand rose and held firm against his chest.

"I have kept my duty separate from... us. Despite the protests of some. Nobody has found true fault yet."

An arm suddenly swept her closer with a deepened embrace, yet his fingers graced the edge of her jaw with a feather's touch.

"And they should not. You are my sterling silver, Coatleque. You should remain unimpeachable in most regards."

 

She turned her head against him just then, resting against his shoulder.

"Is that for my protection, or yours?"

He looked up with a frown though she could not see it.

"I can protect myself. You have worked hard to get where you are." He tapped her lower lip with a gloved fingertip. "That being said, I am pleased you see the worth of dogs like Wolfsong." he said with another murmur.

 

His words gave her pause then as she leaned back, looking up to him. "Have I? And where am I?"

"I assume you have." His voice turned almost playful. This was a game he nearly enjoyed. "Did you f**k your way to the top?" Vulgarity from him was certainly rare. It would have caught anyone else off guard, perhaps even humorously.

 

"That is not funny." she said pointedly, insulted even. "I had no choice." It was her turn to frown now.

"Dear, your past life would have found little purchase. At least in most regards."

"... perhaps not, but I was happy. I was to be married. To have my own life. Now... now I serve others for twelve hours of every day."

 

She found herself now pushing away from him, slinking along the wall behind his desk towards the bar. He merely watched her with dark amusement over the whole thing. "It certainly brings to light a question if you did not work to get where you are at."

"I was a slave, James. That is not work..." she replied with masked pain.

 

"I fail to make the distinction then, between those skills and the ones needed to move up a Sultansworn ladder. I am however, quite curious now. Married? To whom?" Her annoyance faded into sadness as she turned away from him then. "What does it matter? He is dead now."

 

"What ended him, if I may be so bold?" Jameson came up beside her and selected a bottle of wine and two glasses. Coatleque glanced his way before moving back across the room to the table by the hearth. Quietly she began to sort them into separate piles by what she thought looked important. She honestly did not know if they were, but it was a distraction. "I did." she said at length.

 

He flicked a sharp look her way before going back to his preparations. It was certainly not the answer he expected. She knew more questions would follow so she decided to head them off. "I let him walk away. I let him approach the brigands. I let him die on the beach." Jameson had in the mean time crossed the room to stand between her and the fireplace, holding out one of the glasses for her. She hesitantly took the glass letting her fingers feel his gloved hand before holding the wine quietly and staring at the centerpiece of the table.

 

"It was his choice to approach. You merely allowed it. You did not kill him." His words were offered in at least some measure of quiet reverence as he tried to comfort her his own way. She took a drink and lowered the glass. "Well I certainly did not stop him. And when I cried out I doomed the rest of my village." Jameson listened to her quietly while he sipped his own glass. She closed here eyes then and took a slow breath in, then out. Another drink before she composed herself in front of him.

 

"As I said. What does it matter?"

"You did not. The brigands did. Men kill. It does not matter. I am saddened for your village, less so for your betrothed."

"why should you be? You did not know them."

He shrugged slightly. "Call me selfish. I enjoy your company."

 

Coatleque sighed. "As do I yours. I should not darken the evening with such memories." He shrugged again and she was about to set her glass down when he stopped her. "It is a dark night, dark thoughts are welcome." He raised his own glass in a darkly ironic toast which she joined before draining her glass. After another moment of silence she gestured to the piles of letters. "More business I presume?"

"Of course."

 

She turned and crossed the room once more to set her glass at the bar for Mister North to collect later. Jameson meanwhile collected the envelopes and returned to his desk, unlocking the drawer, and laying them within after a cursory glance. Closing the drawer he locked it without further word. Coatleque joined him once more from the left side, again standing slightly behind with her hands folded in front of her.

 

"What dark thoughts cross your mind this eve, then?"

"Many and more." He said with a sigh. "I have been seeking... expansion in other locales. As they present themselves. Timely that they should arise just as my troubles with Lazarov take sour turns. And so I must needs... assuage fears." He glanced to her. "You understand the importance of repute."

 

"I do. It is just... do you plan to travel over much?"

He frowned. "If I must". It was followed by a slight chuckle. "Why, would you relish a holiday?"

She found herself smiling at the notion. "We could both use one. But... no. I was given a rather dire warning by someone."

His interest was piqued once more as an eyebrow lifted. "What sort?"

"She said that people would be coming for you. That I should not be in their way."

The other brow lifted. "And who gave this?"

"... who else do you know that is seemingly out to ruin you? Lazarov is no woman."

"My dear, I have more enemies than I can count. A hazard of my business. Was it Deneith?" He ended with a knowing frown.

"It was."

 

Coatleque found her voice quieting the longer they ventured down this line of questioning. She knew full well what he expected her to do, yet once again she kept to her neutrality. His eyes narrowed on her. "How did she deliver this little missive to you?"

 

"That is not entirely important. What is, though, is your life. I am worried what she has planned."

"It is important to me, Coatleque." he replied quietly.

She crossed her arms and set her jaw, feigning confidence. "In person. Near the Sancrarium."

His expression did not change, thankfully, maintaining a rather neutral look. "And she had you outnumbered."

"We were... not alone. And I had another threat to deal with, concerning your favorite Lantern reporter."

 

He made a face at that, and the pressure was seemly thrown off of her apparent failure.

"Wonderful. Very well, what is the threat?"

She rubbed at her forehead with one hand as if even she could not believe. "Her most libelous work yet. I should have shown it to you for your amusement alone. I decided to spare you the stress. It has not been printed, but her threat was real enough. It would have hurt both you and Lazarov. Painting you as being in league with each other, and with Roen and I trying to over it all up."

 

"She is an idiot who makes up very convenient truths." Jameson observed. She nodded in agreement.

"I can handle Miss Llorn, though. Roen... is no longer welcome in the city." She added to reassure him.

"What is her exact aim? No one believes her idiocy any more."

"To sell her drivel?"

"Well then, one thing at a time."

 

With that, Jameson put a hand to his ear. "Esmond. I require you." He was clearly not happy at this point as he unlocked a lower drawer and withdrew a small coffer. From it he retrieved two small bags of coins. Each one he tied with short, sharp gestures. She watched him while they awaited Mister Dirk's arrival. He stopped and stared at the door with obvious displeasure at the lack of promptness. Coatleque decided to distract him with another question, for her own sake if not for Esmond's.

 

"Perhaps I may inquire something of you?"

"Yes." he murmured.

"How... do you feel about children?"

The question startled him almost immediately and he glanced her way.

"Why? Is there something I need to know?"

"About?"

 

She tilted her head inquiringly before starting herself and waving her hands in quick denial.

"Oh... OH! ... no, that is not what I meant!"

 

Mister Dirk quietly entered the room just then, bowed, and stood straight in front of his desk. "My lord." Jameson's attention was turned back to the man while Coatleque once again had to compose herself, face flushing red.

 

"I require you..." he began, "to contact two mercenaries and bring them to me. Tonight. The Holbrook girl, and the meaty cretin she keeps in tow. I have need of their services." With that he shoved the two rather thick bags of coin across the desk. "Fully armed. Their first task will be carried out at dawn."

 

Esmond took the bags and tied them to his belt securely. "Aye, my lord, at once. I shall check the usual places." To this James smirked one of his sly and knowing smiles. The man bowed once more before making his exit. As the door latched quietly, Coatleque was chewing her bottom lip. Jameson addressed her directly once more with measured disgust.

 

"I am beyond weary of this ghost of a woman who is apparently so charming she cannot even bring my paramour to secure her." She stopped chewing her lip and looked to the floor once more in silence. "As to your question," he continued with a clipped tone. "I of course require children. But not before marriage. And I will require a wife who is loyal to me as much as she is to herself. And those sorts of matches are truly rare, it seems to me."

 

There was a long pause between them as she mulled over his words. Her failure. His... promise. "I... I c-can do better." she stammered. "As can I." he replied softly with a sigh. "Being wary in all corners of my life is taxing, Coatleque."

"As enticing as that sounds, though... it was also not what I... what I mean."

"Ah. What did you mean."

 

She held her tongue for a moment, considering if she even wanted to ask the question, so horrible as it was.

"Would you put them to the sword?"

He blinked, clearly not understanding her meaning. "Why would I put -- Oh... not mychildren. Any children?" The new understanding was clearly disturbing even to him, and it caused her to relax somewhat as she nodded. "To what end?" he asked.

"Not to an end... simply to end. Them. Or perhaps for revenge? Does it matter?"

"You have been reading too many tragedies." he retorted.

 

Coatleque's expression turned to one of imploring hope as if she were trying to coax the answer from his lips that she so desperately wanted to hear. "I... I just needed to know. That there is still a line that would not be crossed."

 

"Coatleque. The only reason to kill children would be so they do not grow up to be a threat. And we're talking a twenty year span here, like as not. There is no reason to be that... far-thinking. It verges on paranoia, and is barbaric on top of that. Has the journalist equated me with Lazarov to that degree?"

 

She exhaled in sharp relief finally. "No, she has not."

"Then who filled your mind with such nonsense?"

"Rumors that I have confirmed from multiple sources now, that Lazarov has exterminated an entire house. Not his hand directly, but he signed their death sentences, down to the last child and manservant."

 

Jameson nodded. "It is not rumor." he said quietly. "It is fact. And it is one of the reasons he must be removed. He is ruthless beyond measure or even common reason." He finally finished his own glass of the wine and passed it to her. She set it on the bar next to her own.

 

"If there are men coming for you..." she turned back to him from the bar. "I beg you, be careful. For me."

"I rarely go anywhere without accompaniment these days. Fret not." He sighed. "Though that is its own burden." He shook his head as if suddenly remembering an appointment or some such. "There will be no holidays for either of us, likely. Not in the near future. Do you have an associate you trust? Truly trust? I will need them to take a sensitive message to Coerthas. I may need my dog off his leash sooner than I planned. And he should have been removed from the city as of five hours ago."

 

"... Anden?" she breathed pensively. "I... no, I have no one I would trust for that. Nobody else in the Order would understand as I do."

"Very well." He sighed. "I will... find someone else suitable for the task."

"If it was anyone else it would be a different matter. As I said, he is not well liked."

 

Jameson laughed a short, humorless laugh. "No, he is not. For good reason. Despite his breeding, Anduron is a brute. The sands of the arena run through his veins. He needs blood on his hands or he is not happy."

"I would say he has had enough already."

"Not enough by far." He scowled. "Tragically. We needs move up our timetable."

"I could find mercenaries, though I would not say I trust them."

"No." He replied curtly. "I'll find another to contact Anduron."

"Of course." She fell silent once more to his side.

 

"Leave me for the nonce, Coatleque. I have... wars to wage, and blood to spill from my pen." She regarded him for another moment. He did appear more tired now than she had ever seen him, and for that she felt a twinge of sorrow. Passing behind his chair she brushed a hand across his shoulders. "Until later, my Lord..." With that she let herself out of the office as quietly as she arrived.

[Roen]

“...I would do it.”

 

The wooden door opened with a discordant moan, its hinges having long been neglected, mottled with web and spotted with rust. Quiet footsteps crossed the threshold, leather soles pausing now and then as they came upon one dark stain upon another. The rugs had been discarded along with the furniture, but the walls and the floorboards were still marred with old, dried blood that ran through its stony pores. The wounds had not quite been washed out.

 

“This is not about my conscience. I finally realize that now. If I had to kill and condemn my own soul for others to live in harmony, then...then I would do it. If I knew with absolute certainty that if I were to commit evil to vanquish all other evil, and that it would only end with my own loss of life, then I would do it. My life and my soul, for a chance for everyone else…it is an impossible trade I would gladly make.”

 

Roen knelt on the ground, her finger lightly grazing along the stone floor, tracing a particularly dark blemish. This particular stain was not one of old blood but a burn mark made by gunpowder. She wondered if it was from the Thousand Suns bandit gang, or perhaps a firearm wielded by one of Yoyorano’s guards or family members before they met their bloody end. She could not tell.

 

But as she quietly roamed through the Yoyorano’s deserted estate in Eastern Thanalan, Roen's last exchange with Nero continued to echo through her thoughts. He had not responded or even acknowledged her presence at first when he opened his eyes that next morning. He had just laid there in his bed, staring at the ceiling. In his despondent silence, her voice seemed to almost too loud within the lonely bedroom.

 

“But I know no such impossible trade exists. Else someone else, smarter, braver, and more noble than I would have done it long ago. Else there already would be no evil in this world. Someone would have made that sacrifice.”

 

Roen stood before the fireplace mantle. imagining the family portrait that used to occupy the pale outline on the wall above it. A painting of such size, it would have likely contained the entire family: mother, father, the children, the elders…

 

They were now all dead.

 

“Evil begets more evil.”

 

The palatial estate had been left to ruin, with no other noble family swooping into claim the property following the sudden and bloody deaths of an entire bloodline that used to call it home. Some whispered of a curse, and others of the place being haunted. Even if no one truly believed such tales, none could deny the brutality of the violence committed here, and none were ready to gloss over it just yet. So after the Flames and the Blades had combed through it, it was left abandoned.

 

Why was she here now? Surely any clue that would have been left behind had already been discovered and claimed by the authorities. And yet…this was one of many wrongs that Nero had committed in the name of saving Ul’dah…one that she could not stop, and one that she decided to stand by his side afterwards despite. All because she believed she could save him and Ul’dah.

 

But now...

 

“You wondered once, why we mortals always insist on fighting. I believe it is because we see so much pain all around us. I believe seeing Fiora die, it instilled such rage in you. All the suffering you saw, it made you choose this dark path, despite your better intentions. And now the suffering you cause, I believe will only seed more darkness. No matter what your intentions are, evil will beget more evil. There will be no world without suffering. There will be no peace at the end of that road.”

 

Nero had said nothing back. She had looked to him with some sliver of hope that her words might reach him the morning after, but she was only met with silence. The smuggler was still chained to his grief.

 

But there was one thing that still nagged at her. While he had slept, she had gone through his study. Things were left intact; she didn’t bother breaking into any of his drawers forcibly, but had come across some letters and some notes of his plans. And one particular portion of those notes stated that he was to instigate bandits to “non-lethal” violence to provoke a citizenship response. He was to provide “armaments” and there were also notes of “Brass Blade and Sultansworn recruits.” This particular note had a check mark next to it.

 

It had been dated…fifteen months prior. Before Daegsatz’ death. Back then, he had planned non-lethal methods.

 

Roen closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the dusty mantle and leaned her forehead against it. So many things had gone wrong since. One death had led to many more.

 

She did not know if she could still save Ul’dah. But the bandits were still armed, she had to at least try to find and stop them. She doubted they were still bound by any non-lethal agreement, if such a thing was ever even made. The Thousand Suns bandits were responsible for killing the Yoyorano family and then there were the those who followed Scythe, a bandit leader within the walls of Ul’dah that had the poor believing that he would bring them the next revolution. Roen could not ignore the fact that it was Nero who had hired the former to commit their crimes, and sold firearms to the latter to incite violence. His involvement in this was as bloody as any one of them.

 

“...But what form will my atonement take, if I fail?"

 

Roen shook her head. She did not want to ponder such thoughts, not yet. She had to focus on more immediate threats. Her search for Scythe had so far yielded nothing; the man had toned down his recruitment activities after the violence in Pearl Lane and the subsequent death of his lieutenant, Clauremont Guillford.

 

Over a moon ago, the paladin had tracked down the Elezen’s sister, Clarabelle Guillford, into an Ul’dah brothel, after her brother was found dead in the Blades' gaol. Both the Elezens had given her the impression that they saw Scythe as their light of hope to fight the injustice. Neither were willing to betray the man nor give any more details to the paladin on how to find him.

 

"Let me see if I can dissuade him myself.” Nero had finally acquiesced the next morning, even if barely and begrudgingly so after she pressed him about Scythe. “ A lot of the people under his protection are 'innocents' as well."

 

It was the best she would get out of the once relentless pirate. So Roen left him laying there in his home, and made her way back to Thanalan on her own. There was still much work to be done.

 

Roen gave the grimly dark estate one more cursory glance, as if to scan for that one last clue that happened to be standing in plain sight--something, anything she might have missed...when a sand-colored pearl chimed.

 

When Roen placed it in her ear, her eyes widened at what she heard.

 

Moments later she rushed out, the abandoned building bidding the departing paladin a haunting farewell with a mocking creak, as its doors swung back and forth from its crooked hinges.

[Nero]

The tapping of his finger matched the rhythm of the chronometer on his desk. Nero was doing aught but staring at the small, rectangular case of linkpearls. The esoteric labels were still affixed to the inner surface of the lid, a testament to the thoroughness with which he had ingratiated himself in a relatively broad information network.

 

None of the agents he paid were under his employ, per se. Regardless of location, whether it be Limsa Lominsa or Ul'dah, information flowed like water in that it went to wherever it could reach; pay someone for some scandalous tidbits one day, and if you weren't careful you could find your own tidbits being scattered about like dandelions. The aforementioned agents were something akin to valves or distribution channels, who could be paid to alter the flow of information or attempt to stifle it completely. Nero was very selective when it came to using his networks, often only using them as message proxies or to pick out the occasional leaf in the stream, so to speak.

 

Previously when he'd made his deal with Scythe, the smuggler had decided against sharing a direct linkpearl out of practicality. Neither of them trusted the other and that linkpearl would be more than enough hard evidence of a connection in the case one or both of them buggered things up beyond all belief. However, the lack of direct communication with the bandit meant that Nero had to be deliberately vague about his messages made by proxy, as there was no way of being certain that the agent he was contacting wasn't immediately selling such info. 

 

The Hyur sighed, rubbing his forehead. His lethargy had effectively paralyzed most of his habits, and he'd barely deigned to even get dressed after awakening.

 

The question, of course, was whether or not he could dissuade Scythe, or even if he wanted to. Ernis Randolph was a man that held grudges, with a particularly dark one held against Ul'dah's aristocracy. Even if Nero hadn't supplied the man with guns, eventually Scythe would have sought out firepower from somewhere and eventually gotten it. From what Nero discovered, the man had been continuously battling the other gangs for funds, and rumour had it that he'd even lead a few raiding parties or two near Thanalan's borders.

 

Of course, he paid his dues to the Brass Blades whenever they came around like a good little Ul'dahn gangster, and it wasn't up until now that Scythe's position in Pearl Lane was threatened, although the word "threatened" was a rather laughable hyperbole to Nero, given that the most resistance the gangster would encounter is a couple of Sultansworn at best. The Syndicate wouldn't care unless their income was affected, and as long as Scythe remained below the gil line, the Highlander wouldn't need to be worried about much.

 

His finger tapping continued. Let things continue as they are? Worst comes to worse, Scythe and all of his cronies get jailed or killed--and really, in Ul'dah what's the difference--and nothing happens. Perhaps a tear should be shed for whoever was stupid enough to be caught in the crossfire, but it was doubtful. If Scythe's personality hadn't changed since a few decades ago, then the worst as far as civilian casualties would go would be the nobles' servants, whichever was idiotic enough to resist the angry mob of gangsters wielding swords and guns.

 

Another sigh, and he closed the linkpearl case with a decisive click.

 

Let things play out.

 

After all, it didn't involve him anymore.

[Roen]

Roen crouched over the edge of the precipice overlooking the town of Drybone. She pinched up a bit of the dry dirt and rubbed it absently between the pads of her fingers as she looked down to the well that stood near the vendor stalls below. It was easily a hundred-fulm drop, if not more. A fall from this height would be a fatal one.

 

Gideon North would not have survived it.

 

She had overheard the report given by one of the Brass Blades in the area on the sand pearl, of a tall burly Hyur who had assaulted a man on the road, wrestling him from his mount and attempting to bodily throw him over the cliff down to the bottom of Drybone. When the victim was identified as the personal valet of Jameson Taeros, she knew it could be no other. Luckily he was able to fend off the assailant, and the attacker then ran off when authorities were alerted below.

 

The paladin had gone immediately to the infirmary at Drybone to make certain with her own eyes that Gideon was safe and alive. He had suffered a broken rib along with a few other minor wounds, and upon the healers’ insistence at the infirmary, he was made to convalesce there for a few suns. At least the rest was something that would benefit the ever diligent butler, Roen thought.

 

As she looked over the canvassed vendor tents below, a part of her wondered if this particular bandit attack had anything to do with what Nero and Osric had set in motion. The Flame sergeant had vaguely insinuated that he had promised to do something for the smuggler in exchange for a favor, and it likely involved violence directed at Taeros. She tried to warn Coatleque of this, but despite the fact that the Sworn herself had suffered Taeros’ wrath--as evidenced by the bruise marks upon her neck--Ser Crofte seemed determined to continue to protect the noble.

 

Coatleque, Gideon, and Delial…they were all people that Roen had relied on to stay near Taeros, to distract him, spy on him, and thwart him if possible. But now, as shadowed daggers seemed to turn their points towards the Monetarist noble, the paladin feared that those allies that she had placed near him might suffer collateral damage. And even Taeros himself, Roen had never sought an outright assassination of the man. She wanted to use his power and his reputation to throw the Monetarist alliances into disarray.

 

A long sigh escaped her lips as the desert wind sent a dried leaf tumbling past her over the bluff. Coatleque stated that she was going to stand by Taeros, and Roen had to remind herself that the woman was a trained Sultansworn. Ser Crofte was quite capable of handling herself, she would be no easy mark. Delial too was skilled at looking out for herself; on more than one occasion, the Highlander woman reminded Roen that she would do whatever it took to preserve herself first and foremost, even if it was to kill Nero if it came down to it.

 

But Gideon North, despite his insistence that he was capable of defending himself, and that after this incident he would no longer be caught so unawares, Roen still feared for his safety. Perhaps it was because he was one of very few confidants that she still had left; the paladin could now count on one hand the number of people she trusted and considered dear friends. Even her relationship with Mister North had seen its own share of trials. But despite one adversity after another, he had refused end their agreement. He insisted on aiding her in however way he could, as long as he was able.

 

The paladin recalled the first time she asked him to leave the noble’s service. It was after Mister Bellveil had been viciously attacked, for his involvement in the warehouse raids. She had confessed her guilt over the affair to to Gideon, and asked him to remove himself from Taeros’ house, for the fear that same or worse fate may fall upon him. That was one of the first lectures that Gideon had give her in response. A calm and succinct observation that this agreement between them was for his own sake as well. He needed to do this to pursue his own goals, in discovering those who had wronged his masters.

 

So when Roen told him the truth about Nero’s involvement in the sinking of the Aerstorn ship off the coast of Limsa, she would have expected that it would have ended their agreement. He was helping her against the Monetarists while she also worked to uncover the mystery of who had killed his previous masters. But even after discovering that the man she loved was responsible for killing the head Aerstorns, Gideon somehow…stayed. While he refused to work for Nero, he still wanted to ensure Roen's safety in these matters and help her in however way he could. The memory of that heated conversation still brought a distant pang of guilt.

 

Just over a fortnight past, she had informed him that Spahro had written up a slanderous article filled with half-truths about Nero, Taeros, Coatleque, and herself, but the butler seemed unfazed. What worried Roen the most about that article was that it did mention an association between herself and Gideon. This would not only jeopardize his career, but likely also endanger his life if Taeros suspected him to be a spy. But the valet calmly reminded the paladin of the obviously false articles written previously by the same reporter, especially the one that painted Ser Crofte in the most unflattering way. He then dismissed any serious consideration to her future writings and accusations.

 

But now this.

 

When Roen found him in Drybone, all she could feel was immense relief that he was safe and sound. Gideon was as composed and unflappable as ever, and from his recounting of the events, the one-man attack seemed to be a random and poorly organized one. It was a clumsy attempt at best, nothing was taken, and Gideon had only suffered minor wounds. The valet was convinced that it could not represent any real attempt against Taeros simply due to its incompetence. This assuaged her fears temporarily, but she could not dismiss the nagging fear in the back of her mind that something else could still be looming on the horizon.

 

But she voiced no such dark thoughts to the butler; he was recovering, after all, and there were ears within the infirmary. Instead, she gave him a warm smile, one that was easy to summon considering the comfort she took in his well-being. He even had a fledgling dodo bird waddling about, a gift given to him by a colleague. He seemed proud and happily distracted by the creature, having even given it the dignified name of “Wilhelm.” So Roen kept the news to herself, that Nero had given up in his quest to save Ul’dah, and that she was now on her own trying to salvage what she could. She was just grateful that Gideon was alright.

 

As the paladin looked to the distant setting sun that colored the Eastern Thanalan sky in bright gold and red hues, she drew out a note from her pocket and read the words again.

 

“Comfort is often hard to come by, especially in dire circumstances, but I recall one particular method you mentioned. Take such moments when available.

 

-G.N.”

 

That note from Mister North had come with a specially packaged delivery of chanterelle saute. Roen still smiled distantly at the memory of the conversation they had shared many moons ago. It was one of many, for she had always found his placid demeanor and apathetic outlook on things objective and refreshing.

 

"It has troubled me that I asked this of you. Actually that I have asked others to help me in this endeavor," she had said to him as they looked over the waterfall in Eastern Thanalan. Her heart had been heavy with worry.

 

“Madam will remember that I, in fact, asked the opportunity of her specifically.” Gideon’s usual serene disposition did not waver.

 

"Aye. Others have volunteered as well. But...it does not put me at ease. This is a risk."

 

“Madam, I am well aware of the danger,” the valet said in his ever calm and unerringly polite tone. “It has already taken from me, and thus replaced, any purpose I had before it. If I die in pursuit of my purpose, that is a loss to nobody. It will be, as they say, a loose end tied up.”

 

Roen frowned. "Surely, it is a loss. To someone."

 

Gideon chuckled quietly. “Madam overestimates the breadth of my social connection. I am a tool to be wielded, madam, and if a tool breaks, then another is easily acquired.”

 

"You are more than that, Mister North. Everyone is."

 

“A severed limb, madam, cannot operate without the body's direction...nor can it develop its own impetus of being.”

 

"Perhaps, if that is all it was.” The paladin shook her head. “There are plants, where you cut it off at the branch, then you give it a vase of water, and it grows its own roots. Its own branches. It just needs a bit of water to give it nurture."

 

The valet brightened at her response. “Ah! Madam is a student of horticulture. A breadth of education is the sign of a rounded, wholesome upbringing.”

 

"You truly do remind me of those I knew in my childhood.” She responded with a growing smile. “Such words were said to me rather sternly. I had not known then, that they were so well learned as you were.”

 

“Suffice it to say the training to become a valet was not altogether pleasant at times. The whimsy of the upper class was imagined to be...broad, bizarre, and requiring the most versatile of minds and skillsets. I can sew, cook, clean, read, and even perform some rudimentary chemistry…” Gideon shook his head, a brief look of exasperation on his face.

 

Roen could not help but be impressed. "Then you are probably one of the most educated person I know in Eorzea."

 

“Madam is pleased to exaggerate” Gideon nodded politely, but nevertheless flickered a tiny smile.

 

"And you are much too modest." Roen chuckled quietly.

 

“If Madam is attempting to fluster me with compliments, she may find I am quite swoon-proof.” Gideon looked away, as if to hide a brief but mischievous smile.

 

The paladin flicked him a sidelong glance, her own lips curling into a lopsided grin. "Hm. Swoon-proof. I have not met such before. Alas Mister North, I will confess. I am rather poor at making people swoon. So take my words as you will. I say it as I see it."

 

“...Madam Deneith.”

 

"Mister North..?"

 

“If you do not find it presumptuous, or forward.” He bowed slightly. “What is madam's favorite food?”

 

"Ah. Um.” Roen blinked, surprised. It was not what she had expected to be asked. “My favorite dish." Amusement lingered on her lips as she tapped a finger against them in thought. "My mother used to make a few things. She loved garlic...and there was this dish she made with mushrooms." Her expression and tone had turned dreamy. "That was a long time ago.”

 

Gideon regarded her in silence for a moment longer. “Very good, madam,” he said finally.

 

"Why do you ask, Mister North?"

 

He answered with a pleasant smile. “Idle conversation, Madam. Think nothing of it.”

 

The dish that was delivered moons later was carefully packaged, and when she opened it, a delectable aroma of mushrooms, butter, and garlic greeted her senses. Gideon had even added some extra spices, ones that reminded her of home.

 

Take such moments, when able… Roen told herself as she folded the note and tucked it back into her pocket.

 

The sun had completely set over the horizon, the dark velvet of night starting to blanket the sky above. Roen rose from her perch overlooking Drybone, taking one last look at the people milling about below. The guards were lighting the lamps, and warm light was starting to filter through the windows from the buildings. Two children darted across the courtyard, joining their parents who were folding up their vendor tents for the night.

 

She would take comfort in such sights this day. Until now, the seeming failure of Nero’s efforts--his abandonment of his cause, and the corruption and suffering that still festered in Ul’dah...they all seemed overwhelming for her to face alone. But at least today, she was heartened to know that one dear friend was spared his life, and there were plenty others who led their lives in peace far from Ul’dah.

 

The paladin glanced up at the stars that were slowly starting to peek through the night sky and watched them slowly glow brighter in the darkness. She stood there for a long moment as if to search them intently, before turning and making her way back to Ul’dah.

[Coatleque]

Wool. How she hated wool. Who's idea it was to make a veritable sea of needle points one of the worlds most staple of fabrics was anybody's guess. Coatleque shifted herself, scratching at her bare leg once more as she tried to let sleep take her. She was curled up on a plain rug, wearing nothing but a dirty tunic given to her out of a misunderstanding. On a long sitting couch nearby were the loud snores of a mercenary, Vandol Morn. Where his partner in crime had gone she did not care. Coatleque had no desire to run by this point. Making as best a pillow of her arms while her hands were bound, she began to recount the events of that evening.

 

It was little over a day ago she had left Jameson's office with an accusatory glare and feeling of immense inadequacy. He was clearly displeased with her apparent loyalty, and while she knew she should care little about it due to her position with the Sultansworn, her personal feelings were beginning to chip away at such resolve. More and more she was feeling pain at seeing him distressed.

 

There was more to it than that, though, as always. She had a city to defend from a menace she could not find. Her leads were all dead ends, or false. She was not moving backwards, she wasn't moving at all. There was only one person she knew who could without question lead her to Lazarov. If she could only bring her in, perhaps... perhaps Coatleque could kill two birds with one stone, as it were. She could fulfil her duty while also proving her worth.

 

She was present when Jameson sent for the mercenaries. She heard the name used. Holbrook. It did not register at the time, but she had crossed paths with this particular pair multiple times already. At the warehouse in Moraby. Outside Ul'dah when they collected the bounty on Jaxon Hawk. In the Goblet at the end of the poker game. And finally on the Ruby Exchange by chance as she was merely passing by that afternoon. Her need to know overcame her sense of caution.

 

They were up to something; That much was not hard to see. So she followed from a distance. Through the exchange, along the outer wall, and out the Gate of the Sultana. She trailed them from a distance, staying a ways off the road itself using boulders and trees for cover. Being hardly dressed for such work, her dress caught quite a few brambles from the underbrush. This one would be ruined for sure. She sighed as she pulled some thorns free from the bottom hem then watched as the pair entered the Silver Bazaar.

 

Slinking around the gate a moment later she crouched behind another boulder and listened as the two argued with a large Roegadyn. While not particularly enlightening conversation, it did confirm what Coatleque suspected. They were looking for Roen. Not getting anywhere with the Roe, the pair split up. Seeing this as her chance, Coatleque slowly rounded the boulder to confront the woman named Holbrook. She seemed to be the more reasonable of the two at least.

 

Stubborn was more like it. Her associate, Morn, returned while Coatleque was still trying to explain her motives. She was, surprisingly, not there to stop them. She wanted no part of their contract. In fact, she was offering them additional pay on top of what Jameson had promised. Her only stipulation was that Roen not be harmed. They scoffed at her, were so guarded as to not trust her motives - and perhaps she could not blame them. However, she grew desperate and threatened to out them to the target if they would not cooperate. The threat of losing five hundred thousand gil is more of a motivator than one would think.

 

It was a stupid move on her part, especially when unarmed and unarmored. The next thing she knew she was slumped against the boulder and rubbing her jaw as Morn checked her for weapons and bound her hands. They took her linkpearls, her gil purse, then dragged her along to the local inn. To them she did nothing but comply. Inside, she was laughing the whole way at what was sure to be their greatest misfortune.

 

"Yes, make this even worse on yourselves."

 

Once out of sight in the inn room they forced her to undress to be sure she was not hiding anything else, then gave her an olive green tunic to wear which barely ended below the waist. Securing her to the bed with manacles then, they continued their own line of questions and threats. She answered all truthfully and finished each line with the insistence that they take her to see Jameson. She had nothing to hide, laying there. They had already won, why bother?

 

Whether out of dedication to their contract or sheer paranoia they persisted.

"Keep me here or release me. I'll not fight you." She insisted with eerie calmness. "Regardless, if you leave me in any worse consideration I promise Jameson will feed you your own manhood."

"Why? Milord bangin' you?" The larger of the two replied which only drew a narrow-eyed glare.

 

More hushed arguing outside, followed by the same line of questioning once more. Coatleque sighed as she recounted the same answers for the third time. If boredom was their interrogation method, it would be working except that she had hid nothing from them. Once more she insisted they take her back to Taeros to cross examine her intentions. Finally they relented.

 

Morn, the larger one, dragged her out of the inn to a cart that Holbrook had acquired. Inside was a large, thick rug. Tash proceeded to stuff a handkerchief into Coatleque's mouth before they rolled her into the rug up inside the cart. She did not struggle or try to run, thankful that they were finally taking action rather than talking in circles.

 

The cart ride itself was uneventful except for the occasional pat on her rump whenever she made too much noise. Not that Morn could tell where she was, stuffed in a rug as it were. She was subjected to even more crass conversation and undignified behavior before the cart finally stopped at Jameson's estate. Or at least she hoped that is where they took her.

 

There was more rough treatment as she was systematically hoisted out of the cart and the rug thrown over Morn's shoulder. At this time of night, the servants had all gone and Jameson was either busy or elsewhere. With nowhere else to go the rug was dropped crudely in the middle of the lobby before Morn gave it a push with is foot, letting her roll out. Coatleque slowly sat up while shaking off the dizziness before managing to spit out the gag with some effort and coughing before composing herself as best she could.

 

The whole ordeal was now some four hours past. Another particularly loud snore from the couch earned another disgusted glare from her before she rolled onto her other side. Scratching her legs raw once again, she tried to catch what sleep she could until Mister North would arrive in the morning.

[Coatleque]

The morning saw Coatleque in no better shape than the previous night. The bruise on her jaw only grew into a larger, purple welt that she was sure looked worse than it felt. No mirror was handy to confirm however, not that she would have wanted to see it. She sat up and cupped her face in her hands before rubbing her eyes.

 

"Di'ja sleep good on yer fluffy-ass f***in' rug?" came the voice of Morn from across the room. She slowly stopped rubbing her face and glared at him. "Do I look like I did?"

 

"Nope." He snickered.

"F**k, at least you got a rug. Don't say we never did nothin' for you." his companion shot back.

 

It was mid-morning by then. Jameson had been seeing other associates or clients for some time already. Coatleque had insisted they get this over with. Vandol held her back with little effort and insisted they wait their turn.

 

"I feel like we should get some sorta extra tip or some shit."

"Seriously, compensating for our f**kin' pain and suffering."

Coatleque shot them another glare.

"Yes... your pain."

 

"Not just that, but now we're a day behind. Man, babysitting mouthy bitches is a pain."

"You could always make her leave." Coatleque replied snidely.

"Damn, Tash. She just blew you up!"

"What, she wasn't talkin' about you?"

 

The two mercenaries continued to talk up their own bravado while Coatleque sat quietly. She pulled the tunic down as far as she could, still feeling uncomfortably exposed for these circumstances, then tried to comb out her knotting hair with her fingers. Even in this state she should attempt to look her best for Jameson.

 

Eventually Mister North finally arrived only to be swarmed by the pair upon entering the lobby. He glanced briefly at Coatleque and gave a slight bow without commenting on her current appearance before addressing the others and leaving to inquire if the Master was ready to see them. No sooner did he leave then another man exited and smoothed his coat while eyeing the assembled. He gave a sniff and wrinkled his nose before walking off stiffly.

 

"Snooty ass f**k" Morn commented after him.

"They all is."

"Don't I know it." he replied, eyeing his prisoner.

"Know your betters, fool." she shot back, feeling somewhat emboldened now that they were about to gain audience.

 

Attention shifted back to Jameson's office door as Mister North let himself back out. He cleared his throat.

"Milord will see you now."

 

"Awesome."

"Heard that?"

"Finally..."

 

Morn yanked Coalteque to her feet roughly by the chain of the manacles across her wrists. She almost tripped over him in the process but managed to keep her balance as she was dragged and then pushed through the door. Vandol and Tash followed close behind, with Mister North after them. He closed the door and stood off to the side quietly, adjusting his jacket and resting a hand just inside its front. Just inside the door were the two mercenaries with Coatleque in the middle, shoved roughly to the front. Jameson remained seated behind his desk and watched with a staid expression and narrowed eyes.

 

"Hey boss."

"So, we had a little problem."

"We figger you needed ta see this."

 

Jameson exhaled slowly through his nose, patiently. He spoke in a controlled and careful tone.

"What. Is this."

 

"Was hopin' you could say" Vandol continued. "I figger she can have her say, then we'll answer whatever shit she decides not to say." Coatleque said nothing. She glanced at Jameson once then bowed her head. Whatever boldness she felt before had since fled now that they were here.

 

"Oh now she's quiet?" Tash laughed.

 

Jameson stood slowly. Even his movements were measured. Dressed in an oddly casual manner for him, he approached her. One hand extended and he lifted her chin with a crook of his finger, appraising it. She winced slightly but otherwise made no resistance, allowing him to turn her head one way than the other. He showed no reaction to the sight of her, though his head tilted slightly.

 

"I offered to help them." She protested. "They decided to do this instead."

Jameson shot a glance to Vandol who just shrugged.

"Yeah, no, that was me." Tash admitted with a nod.

"Partial truth, I guess. She can still talk though."

"By all means, you explain it first, and then I shall clarify." Coatleque's confidence resurfaced slightly.

Jameson's hand lowered, as did her gaze to the floor once more.

"Truth. Now."

 

The three exchanged glances. Tash only laughed at Coatleque as her gaze fell back to the floor. It was Vandol who finally started to explain.

"Bitch all mouthy all night long but now she wants ta shut the f**k up. Anyways, look, I can make this long story short. So me an' Tash was on the job, yanno? We hit the Silver f**king Bazaar. One of the girl's hideaways, supposedly. An' lo an' f**kin' behold, mincin' outta the desert in a f**kin' black evening gown is this one."

 

He bumped Coatleque's shoulder with his elbow then, causing her to stumble forward another step.

"So she's all 'Tell me why you're after whatserfart.', an' 'I can help you.', 'We can be friends and allies.'"

His voice went high with his re-enactment as he tried to mimic her voice, poorly. Coatleque rolled her eyes but still would not look up.

"Don't forget the threesome." Tash chimed in.

 

"Oh, right. Well, she surmised that me an Tash was involved. Which we AIN'T, okay? I mean, we WAS, but Tash is a... anyways, so she's all 'Well I always wanted to have a threesome.' But me, yanno, I'm a f**king professional, boss. And even if I WAS into her, which I ain't, it'd be a no. On the job, yanno? So she's all 'I may or may not be sleeping with your boss, so you should let me help you.'"

 

At his last impression Coatleque closed her eyes and hung her head. Jameson took a step backwards and crossed his arms. His light amber eyes strayed to the fraying sleeves of his overcoat. A slight tension could be seen in his jaw just then. "The longer this story lasts, the less your payment will be. To the point, Morn."

 

"... Sorry. Yeah, so basically she threatened ta warn this c**t that we was comin' for her if we didn't let her join us. So... yanno. Tash decked her."

Both of them shrugged at Jameson who flicked his gaze to Coatleque, a small twitch to his upper lip. "Is this true?"

 

"And by that point we was like, 'We gotta warn the boss man.' So instead'a writin', we thought there was a chance you might not want this girl dead, so we brought her in person" Vandol continued.

"And she was tryin' to pay us to make sure she don't get hurt."

"Oh, yeah, we took twenny-five thou from 'er. Rich."

"She started out sayin' it was a bonus like you gave it the okay, but we smelled fish. I got it with 'er dress an 'er ear thingies."

"Tash, did you crunch her ear-thingies? Or they in one piece?"

"... Buried 'em. But I can get 'em."

"Yeah, a'ight. So anyway, yeah boss. I mean, if she's worth keepn' alive, that's for you to decide. Me an' Tash can go either way. But we figgered you needed to hear 'bout this shit in person."

 

There was a moment of silence before Coatleque finally spoke up to her defense. "... I was not really going to warn her. I threatened it when they would not listen to my offer." Her words came out more earnestly than she intended. Jameson made no move.

 

"So you meant to... simply join them in their hunt for Deneith?"

She nodded slowly, not daring to look at him. "To make up for my previous failure."

"But threatened them that you would warn her, because they did not listen to you?"

All she could do was stare at the carpet. "Yes."

"... Why not come to me, Coatleque? I hired them."

"... I know. I wanted to show you I was not as useless as you thought. The extra gil was dependent on them not hurting her. That is all."

 

His arms remained crossed, but his hand's grip seemed to tighten on each arm from the wrinkles that formed in his sleeves.

"You did not trust that I left what instructions I would with the people I hired?"

"I trust you. I don't trust Roen." She replied. "She will not go willingly."

"That it is up to them to deal with that. They know they are to bring her in alive. You said she has set forth plans for my own life. You do not expect me to be gentle... do you?"

"I... no."

"You did not want to see her hurt."

"Neither would I you."

"Then what would you have done, Coatleque?"

 

The two mercenaries exchanged glances again then looked at Coatleque with confused expressions. They were having their own trouble making sense of the whole thing. They knew enough to keep quiet though. Jameson reached out and lifted her chin once more with the crook of his fingers. He had taken to no longer wearing gloves around her "What would you have done if she raised her sword? Against them? You?"

 

She almost heaved then and there. What would she have done? Till now the question was only an afterthought. She had pleaded with Roen before not to lead them down this path, but seemed once again the choice was being made for her. As much as she loathed the idea, duty compelled her to act. She still would not meet his gaze through her response. "... I would have responded in kind. I only wanted to give her the chance. I offered to help by luring her into the open."

 

Jameson leaned in towards her then, his voice low, stern, commanding rather than questioning. "Why. Did you not come to me."

She turned her head away from him and closed her eyes now. Her true shame had finally come to light. For as much trust as he had been willing to place in her, she had placed so little in him. "You were already displeased with me. I wanted to surprise you." she whispered.

 

"And of all the things to threaten them, you chose betrayal against me." He continued. The accusation forced her gaze finally.

"I did not mean it, James! I had nothing else to use as leverage! I thought the chance at more coin would be enough as it were, I swear!"

"You let her walk time and again. Even after she spoke of assassins against me. And now you go behind my back, and threaten those I hired to bring her in. Your friend. One you have stayed loyal to all this time."

 

For the first time since they had arrived, Coatleque was now genuinely afraid of what he may do. Her eyes went wide with fear as she stared at him imploringly. "I wanted to show I could do it... please, you must believe me..." The mercenaries behind her exchanged curious glances as if they were only waiting for the word to 'remove her' from the room.

 

"I want to trust you, Coatleque. I would have their intestines pulled through their throats for laying a hand on you."

To that the silent snickering behind her stopped as both of them almost stepped back towards the door.

"But you told them you would betray me." He continued.

"I lied!"

 

Her hands raised to cover her mouth as quickly as the words escaped. The entire world seemed to freeze in place at the realization of what she said. Of what she implied. There was an indignant snort behind her. "Ain't the first time, prolly ain't the last." Jameson's tone did not waver regardless. Still leaning in towards her she could tell the true extent of his anger but by the hiss of his voice.

 

"Of all the lies. That one comes too easily."

Tash could no longer keep quiet. "This bitch was goin' on about how she didn't want her hurt because she's such a gooood frieeeend." Vandol merely nodded along with her. "All the signs was pointin' to a f**kin' retarded attempt at sabotage."

 

"Do not... insult her further. Not in my presence." Jameson hissed without looking over at the woman. She immediately backed off with her hands raised. Coatleque's face once again lowered to stare at the floor. She had begun to shiver, though out of fear or lack of clothing was anyone's guess by then. "... I was not going to stop you either way. It was merely incentive." she said quietly.

 

Her face was lifted again, gently, by his hand as she cradled her jaw and turned the swollen side towards him.

"North."

"Milord?"

"You will tend to Lady Crofte's injuries."

"Of course, sir." Mister North replied with a bow.

 

"Morn. You will take her with you when she is ready. She will lure Deneith out."

The two mercenaries exchanged glances before mumbling a response. "Yeah, boss."

Coatleque also blinked and slowly turned to look him in the eyes again.

 

"And you will bring her in. I want a full report. If she resists, take whatever measures necessary. I only need her alive." He continued. She nodded slowly as their eyes remained locked. "Do not fail me, Coatleque."

"I will not."

His head tilted, thumb softly grazing over her bruised jaw.

"I have let her roam too long, waiting for justice to be delivered. She has grown bold in that time. She knows not of this new hunt. I doubt she will exercise more caution than before." His gaze grew more stern, commanding even. "Nor certain changes in alliances."

Another slow nod. "She will not anticipate it being me."

"No. She will not."

 

Vandol made a gesture to Tash as if to unlock something to which Coatleque held out her hands to the side. Her head did not turn from the man in front of her as the manacles were removed. Not till his hand dropped from her face. "Let North tend to you, then coordinate with Morn and Holbrook. I expect Deneith to be brought before the fortnight."

 

"As you say, my love." Her words were quiet, yet confident. Turning, she did not look at her former captors before leaving the room.

 

---

 

She sat down on the side of the bed in one of the guest rooms while Mister North tended to her bruises. Still feeling quite exposed, she pulled the hempen tunic down as far as she could and stared at the wall in front of her. "How is your hip, Mister North?" She eventually broke the awkward silence while attempting to reclaim any semblance of her station.

 

"Comparatively? Not that terrible of an issue, Miss." He smiled gently yet exasperatedly. "Look up please."

She complied, now focusing on the ceiling as he applied ointment to the bruise. She winced at the momentary sting but kept her eyes focused on the surroundings. "I am glad to see you returned. I pray things were not in too sorry a state for you."

 

He bunched up a handkerchief and cleaned the abrasion as best he could. "I confess, I was expecting a somewhat more lax homecoming. I suggest Miss try to take ease, however. I suppose some things are unavoidable."

 

"They are. No matter how hard I try to. Mister North? Am I... doing the right thing?"

"I am no fit judge, Miss. But I have faith that you are." he spoke as he continued to tend her.

She nodded. "Thank you. It is wrong for me to doubt myself, but... thank you."

 

"You appear to have avoided altogether dislocation. Fortunate, as I doubt you would have cared for any sort of bizarre headgear."

She stifled a laugh at his attempt to make light of the situation, probably to his benefit at that moment.

"That should take care of... the more long-term worries." He said as he stood back up and retrieved a book he had left on the nightstand temporarily. "Now, if miss would simply breathe in and out..." With a few quick scans of one of the pages, the restorative aether was applied and her swelling already decreased noticeably.

 

"If possible, I would advise avoiding more strenuous activity of the area in question. Soft foods, for now. I will postpone the lamb."

"A pity, that. I shall look forward to it once we return then. Is there a spare dress available? I should like to change."

"I will have one provided, Miss. For now, I suggest rest, for optimal mental and physical convalescence."

 

She canted her head towards the door, the sound of more demanding guests travelling up the stairs now. "Very well. I shall consider that a doctor's order. You may want to deal with the remaining guests. Thank you again, Mister North. I shall remain here for the nonze."

"... Yes. Of course. By your leave, Miss." With that, she was left alone once more to her thoughts.

[Roen]

"Roen? Are you there?"

 

When Coatleque’s voice came through on sergeant Melkire's linkpearl, it gave Roen pause. After their last conversation, where they had parted ways knowing each supported two opposing sides, she had not expected to hear from the Sultansworn again. So it was with a measure of wariness that she answered. "Ser Crofte."

 

"Roen. I am glad to hear you are still safe. I must needs have words with you, in private. It is about Taeros."

 

"Still safe?” That only served to alarm her further, and yet Coatleque was reaching out to her. Perhaps this was a warning. There was something else in her voice. “...Are you alright?"

 

"Yes, I am fine. For now. I... wish I could explain but I do not trust any linkpearls. Can...can we meet?"

 

"Did he--” Sudden anger fueled the paladin’s words. She remembered the bruises on the Sworn’s neck, and the look of fear that was in Coatleque’s green eyes when she confided in Roen what had happened between her and Taeros. “Alright. Aye. We should talk in person. I…I cannot at this moment. But I can arrange to meet you. In three suns? Will you be alright till then?"

 

"...Three suns. Aye, I will be alright. What port are you nearest to? Thanalan may not be safe...I had thought the lighthouse where we met before."

 

"Aye. I remember the Lighthouse. I can be there." There was something off about the woman’s tone, her voice. Perhaps her friend was in danger, despite what Roen had told herself all this time about the Sworn’s strength and capabilities. "Coatleque. Stay safe."

 

"Safe...yes." She sounded strained; of that Roen was certain. "At the Lighthouse. That was where you first trusted me with the evidence to clear your name. I think...it will be fitting. Please, be careful."

 

Fitting? Even those words were not quite right. That exchange had not been at the Lighthouse. The evidence was given to Coatleque by Hornet. Perhaps she should have seen the warning signs. But the paladin let her worries for her friend push all other questions away. She would find out soon enough.

 

"I will see you then."

 

 

[align=center]~[/align]

 

 

The dark clouds above scurried along the breadth of the sky, pushed along by the whistling winds that warned of a pending storm. Roen approached the Lighthouse with due caution.

 

Ser Crofte stood there waiting in front of the small cabin nearby, fully armored from head to toe in dark bronze. She was out of her usual Sultansworn regalia and her grim expression mirrored the foreboding skies above.

 

"That is a new look for you,” Roen came to a stop few yalms away from her.

 

"Necessary for La Noscea,” the Sultansworn replied without emotion in her voice, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her arms remained crossed. "Surprised you came."

 

"I did not know that the warehouse affair still hung over your head here." Roen maintained a careful tone, although her eyes narrowed at the woman’s distant demeanor. "I thought you might be in danger from Taeros. You mentioned him."

 

"I did."

 

The paladin shifted uneasily in her stance, her hair being haphazardly tossed to the side as the winds around them grew stronger. "So what is this all about Coatleque? Did he hurt you again?"

 

Ser Crofte shook her head. "My hand has been forced, Roen."

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"Nero seeks blood. A war perhaps. For the good of all, I cannot allow it."

 

"He..." Roen averted her gaze. "He has given up." She could not keep the shame from her tone nor the disgust from curling her lips. “He is actually no longer interested in saving Ul'dah."

 

"Saving? You think all this is saving Ul'dah? From what exactly?”

 

Before Roen could answer, the cabin door behind the Sultansworn burst open and two mercenaries rushed out, weapons drawn. Seeing that Ser Crofte made no move--she stood still as stone, not reacting at all--Roen’s hand went to her sword. “What is this?!”

 

“Tash, get an arm,” the tall Highlander male said to his female partner as they slipped to either side of Roen, flanking her with a quickness that belied their armored forms.

 

“Questions later.” The mercenary woman grinned with her fists raised, brass knuckles adorning both. “Yer comin’ with us.”

 

Roen glanced to both of them giving them a quick once over, they wore no insignia of the Flames or the Sultansworn order. She squinted against the heavy raindrops that began to fall from the black sky.

 

"I am sorry, Roen...I did not want it to come to this." Ser Crofte said just over the howling winds, her arms still crossed.

 

The larger Highlander male tried to grab an arm just as Crofte spoke, but Roen jerked away from his grip. She turned on instinct, and swung a fist at the woman--one called Tash--who was also stepping in. Tash ducked away from her blow, backing up again. Roen took the opportunity to draw her sword, swinging it in a wide arc just to keep the Highlander male at bay.

 

“Shit! Blade!” The male backed up away from the edge of her sword, but reached for the axe that hung from his back.

 

“Whoa-ho, she feisty, Morn!” Tash side stepped towards Roen’s back. "You really wanna do this, bitch? There three of us an' one of you."

 

“Don't make this get messy. This is a fuckin' arrest,” Morn sneered.

 

Another whisper of sliding steel made Roen shoot a glance at Ser Crofte. The Sworn was drawing her sword as well.

 

"This is an arrest? Are these Sworns? Flames?" Roen shouted to Crofte. The paladin knew that could have lunged at the woman with the brass knuckles, perhaps get in a strike, open a path for a hasty retreat. And yet...

 

If they were Flames or Sworn, if this was an arrest, could she truly cut down enforcers of the law?

 

A part of her knew this day would come someday. What would she do? Hesitation leadened her limbs.

 

“We're mercs," the woman growled. "What, you too good for a bounty? Fuck off, princess. Drop the damn sword."

 

"Roen Deneith, under authority of Her Grace Nanamo Ul'Namo, I hereby place you under arrest for abetting a pirate, murderer, and enemy of Thanalan." Ser Crofte stepped closer to her, her blade in hand.

 

Morn used just that moment to swing his axe in a wide arc, hooking the paladin’s sword. It pulled on her arm for an instant, opening her one side, just before Roen relinquished the hold on her sword. A part of her knew she could not swing it against those upholding the law--even if they were mere bounty-hunters. I brought this bounty on my own head.

 

As soon as she half turned to look to the mercenary’s partner, she saw Tash rushing in--too late, and both the women went tumbling to the ground. Reflexively Roen threw an elbow to the woman’s face. She heard the woman's nose break with an audible pop, but despite the blow, the Highlander woman was working to pin the paladin down.

 

Morn slapped his steel-shod boot down on Roen’s sword hand--and the paladin gasped in pain as she heard a crack of bone. The paladin struck the woman on top of her with the flat of her other palm, but before she could try and get Tash off her torso, Morn’s axe swung down again and stopped just with its edge against her throat.

 

"Submit, bitch!"

 

Roen stopped all movement, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Tash, ignoring the blood flowing from her nose, pinned her other hand to the muddied ground. Once she stopped struggling, Morn wrenched both her arms behind her back and hauled her up back to her feet, dragging her bodily into the cabin they had rushed out of.

 

Once inside, the Highalander male slammed her back to the ground, the impact jarring her senses. He immobilized her with his full weight on her back awhile searching her thoroughly. Tash yanked off her coat, and then her boots, patting and shaking them down for weapons before tossing them to the side. Morn pulled off her belt and pouches, then plucked out a pearl from her ear. The mercenaries knew what to look for. Roen did not feel the wet touch of the cold stone against her stinging cheek as she glared up at Crofte. The Sultansworn was looking at anything but her.

 

"I trusted you," Roen rasped, voice shaking. "I thought you were in danger." Crofte did not answer, nor did she meet her gaze. The only answer the paladin got was a painful twist of her arms by the Highlander on top of her.

 

“Here are your crystals,” the Sworn said in a neutral tone, handing small aetheryte crystals to the two mercenaries. "They take you back to Ul'dah. From there you know where to deliver her for your pay."

 

“Deliver me…” the paladin’s eyes widened. “You are bringing me to…Taeros?!” She began to struggle against the firm hold. “This is not even an arrest! Coatleque, do not do thi--” The rest of her words were choked off when Tash stuffed wad of bandages into her mouth then tied it shut with another long piece of cloth.

 

Panic began to rise within her, a flash flood of dread. Roen felt her arms being wrenched tightly behind her, and felt the all-too familiar sensation of bindings constricted around her wrist then arms. The fear twisted in her stomach. No...!

 

She thrashed and let out another muffled cry before a full helm was placed over her head and everything turned to darkness.

[Roen]

The backwards helm was yanked off of Roen's head, the sudden influx of light so bright it made her squint. Her disheveled forelocks hung loose over her eyes, her breaths coming quick behind the gag. She knew she had traveled more than a few malms since the teleportation to Ul’dah’s aetheryte crystal; she had felt the warm touch of the city-state’s cobblestones beneath her bare feet as she was dragged through the street as quickly as possible. Following that, her feet traveled dirt roads. Now she stood upon a woolen rug, and indoors; she knew that even as her vision began to clear.

 

“Hello, Roen. It’s been a while.”

 

Jameson Taeros sat in a reclined pose behind a dark polished desk, his pressed white shirt a stark contrast from her own rain-soaked and mud-stained tunic. He gestured to the mercenaries with two fingers. “Please, remove her gag. We are civilized here. And she knows she is a wanted woman in Ul’dah. This should not come as an undue surprise.”

 

Roen followed the noble’s gaze to the armored Sworn standing next to her in silence. “You did well.” Jameson curled a smile.

 

“I did what was necessary for Ul’dah.” Coatleque kept her tone neutral.

 

“Of course,” Jameson said, gesturing vaguely. “It does pain me that I had to resort to this.”

 

“And yet another Sultansworn wrapped around your finger,” Roen said in a hoarse voice once the gag was removed. “How do you do it?”

 

The noble shrugged. “Roen, we saw one another at the gala, remember? Coatleque was my date.” His amber gaze strayed back to the Sworn. “We are still…an item.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, one that held little warmth, if any. “I was hoping in my most pristine of dreams, that we, the four of us, could find some common ground. To stop the killing. That is what this is all about.”

 

“The four of us?”

 

“You, me, Coatleque, and Lazarov, of course.”

 

Roen narrowed her eyes. “We have nothing to talk about.”

 

“Not fer nothin’, boss,” Morn cleared his throat. “But what this is about is gil. So if me an’ Tash can get our pay, we’ll be the fuck outta yer hair.”

 

Jameson flicked the two mercenaries a patient look. “Vandol. Holbrook. Your pay will be arranged. You have my commendations.” He waved to the door. “If you would like to extend your current contract, please step outside and guard the door. Ensure that no one enters.”

 

There was a pause between the two mercenaries that flanked her sides, and Roen saw a slight stiffening of the male Highlander’s frame. Morn and Tash exchanged looks, then grumbled as they turned. “Yeah, we’ll be right the fuck outside,” the male said.

 

“He’s been good for it so far,” the paladin heard the woman murmur as they closed the door behind her.

 

Taeros let out a long sigh as he rose from his desk, approaching a wine-filled decanter and glasses on a side table. “Coatleque, please make Roen more comfortable,” he said without turning.

 

The Sworn stepped up behind her with a blade, but seemed to hesitate a moment before cutting her binds loose. Roen rubbed at her raw wrists as Jameson walked up to her, two glasses of wine in hand. He handed one to Ser Crofte, and offered her the other.

 

“It’s sad that it takes this to bring you here to me. Really.” He sighed when the paladin made no move to take the offering. “Am I not civilized? Truly?” He lifted the glass to his own lips, taking a languid sip of it as his pale eyes studied both the paladin and the Sworn in turn. “I want you to know that this hurts Coatleque more than she will ever admit.”

 

When Roen did not answer him, he continued. “Not that you’ve ever cared about anyone other than yourself, Roen. That and whatever you hold for honor. Piety.” There was a hint of mocking pity in his tone. “As long as you are at the center.”

 

She shot him a glare. “This is not about me. This was never about me.”

 

“You see people who oppose your views as traitors.” Taeros dismissed her words with a wave. “I believe that was the term that was thrown around regarding poor Natalie. In your view, she must have been brainwashed somehow.” His voice dipped. “I adored Natalie. She was a blunt instrument, but she was guileless. Unselfish. Whatever her other faults.”

 

“I do not know how you did it.” Roen shook her head, finally taking the moment to look at the man standing before her. “You, the one who had us all removed from the Sultansworn Order. You somehow convinced her to blackmail my brother into surrendering and execute another man without a trial.” She bowed her head, scowling. “And now you have another Sultansworn to take her place.”

 

“Whatever you judge Natalie to have been, whatever you judge Coatleque…they are nothing compared to the bed of vipers you have decided to lay yourself in.” There was a small curl to the noble’s lips. “So please do not be so quick to judge.”

 

“The snake calling out the viper,” Roen hissed. “I suppose one knows his own kind.”

 

“I brought you here to broker a peace. Not to see you in chains. Why do you think I ordered your face covered?”

 

“You are wishing to bargain…?” the paladin asked with obvious disbelief. She was about to continue when a quick knock interrupted them, followed by the mercenary woman poking her head in.

 

“Uh… boss? Some guy is here. Esmond Dirk? I told ‘im to fuck off but he insisted.”

 

Jameson frowned, his earlier smile fading. “See him in.”

 

Roen remained silent as another Midlander entered, and both he and Taeros retreated to the back room without another word. Their voices were hushed in their exchange, leaving the paladin and the Sultansworn alone in the main room.

 

“I trusted you,” Roen broke the silence, glancing sharply at the armored Sworn who had yet to say anything to her.

 

“You did,” Coatleque responded cooly.

 

“You cannot even meet my eyes.” Roen stared at the woman a moment longer. “I suppose you made your choice.”

 

Coatleque looked off at the map hanging on the wall. “Nero made my choice. Do not make this harder than it must be.”

 

Jameson entered the room again, setting his wine glass on the desk and pouring himself a refill. “Roen, if you must insist on playing the victim, I cannot stop you. Be my guest in that. I do what I do, Coatleque does what she does, for the good of the people of Ul’dah.” He lifted the glass again, although it paused, hovering before his lips. “Can you say the same about Lazarov?”

 

Taking another sip, the noble closed the distance between them. “I understand your…view of his intents may be skewed. But.” He leaned closer, training his gaze upon her. “You cannot deny he is the most dangerous creature our city has seen since Dalamud burst like an egg.”

 

Roen leaned away, glaring back at him. “You, along with the rest of the Monetarists, you live on the backs and drink the blood of the poor. You grow richer as they wither. You consider Nero more dangerous because he wants to do something against people like you. I suppose a sharp dagger looks more like a threat than a festering disease slowly rotting the core.”

 

The noble’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “Festering diseases now.” He flicked a lazy glance at the Ser Crofte. “Love, if your sweet conscience was burdened by this so-called betrayal…” He lifted his hands. “Witness what truly happens when a mind is coerced and poisoned.”

 

"My feelings are irrelevant,” Coatleque said flatly, her gaze still fixated on the distant wall. “My duty takes precedence."

 

Taeros narrowed his eyes on Roen, a look of anger flashing. “A disease I am. Yes. To him. Lazarov wants me dead.” He lifted her chin with the rim of his glass. “You do as well, perhaps?” He paused as if to look for a reaction, searching her eyes. “All because of the first mate, yes? Daegsatz.”

 

Roen stiffened, a part of her insides burned at the mention of the Sea Wolf’s name, but she refused to take the bait. The noble leaned back with an exhale. "That was a bit of bad work. Natalie...took things a bit too far. It was not my intent, I assure you." He rubbed his fingers distastefully. "But what happened happened.”

 

"You will forgive me if I have a hard time believing that," Roen replied coldly. "And there are many who want you dead."

 

“I am shocked you think you know of "many" who want me dead. I don't suppose you are willing to supply names,” the noble said, sounding almost amused. Then he sighed. "It doesn't matter, Roen. You are not the only person willing to break rules for something one truly believes in. This is not about honor. This is not about laws. This is a war for higher values.”

 

"Higher values.” Roen said incredulously. “Is it not about self-preservation? That is what you called higher values?"

 

Jameson tilted his head, that patient look never leaving his face. "This is for the future.” He looked to Coatleque, drawing her attention. “Our future. Roen's future, whether she likes it or not."

 

The Sultansworn nodded. "Yes, of course."

 

"Let us call it what it is.” Roen frowned at them both. “Preservation of your lifestyle. The way things work in Ul'dah. The way Monetarists run things. That is what you want to preserve. Protect. When it is wrong."

 

Taeros studied her in silence for a long moment. “What would you have me do?” he finally asked quietly. "If you had your fondest wish. Right here, right now. What would happen?”

 

"My wish? It is to see the Sultana recognize you and your kind for the poisonous influence that you are for this city--for all of Thanalan. That she dismisses the powers of the Syndicate, uses your vaulted, treasured wealth to supply for the poor outside those walls and within. To reorganize how this city works."

 

“My wealth. The Syndicate's wealth.” Jameson looked less amused. "But not the Sultana's wealth. Surely. Her wealth, that should remain. Of course. Because she was born to it. It is her gods-given right.”

 

"I have no doubt that she would give what she can to help her people."

 

The look the noble gave her, for a moment, was an odd combination of amused and affronted. “Do you truly think that would result in a sudden boon, a bloom of flowers upon the commons? Not even you are fool enough to believe that. The Sultana would shore up her walls, would make certain portions of the city prettier…and the rest, like Pearl Lane, would be shoved away to continue to wallow in despair.”

 

Jameson twirled the wine in his glass again. “Are the Syndicate's "rules" hard to play by at times? Certainly. They reward bold men and women, ones with courage and guile. The ones who fail to keep up…” He trailed off with a shrug. The noble set his glass back down on the desk, his tone changing oddly. “Your family...they are of an unconventional origin as well, are they not?”

 

"You can stay that.”

 

“And yet, with such an "unconventional" bloodline, you still swear, heart and soul, to Her Majesty.” He gestured to the Sworn. “At least Coatleque can say her blood runs true. A desert rose. Neither of us could say that.” Roen frowned at the implication that was being left unsaid. "You proclaim your higher purpose is for Ul'dah. Does it surprise you that I hold the same?"

 

Roen did not answer. Taeros turned, looking a the map that hung on the wall behind his desk. "I do not proclaim a higher purpose to Ul'dah. It is for the people in it. The smallfolk, the ones I struggled with, shoulder-to-shoulder, in my rise." His voice had quieted. "The city could fall to dust. I care not. Ah, but the people..."

 

Roen could not keep the disbelief out of her voice. "You. You care. For the people."

 

Taeros turned with a chuckle. "Well let's be plain, I do not care for all the people. Ul'dah has its share of sores. But that is life. The strong survive. The Sultana just paints a prettier picture than the plain one I just rendered.”

 

“The Sultana has shown willingness to help her people!” Roen protested.

 

“Oh please,” Taeros sneered. “Token gestures. Have you been to Pearl Lane. Where is her kindness there? The places she cannot be bothered to step her dainty foot get none of her aid. As ever."

 

Roen scowled. "You think she can fix that herself? And fund the Immortal Flames? And still continue to rule? And fend off the power struggle with your kind?"

 

"I doubt I could ever convince you otherwise.” Jameson sighed as he stepped closer, peering at her. “Roen, if I were the man you believe me to be, why should I not simply have you killed?”

 

Roen remained still, her jaw set. "Truth? I do not expect to live for much longer under your care."

 

Taeros narrowed his eyes as if insulted. "The better answer might have been that you are more useful as a hostage." He gave the silent Sworn another glance. “This is what I get, Coatleque. Do you think Lazarov is good for her? Be honest, love.”

 

"I do not,” Ser Crofte responded curtly.

 

Jameson smiled back at her. “You see? Sultansworn and Syndicate. Literally and figuratively in the same bed. And the both of us concerned for your welfare.”

 

"My welfare," Roen let out a bitter snort. "I really doubt I am here because of your concern for my welfare."

 

"Irrelevant,” Coatleque spoke again, her words clipped. “She knows where Lazarov is. He must be brought to justice. Did Vandol give you her linkpearls?"

 

"No, I shall have to retrieve those.” Jameson still wore a frown as he took a long sip from his glass. “We will draw out Lazarov in time. I am not fool enough to believe he would rush in. Especially if I reveal how much Roen and I have in common." He swirled his wine. "She and I, we actually do share an origin. Of a sort."

 

“You and I share nothing in common." Roen almost spat the words.

 

Jameson raised his eyes from that glass to the paladin. "We do," he insisted softly. "The fact that we were both born of Garlemald, primarily.”

 

Roen paused, not expecting that admittance. She had of course suspected that he had associations with Garlemald, owing from his past connection with the Garlean scientist Banurein, but she had not known he himself was of Imperial origin. Why was he telling her? But even as she studied his face, she saw him blink, as if he just remembered something--a hair’s width too late.

 

“Dirk.”

 

The man that had entered earlier stepped out from the back room. He bowed deeply, his expression neutral. “Yes, m’lord.”

 

“Do me a great favor, and replace the Holbrook woman's watch.” Jameson smiled. “Send her in.”

 

Roen stole a glance at Coatleque as the man exited, to gauge the Sworn’s reaction. She betrayed nothing, but her eyes were intently fixed on the map.

 

“Y'wanted t' see me, boss?” Tash entered, giving a nervous glance toward the two women. It was as if she was expecting to find a body or two.

 

“Yes.” Taeros turned and rounded his desk, unlocking a drawer with a key he kept hanging on a chain around his neck. He withdrew a small pouch. “Esmond Dirk intends to betray me. He has made that plain enough. We need to ensure he is gone. That should not be too difficult?" He tossed the pouch to the female mercenary. “For your service.”

 

"We's pros. 'Course not. But, uh..." She caught the pouch easily, and drew it open. Whatever she saw within made the woman smile wide. She pocketed it quickly.

 

“We have an understanding,” Jameson nodded once.

 

“Consider it done, boss.”

 

“Dismissed.”

 

When the door clicked closed again, the noble let out a long sigh, "We all have secrets we would rather not see the light of day. Trust is…” He paused for a breath, his amber eyes drifting to the Sworn. “It is a gift.” The two seemed to lock gazes for a moment before Taeros turned back to Roen. “I trust Coatleque implicitly. And she trusts me not to do something so juvenile as to murder you outright.”

 

"So why are you telling me?” Roen too regarded the Sworn who seemed to have no reaction to a death order that was just given. Or the news of Taeros's Garlean origins. Perhaps she did not know the woman at all. “Are you trying to win me over?”

 

“I do not need to win you over, Roen.” Jameson stepped back around the desk, approaching her. “I already know I will not. But I need you to understand my purpose in all this. It is every bit as equal as yours. We both come from a place that, were it learned by the commoners…neither of us would be safe from a common lynch mob.”

 

Jameson studied her for a moment longer before he curled his usual smile. “You will be my guest, Roen. In one of my special cells.” He brushed a forelock away from her eyes, playing with it gently between his fingers. He glanced to Coatleque. “Take a lock of her hair, in case I wish to send it to Lazarov. But we should also ensure she has every comfort. For now.” He gave the paladin a pointed look. “Until she becomes uncooperative."

 

"As you say,” the Sworn’s tone had returned to its flat monotony as she began to withdraw a pair of manacles from her belt.

 

“Cover her face so that other 'Sworn or Blades do not recognize her.” Jameson tilted his head, feigning an apologetic look.

 

Roen said nothing as her wrists were drawn behind her again, cold iron slapping around them.

 

Taeros laid a tender hand on the Coatleque’s shoulder as he watched her work. "You should ask yourself one thing, in all of this, Roen. If I trust her with my secret, and she trusts me as she does, is it even remotely possible you could be the slightest bit wrong about me?"

 

"Or I was entirely wrong about her,” Roen said bitterly, staring Crofte down.

 

"In a way, you may very well have been." Jameson replied softly. Then with an odd smile, he leaned to kiss Coatleque on the cheek. "Return to me tonight, love. We will speak of pasts...and futures."

 

"As you wish,” the Sworn replied quietly.

 

Then another hood fell over Roen’s eyes.

[Coatleque]

It was just over half a bell when Coatleque finally returned to the house of Taeros. Her whole body was numb with the realization of what she had done that evening, and it was not until she had latched the door behind her that life became reality once more. She had stopped to shod her darkened armor for something more comfortable along the way but had no recollection of the event herself, so focused was she on the night itself. Not seeing James sitting at his desk, she stopped and leaned back against the door. Her eyes closed for a long moment as she breathed slow and deep.

 

The fire had died down to the soft glow of embers while the rest of the lanterns had been dimmed as well, and the scent of spiced brandy clung to the air itself. It was an entirely different change from the earlier evening. One that was rarely seen at that. A mixture of somberness and mirth that failed to lift the pensiveness which had overtaken her.

 

Her eyes had adjusted to the low light by the time she reopened them. Pushing off the door slightly, she crossed the room with slow and light steps as a sneak-thief trying to avoid detection. It felt to her as if everyone and everything was watching her now. She almost startled herself as she approached the room division and saw James sitting at the couch. Had she not taken a moment before he would have been obscured in the shadows of the room.

 

In one hand he held aloft his snifter as he swirled the brandy within. The other hand held an open book which he idly glanced over as if it held no attention of his. Coatleque stood there quietly for a moment longer before speaking. "I have the item you asked for." She had withdrawn from her gil purse, just then, a folded handkerchief. It had been doubled over many times to form a tight-knit square.

 

"Set it on my desk, if you will." he replied quietly. Her eyes darted about the room searchingly before she bowed her head once, and low. Turning about, Coatleque placed the folded square on the side of his desk. Her hand traced the wood grain as she pulled back before turning to face him again. "What will you do with her now?" she asked.

 

He did not look up but merely swirled his glass again; The amber liquid within reflecting in his eyes over the dim glow of the fireplace. "She will, I hope, be enough to draw the pirate out from his proverbial cove." His voice held no great cheer, despite getting exactly what he had wanted this night. "We cannot lack courage in this. If opportunity presents itself, Lazarov must die. Quickly." he said softly.

 

"And if she is not?" Coatleque asked earnestly as she stepped forward to the room division.

"Then the war continues, as ever. More lives lost." he answered without hesitation before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Come sit with me, love."

 

"Die? Like your man had to di..." She stopped herself just then and closed her eyes to compose herself. Moving through the portal she complied and sat, but across from him rather than next to him. Doing so, she leaned forward with her face hidden in her hands.

 

"My man?" he asked with the raise of one brow. "Dirk, you mean. He was Mandercrown's man. I only paid him." Jameson said. His voice had taken on a familiar tone of annoyance she heard when it was clear she should have known something already. "Say what you mean. We are alone here, Coatleque."

 

She barely heard him, truth be told. Her hands lowered as her face turned towards him with glazed eyes. "Who am I, James?" she asked with a waver to her voice. She had not even expected an answer, and what little willpower she had left was focused on keeping from breaking down into tears in front of him. He peered back at her searchingly.

 

"Is that a question I should be answering? Or you?"

She shook her head and looked down once more. "Who do you think I am, then?" She had called to mind past conversations where he had spoken so highly of her, treated her as if they were equals in some shared struggle of wills. "I've done nothing to be where I am, yet you speak as though I am some great warrior."

 

He frowned, sitting up straighter upon the couch. "If you do not know, how should I? How did you receive your stripes? Am I mistaken that you still hold a commanding position within the 'Sworn?"

 

The notion was met with the stifling of a sarcastic chuckle. "Commanding? I am just some dumb country girl who got lucky one day. I never asked for this... it was thrust upon me when Natalie was suspended."

 

"Lucky in what way? Did an Ishgardian drake accidentally fall dead at your feet? I am confused."

 

She looked back up and slowly shook her head, her eyes not leaving him. "I am no desert rose."

 

Jameson canted his head. "I know. I was simply making a point. And in doing so, placing a trust. Should I not have?"

"... A trust in what? That I would not take action?"

"In your love.", he said softly.

 

Coatleque's mouth opened to reply, but she found no words. She blinked and looked away from him once more. For the moment at least, his words seemed to have ground her again. "Forgive me if the night was too eventful for me to handle at once."

 

"Is it Deneith or the hired blade that bothers you more? Or my poor heritage? You need to be steel." Jameson said evenly. "I cannot brook a wavering of your spine, Coatleque. I have already risked much for you. And thus far I have bound to every demand."

 

Her gaze snapped back to him suddenly as her own rage began to ebb. "What have you risked? What have I demanded of you?"

 

His own expression turned to annoyance now. "I risk all that I have in showing you truths. I trust you with my secrets. One word to Jenlyns and you could ruin me. Surely you see that." His voice grew steadily more angry. "I could be hung as a traitor." he nearly hissed.

 

"As she almost was?", she almost spat back.

"Indeed. They are not welcoming to our kind here." His voice lowered once more. "I thought you of all people would understand."

 

Coatleque furrowed her brow and shook her head incredulously. "Then why do you stay?"

 

His annoyance fell to an anger she had only seen once before. A seething rage that ended with his hand around her throat. "You would have me return to nothing?!" he said softly, after a long moment.

 

She felt herself slinking backwards into her side of the couch instinctively. Her eyes met his with some worry behind them. "That is not what I meant at all..."

 

Jameson's voice became clipped, pointed. "Then what did you mean? That you wish I were gone?"

"N-no... this is not about what I wish... there must be some reason you stay this far from home. T'is all I meant..." She tried her best to clarify in her own soothing tone.

 

He looked off towards the shadows of the room. The glow of the embers had all but gone out now. "A birthplace is no home. Have you ever seen Garlemald? Surely not." He shook his head slowly. "Never again. Deneith and I share that in common."

 

Coatleque's gaze slowly shifted back to the floor, gazing at the patterns in the carpet forlornly. Whether she cared for his anger or not by then, she had seemed to resign herself to it. "I have never been."

 

Jameson exhaled, long and slow. His rage did seem to subside. "You have not answered my question. You are clearly bothered by something. I would know the extent of your consternation." His words did not draw her gaze though.

 

"I have betrayed a friend this night. I have watched an execution ordered. In either case I did nothing."

 

"Duty then." he replied with a nod, pursing his lips. "The friend you betrayed has been conspiring to kill me. You brought me that news yourself. Yet I treated her with mercy, even kindness. And you still feel weighed?"

 

She exhaled slowly herself now. "You did. More than I.", she sighed.

 

"As for the man..." The corner of his mouth twisted to a distasteful sneer. "That was messy, I will concede. I am not normally that clumsy."

 

"I do not want to know" She said, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"But you should." he replied sharply. Reaching down then he picked at some (perhaps) imaginary lint on his pant leg. "The man was sent into my employ to spy on me. He would have had to have been dealt with eventually, lest he bring my secrets to that... harridan." Jameson sighed. "My carelessness merely stepped up the time-table." He peered at her once more, searchingly, as if trying to offer words of comfort. "You said no children," he continued softly, "and I swore to you."

 

"You did."

 

A long silence passed as she sat and mused over the night once more. What she had done, why she had to do it, what it meant for the future and for Ul'dah. Jameson sat respectfully as well, watching her from the other end of the couch. "I suppose...", she said at length, "... it is all just business then. That we are all merely pawns for the noble houses."

 

Jameson took a deep breath. "We are all pieces on the board. It is our choice whether we are pawns or kings. My house is not noble. It is a fabrication." His voice lowered once more. "I intend to change that. But I need you."

 

Her brow quirked. She could begin to fathom what he meant. Her heritage was no more noble than his own. "A fabrication. A trait we share then." she stated.

 

He shrugged. "The noble houses are all fabrications. Built on the bones of weaker men and women. We all started in the same misbegotten pit, Coatleque. They are..." His voice turned back to his clipped and distasteful tone. "... merely longer fabrications."

 

"Yet you had the wherewithal to climb your way out, while I had no choice." she said.

His eys narrowed in annoyance at her once more.

"If you are so displeased with yourself, perhaps you should just strip those fine clothes off right here, right now. I can use you in the way you originally intended."

 

Now it was her turn to be annoyed, and she glared at him in silence.

"Quit belittling yourself. You need be made of sterner stuff, else you will crumble." he continued.

 

Another long silence passed as she sat with closed eyes. Her face fell back to her hands as she breathed slowly, deeply. Who had she brought Roen in for? "For Ul'dah", she told herself over and over. It was becoming harder to believe her own words, though, the longer she remained here with him.

 

"He doesn't really need me. He is using me. Or is he? Why would he tell me these things? I told him I did not want to know..."

 

Jameson rose and walked 'round the center table to her. He leaned in close to her, his voice hesitant. "I need you. Not just your armor. Not just your blade." His voice turned like sandpaper. "We are too far in to flinch, Coatleque. Far too in. There is no escape. For either of us."

 

Standing upright again he offered her his hand. She swallowed hard and looked up to it, hesitating a moment before taking it with hers and standing beside him. "As you will. I stand with you then."

 

"You serve too often." he said softly. "Let that change."

 

---

 

The night passed with a new-found tenderness he had never shown before. In all their dalliances he had been determined, mechanical, almost hollow. Tonight their lips lingered strangely. An ache, all in its own, hovered over them both. A feeling that they are perched upon the edge of a yawning chasm, and either could slip and fall.

 

He was right in that she holds his fate in her hands, but he equally held hers now. She was complicit as any base criminal if all the facts were spread across the board. Yet as she considered where she was, and all she had done, there was a nagging loneliness that he had filled. They were both so, so far in now. She could not turn back.

 

---

 

In the morning as they both dressed to prepare for the day, he could not help but to assist her, leaving her beret askew as she sat by the vanity. He whispered in her ear. "Courage. I've still many players on the board, my Queen. But I need you to not falter."

 

She righted the hat and combed out her hair again as he turned to button his coat in the mirror against the wall. She nodded once, feeling somewhat emboldened now this morning. "James... ?" She turned towards him.

 

"Yes?" he asked, glancing back.

 

"I... I love you. Please, be careful."

He smiled at her. "And I, you. I will try."

 

"Tell me... what you need." she said in almost a whisper. Yet it was also a command that carried a seriousness which was not present the previous night.

 

"I have other irons in the fire,... " he replied as he fixed his testy lapel, brows furrowed. "... and not all in Ul'dah. Though this is our home." Content with his coat he came back to adjust her collar. Her murmured to her. "I need you to be what all the others expect you to be."

 

Her head tilted to the side as she tugged on her gloves one at a time.

"Well... most others.", he continued.

She smirked.

 

The two made their way back to the front of the office eventually. Jameson took his seat at the desk while Coatleque came around to the front. Roen's linkpearls were laid out before him. Coatleque tapped the desk with a finger. "One of those surely is direct to Lazarov."

 

"Do we know which?"

"No, but..."

 

With that she removed all of her own pearls and laid them out one by one. Each one was compared and matched to Roen's as she explained what each was that they shared. Coatleque removed each of her own pearls in turn as they weeded out the ones they knew were not Nero's. Jameson retrieved what was left.

 

"Visit Deneith. Ask her if she has a personal message for Lazarov, and assure her I will deliver it. Within reason of course. We may not need to send a lock of her hair if we can simply talk to the fool." His words were not commanding as one would expect, for she was no subordinate of his. She nodded once in understanding.

 

"True enough." she replied. "Shall I ask anything more of her?"

"No. Let her ask the questions. Perhaps our fair treatment of her will soften her edges. See that she is not wanting comforts. I am not a barbarian."

 

Coatleque smirked at him tauntingly. "Depending on whom you ask."

He met her taunt. "If they ask you?"

She only shrugged.

"Get out." he replied with a laugh.

[Roen]

Roen clenched her fist tight then opened it again, trying to loosen the stiffness there. Conjury had mended the broken bones of her hand, but the soreness still remained. She laid down on the thin mattress that passed for a bed, staring up at the stone ceiling above. It was taller than the Sworn gaols, but it felt oppressive all the same.

 

Her thoughts wanted to dwell on too many dark things all at once, that the paladin had to forcibly turn her thoughts to something that would get her mind off of the thick stone walls that wanted to suffocate her senses.

 

I wonder if Esmond Dirk survived, Roen absently wondered.

 

She had heard his voice, along with those of Morn and Tash, when Crofte led her out of Taeros’ office. Their conversational tone sounded cordial, although the paladin heard Tash trying to lead Dirk out of the building. Esmond did not seem to care for Roen’s predicament either way, but she warned him anyway.

 

“They mean to kill you,” she said as she was led past them. Even under the dark hood that was pulled over her head, the paladin still could tell that Dirk heard her. As she was led out by the Sworn, Roen could hear blades being drawn and a crack of splintering wood as if it was cleaved with a giant axe.

 

He is probably dead. Roen shook her head. He was the only other person that knew where she was other than the three that Taeros had ordered to bring her in. No one else knows that I am here.

 

Roen felt a sudden tightening in her chest with that thought, and it threatened to rob her of her breath. This would not be like her time in the Sultansworn gaol. Even though she had spent countless suns in the dark windowless cell, she had hope then that justice would prevail. The paladin knew that she had friends, allies, and family that were working to exonerate her. Coatleque, Natalie, and Kage, they were all working to prove her innocence. Mister Bellveil had visited her to bring her some cheer, and Askier had even snuck in an explosive in a well-intended but poorly thought out plan of freeing her. Hornet came despite her revulsion to dungeons, bringing news of Gharen’s well-being. Osric had given her words of wisdom to lend her courage, and Kiht had even saved her life.

 

Even Delial had helped her then, smuggling out the bomb that Askier had brought in.

 

Memories of all those she used to call friends and family brought an unexpected pang that pierced her mask of composure. Roen pressed her lips tight to dismiss the trembling she felt there, laying her mended arm across her eyes to lend steady pressure lest they threaten to spill tears.

 

This is no time for despair, she told herself. It was always something that she told herself, time and again when darkness loomed over her. But now, for the first time, she truly felt alone in her trials. Her emotions felt raw, shredded, and finding herself trapped alone with her thoughts, she could not deny that both love and trust had failed her miserably.

 

How could I have been so wrong…?

 

The rattle of the prison door brought her attention to the fore as she bolted to a seat. She heard quiet voices that echoed down the stonework before armored footsteps approached the thick door of her cell.

 

"... Did you sleep at all?" Coatleque’s voice came from the other side.

 

Roen remembered the same question that the Sworn used ask her many moons ago, when Coatleque was the paladin’s gaoler during her time being charged as a Garlean traitor. Back then, the Sworn’s visitations were a source of comfort--a small glimpse of warm candlelight in the pit of darkness. Now…now she was the latest person who betrayed her trust.

 

“Why do you even ask?” Roen replied coldly.

 

There was a pause, a slow measured breath being taken before Ser Crofte spoke again. "We both knew it would come to this eventually."

 

"How unfortunate for me that you realized it before I did."

 

Coatleque let out an incredulous chuckle. "You are harboring an enemy of the city-state. Someone who wants to kill for the mere sake of killing...and on top of that you made threats against Taeros right in front of me."

 

"He does not want to kill for the-" Words to defend Nero came out tumbling quickly enough, like a reflex. But Roen bit her lip, stopping herself. Was there a point to it anymore? Nero once had non-violent intentions, but that had changed. "Believe as you will, Coatleque. I thought he would end the suffering here."

 

"Two evils do not make good, Roen. I had thought you meant to stop him, else I may have acted even sooner. But now..."

 

"I thought I could. I thought we could still do this without needless bloodshed." Her own words sounded foolish now even to her own ears. The extent she had been lied to, the futile hopes she had placed in the Nero, and the memory of his bitter angry words…she did not want to dwell on them any longer. "But it does not matter anymore."

 

"I wanted to believe you. But then you said people were coming after Ja...after Taeros. What am I to do with that?"

 

She thinks that I am plotting Taeros’ death...Roen realized. She herself had a pause of hesitation when Osric had confided in her that he was sharpening his blade specifically for the noble. But in doing nothing, in trusting in the sergeant to do the right thing in the end, was she then his accomplice in this as well?

 

"I said that for your sake," Roen growled. "Because I believe you would stand between him and a blade. Do you think he does not have enemies?"

 

"I know he does." There was a pause to the Sworn’s words, as if hesitating. “Or at least he makes them easily. I do not pry."

 

"Because if you did, you would have to put him in here too."

 

Coatleque spoke slowly and questioningly as if she did not believe herself either. "...No, he...does care about Ul'dah. In his own way..." She cleared her throat. “And besides...Lazarov is the bigger threat to the city right now. I cannot divide my attention like that."

 

Roen shook her head. "You have your priorities then,” she said grimly. "I thought I had mine. Nero...he cared about Ul'dah too. In his own way. And now I am in here for it." The paladin paused, her voice lowering to a whisper. "I know...what he has done. I wished I could have stopped it.”

 

"As do I,” Crofte’s voice lowered to match her own, her tone laced with regret. Then there was a sharp intake of breath when she continued. "You are not to want for anything while here at least. If you need bedding, clothes, something to read, let the guard know. By Jameson's order."

 

When Roen did not answer, the Sworn continued. "We have your linkpearls as well."

 

Roen’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling slowly upon her lap into fists. "He will not answer."

 

There was a slight creak to the thick wooden door as if the Sworn was leaning against it. "You do not know that,” she murmured. "If there is a message you wish to be delivered..."

 

"Nay. I do know." She struggled to keep her voice steady. "You can say that I still do not believe in impossible trades. He should not either." She paused, her voice growing softer. "Tell him...there is always another side. Tell him that. He may hear. I do not know. ...But he will not answer."

 

"He does not have to answer, so long as he hears. And if he does not respond, he will also receive the lock of hair you gave me last evening."

 

The paladin brought her hand to cover her eyes, even though the Sworn could not see her through the thick doors. But she wanted to deny her sudden sadness all the same. She wrinkled her nose into a frown and hardened her voice. "He will not come, Coatleque. I know him. I am not the bargaining chip that will draw him out."

 

There was a long pause from the door. "Roen...does he feel nothing for you?"

 

Roen bowed her head, trying desperately to swallow down the constriction in her throat. "I am not what holds his heart. I do not know that anything does...any more."

 

"I am sorry. For whatever that is worth. I did not know."

 

The paladin sucked in a sharp breath, straightening in her seat. “And I do not want him to come. Not into Taeros’ hands.”

 

"It is not into his hands, it is into Ul'dah's hands." The Sworn snapped back, her voice also adapting a hint of steel.

 

"So you say," Roen nearly spat out those words.

 

"He must answer for crimes already committed, regardless if he has given up his madness."

 

"Perhaps so." There was a grim curl to her lips. "But I will not turn him over to you. Nor the man you sleep with."

 

“Then the blood he has shed is on your hands in equal portion." Roen could hear the deep scowl in the woman’s voice.

 

"Will you play the part of my executioner as well?"

 

"Even if I say no, you've no reason to believe me anymore."

 

"Nay. I do not.”

 

"At least I did not say it was for your benefit, as Natalie did."

 

Roen could only answer that with a bitter chuckle.

 

"I do not believe anyone has benefited here,” Ser Crofte said as she pushed off the cell door. "If you have anything else to say, it seems my time is done for now."

 

The paladin said nothing else. She could only stare at her hands in tightly balled fists upon her lap as Crofte's armored footsteps grew distant, ending with the heavy slam of steel door. It was only then that Roen bowed her head, and buried her face in her hands and let her hidden tears fall.

[Roen]

“That will be all, Osbert.” Lord Jeulerand Rezhenne dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand, not even looking back as his bedroom door closed quietly behind him.

 

The Elezen set his quill aside next to the bottle of ink, his hand going to the glass of red wine set on the table. Taking an idle sip, he lifted the recently penned letter, holding it next to the candlelight, looking over the document once more. The noble knew that it had to be well worded, lest he draw more displeasure from other Monetarist nobles. He had been trying to regain the favor that he had lost somehow with the faction loyal to Lolorito, if his recent encounter with Taeros in the operetta was any indication.

 

Lightly blowing on the wet ink, Lord Rezhenne smiled. Surely, the promise of new business and increased wealth would get him back into Lolorito’s good graces again. He would not be associated with the likes of Mumuqaru, another house rumored to have also gained some ill-will with Taeros. Setting his drink back on the table, he laid the parchment down carefully, when the flame of the candle flickered once more and the door creaked open quietly behind him.

 

“What is it, Osbert? Did you forget something?” the Elezen asked without turning around. His personal valet had been known to bring him last minute night caps, or fret over the crispness of his sheets before slumber.

 

So when the strangely scented rag suddenly appeared, covering his nose and mouth, the Elezen noble could only desperately claw at the unrelenting grip that had, just as suddenly, constricted around his neck and face. The wooden chair he was sitting in shook violently, the noble’s feet kicking at the table, knocking over the wine glass. The crimson liquid soaked into the parchment and began to blur the inked letters, as the dancing candlelight threw stretched shadows of the struggling noble and his assailant against the far wall.

 

Soon the silhouette of the noble began to slow in his movement, but he kicked out one last time in desperation. It only managed knock over the candle, its flames fizzling out as it was drowned in the spilt wine. Then the room was plunged into darkness.

 

 

[align=center]~[/align]

 

 

The gold locket spun in the air, its small but gilded surface catching the late morning sunlight just right to lend it a warm glimmer.

 

Brynnalia Callae was leaning on a cushy divan with her feet propped up on the coffee table. She twisted the thin chain between her fingers, idly watching the jewelry spin this way and that. With a flick of the wrist she swung it up and caught it mid-flight. She pried it open with her thumb and brought it before her eyes.

 

Within was a tiny portrait of an olive-complexioned Highlander with dark raven hair and striking green eyes. It was as if she was staring at herself, except that the woman within the picture was at least ten cycles older than she was now.

 

“As you have endeavored to share elements of your world with me, thus do I attempt to do the same in kind. Unfortunately, the majority of my experience is with gilt and finery attempting to conceal rather less impressive contents. Perhaps with this, you may keep something hidden and close at the same time. I find that helps. Happy Starlight.”

 

That was the note that Gideon North had attached to an unexpected gift--one that he had prepared for her before a certain card game. Brynn wondered what possessed him to get her a gift in the first place. Was it their awkward drinking outing that warmed him to her? Or her flirtatious teases every time they encountered each other? She often enjoyed the challenges that came with rattling men’s composure, and more stoic or staunch their resolve the better. And when it faltered, there was a swell of pride that fed her arrogance and brought her a certain amount of satisfaction--something akin to a hunter that had finally cornered its prey.

 

It was just a game after all, and one that she enjoyed playing quite a lot.

 

And yet…when he gave her the gift, she was taken aback. She had just ambushed him and her old acquaintance, Shaelen, at that card game a few suns past. Both he and the smuggler were livid at the deception, and Brynn knew that her bridges had been burnt--perhaps for good--with Stormchild. But North was someone who she was going to continue to work with for Taeros, so she talked herself into the challenge of gaining his forgiveness even after lying and deceiving him. It was another game, right? She did not want to admit that she did find the rare glimpse of his dry wit endearing as well.

 

So why did the gift unsettle her so? Brynnalia studied the small portrait of the woman within the locket. Her mother was the last person to give her Starlight gift, and that was many cycles ago. Since joining the Resistance, then eventually gaining employment under Taeros, she had successfully kept everyone else at bay, using them for what she needed, whether it be pleasure, distraction, or profit. But never had she received or expected a gift, especially on the charitable holiday. She gave none and expected none in return. She had no use for sentimentality, after all.

 

And yet here she was, wearing the locket close to her heart, with the picture of the person that had meant most to her in world. This doesn’t mean anything, she told herself again.

 

The kiss on Valentione’s Day didn’t mean anything either, Brynn quickly added as a reminder. She was amused, not bothered, that Gideon had received chocolate from some anonymous admirer--although she herself suspected Crofte since no one else knew of his new charge, Wilhelm. Brynnalia teased him about his numerous lovers--obviously he had to have more than one, since he did not know who sent the chocolates-- and then she surprised him with a kiss just because it was something he was not expecting. She smirked even now remembering the ruddy hue that colored the valet’s cheeks and the sudden speechlessness that overtook him.

 

But it was her turn to be surprised when he “returned the favor” only a few suns ago. Brynn had scolded him and dared him to do live a little lest he go to his grave with regrets. That was when he pulled her in for a kiss, one of quiet intensity. Much like the man, it was heated but controlled. When he pulled away, Gideon wore his same usual composed expression again.

 

“Perhaps you were correct. Less regret than I expected,” the valet observed matter-of-factly.

 

Brynnalia grinned as she recalled her retort then, “I didn't know ye as well as I thought. But don' mind being wrong just this once."

 

With a quiet snort of amusement, she tucked the locket back under her tunic, just as a red colored linkpearl chimed quietly. When she plugged it into her ear, the tidings she was given made her scowl immediately.

 

“Jeulerand Rezhenne?” Brynn blinked as she repeated the name. She narrowed her eyes. “Aye, I know of the man. Taeros will want tae know all ye found. Prepare a report. I’ll be right there.” With a displeased grunt, she uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself up from her seat. All previous leisurely musings were dismissed as her thoughts took a darker turn. What had been reported to her by a Brass Blade on the 'pearl did not bode well for Taeros, or his business dealings.

 

And that meant things did not bode well for anyone else around him either.

[Roen]

"Poisoned?”

 

Broken Nose kicked the empty bottle off to the side as he peered at the body of the Elezen lord that was slumped in the chair. He sniffed at the noble’s wine-soaked shirt before he straightened, and looked to the medic who was hovering on the other side of the corpse.

 

The Midlander shook his head, rubbing his chin. “It looks that way at the first glance, maybe something in the drink.” He gestured to the mess of spilled spirit over the desk, the body, and the floor. “But Rezhenne’s mouth is free of blood. His eyes are bloodshot, so...my guess is suffocation.”

 

Roegadyn Brass Blade grunted, and began to study the desk that the noble was sitting at, his eyes squinting at stained parchment there. More than half of the letter was still wet and blurred with wine, but he could make out some sentences still. It was made out to Lord Quillburn. ‘I have reconsidered. I do not think Mumuqaru’s plan is sound. If you plan to proceed, I will not take any part on this. But if you decide--’

 

“His valet found him this morning,” another Blade’s voice brought the Hellsguard’s attention to the door. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest when he spotted the familiar raven-haired Highlander talking to one of the Blade grunts. Her arrival was hardly ever silent, bejeweled with jingling bracelets and anklets. Broken Nose wondered if Callae was so finely decorated before she took employment under Taeros.

 

“Hob!” the Roegadyn barked, which silenced the Midlander Blade immediately. It also brought Brynnalia’s green gaze his way. “Don’tcha have better things to do?” Broken Nose lumbered over toward the entrance to the bedroom, towering over the two hyurs. Hob, whom the Hellsguard knew made daily reports to Taeros’ camp, shrunk in the Roegadyn’s shadow...but the Highlander bard only crossed her arms, smirking up at him.

 

“Broken Nose,” Callae greeted him with a nod. The Roegadyn was familiar enough with the woman and her easy smile to know that her disarming ways were only an act; she was just an extension of Taeros and was not to be trusted. “Hob here was just tellin’ me about what happened tae poor Lord Rezhenne.” She patted the shoulder of the Midlander and gave him a playful wink as he slunk away.

 

The Hellsguard rolled his massive shoulders, his dark eyes narrowing on the woman. “Mayhap this be a Brass Blades investigation. Ya here ta help us in finding the culprit?” Broken Nose already knew she was not here to help, but only to suss out whether this was something that would affect the welfare and business of her employer. He used to not care about such things, but of late, he was finding that such details vexed him.

 

“Ye already know that Taeros and Rezhenne were business partners.” Brynnalia kept her tone light. Her expression stayed that way too. “Monetarist nobles found dead in his own room not be somethin’ any other Monetarists want tae hear.” She passed by the Brass Blade sergeant to approach the body and Broken Nose could already see her eyes scanning the area. He grumbled and strode after her, laying his large hand on the table to bring her attention back to him. She was skimming over the contents of the letter when he cleared his throat, to which she answered with another easy grin.

 

“We’re not sure what killed him yet, nor who wanted to.” He crossed his arms again, a wry expression on his face. “Your employer wouldn’t want ta help us out with a few clues?”

 

To that Callae laughed, tossing her head back. “What are ye implyin’, Nose?” Her smile never wavered. “I s’pose ye can ask him yerself if ye feel so inclined. But I am certain my employer wants tae get t' the bottom o’ this as much as anyone.” She sighed then her tone lowered just slightly, but enough to be noticeable. “I don’ need tae remind ye where yer pay comes from. Ye best be doin’ yer finest job tae make sure we find the right culprits here.”

 

Broken Nose nearly scowled at the implication, but said nothing. She was right. Weren’t all Blades funded by Taeros’ employers, after all? He had somehow started to forget that of late. But with those like Callae about, he told himself to take care in his choice of words and even demeanor. “Well, I’ll get a good pair of eyes on it then. A new recruit just came on board. An ex-Flame.”

 

“Mm,” Callae hummed as she scanned the letter again. “Ex-Flame eh?” She paused, looking back upat him with arched brows. “Wait. She be the one that was also leadin’ the Flames in that street fight a few moons back...aye? The ones with guns?” She slowly tilted her head. “How is that investigation goin’?”

 

This time, Broken Nose could not keep the frown at bay. “Dead ends. We know the bandits are led by someone named Scythe, who is recruitin’ under the pretense for some revolutionary cause.” He paused, looking pointedly at her. “Although the rumor amongst many Blades is that because they suspect some association between this Scythe and that Limsan pirate, suddenly there’s talk of rewards for whoever brings ‘im in. You wouldn’t happen ta know if such rumors were true now, wouldja?”

 

It was Brynnalia’s turn to shrug. “I wouldn’t know anythin’ about it. But…any incentive tae put an end t' bandits within the walls, with guns no less, well that'd nae be a bad thing, mm?”

 

“Not if trying to bait him is done by beatin’ up on more refugees,” the Hellsguard growled.

 

Callae tilted her head, and for a moment, Broken Nose thought that her smile too faded just a little, but it was as fleeting as a passing shadow of a bird in flight. “Ye know our employers. What they want, they get. ‘Sides, don’t tell me ye’ve gone soft, 'Nose.”

 

The Roegadyn let out a loud snort. “Ya don’t enjoy seeing it just as much as me, we both know it.” He knew he had guessed right when that easy smile on the woman’s face faded. Broken Nose had gambled that since the woman was a Highlander, that she held still some loyalty to those of her kin. He shared a lowborn upbringing himself and had some measure of sympathy for the poor, even though he rarely let it be shown in his line of work. He leaned in close and kept his voice low. “I do this job to put food on the table at the end of the day, and so do you, I reckon’. We don’t need ta turn into monsters for it.”

 

Brynnalia met his gaze steadily, the green hue of her eyes turning a darker shade. All amusement was gone from her visage. “And ye and I both know the food on the table be no good if our necks not be intact tae enjoy it. And I intend tae keep mine, and the spread on my table well stocked.” She lightly tapped his chainmail armor on the chest. “We work with and for monsters every sun, 'Nose. Don’t ye forget it.”

 

Broken Nose blinked, taken aback by the woman’s sudden honesty. But soon as he started to regard her differently, perhaps trying to see her in a different light, she straightened and flashed him her playful smirk again.

 

“Now, 'Nose. Be a sweetling and let me know what ye find eh? Or keep yer ears tae the ground on how this…new recruit’s investigation goes. I wouldn’t want it goin’ awry…” Callae was already making her way for the exit, a two-fingered wave sent over her shoulder.

 

“Will do,” the Roegadyn muttered as he watched the woman exit. He turned back to the dead Elezen before him, scowling at the letter.

 

Just what deal was he wanting out of? And did it get him killed?

[Roen]

"Mister Lazarov. Are you there?"

 

It was a breezy sunny day in Middle La Noscea, only thin wisps of cloud scattered across the clear blue sky. Roen lightly caressed the beak of her chocobo as it nudged her for a treat, the other hand hovering by the linkpearl in her ear.

 

"As always, love. Something on your mind?" Gone was the seemingly perpetually steely demeanor Nero's tone usually held. Just after one sun in Limsa Lominsa, and his mood had improved considerably.

 

Roen playfully fended off her bird’s prodding, her expression and tone light. "That afternoon you promised me. I believe this is that day."

 

She rolled her eyes when there was a pause on the other side. "...Ah, right! I completely--did not forget about that. At all. Where shall we rendezvous?"

 

"Just meet me outside the Tempest Gate?"

 

"As you wish, my dear."

 

The paladin was checking the tightness of the saddle on her mount when the smuggler appeared around the corner of the gate, leaning against the white molded stone of the staircase railing. His arms were crossed and he wore a grin of amusement. “Don’t mind me using the aetheryte.”

 

Roen glanced over her shoulder at the pirate with a cheerful smile. "Well, we will not be traveling via aetheryte today, Mister Lazarov." Her lips broadened into a mischievous grin. "I hope you like riding."

 

Nero wrinkled his nose. "I am sure it's an acquired affinity. The sea suits me more than a chocobo, but far be it from me to protest a lady's activities." He seemed to reluctantly push off the stones to approach the bird, albeit cautiously.

 

His answer only encouraged her more. "Well, as I am never comfortable on the seas, I think turnabout is fair play."

 

The smuggler raised a brow when he spotted a second bird being led out by the gates, Roen giving the stablemaster a nod in thanks. “Dare I ask? No, perhaps not."

 

The paladin approached the second feathery creature, giving him a smile and a rub just under the jaw. "I think she is eager for a good run." She leaned to look past the chocobo to the pirate who was now sporting a look of skepticism. It bordered on anxiety. "I hope you are." She grinned.

 

Nero narrowed his eyes as he too joined her by the second mount. "I think my bird is a fair bit more agitated. Do keep your laughter to a minimum when I am thrown off, yes?"

 

Roen could only grin wider. "I would never."

 

"If they are eager, then let us not keep them waiting, no? Lead on." He hooked one foot onto the stirrup and mounted the bird, testing the length of the reigns.

 

The paladin easily swung her leg over and hopped on her own chocobo, testing the saddle. "As the sea may be your freedom, riding was always mine." She spied a wince on the smuggler’s face as he too shifted in his seat.

 

"I only pray my posterior will survive the journey,” he grumbled. “These animals are a fair bit more uncomfortable than I remember."

 

Roen chuckled, she was getting far more joy out of his predicament, more than she expected! "I am sure your backside will be just fine."

 

"Trust you to consider my backside fine, Miss Deneith.” Nero arched a brow at her. “Have you been staring when I have not been looking?" That trademark smirk returned easily enough. "Not that I mind, but touching will cost you."

 

Roen narrowed her eyes, but the curl of her lips still betrayed lingering amusement. "I think I prefer to look at the backside of your beautiful mount, truth be told." She shrugged as she took up the reins, turning her chocobo around. "More handsome."

 

His mirth did not abate either. "Ah, unfortunate.” He shrugged as he nudged his chocobo to step up next to hers. “But you will be the leader, I am afraid, so it will be your backside to be admired this day. I pray you do not mind much."

 

The paladin rolled her eyes again. "I know not where to go, only that we will be riding, and fast!” Roen glanced ahead to the downhill path before them and the hills and greens that awaited beyond. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with crisp coastal air. “That is our journey today. Just...see where the winds take us. And get there before it does." She gave him a sidelong glance and a lopsided grin that held a hint of a challenge. "See if you can keep up?"

 

Nero snorted, a confident grin on his face. "You best beseech Llymlaen for her grace, then." He flicked the reins hard, setting his bird off without warning.

 

"Oh ho!" The paladin laughed as Nero and his mount bolted into a gallop downhill first. “Hya!” She snapped her own reins, chasing after them.

 

 

[align=center]~[/align]

 

 

Roen opened her eyes to see the same grey stone ceiling that she had been staring at for the last few suns. When her dreams wandered to happier and warmer moments in her life, waking up and realizing her current predicament was just a bit harder, and her cell seemed just a bit darker.

 

But when she woke from a dream where she was reminded of the man she had fallen in love with, and then to remember how wrong the affair of her heart had gone since…it made her solitude almost unbearable.

 

The single guard that sat outside her cell was no company either. One was always posted outside her thick door, and occasionally she heard voices that told her more were beyond the dungeon door down the hall. But she still did not even know where she was. Roen had had no visitors since being removed from her one night stay at the Blades gaol where Ser Crofte had put her; she was moved the next morn by men she did not know, again with a hood over her head. All she remembered was clumsily descending a long flight of stairs. She guessed she was somewhere deep underground, which made the air still and musty, making the guard’s disposition all that much more sour. But she was left alone and in silence mostly, probably by the order of the man who put her here. So when the dungeon door creaked open to break the silence, the anticipation that rose was mixed with apprehension.

 

“Ah, right." The guard snorted. "I was told the little lady was going to have a visitor.” There was a rustle of armor and clanking of sword as if he was standing up from his seat.

 

Then she heard a voice she did not expect.

 

“It would appear so, sir.” Mister’s North’s voice was unmistakable. Roen remained still, but there was a small gasp of relief that she hid behind her hand. She pressed her lips tightly upon each other as she listened. Apparently, the valet had brought a few delectable snacks, a surprise that appeased the guard greatly.

 

“I hope it meets with sirs and his companions’ approval.” Gideon's calm voice echoed off the stones, and Roen could not help but find comfort in it. Only moments later, the aroma of cooked meat and baked bread wafted through her cell door. It made her mouth water. There had been meals brought by, but the guards often took them for themselves, and only spared her gruel that they were given.

 

“You brought plenty,” the guard said with his mouthful.

 

“From milord's accounts, I was unsure as to whether there would be multiple guards or merely a single posted. Fortunately, I strove to be prepared. That should feed all six of you.”

 

Soon she heard the sounds of keys jingling on the keychain, then the lock to her cell door clicked and it swung open. Roen turned to look to Gideon, doing her best to keep her face neutral. The valet’s own expression was as composed as usual, as he entered her cell and laid a wrapped package on her bed and a tray on the table.

 

“I presume, Miss, that you are the guest milord spoke of,” he said with a polite bow, before setting to methodically unwrap his deliveries.

 

“Aye.” She cleared her throat. It has been days since she said a word. “That…that would be me.” She watched him set a bundle of clothing by her bed, and set out covered bowls and dishes on the table.

 

“Milord has kindly provided a change of clothing, to ensure Miss's hygiene and comfort…”

 

Roen frowned at the bundle on her bed. “How kind of him.” There was no warmth to her words.

 

“I don’t mind this part of my job,” the guard chimed in as he came to stand at the entrance of the door, sucking some dip off his fingers as he sneered at her.

 

Gideon turned his attention from setting the table back to the guard, his polite tone never faltering. “I trust I will not have to report to milord that his guest was made to feel uncomfortable during her stay?”

 

It took a moment before the guard seemed to understand what the valet was implying. He answered with an incredulous look. “What? She's a prisoner for cryin' out loud.”

 

“She is, and he was quite specific to ensure that she not be inconvenienced in any way. I trust this has been upheld to the best of your ability?”

 

“I can’t have her hiding things in her clothes!”

 

Gideon tilted his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “From the emphasis he placed on it, I cannot imagine the consequences if his intentions were to be misconstrued. Ah, but I am merely thinking aloud. My apologies. I reiterate; her conditions and circumstances have been kept as palatable as possible?”

 

The guard’s face was slowly twisting with barely-suppressed anger. “Fine.” He spat. “If she’s goin’ to be so pampered, I'll make sure I will attend to her next bath to make sure she ain't hidin' shite. I got this duty for many more suns to come, little lady.”

 

“Of course, sir.” Gideon bowed at the waist. “I will be sure to report the details thusly to my lord, and ensure that your name is provided for his.”

 

The guard’s complexion had turned ruddy, his one eyebrow twitching slightly. He spun on his heels and strode out, only pausing to snatch the food that was left on the chair. The dungeon door slammed loudly behind him.

 

“Now then…” Gideon turned as if nothing was amiss and removed the lids of the plates and bowls he had brought. “Miss's additional clothes, and the meal sir requested for her: baked warmwater trout in a garlic butter sauce, an assortment of nopales dumplings, and…” He cleared his throat politely. “Chanterelle saute.”

 

Roen swallowed, to dismiss the lump that suddenly rose in the throat. “Gratitude.” A hoarse whisper was all she could manage.

 

The butler answered with another bow. “At Miss's convenience, I will return further on in the evening, or early tomorrow morning to collect milord's dinnerware.”

 

"I will be here." The paladin sighed, sounding defeated. She kept her eyes on the dish with the white mushrooms floating in a steaming sauce. Comfort is hard to come by, especially in dire circumstances. She plucked one from the saute, just staring at it. Take such moments when able.

 

“Of course, Miss.” Gideon neatly rolled up the linen wrappings and approached the door. “Regarding the dumplings, Miss.” He paused at the entryway, his words spoken with care. “I must apologize in that I may have been overzealous in spicing them appropriately. Miss is encouraged to eat with appropriate caution and attention.”

 

That made the paladin turn back to the butler, her eyes blinking wide. She was met with a calm stare from the valet, before he bowed again. “I see…” she murmured, her attention going to the dish of plump dumplings.

 

“Miss.” His farewell was polite and short as he turned and made his exit.

 

Roen rummaged through the dumplings carefully before the guard returned. Lo and behold, she found three of the six bulging oddly in certain corners. When she carefully pried them open, she found buried within the meat a simple needle, one hairpin-style lockpick, as well as a tiny vial that she recognized as a sleep ward. She hid them in different areas around her cell. It must have been the quiet admonishing lecture that he received, for when the guard returned, all he did was to slam her door shut and lock it.

 

That night, when Roen closed her eyes to sleep, amidst her swirling thoughts of doubt and bleak possibilities now lay the smallest sliver of hope:

 

Escape.

[Roen]

When Gideon returned, Roen was dressed in a commoner’s outfit: a white tunic that fell off her shoulders with a corset that tightened around her waist and a long dark skirt. That was what was deemed appropriate by the Monetarist noble, it seemed. The guard had taken away her old clothes, and although they were dirty and stained with mud and old rain, loose tunic and pants were much preferable to a corset and a dress. It made the paladin fidget as she sat on the edge of the bed. She kept straightening out the nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt.

 

After a polite exchange, the guard excused himself “for a piss” after unlocking her cell. Roen guessed that he didn’t want to leave any opportunities open for another lecture from the butler.

 

“Those dumplings,” she said once the guard left them alone. “Interesting spices.”

 

“I am vindicated to hear so, Miss.” Gideon began to gather the dishes and the utensils, stacking them neatly upon the tray. “I always believed, Miss, it was better to be prepared for a variety of circumstances and tastes. If Miss has saved some leftovers from the meal, I advise she hang onto them for now.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “One may never know when they may add the perfect complement to an otherwise-complete meal.”

 

She took that brief moment to give him the smallest of smiles. "Gratitude," she murmured.

 

“Merely doing my job, Miss.” He bowed. “Is there anything further Miss requires of me or my master?”

 

When she met his gaze, their expressions held a new gravity that they had not spoken with before. "I have very few friends left...here. Or in Thanalan.” She paused with a tilt of her head. “I am not even sure where I am.”

 

“Miss is in a subterranean complex below the Hammers. I do not believe the machinery would be audible from this level, however."

 

Roen frowned. She had guessed as much, at least in terms of the depth. "One is named Kiht Jakkya. She probably does not know what happened to me or where I am. But...she may inquire soon.”

 

“Is there an advised course of action for this eventuality?” Gideon asked calmly as he continued to arrange the dishes onto the tray.

 

The paladin bit her lower lip. How much could she say here? And yet, what other opportunity did she have? “Nero has given up. I have told Ser Crofte this. I do not think she believed me. Or she may not care. Your master likely want him see him dead, either way.”

 

“Indeed, Miss.”

 

Roen lowered her head, her voice lowering as if almost ashamed to admit these details. They were partly her own failures too, were they not? “Nero had armed a bandit gang in Ul’dah with Limsan guns. I was looking to stop them when I was caught. If I cannot, he must. He said he would. It is…one of the reasons why I cannot turn him over. I will not turn him over to your master no matter what the circumstance. But Kiht…if she knows what has happened…perhaps she can convince him to do the right thing.”

 

Gideon paused and turned, looking to her calmly. “I reiterate: what is the appropriate course of action if said woman appears at the estate?”

 

That gave paladin pause. She did not quite know. She had asked Shael to contact Kiht if something were to happen to her. Because Kiht was the only other person that Roen was aware of, that knew where Nero could be found. Shaelen possibly knew as well, but Roen never expected the Highlander woman to risk too much. But Kiht…as much as Roen trusted her, would she be able to talk Nero into stopping the bandits when she herself was unable?

 

"Help her speak to who she needs to." Roen sighed. It was vague enough without speaking out loud too many details. "I am not certain that is your master."

 

“I am hardly in a position to bring her to anyone else, Miss.” Gideon arched a brow, obviously confused.

 

The paladin frowned. She was more frustrated at herself than anyone else. She should have thought up a backup plan rather than wallowing in despair over her failures. She was asking him to direct Kiht to Nero, without saying out loud that her friend knew how to find the pirate. She did not know if they were being listened in on, or how much Gideon was risking already. She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. “Ser Crofte. She arrested me. I did not think she would. I was foolish, aye?”

 

“In order to ensure the protection of our ideals and those around us, Miss, we often resort to drastic actions when they seem the only method available.”

 

"Aye. We do." Her voice grew quiet in reflection. "Perhaps I was doing the same but turning a blind eye to things I should not have." She stared at her dress, scowling. "He gave up," she finally blurted out. "After all that. He just...quit."

 

“I see. Should he have done it sooner, Miss?”

 

Roen bit her lower lip as she bowed her head, her forelocks falling heavily before her eyes. "I...I do not know. He had such violent plans. I do not know if I could have stopped him from enacting them. I suppose a part of me should be glad that he did give up before those plans came to fruition. Plans he hid from me." Her voice trembled slightly. "I thought we saw the same end, he and I. And I thought I could steer him toward one path over the other." She shook her head. "I was so wrong."

 

“Perhaps, Miss.”

 

The paladin snorted bitterly and let out a chuckle tinged with sadness. "So no violent plans, but nothing else either. All that work. And nothing. All the deaths, for nothing."

 

Gideon turned from the table, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I am no judge of men, but I have my doubts that much would have changed had his plans succeeded.”

 

Her lips curled into an angry frown as she glared up at the butler. "So what was I working for then??"

 

Gideon’s composure did not falter. “Presumably for love, Miss.”

 

Roen stared at him for a moment longer, before turning her gaze away shamefully.

 

“To my understanding, that was the sole factor in play. Everything else was eliminated.”

 

Her hands curled into tight fists upon her lap wrinkling her dress, her knuckles turning pale with the strain. "That would make me the biggest fool, Mister North,” she rasped.

 

“That would make Miss a proven woman of singular devotion, Miss.”

 

Roen buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling with emotion. She stifled a sob, refusing to show him her humiliation. That was when she felt an embrace of the blanket around her near bare shoulders, as Gideon gently placed the it around her. He tugged it once as he lowered himself to her eye level.

 

“And my equal in that respect,” he said softly.

 

Roen sniffed and peered back up at him with her slightly bloodshot eyes. She forced a small but sad smile. "Gratitude, Mister North.”

 

“Unnecessary, Miss.” Gideon removed his handkerchief from his chest pocket and gently dabbed at her face. He continued, his tone ever composed, but slightly softened. “It is a matter of great pride, Miss, to hold true to one's own ideals and code even against all odds. Regardless of the outcome, it is an admirable thing you have done.”

 

The paladin remained still where she sat, blinking. She could have resembled a child getting her cheeks cleaned, but there was a small part of her that took comfort in the gesture. She straightened, inhaling deeply to compose herself. "I still...have work to do. If...when...I get out of here." Determination furrowed her brows and she looked at him pointedly. "I am not done yet. I still have promises to keep."

 

“Perhaps, Miss.” Gideon shrugged as he withdrew the handkerchief. “It is my perspective...that Nero Lazarov and Jameson Taeros are the same man seen from different perspectives. But it is not my place to impose my views on those of anyone else, and I believe I have made my inaction in his affairs clear.” The butler straightened. “If your companion appears, I will attempt to follow what direction I have been provided. Is there anything further Miss requires?”

 

Roen sighed softly. "Just give her a bit of perspective. As you have given me." She gave him another nod. "...Gratitude."

 

“Very good, Miss.” The butler bowed. “I advise rest. I shall inquire to my lord as to whether books will be issued as supplies.”

 

“Still at it, eh?” The guard’s voice echoed down from the dungeon door as it creaked open.

 

“My business is complete, sir.” Gideon answered as he took up the tray in his hand, exiting the cell. “Does sir have any further request for the next visitation? A particular culinary preference?”

 

“How about some steak? Nice juicy eft.” The guard swung the door to her cell closed, locking it. “No reason the little princess gets to be the only one pampered around here,” he sneered.

 

“I shall prepare it especially, sir.”

 

As Roen heard the valet depart, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, as if to linger in the embrace of it. She tried to remember what words of comfort Gideon had imparted upon her, and secretly prayed that Kiht would be able to get through to Nero as well. She had to believe there was still hope for him yet, however slight, that the goodness she saw in him so long ago was not just an illusion. Even if what she felt for him was futile, he still could not wish for everything to burn to the ground. There had to be a part of him that still cared.

 

She had to believe that.

[C'kayah Polaali]

"We should have some bon bons sent up", the lean Miqo'te said, leaning back on the padded sofa. "Maybe some skewers." His companion grunted, looking disdainfully at what passed for wine in her cup.

 

The downstairs common room of Famfrit's Jug bustled with pleasantly raucous excitement. Swaggering Blades mingled with the silver bells of dancing girls, while the low roar of conversation provided a deep obbligato to the shrill cry of the dry, whistling wind outside. Up the steep staircase was a network of private booths, screened discretes for the pleasures of lovers and conspirators alike. In one of these C'kayah Polaali lounged with his mate, L'kenthi Rarahn. She crossed one stockinged leg over the other, nibbling doubtfully at a sliver of roast meat speared on a charred wooden skewer while they regarded the Hyur seated across from them. Osric Melkire. Immortal Flame, or ex-Immortal Flame, and too-familiar fixture in both of their lives. He sat grinning at them in the unadorned garb of a mercenary swordsman, the turban wrapping his head providing insufficient disguise.

 

"Taeros", he said, leaning forward. "I need him gone, and for that all I need is a quarter bell with him outside the city walls he likes to hide behind. You stand to profit by way of filling the vacuum. You still hungering for vengeance? This is your chance. I know what she meant to you."

 

Jameson Taeros had been the Monetarist puppetmaster who'd drawn C'kayah's previous mate into his sway. He didn't know whether Taeros had been the cause of Natalie's hatred of him towards the end, but he blamed the man for her senseless death. She had led an illegal raid against a Limsan pirate, Nero Lazarov, and died in the attempt. Another pawn discarded in the course of Taeros' obsession with the pirate. C'kayah's expression hardened as the Hyur continued to speak.

 

"He has Roen. Figure that's because Crofte turned. I've kept the little ones' palms crossed with coin, and she and the snake have been seen together too often."

 

C'kayah cursed. Roen was an old friend, and dear to him. More than that, he owed her.

 

"She's not my main concern, though", Osric continued. "Taeros is too competent. I've been putting pressure on him, but he hasn't cracked. If anything, he's receding into his shell. I need him outside, away from the city. Don't care if he has Blades or 'sworn with him, I've got Gharen and another for that."

 

The Hyur smiled, no warmth in his eyes. "I make him disappear for good? We're all better off for it."

 

L'kenthi pursed her lips, her eyes intent on Osric. She knew the trouble Crofte had made for them. Knew the opportunities that would be provided if Taeros and his pet Sultansworn were removed from the equation.

 

"I could do it", C'kayah said, nodding slowly. "If I could show him Nero, would he come out?"

 

"He'd want a face to face", Osric replied. "That I know. But he's cautious. He'll want Nero within a stronghold of his own making. As for who'd be present? I'm guessing just him and Crofte at most."

 

"So we'll have to get a touch more creative", L'kenthi nodded. "Any using her to draw him out?" Osric shook his head.

 

"A stronghold of his own making", C'kayah said. "Is there such an animal, outside the walls?"

 

"The place they're supposedly holding Roen", Osric replied. "Black something or other. Cell? Pit? Supposedly worse than where he kept Gharen all those moons ago. Brass Blades gaol."

 

"Do you know where it is?"

 

"No", Osric said. "I've a few acquaintances in the Blades, but they've neither rank nor pull enough to be in the know." He frowned. "Roen knew someone, though. Can't recall the name."

 

C'kayah nodded, pursing his lips. "If we knew where, then we could make him think Nero was going to try to break her out. That might bring him out."

 

Osric grinned at the Miqo'te, his eyes blazing with mischievous light. "You remember which of us is taller, C'kayah? Me or Nero? Would your average Blade know?"

 

"Never." C'kayah returned Osric's grin, a wicked pleasure thrilling him.

 

"That's it, then", Osric said with a laugh, leaning back on the cushion. "Cosmetics and a few suns for me to get the voice down. Clothes too, but that I can manage. As far as the location goes, I can ask around, but I'm not certain I'll be getting any results."

 

"I have a few sources I can check with", the Miqo'te replied, swirling the wine in his glass.

 

Osric pushed himself to his feet. "I'll keep you updated, mmm? Anything else you need from me for this?"

 

C'kayah rose, smiling openly at the Hyur. "I think I can take it from here. Give me a little time to dig up the location of this place, and I'll contact you."

 

"Knowing you, it won't even take two suns. Less you're busy, of course." Osric cleared his throat, his lips curving in a smirk as he turned his attention to L'kenthi. She narrowed her eyes.

 

"Two suns it is", he said.

 

The Hyur stood straight, bringing his arm up in a Flame salute, his eyes on the flame-haired woman, before slipping back out of the discrete. C'kayah bowed politely to him as he left. "Menphina guide your steps", he purred.

 

"Oschon yours", Osric replied, and then he was gone.

 

C'kayah smirked at L'kenthi, moving to sit next to her and selecting a skewer. "Honestly", he murmured, "who invokes Oschon these days?"

[Coatleque]

For the first time since she was given the position, Crofte's office door was closed. It was not that she was meeting with someone, that would have been an expected closure. No, she had remained within for most of the morning and now all afternoon. The Squire in the hallway made his speech for the twentieth time to another initiate who was awaiting an audience.

 

"I am sorry, Ser Crofte is not seeing anyone today."

 

Behind the door she was only vaguely aware that someone had once again come seeking her, based on the muffled expletives that seeped around the hinges of the door. Coatleque sat quietly leaning forward over her desk. Her fingers were laced with her thumbs pressed to her lips in thought as she stared at the pearl laying before her. A thin haze had collected from an incense burner at the far corner.

 

"I never wanted this..."

 

For all of the morning she had sat and stewed over her thoughts. It was so much easier to push everything aside when in Jameson's presence, but now her doubts were returning.

 

"He will not come... I am not what holds his heart..."

 

Of all things she had remembered talking excitedly with Roen in the airship lounge so many moons ago. She had encouraged her friend that day to pursue her heart. Neither anticipated where it would eventually lead.

 

" Do you ever think of how little we think of her, to think she could only come to this conclusion because of some man?"

 

Verad's observation held painful truth. Since she knew of Roen everyone around the woman treated her as some naive little girl who was incapable of understanding the world at large. It was time for people to realize she was capable of making her own decisions. And mistakes.

 

"At least I did not say it was for your benefit..."

 

She sighed as she took up the pearl from her desk and rolled it between her fingers. Placing it in her ear she cleared her throat softly before activating it. "Mister Lazarov.", she intoned with as little emotion as possible.

 

Left in silence then her ear strained listfully for any sound from the pearl.

 

"Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..."

 

After another moment she heard a muffled thump. She hesitated before continuing, unsure if anyone was listening.

 

"Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me."

 

More silence.

 

"We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?"

[Nero]

When the pearl blinked, his first reaction was to stare at it. For some reason--he dare not call it sentimentality, lest he end up inadvertently committing suicide with his own disbelieving laughter--he had kept it, and granted it the rather indignant label of "Annoying" in his case of linkpearls, though it was more of an afterthought than a deliberate insult. 

 

How many days or weeks it'd been, Nero couldn't say, but it'd been time enough--time for him to clear his head, to think properly and logically, and most importantly, time for him to regain his composure. Even so, it was evidently not a complete recovery as the expression on his face froze as if struck by rigor mortis when he placed the pearl in his ear and heard a voice that he was not expecting.

 

"Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..."

 

He dared not blink. He dared not breath. Not necessarily because he was afraid of the voice on the other end of the pearl, but because he was afraid of what he'd say in response.

 

A pause.

 

"Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me."

 

As a matter of fact, he did, not that he'd admit it. Nero's lungs held any air captive within his lungs. His right hand tightly clasped the edge of his rickety seat until his knuckles paled.

 

"We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?"

 

A question. And one that didn't sound rhetorical. Crofte said "conversation" which implied that she wanted a dialogue. That gave him time to formulate a proper response. Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear to alleviate some of his anxiety. Should he simply not respond? That'd be one way to prevent a dialogue from happening, and his lack of response would be the only reply they needed. But on the other hand, this was an opportunity to manipulate things in his favour.

 

It wasn't necessarily that he cared about Roen. Those valuable days of clear thinking had lead him to realise that the basis of their relationship was flimsy at best. It was two people seeking companionship in a time of mutual loneliness and desiring affirmation of their respective ideals. For a time, it had proven beneficial, perhaps even symbiotic, but Nero was far too cynical to acknowledge it as anything more than that. The back of his mind registered the amused observation that in all of the time the two had spent being somewhat emotionally dependent on one another, only once had they shared a bed, and it was not even really a bed to begin with. A more surefire sign of the smuggler losing his touch could not exist.

 

In any case, they had clearly mentioned Roen to entertain the farce of an idea of him coming down to Ul'dah to rescue her. It was highly unlikely that they expected any results from this, but the fact that Crofte resorted to this--essentially holding her own friend hostage--meant that the Monetarists had hit a wall in drawing Nero out of hiding.

 

He breathed in deeply, a sentence prepared. That sentence became two sentences. Then a paragraph. Then two paragraphs. Describing the smuggler's face as stony would be a gross understatement as he placed the pearl back in his air and inhaled again. His response would be terse and to the point. There would be very little pausing between statements; Crofte desired a dialogue. And so he will deny her.

 

Nero's mouth broke into a smirk. It was a shadow of his former trademark, but still distinctive enough to almost be called genuine. 

 

"In an indeterminate amount of time, a riot will break out in Pearl Lane. Though my involvement has ceased, the circumstances have forced my former collaborators to the point of zero compromise. They will make demands for improved conditions and the complete reformation of law enforcement. When their demands are inevitably refused, they will engage in armed conflict. Their bloodlust can only be sated by Monetarist nobles giving in to their demands."

 

It was half bluff and half truth. It should be enough to shake up the game board.

 

"As for myself, I am willing to turn myself in to Ul'dahn authorities in exchange for the head of Jameson Taeros." Truth be told, Nero bore no grudge against the man. His conflict with Taeros was strictly professional: they each stood in the way of the goal of the other, and thus one or the other must be eliminated. However, Nero was aware that Taeros and Crofte were intimately involved--assuming that that laughable act at the Starlight Ball wasn't actually an act--and if even the thought of such a compromise made the knight squirm, that'd be enough for him.

 

Obviously, his offer would not even be considered. It was an unambiguous, if indirect refusal of whatever offer they had prepared involving Roen.

 

"If that is not satisfactory, then a complete absolvement of all of my crimes, real or perceived, will buy you information on the inevitable riot. I will help you stop further bloodshed, but you must let me go." That, too, was an obvious farce. Ul'dah didn't even know the meaning of the word "justice", much less "absolvement". Still, it was the principle of the idea, not that said idea would even cross the minds of whoever was in charge.

 

"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? Will you commit evil to destroy evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that means surrendering to evil?"

 

Just like him to feed his ego by having the last word.

 

With that, Nero plucked the pearl from his ear and flicked it with his thumb like a marble, sending the small sphere still glowing from the magical link spinning off the cliff and into the dark waters below. He adjusted himself on the rickety seat and rapped his knuckles against the steel of the large wagon-sized next to him, grinning rather widely at it. The sea lapped against the rocks of the hidden cove, the wind whistling across the entrance as Nero glanced out to sea.

 

It was only a matter of time for things to get much more interesting.

[Coatleque]

She had paused again after her last question to listen and was about to speak once more when the reply came. As the man began to list off his demands in as few words as possible, she leaned forward to grab her quick and begin jotting notes on whatever parchment was in easy reach. There was a brief pause when he demanded Jameson's head, but no outburst of emotion which would signal the touching of a nerve.

 

"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means..."

 

She sat back in her chair while gripping the arm rests. There was another muffled thump over the pearl and she quickly touched her ear once more.

 

"Mister Lazarov?"

"Nero? You cannot leave her to him! Nero?!"

 

Her exclamation was accentuated by leaning forward again abruptly. There was no response. Silence, followed by the rushing sound of water, then nothing. Coatleque waited a good while with bated breath before slowly removing the pearl and setting down upon her desk. She exhaled through her nose and ran her hands down her face.

 

"I thought we could still do this without needless bloodshed...

... People are coming after Taeros. Do not be in their way"

 

Sitting in the dim light of a single lantern, her thoughts grew increasingly darker the more she brooded on them. The gall of that man requesting pardon to right his own wrongs, of demanding blood to stem the flow of more blood. She did not overly care that it was Jameson's head in particular the man wanted. She had grown used to her lover's day-to-day business. There was always someone around the corner plotting his demise it seemed to her. She was becoming confident he could handle himself. He survived this long, after all.

 

"Roen knows." she told herself. "She has to talk."

 

And if she didn't, Coatleque told herself, Shaelen would. This was no longer about profit margins, power-plays, or cleansing corruption. This was about prevent wholesale slaughter in Pearl Lane. Rising from her chair she made for the door only to stop and look back at the pearl laying atop her desk. Rushing back to the desk she gripped the edges, knuckles flushing white, and leaned over the linkpearl.

 

"I WILL NOT PLAY THESE GAMES!" she screamed to it before swiping it off the desk into the wall with the back of her hand causing a satisfying crack as they connected. Taking her sword she stormed out of the office, leaving the pieces where they fell.

[Roen]

Days without any glimpse of the sun or the night sky, or without any change in the air to note the shift in temperature...lacking these things it was difficult to tell the passage of time. Even the guard outside her cell left his post often, likely to seek reprieve from the stifling stale air and the press of the thick stone walls. The near-total silence and alienation were starting to gnaw at Roen’s mind as well, but whenever the guard left, she took inventory of the small things that Mister North had left her: the vial that she hid in a crack between the stones that she found under her cot, the needle that she had slid into one end of the mattress, and the hairpin-shaped lock pick that was affixed into the base of her ponytail.

 

But checking and planning for a possible escape when she knew not when it would happen could only occupy her thoughts for so long. Roen's consciousness drifted to the unknown fates and whereabouts of friends, family, and loved ones. Had Gharen turned himself in already? She never did get to answer the letter of good will that he had sent, weeks after their argument. She had thought to speak to Coatleque about his predicament when they met, but that meeting had not gone as planned. She had to have faith that sergeant Melkire could help Gharen, since she at least let him know before all this happened.

 

And what of Nero? There was only a dying ember of hope that he had decided to stop the bandits as he had promised. But dread and doubt threatened to extinguish that flame quickly. Did Shaelen find Kiht as Roen had asked her to? Had Mister North been successful in relaying her message to Kiht? Would Kiht be able to find Nero and convince him?

 

Such questions were quickly dismissed when the heavy dungeon door opened, and many armored footsteps entered. Roen guessed perhaps four guards. Or five. She stood up from her bed in anticipation. It could not be a good sign.

 

“Hello, my dear. I thought I would give you some room to breathe.” Taeros’ voice broke the silence.

 

When the cell door opened, she saw four men in armor, as well as the familiar figure of the noble, his back turned to her. “I trust you’re decent?” he added.

 

The paladin paused, looking at the men warily, but took the opportunity offered to stretch her legs. There was not much room to move about in her small cell. She crossed the threshold, straightening her dress. “Aye. In the clothing you provided.”

 

Taeros turned and gave her a small smile. He motioned for the guards to exit, to which they all paused, their hesitation obvious, before they complied. Roen noted that their armored footsteps stopped just beyond the dungeon door and well within earshot.

 

“You're welcome.” His amber eyes regarded her. “How are you doing?”

 

"How am I expected to be doing?" She narrowed her eyes, but forced her words to calm. "But…comforts have been provided, more than the last cell."

 

“Well you are a prisoner. I do not expect any creature comforts would equal a breath of free air.”

 

Roen crossed her arms, suspicion clear in her gaze. "What do you want."

 

The noble smiled. “I merely wanted to talk. To see where your head was, so to speak.” His tone stayed neutral. “Also, a friend of mine perished just recently, so I just returned from planning his funeral.”

 

“I see.” The paladin regarded him carefully before she took a few more steps away from her cell. Her eyes went to the walls and the door, but even as she studied the surroundings more thoroughly, her legs welcomed the movement. "And why are you telling me this?”

 

“I am simply making conversation, Ms. Deneith.” Jameson shrugged. “An excuse to have you out of your cell. Try not to be so testy.”

 

Roen pressed her lips together for a moment, as if to consider his words. She bowed her head slightly as if in acquiescence. She did not want to return to her cell, not just yet.

 

“Jeulerand was... usually so careful,” Taeros continued, again curling a smile at her that held no warmth. “Alas. His business dealings caught up to him.” When the paladin glanced back at him, she found his amber eyes intently watching her.

 

"Another noble?" A small frown creased her brows at the mention. News of anyone’s death was not something that she welcomed.

 

“Yes. Did you know him? Or of him? Jeulerand Rezhenne.”

 

It was a few moments before the name came to her. She nodded. "Rezhenne. I have heard of that name." It was another breath or two before she remembered how she came to know it. It was from Gideon. He had told her that name, along with two others as names of houses that held significant wealth and connection to Taeros. She quickly pressed her lips together.

 

"I see.” Jameson actually looked troubled at this admission. “Were there notes made as to the movements of his family? His wife and young daughter? Schooling schedules and the like?”

 

Roen blinked again, this time more quickly. "Mother and daughter..." She frowned. "Do you think I keep tabs on families? Of nobles? Why would I want to know the schedules of people's children?"

 

The smile that curled the noble’s lips was almost a sneer. "Well not you, surely. That work would be too dirty for you. You would run me through if you could, but would surely balk at putting your blade through my daughter's heart. Had I a daughter, I mean."

 

The paladin’s expression hardened. "I would rather that you face a fair trial and have proper justice to impart upon you your punishment. Not die at the end of my blade."

 

“Oh. Well.” The noble said dryly. “Kind of you.” He bowed mockingly. "If only could be said the same of your paramour."

 

Roen could only answer him with a silent glare. He must have learned about the Yoyorano family from Coatleque, she thought. And she could not muster any defense of that massacre even to someone like Taeros. She only tightened her hold on her arms as he turned his attention to a particular block of granite that made up the thick walls.

 

"You probably resent Coatleque,” he said softly. “No?”

 

"She did what she felt she had to do." Roen answered hoarsely. "She made her choice."

 

"Yes. As did you.” He lightly traced a finger along the rim of the granite. “And you likely believe yours was the right one, and hers the wrong. And yet before Coatleque and I...ventured forth into this more serious portion of our relation..." He gave the paladin a sidelong glance. “She asked me about children. 'What about children?' was her question. It took me aback. Truly. I had not seen her as the mothering sort.”

 

When Roen just stared back at him, somewhat in disbelief, he continued. “I answered her truthfully. I said that I had no wish to procreate at this point in time, but...somewhere down the line…” He shrugged. “A lord needs heirs. Else all that he has built…what becomes of it?" He let out a long exhale. “No one lives forever. As our poor Lord Rezhenne found out."

 

The paladin carefully studied his expression as he continued, but could not discern anything beyond his serious and calculating facade.

 

“Coatleque laughed then, nervously I imagine, because I had taken what she meant out of context.” Taeros sounded mildly amused at the memory. “She asked me again. 'What about children, James? Have you ever killed children?' No, I told her. I have not ever, nor have I any plans to do so. Do you know why?” He glanced back at Roen.

 

She had not realized how shallow her breathing had become. She shook her head for she had no answer.

 

“Because punishing a child for the sins of his father is a sin unto itself. And I don't mean the sort of sin the septas and priests ramble on about. Sins against this god or that god. No, it is a sin against man. Because that child is being willfully robbed of his, or her, future." The gravity to his voice did not lift. “And yes, I know. Children die every day. That's what they say to try and blunt the sting of atrocities. Children fall, children starve, children are killed in wars.” He turned to face her, his hand leaving the stone wall he had been studying. “But killed in order to prevent wars?”

 

Roen could only stand stalk still, her blood running cold. Hearing Taeros of all people condemn such actions was painful to hear.

 

"No, dear.” Jameson shook his head. “That is neither responsible nor actually proactive."

 

Roen bowed her head, staring at the floor. "I...know this.” Her fingers dug into her arms, wrinkling the fabric of her sleeve. “I would stopped him, if I could have. If I knew ahead of time."

 

"Instead of being in here, you mean,” the noble murmured.

 

"I found out too late--" The paladin paused, looking back at Jameson, puzzled. "I speak of Yoyorano's family." She slowly frowned. "Were there more families?"

 

Taeros took a step closer towards her. “Tell me, will it be only a matter of time before Lord Rezhenne's wife and daughter's corpses turn up? Or is he holding them for some other purpose? A ransom, perhaps. His wife's father is quite wealthy, or so I've heard.” The noble said those words coldly.

 

The paladin dropped her arms to her sides, just staring at him looking horrified. "This...this is not Nero." She shook her head. "He would not do this." She hated in admitting what came next, especially to the man who had opposed them at every turn, but she forced herself to say it. “He has given up.”

 

"Given up." He echoed her, each word sharply spoken. “How has he given up. You just told me you knew of Rezhenne’s name. So he was on some sort of "list." I imagine my name appears there as well.”

 

Roen shook her head. "I knew many names, of Monetarists nobles. Houses. How else could I hope to disrupt things?" She watched the noble began to pace back and forth.

 

“But he gave you those names.” He scowled at her. “Who else was on the list, Roen?!”

 

"He did not give me those names." She stood her ground, staring back at him defiantly. "There is no list! Nero knew of the big names, the wealthy houses. I was the one that was sussing out who was--"

 

In three quick strides, Jameson’s face was ilms from hers. “So help me, if more innocent blood is on Lazarov's hands, then it's on yours as well!” She could feel his breath as he exhaled sharply. “If it was not Lazarov, then who gave you the names?!”

 

Roen clenched her teeth. Taeros could not know it was Gideon. "I do not want any more innocent blood lost!" She raised her voice, letting her indignation rise instead. "I knew of those names! They were Monetarists! Allies of yours and Lolorito’s!"

 

Taeros curled a lip as he leaned away. "Lolorito. Ah yes. Another fine fellow. I have had cause to speak to him a number of times. He had a statue of himself erected in Vesper Bay. His gall is...significant. He gave me some advice once as well, with regard to the killing of children.” He flicked her another cold glance. “He said that he "disliked" having to kill a man for betraying him, because it usually meant having to kill the man's family as well. I was a bit taken aback with his suggestion, and pressed him. "Why," I asked.” Jameson's voice remained neutral, unsympathetic. “He said they served as a distraction.”

 

The paladin stared at him aghast. "A distraction."

 

Jameson smiled thinly at her response. “He said he did not want to be distracted by the prospect of a son growing to adulthood in fifteen years' time and coming for his head. But you see, Milord has it wrong," he said softly with a tilt of his head. “Those are the words of the paranoid. If you do not believe the killings to be just, you should not do them. And if they are just, well, then it is that lesson which you need to impart on the man's surviving family.” His amber eyes bore into her again. "If they do not believe that your cause is just, then you cannot kill for it."

 

Roen took a slight step back, closing her hands into a fist to hide the slight trembling there.

 

He matched her movement, stepping forward. "I have killed, yes. Men who have wronged me. Liars and people who believed I was their fool." He narrowed his eyes. "As have you. But neither of us has ever slaughtered innocents.” He paused. “Have you?”

 

"If you are expecting me to justify Nero's killing of the Yoyorano family, I cannot." The paladin hated the shame that laced her words.

 

"And yet you love him. For all his...adorable little flaws." The noble sneered. “He is the Savior of Ul'dah. Watch as he sails in under the banner of justice and future peace.”

 

"I thought he would save the children! The helpless! The poor!" She spat out those words with anger. “I believed that is what he wanted!"

 

Taeros tilted his head. "Believed?"

 

Roen took another step back. "I told you, he gave up."

 

"Gave up, or merely gave up on you?"

 

The paladin set her jaw, she did not want to show how much those words stung. "Perhaps both."

 

“Or perhaps just one.” He gestured idly. “You said you helped make the list. Where is this list then? If Lazarov is in sudden retirement, and you're in here…who killed Jeulerand?"

 

"I do not know." She said those words with conviction. She knew no other that would kill other nobles and families. “I thought if anything, you were the next target. But that is all."

 

The noble’s face twisted suddenly with anger and with speed that surprised her he grabbed a chair next to her and hurled it against the wall. The metal frame clanged loudly while the oaken back splintered, making Roen flinch. He spun around and took two steps, his face ilms away from hers. “But I was not!” He yelled at her, fury in his eyes. “A friend of mine lies dead, and I do not know where his wife and child are!!”

 

Roen felt the ungiving press of the wall behind her; she had backed away from him without knowing. Her hands were curled into fists, her muscles coiled. Guards or no, she would defend herself if the noble attacked her. But before she could respond, the door to the dungeon slammed open and six guards rushed in, steel bared.

 

"I do not know!" she insisted through gritted teeth even as she eyed them warily. "I am not privy to what happened! Or who is doing this! Or why!"

 

The noble’s amber gaze was cold and dead as he stared at her. He spoke to his guards without even looking at them. “No visitors. No food for three suns. No water for two.” Taeros looked her up and down. “Remove those gifts from Lady Deneith. She will not be needing them. She can wear whatever's underneath. I want her in irons shackled to the floor.”

 

Roen felt herself grow cold, her fists tightening by her side as the noble turned and began to walk out. “And one of you check her every bell on the bell to prod her if she may remember something that may actually save some child’s life,” Taeros said without looking back.

 

When the dungeon door slammed shut, the paladin’s eyes went to the rest of the armored men standing in front of her with blades in hand.

 

And as one they looked at her with ominous grins.

[Roen]

“Quillburn.”

 

The word name that left his lips was leaden, cold, and sour.

 

“Aye. Found dead. In one o’ the finer rooms in the inn.” Brynnalia let out a long sigh before she added, “...in one of the rooms that are under the accounts o’ Lolorito.”

 

They are growing more bold.

 

“How was he found?” Jameson steepled his fingers, his arms elbowed up on his dark polished desk. His eyes were narrowed, and they did not look directly at the Highlander woman standing before him in his office but rather at the fireplace.

 

“Gutted. The blade was found next tae the body.” Callae kept her voice calm, as if not to incite him. “From the streaks on the floor, he didn’t die quick. He had crawled his way at least, from where he was stabbed to just a few fulms from the door.” Her voice turned grim. “But collapsed just before. Died o’ blood loss.”

 

Second dead. And I still have no answers. After two suns, nothing.

 

“Was there anything else found?” Jameson did not move, he was barely breathing.

 

Roen cannot know that Rezhenne had no wife. And only a bastard son from a mistress. Only a few knew of them. How could she protect him still?

 

“The room was searched. There were…” Callae paused, arousing a flick of a glance her way from the noble. She cleared her throat. “Letters, found hidden within his other belongings. It was addressed to Mumuqaru. It mentioned something of a plan hatched between the three houses, Mumuqaru, Quillburn, and Rezhenne.” There was another pause, but she did not wait for him to prompt her. “The plot was against ye.”

 

It must be Lazarov.

 

“Where is the letter?” Taeros’ voice remained calm as ever, as if he was inquiring about the weather rather than a conspiracy against him.

 

Who else could it be?

 

“Ah…” Brynnalia frowned, rubbing the back of her head. “A new Blade was assigned tae the case. An ex-Flame, Haruko Kokojo. She snatched it up on the scene. I was only able tae read it over briefly.”

 

That finally brought a slow frown to the noble’s face. The evidence was weak at best; whoever was framing him did not know the true dynamics of the nobles involved. Quillburns were noted by many to be in his favor. Jameson made no such outward gesture, but the Highlander family had assumed a strong alliance between them a few moons ago, and Taeros did not deny it for the time being. Whereas Rezhenne, an old friend, had hinted at some insult implied between them. The Elezen lord had wisely kept his umbrage to himself, but Taeros had come to learn of it none-the-less. But before he could discern the true source of the rift, the lord had been killed.

 

And now a third house, Mumuqaru, was being implicated in all this. An Ul’dahn family with long ingrained history in the desert, they had also recently been rumored to have expressed displeasure with Jameson.

 

Anyone truly in the know would recognize that Rezhenne would hold himself above the likes of Mumuqaru. The Elezen lord was pompous and arrogant. Quillburns also would not jeopardize their favored position by getting in bed with Mumuqaru or Rezhenne. And yet...

 

The evidence that was found at each of the murdered Monetarist rooms was beginning to indicate that they were all in some conspiracy against him. However untrue, it was damning enough.

 

It has to be Lazarov. Even though this does not seem like him. The pirate’s maneuvers so far had been made of broad strokes: choke off the supply lines, sow seeds of dissent amongst both wealthy and poor by robbing them of supplies and goods, and arm some violent bandit gangs with an agenda. In the months of campaign that the pirate had waged, there had not been an effort to actually implicate him in specific crimes. Lazarov had not shown interest in delivering any individual justice.

 

Creatures do evolve, however. Jameson curled his lip at the thought. Then he found himself pausing. Or was it Roen? Even as the thought rose, the noble was just as quick to dismiss it. The paladin had no heart for such things as assassinations. And yet, she was the one that had arranged for his reputation to be smeared, with the articles in the Lantern, the raids of his warehouses, and he suspected, somehow tugging at the delicate balance of power amongst the noble families.

 

Roen has to be involved in this. His expression grew hard, his fingers lacing into a firm grip upon each other. I will find out all she knows.

 

“Well?” Brynnalia finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen upon the room. She shifted in her stance, her anklets jingling nervously. “What do ye want me tae do?”

 

“Nothing,” Taeros said sharply. For the love I bore… “I will take care of it.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

 

The bard hesitated in turning, as if to consider something. She took a step forward. “Grimsong and I are still workin’ on flushing out Lazarov’s supplier, Stormchild.” She reassured him. “She may be able tae give us a lead tae find him. I am just waitin’ on yer lady tae contact...” Callae trailed off when it was obvious that the he was paying her words no mind. Her green eyes regarded him for a moment longer, before she nodded and turned for the door.

 

“I will report more when I have somethin’,” she said before she exited. The woman spared none of her usual quips and her easy smile was gone from her lips. She too had recognized that the game had changed.

 

Jameson remained seated on his desk as the door closed. He continued to stare at the crackling flames of the hearth.

 

She will break. One way or another.

 

And I will have the truth.

[cuideag]

"I didn't expect ye of all people tae contact me."

 

The evening had only begun and it was already full of surprises. One came in the form of a veritable train of people that had flowed forth from the gates of Revenant's Toll. Word had reached her of a gathering of sorts, some sort of pilgrimage to honor Thaliak, and despite her reservations Delial Grimsong decided she could take a night out of her busy schedule of avoiding being shot to pay her respects. Surely, a blessing from the Scholar would aid her in coming days. Her intuition was sharp and her instincts keen but there were moves to come that required more wisdom than gumption.

 

The other came in the form of Brynnalia Callae. It was difficult to pick out her voice among the throng of others who were chattering around her but there was something about the Highlander that struck her as familiar. There were not too many, Delial had come to think, that carried themselves as Callae did: hers was the confidence and grace of a coeurl, and it was something Delial could recognize as well as appreciate. So she appreciated it from a slight ways behind, half-listening to her chattering with a Roegadyn fellow about spirits. Only when the woman turned to her armed with a smirk did Delial acknowledge her presence.

 

"'Tis what we do, hmm?" She shifted to eye the woman settling in beside her, hardly bothering to lower her voice. The crowd chattered on around them, filling the rise with the Scholar's stone with a dull echoing drone. "Last I heard, were on the same side. T'would be foolish of me to forget that."

 

Not long before, Grimsong had sent Callae a missive. Moons prior they had actually worked together on a mission that proved disastrous. Ul'dahn agents were seen attacking a Limsan warehouse and naturally there was a deal of displeasure exchanged between the two city-states. People died and people were disgraced but Delial Grimsong slipped away from that with nary a scratch.

 

"Stranger things have happened, thanks tae the Spinner. Ye and I." Brynnalia snorted. "So what we workin' on then?"

 

Delial's eye stalked the crowd. She did not mind that it was there, no, and perhaps such a thing was to be expected: people liked revelry and distraction and if it were to be in the honor of one god or another then Delial would be the last one to object. There were so many faces she did not know, however, and in that she felt some measure of annoyance. She had tried her best to lay somewhat low since the incident at the warehouse and she wondered briefly if that had cost her some influence. "Stormchild," she said flatly. "I wonder if you have been keeping your tabs on her?"

 

Callae groaned. It was known that the two had history: both had had their parts in working with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, just as both had seemed to distance themselves from it since an operation at the Nanawa Mines went sour. "Not o' late," she said, turning her attention somewhat back to the ceremony at hand. "She and I ended on... not quite the best terms last we saw each other." Then, she smirked. "She lost a card game."

 

From somewhere beyond Brynnalia came the uncomfortable shifting of armor. "Ye'd never guess who won, though," she offered, sounding quite amused with herself.

 

"My guess would be the twice blessed Duskwight." It was a voice Delial did not immediately place, spoken as low as it was. Resting directly in her blind spot was a suit of armor and a hat.

 

"Then I suspect," Delial continued, "That there would be no loss of good will, then, if I were to suggest she be tracked and found."

 

That caught Callae's attention again, as she glanced back at the woman to her right. "This be over that Lazarov affair?"

 

"She has information that Taeros would very much like, I should think."

 

"Hm. I suppose she does." Brynnalia tilted her head; she and Grimsong had not had what most would call an amicable partnership and the latter had seemed to drop out of the whole affair after it quite literally exploded. "Suddenly taken an interest again, have we?"

 

So, too, did the armor's attention find itself pulled towards Callae and her company to reveal the face of Ser Coatleque Crofte looking as grim as ever. What was once juicy gossip had become something a great deal more: Crofte was in Taeros' hand as well as in his bed and there was little question those days as to where her loyalties and interests lay. Her eyes narrowed and she offered but a simple word. "Indeed."

 

"Priorities change, my sweetlings," said Delial as if to apologize, "As do opportunities. Shaelen Stormchild may be key to ending this whole mess."

 

Brynnalia studied Grimsong with obvious doubt. "Ye don't say. Somethin' must've lit the fire under yer skirts. Ye've been layin' low until now."

 

"Was not Gharen Wolfsong on her trail?" Ser Crofte added. "What happened?"

 

To Brynnalia, Delial offered a shrug. "Should that not be the case...? I am no Askier Mergrey." That the thrice-damned miqo'te would have even be brought on such a mission remained a mystery to her; that he would make a catastrophe of it was, sadly, not. "My business is better left quiet." Then she sighed and nodded to Ser Crofte. An annoyed tick twitched at the corner of her lip. "Too soft, that boy. Too soft. He let her go."

 

"Let her go?" Crofte's scepticism was as hard as her stare. "I highly doubt that. Unless she was innocent, or something more urgent distracted him."

 

Brynnalia on the other hand seemed amused. "Nice. Ye two got that one trained like a hunt dog, eh?"

 

Delial forced a grin to Callae and Crofte both but her words were aimed more for the stoic Sultansworn. "Innocent, my dear? There is little innocent about Stormchild, especially regarding Lazarov. Gharen could not produce that which she was demanding, and when he had his chance to take it, he simply did not." Again she shrugged, and again she edged her voice with annoyance. "He let her go."

 

"Mayhap Resistance sympathies," Brynnalia suggested with a roll of her eyes which quickly turned into a pointed look aimed square for Grimsong. "Somethin' ye probably don't understand."

 

Crofte, perhaps feeling slightly more charitable, clenched her teeth. She and Delial did not have the most amicable relationship, either, and rarely had they seen eye to eye during any of their few meetings prior. Coatleque Crofte was not one who could be won over with the other's moral ambiguity and she made certain that was known. "Honorable if foolish. But what was it that she demanded?"

 

"Blood."

 

"Blood? Whose blood?" Then it was as if a sun was dawning on Brynnalia's face alone. Slowly, she turned to Grimsong, her lips broadening into a strange smile.

 

Delial seemed appropriately annoyed. "Does it matter? Wolfsong is not a murderer. He did not deliver, and that bridge has been burnt."

 

"Aah, I see now," prodded Callae. "Ye are the one who killed her father figure after all."

 

"The point remains," said Delial, "That Stormchild has what Jameson Taeros most certainly wants. We all want this ended, yes?" She looked from Callae to Crofte, looking for the spark of reason to nudge them away from the notion that Brynnalia was too sharp to leave alone.

 

"He didn't deliver you," Brynnalia nodded. Her green eyes remained on Grimsong with an odd curl to her lips.

 

"Not in a box, in any case." That encounter still left a sour taste in her mouth, but she felt no need to elaborate on what had happened. A gunshot wound and a bit of humiliation were not things that Delial wore fondly.

 

"The same woman who kidnapped and tortured..." Incredulous, she licked her lips and tossed her head back with a laugh.

 

To say Wolfsong and Grimsong had a tumultuous history would be putting it very kindly; that they had come to work together was absurd and Delial herself knew it. She nodded and sighed loudly. "Yes, yes. So very soft, as I said."

 

"Both Wolfsong and his sister, too soft to win this game." Callae's brows rose. "But ye and I... not so. Aye? Shaelen used tae be a colleague o' mine, but never close. And she don' fill my coffers now. Taeros does. So, if she got what he wants... we best snare the smuggler."

 

There was a cheering around them. Crofte, seeming to have found the happenings around them to be a little more appealing than the brewing plot, minded what appeared to have been some sort of proposal warily. Delial minded it not: it was not the revelry she had come for, and the more the others went on with ignoring their talks, the better off she was. "So, how we doin' this?"

 

"My connections with her are considerably lacking. Wolfsong would have been it, but I doubt she has any more trust in him." Not after he had taken Grimsong's side rather than spill a murderer's blood. That he could be so naive was something she had yet to wrap her head around but there was little time to waste pondering the man's shortcomings. "Nor... in you, I wonder? No, I expect she thinks poorly of you now." Her cool golden eye studied Brynnalia, as if to search for a reaction she knew her next words would invoke. "I had considered looking into Greyarm's son."

 

"She wants tae do nothin' with me," Brynnalia snorted. "Although... she still has her Resistance connections." She cleared her throat, growing wary of the quiet settling in around them as a performer took to crooning out a song near Thaliak's stone. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably lower. "Ye not be usin' this tae... do what ye used tae do. Are ya, Grimsong?"

 

"It would be convenient, would it not?" There had been two Greyarms both scheming to smuggle a ceruleum bomb back to Ala Mhigo and she had made certain that the elder did not live. It was what she did: the Resistance in all their brashness forgot that men and women bleed the same regardless of their allegiances. Ala Mhigo could not be safe as long as men like Greyarm were allowed to live and plot and murder. The son, a boy called Hroch, either would not or could not step up to take the burden his departed father left him. It did not stop him from being a concern, however. "Sadly," she continued, "That particular line of work does not pay as well as Taeros."

 

Brynnalia did not meet her eye. She was staring straight ahead and her expression, ever eager to wear a sly smirk, remained neutral. "Good. Then Hroch Greyarm might be a good choice tae lure her out. She took a liking tae him." As the conversation steadily slid into darker terms, she gave a glance over her shoulder. Hovering not far behind her was a man in a Flame uniform though he did not seem to be paying particular attention to the cluster of Highlanders. She cleared her throat.

 

"I thought as much." Delial nodded, barely feigning interest in the noise from up ahead. "Though I wonder if that will be enough. Greyarm has nothing but his name as far as I am aware, and a name alone will not keep her operation afloat."

 

"It's not his name she needs. She does just fine with her own reputation. She has... affections fer Hroch. Like a sister. Since Aylard saved her long time ago." Callae made a face as a bard's performance was replaced, instead, by a troupe of moogles.

 

"Like a sister," repeated Delial. Her eye swung towards Crofte, as if she had been expecting her to pipe up about one thing or another. There was little honor in hostages, of course, but mayhap she understood what could be won. "Then I suppose he shall do. Have you leads on him? I understand he has not left Thanalan."

 

Brynnalia exhaled through her nose, her words coming slow and monotonous. "He's still around. I suppose... I can try and find him. Soon as ye poke yer head within malms near Little Ala Mhigo, little Greyarm will make himself scarce."

 

"I doubt this man knows who I am yet." It was Crofte who spoke, earning herself surprised glances from Grimsong and Callae both. Her tone was that of a suggestion rather than a blank statement.

 

"'Tis true enough, Ser Crofte," Delial agreed. "I should think you an unknown to them."

 

"Ye... offerin' tae lure them out then, Crofte?"

 

"I am tired of chasing this pirate to the ends of Eorzea. If he will not answer his linkpearl, then I must resort to other means."

 

It was likely only moons ago that Delial first heard of Nero Lazarov. First he came as a quiet warning, a request from Roen Deneith that then became rumor, vicious and obscene, as spoken by McBeef. All the brightest stars among her contacts had some stake in the mad pirate's game, and not a one seemed pleased about it at all. She had not been the first to warn Deneith against the actions she took and she had no reason to believe that she had been the last. All too taken by love and faith to listen to good, solid counsel. "We do what we must," she said, knowing well that it was Crofte that had Deneith caged, knowing well that she had made her warnings about the Sultansworn.

 

"I suppose we must. Aye." Brynnalia spoke without much enthusiasm and she regarded each of her companions without her usual cheer. "Alright. Let's lure the boy out, then. He can be found in Little Ala Mhigo. Ye yerself have worked with Stormchild before," she said to Ser Crofte. "He may trust ye either way, if he knew it."

 

"I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life."

 

"So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat," Crofte said coolly.

 

Callae frowned and glanced between the two. "I suppose she'll have tae believe it to be lured out." She gave a half-hearted applause as the audience around them did; it was a fellow Highlander who had just finished their performance after all.

 

"We do what we must," Delial said again. "The boy need not die. He is not the threat his father was. I doubt Shaelen would be agreeable if she was not made to believe his life was up for bargain." She clearly did not share her companions' reservations about the plot, much less about the boy in question. The time had long since passed that she might have felt sympathetic.

 

"Fine," sighed Brynnalia, looking straight head as if to avoid the others' eyes. "I'll give ye a sketch of what he looks like, Crofte. Ye can find him in Ala Mhigo. Just don't go dressed as a Sworn. Play up on yer Highlander ways, and talk as ye do when we get a few drinks in ye." She ignored Ser Crofte's grumble and continued on. "He'll likely take a likin' tae ye. He, too, has a soft spot fer redheads, much like his father."

 

Delial interjected. "There was a girl, was there not?"

 

"Aye, Daena. Don't come on too strong. He is spoken fer, last I heard, and she be a fiery tempered one, that. She is a bit more careful than he is. I haven't spoken tae her in a while."

 

"'Tis good to know, however, should we need to up the stakes."

 

Crofte did not seem interested in that thought. "And where will you be?" she asked.

 

"I get ye information. Don't be expectin' me tae help ye to apprehend the man. I can have some Blades nearby, I suppose."

 

"I am known there," Delial said matter of factly. She could not help the air of smugness that came with her words: to be feared by so many was almost flattering. It might have been even more flattering were they not cowardly men content to hide in caves. "I can extract what we need after the boy is in our hands."

 

There was yelling, exclamations of words. Brynnalia, wanting to seem like she was playing along, yelled along with them and earned a heavy sigh from Ser Crofte. "What?" she asked, shrugging sheepishly at the Sultansworn. "It's just a story."

 

"I don't suppose this boy will drink with me?" Crofte said thoughtfully.

 

"Ye know, I bet he would..."

 

"Hm. Perhaps we can make this easier than it sounds."

 

Callae sighed, a little bit of the furrow that had settled upon her brow easing away. "If ye can manage it. Then ye can figure out where tae hold him?"

 

Coatleque snorted derisively before she continued. "If I can. If not, best have someone standing by. Either way, he'll be taken the same place Roen is, more than likely. At least she'll have someone to talk to."

 

Delial's eye flitted back to Crofte but it was Brynnalia that spoke first. "Hm. I don't know where these are meself. Never been tae the black cells." She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. "Do people leave that place? I don' want the boy hurt."

 

"I would think that ill advised," Delial added. She did not know Ul'dah as well as she would have liked for all the time she had spent there, and this was the first that she had heard of the black cells. It was not something she needed to admit, however. The last thing she wanted was to be robbed of access to the very hostage she wanted held.

 

Coatleque waved a hand idly. "You make it sound as if I have any control over the matter. Very well. There is a Flame outpost to the south at the Forgotten Spring."

 

"That sounds fine," Brynnalia replied quickly. Her lip twitched and she tapped a fingernail against her hip. Ser Crofte picked up on the response and the implications behind it, as did Delial. The woman had her ties with the Resistance and had worked with both Greyarms when they were at large in Thanalan. "Right. Well, contact Delial or me when ye got him there. And we'll get the word out. Or... well, he can... technically. I think."

 

"Nervous?" Crofte asked. "How unlike you."

 

Brynnalia narrowed her eye at the Sultansworn and gave her a dismissive snort. "It's this silly pilgrimage. It bores me." That she was seeking a distraction was obvious enough, especially when she turned to regard someone that had been shuffling and fidgeting about behind them the entire time: the roegadyn with whom she had been speaking to before. "I think I need a drink."

 

Delial did Callae the courtesy of forgiving her sudden flightiness even if Ser Crofte did not. She did not think she would be overly attached to anyone at all, much less a bumbling son of a failed movement. Sentimental, mayhap. Some ties do not cut easily. She turned her attention back to Crofte instead, offering her a grin. "It will be good working with you again, Ser Crofte. Proper work. Pray let myself or Miss Callae know when you have caught the boy, hmm?"

 

Coatleque gazed towards Delial with what could only have been a weary look. "Yes, and I pray we shall be done with this business swiftly."

 

Delial studied her a moment. It had been moons since this whole business started, indeed, and Crofte had been pushed right into it. Once, Delial sympathized; now, Delial could not be so sure. Wasted breath and wasted time. Bitter thoughts were pushed aside by what she had hoped was a charitable grin and a shallow bow. The celebration continued on as she took her leave, turning away from Ser Crofte and her thoughts, from Brynnalia Callae and her flasks. Scholar grant them wisdom to do what must be done, she thought as she stepped on out the crowd. Scholar save me from the wisdom I am cursed to have ignored.

[Coatleque]

[align=center]"I will not become a monster to hunt a monster..."[/align]

 

Stress. That is what it was. Yes, her nerves were merely on edge. After watching Delial take her 'gift' followed by Jameson's latest outburst, Coatleque was finding it harder to focus on her mundane daily work. She merely needed to distract herself. Yes, everything would settle down again in a few days.

 

The last few onzes of cinnamon whiskey in her drawer were becoming more alluring every day now. That is not an option, she told herself. Bad things happened whenever she drank. It was time to find a new vice that would be much less damaging to people around her. Where else better to find such a thing than the new Manderville Gold Saucer?

 

Three hours and ten-thousand gil later, she found herself sitting on one of the couches of the top-level adjacent from the bar. A well-endowed golden statue facing (thankfully) away from her. She sighed and laid out her last three tickets upon her lap to go over her numbers once more. "Blasted luck.", she muttered to herself as she angrily tore one of the tickets into cheap confetti. This was doing nothing to help her nerves. She glanced towards the bar area before throwing the pieces behind the couch - quite sure she had just gotten away with what amounted to murder when nobody was looking.

 

So engrossed was she in calculating her final odds that she was unaware of the woman who sat next to her just then. "Sometimes the Lady Luck is with ya, and other times she steals the very shirt off your back." Coatleque only barely heard her as she snorted. "I am finding that out more than I'd li..."

 

Her words trailed off as she was sure that voice was familiar. Turning her head slowly she did not expect to see Shaelen herself sitting beside her. It appeared that Delial's little 'gift' had worked. What she could not tell was if this meeting was mere chance, or had she been watched this whole time. "Of all the times and all the places." she offered.

 

The smuggler sat reclined next to the Paladin in a relaxed manner, seemingly at ease. "Well", she began before sucking on her teeth, "No time like the present I always say. Time is gil and all."

 

"Yes, and lately we have so precious little of both." Coatleque replied with a sigh at her last two cards. She looked up and panned her gaze around the room, nervously looking for nearby security. She was unarmed, unarmored, and unprepared for this particular meeting. If Shaelen was feeling anything similar she did not show it, choosing to stare through tinted lenses at the obnoxious statue before them.

 

"So... I got an interesting package."

"Quite."

"So you know about it then."

 

The memory was still too fresh in Coatleque's mind. She had lured the boy, Hroch, out as planned. Spiked his skin with a common sleeping aid sold by the city alchemists (though in a more potent dosage), and he was delivered to a Flame's outpost along the southern road out of Ul'dah. It was in the cold, sandstone room that she stood by and allowed Delial Grimsong to remove two of the boy's fingers while unconscious. Something she was not proud of.

 

"I know who sent it. That is more than enough.", she replied with as little emotion as she could feign.

"And now you are my... liaison? To keep Hroch alive? Is that how ya do business these days?"

 

Shaelen shot an accusing glance towards the Paladin, though her eyes were hidden behind her shades. Coatleque narrowed her own eyes and returned an annoyed look. She never wanted to hurt the boy. She wanted to send quite a different message - perhaps a different item of worth or a strip of torn clothing. As she stood in the cell, her own blade ready to draw against Delial in his defense, there was no argument she could make - Hroch had nothing. She had no other message to send except Delial's.

 

At the time she could only mutter a curse to Nero Lazarov for yet another life ruined in his mad pursuit for blood. Since then she had time to reflect on her own inaction. Coatleque had resolved to pay Hroch back in some way. Whether by gil, material goods, or favors, she would set right the part she played in his maiming. Her voice grew slower, more serious.

 

"It is not" she intoned, each word carrying a weight of its own. "My hand has been forced, now that a certain pirate at large has admitted to a rebellion in progress." Coatleque knew it was not an excuse, nor could she hope to explain everything to the woman next to her. This was the price she would have to pay for working with the Snake.

 

"So THAT is the reason that the kinslayer gave you? To hunt down that boy? To relieve him of his fingers?"

At least she is focused, Crofte thought.

"And here I thought you would be thankful it wasn't the entire hand.", Coatleque responded calmly. There was no mirth or mockery to the comment.

 

Shaelen could only stare at her open mouthed for a moment before snorting bitterly. "She threatened a finger each sun, then the head. As she took from the father, so will she from the son. THAT is the kind of woman you are dealing with. I was going to give Nero to Wolfsong. All HE had to do was let me kill her. AS he SAID he would. What a bunch of lyin' shite that was."

 

Coatleque shook her head in disgust. "Yet another demand of blood for blood." How weary she was of death. For a brief moment she recalled the same look in Jameson's eyes.

 

"'She won't meet death at my hands, but I won' be standin' in th'way o' others comin' fer her' he said. WHAT LOAD OF SHITE. Look, I don't CARE about this political feud. You can HAVE Lazarov. He is a customer. I don't snitch on customers, but blood is more important. I was going to give Wolfsong what he wanted for that snake!"

 

The Paladin's gaze turned back towards Shealen at that. Finally, someone else was beginning to crack for once. Her expression did not fall from its former seriousness. "Then give me what I want for her."

 

"Not when that snake still has him. You think I'd trust yet ANOTHER deal where she is involved?"

 

An eyebrow was quirked just then as Coatleque realized the extent of the message delivered. She doesn't know where Hroch is. The barest hint a smile crept over her face as the scales were finally tipping in her favor. "She does not have him.", the Paladin replied matter-of-factly.

 

"Where is he then?" the smuggler inquired as she now stared intently at Coatleque. The Sworn's image reflected clearly off the woman's shades.

 

"Safer than in her hands." she noted with some confidence.

 

Shaelen's attention was now fixated. "I need to know he's going to walk free. With nothing else missing on him. I need to see it. Then you get what I know."

 

The Paladin offered a slight shrug as if bored. "I can take you to him, but if she catches wind she will know I've double-crossed her. Tell me, just how badly do you want Grimsong?"

 

The smuggler crossed her legs and began to drum her fingers over her boots. "You have... no... idea. I am still going to kill her. Especially after this. I am going to relish it. Ya know what she did right? In Ala Mhigo?"

 

"I know enough. The woman has been only trouble in all my dealings with her. I have yet to hear a good opinion from anyone else either."

 

"Ya know why we call her kinslayer? She don't care shite about Lazarov. This is just a bloody excuse to hunt down more Resistance members. The deluded woman still considers everyone that stood up against Garlemald traitors. The fact that she is being PAID to do it in the name of hunting down some pirate is just icing on the cake. I can't trust Wolfsong. The man's not seeing straight. Ya think his sister has a bleeding heart for the wrong person, it runs in the family lady. Wolfsong got a thing for the snake. The same woman that TORTURED him and killed his parents. HOW twisted is that? But you are a 'Sworn."

 

It was Coatleque's turn to sit back against the couch now. Her arms crossed as she listened to the smuggler. "I am, which is why Hroch's head is still intact. And I cannot try to understand it. Miss Stormchild, I am not being paid. I have a duty to prevent the slaughter of our citizens which Nero is working hard to bring about. You help me, and I will do what I can to deliver her to you for whatever justice is warranted."

 

Shaelen's gaze lowered as her stormy eyes looked the Paladin over. "I guess I'll take my chance on your honor." she said with a frown. "If one more harm comes to that boy, or this turns out to be another double-cross... then I'll help Lazarov burn this cursed place to the ground myself." She shook her head. "I don't care about any of this, but I've had enough people protecting and lying for snakes like her."

 

"I assure you, he was never to be more than leverage." Coatleque interjected with more than a little distaste. "Miss Grimsong took things further."

 

"Swear." Shaelen suddenly demanded. "Give me your word. I want to see him freed. If you show me that, you get what I know."

 

Of all the demands anyone could make, this was the one Coatleque hated the most. She had made many oaths in her career, and none had ever been carried out as intended. As a Paladin, a Sultansworn, an Oath was binding even to death. And she would have no control over what others may do to subvert it. Her teeth clenched and eyes narrowed before she straightened herself. If this is what was required of her to save others, then so be it.

 

"Miss Stormchild, I swear by my Oath as a Paladin, I shall na'er let her touch him again. Help me stop Nero's bloodbath and he will go free."

 

The contract having been struck, Shaelen frowned and shook her head once or twice before looking away. Yet it was enough, it seemed.

"FINE. Fuck it all. You want to find a Lalafell. A plainsfolk named Qujon Zamajon. He owns a small boarding house in Revenant's Toll. He has a direct line to the pirate. He is the one that acted as a middle man between us; paid me in his stead."

 

"And how can I be assured he will talk?"

There was a loud snort.

"Take a finger or two.", Shaelen replied curtly. "We got our professional code, lady. But he, like me, ain't gonna bleed for no political cause."

"Understood", Coatleque said dryly. "And how would you like your repayment delivered?"

 

Shaelen tongued the inside of her cheek, a strange grin appearing on one corner. "My repayment." The words carried a sort of excitement behind them as if it could not come soon enough. "I want what Wolfsong couldn't give me. A time and place the snake will be by herself, and no interference."

 

"She will certainly want to know the results of our little chat. I think I can draw her out of the city. I am no murderer, Miss Stormchild. All I will do is give you this chance to see justice delivered. What you do is on you."

 

The smuggler fished a small metallic looking linkpearl from her pocket and placed it on the cushion between them. "That's all I am looking for. Her blood is on no one else's hands but mine. You can contact me with this."

 

Coatleque sat quietly for a moment before taking up the linkpearl and discretely placing it into her gil purse. For the first time in moons she felt a small weight lifted. Not great, but she could say was receiving the better end of this trade. And a vile woman may finally earn her due. She took a slow, deep breath.

 

"Your friend is being held at the Flames outpost south of Ul'dah. Put them in contact with me when you arrive. I will order his release into your custody."

 

Shaelen inhaled sharply through her nose before nodding. "Alright."

"Best be sure you are not followed, else the snake become wary."

"I am trusting this is not a trap, Sworn."

Coatleque snorted. "Do not insult my honor."

"I know how to lose a tail. Don't insult my skills."

"Point Taken. I wish you luck then. I shall contact you as soon as I can."

 

Shaelen rose and replaced her glasses. "And when he gets freed, I'll take your point too. Pleasure doing business."

 

"As always." Coatleque replied as the woman left.

 

She sat back against the couch and closed her eyes for a long while, breathing slowly. Too much. This is all too much. Then her thoughts turned to Jameson and how tired he looked when she last saw him. A twinge of both pain and sorrow flashed through her breast before turning to anger once more at his last outburst.

 

"If you cannot trust my love... I know not what else I can do."

 

Words she had spoken through tears and gnashed teeth. Her hands slid slowly down her face as she eyed the bar. Standing then, she moved to one of the empty stools and signaled to the bartender for something strong and twice the size. The smell of smoke hanging in the air wafted past her nose, and she was then acutely aware of another body behind her.

 

"Lady Crofte," a man's voice said at almost a whisper. "I have a message for you. Lord Taeros has requested your presence."

 

He slid a sealed letter along her side which she took with an annoyed sigh. "Has my Lord seen fit to have me watched where 'er I go now? How long were you following me?" He said nothing of course, but merely tipped his hat before disappearing back into the crowds. She sighed and broke the seal to read what amounted to something of an apology and dinner reservation.

 

"Well... I suppose third chances are in order."