Hydaelyn Role-Players

[[Following the events from here, this thread will be a collection of posts as it follows Roen in the aftermath. They are but scattered glimpses of her ongoing journey.]]






Coerthas was an unforgiving place.

The ever-grey skies afforded no reprieve from the unrelenting snowfall, and the icy temperatures always seemed to seep in beneath the armor to lay their numbing touch to the flesh and the bones beneath.

But for Roen it was not numbing enough.

As she pulled the length of her sword from the flesh of the fallen aevis, her chilled armor creaked in protest. Her breaths came quick and heavy, broad puffs of steam quickly dissipating into the frosty air as soon as it left her lips. Securing her footing despite standing a fulm deep in snow and ice, the paladin looked about the mountainside that was littered with bodies of dragonkin and soldiers alike.

The assault on Ishgard by the Dravanian Horde seemed to grow with each passing sun. Cold and death were what greeted her since the first day she had arrived, answering the Holy See’s call for aid as many other sellswords did. But unlike them, she did not come to help a nation in need, nor did she come seeking reward or payment.

The paladin did not know why she was here, only that she needed to get far away from where she was.

After she had watched Nero’s wrapped body burn within its floating pyre sent adrift into the depths of Llymlaen’s embrace, Roen left Vylbrand without a word. Her friend Kiht had watched her go, sorrowful but silent, understanding that the woman wanted to be alone.

The frost-covered mountains of Coerthas were the last place the paladin thought she would have come seeking an escape. This was the place where Crimson Mountain had taken her nearly a cycle ago, after all, and she had silently vowed never to return to this cursed region; its bleak desolation only reminded her of violence and suffering.

But she knew she had not returned here searching for solace either.

“Stay still,” Roen said quietly as she knelt before a knight, her eyes going to the bleeding wound at his side. She yanked off her gauntlet, not caring for the immediate chill that threatened to stiffen her fingers, as she worked to assess the depth of the laceration. The knight just nodded with a grunt, the Elezen’s visage remaining stoic despite the crimson flow that was rapidly staining the snow beneath him. Such was the tenacity she saw in many here -- those used to the daily scourge brought by the Dravanian Horde.

“I am going to stop the bleeding,” the paladin murmured as she placed her hand against his wound, his sticky blood already becoming cool to touch. “It should stabilize things until we get you back to Dragonhead.”

When the other men came to take him away, the snowfall had already turned to hail, and a gale tossed her frost-licked forlocks aside. She refastened the gauntlet onto her hand as the wagon of wounded soldiers began to roll away.

“Deneith!” came a voice from behind. When the paladin turned, she saw a familiar Elezen approaching her with a cloak in hand. It was her commanding officer, Idristan Tournes, a knight-captain under the banner of Durendaire and a loyal soldier to the Holy See. He was one of a few who were willing to accept her into his ranks, despite the paladin’s few words (and even less explanation of her past). He did not care, for Ishgard was in need of anyone that could wield a weapon, and Roen had shown willingness to take any tasks given without complaint. Especially if the task involved fighting dragonkin. No politics, no negotiations -- just putting a blade to creatures that wanted naught but to end lives of men.

“The blizzard is only going to get worse.” The Elezen knight tossed her the cloak. “Best guard yourself from the cold as much as possible when not fighting. It hits harder on the mountainside.”

Roen nodded, donning the cloak and pulling the hood over her head. Small icicles were growing on the fringes of the fur, and the wool felt heavier with the thin sheet of frost that coated it. “Any more jobs?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, the cold constricting her throat.

The knight furrowed his brows as if to protest, but eventually nodded with a sigh. “Aye. Another caravan was hit, north of here on the pass. We can join those already headed that way.”

“Dravanians?”

Idristan nodded with a wry curl of his lips. “Do I tell you about any other jobs?" The Elezen had joked a few suns past that the paladin had come to Coerthas possessed with one singular thought: to kill monsters. She did not seem to care for fighting anyone or anything else. The Ishgardian let out a long sigh, his frame bending slightly with exhaustion. “We can head back to Dragonhead and none would blame us for it. We’ve been at this since daybreak two suns ago. We had to exchange out our mounts with those that arrived with the wagons lest they fall due to cold and exhaustion. We could use a rest ourselves.”

The paladin exhaled, ignoring the aching and cold limbs that screamed for warmth and comfort. “You go. I can join those at the pass.”

The knight snorted, giving her that haughty laugh that only an Elezen could. “And let an outsider defend my homeland?” Roen could not tell if his words were in jest or if they held a hint of genuine scorn. Their disdain for those not of their ilk was as much a part of Ishgard as the icy landscape. But his tone did not affect her; in truth the paladin did not care.

Idristan afforded her a small grin that did not linger long when Roen did not respond to his banter. After staring at her with a bland look he turned to where their chocobos stood waiting. “Come. Let us go slay some monsters.”

Roen began to follow him wordlessly when the glimpse of color -- red and blue flitting through the blizzard -- caught her eye. It was a sight she had not seen in many sennights: a mail moogle darting her way. The moogle's squinted eyes smiled at her despite the frost that weighed the edges of his whiskers.

“A delivery for you, kupo!”

[[The gift of the shield is mentioned in this post.]]




The kite shield was beautifully made. Its edges were reinforced, its surface polished and old dents smoothed out; the emblem upon it shined as a reminder that it would be nothing but stalwart in its defense of those who stood behind it.

Roen could only stand there breathless and frozen as she stared at the gift that the mail moogle had delivered into her hands.

The paladin had not opened it immediately; she had a caravan ambush to check on, and had tied the well-wrapped package onto her chocobo saddle as she rode with the Elezen knight. And as was suspected, they had found more groups of aevis devouring the fallen caravan, nothing left but a wreckage of wagons and mangled bodies in the snow. The group of knights made quick work of the scalekin, driving swords and lances into them, putting an end to yet another group of dragon thralls in an endless string of many.

But after the last aevis fell, Idristan would brook no further argument. He ordered her to return to Whitebrim Front for rest and sustenance, for their patrols would begin again in the morn.

So it was within the barracks that the paladin found a moment’s pause, and she laid the package onto the bed and unwrapped it.

Roen stared at the shield for what seemed like hours, the hearth flames lending its metallic surface an orange glow. The letter that had accompanied it was still in her hand, crumpled in her grip as her fingers clenched around it.

“I hope that this new kite shield allows you to continue to mentor others and serve you well. You are a true Paladin, Roen.”

Those were Kage’s words. She had not thought to hear from him again. Not since Natalie died and they had drifted apart. He was lost to his grief, and Roen had been swept up in Nero’s revolution. She had wistfully thought of the Lalafell and others during Starlight, friends and loved ones that held a special place in her heart. She had sent Kage a gift of a white beret, as a reminder of times of long gone.

And now the shield and the beret both seemed to stare back at her, their very image spearing her clear through with memories and emotions she long sought to bury here amidst the frozen mountains.

“May we never falter.” Those were the words of her oath that she had recited many times over. It was a mantra she had fallen back on when she felt hopeless and lost. And yet she had faltered.

“Remember who you were.” She had told Kage this when she wrote to him during Starlight. And yet it was she who was now eager to forget.

Then his voice came unbidden from the depths of her memory. The one recollection she desperately did not want returned.

"You and I will become a sword and shield. I will slay those who encroach upon us. You shall defend justice and the innocent. An apt analogy, no?"

Before she knew it, Roen had snatched up the shield from the bed and quickly strode to the door, throwing it open despite the gust of frozen rain that greeted her. A blizzard pelted her face as she hurried through the courtyard, boots wading with haste through knee deep snow. Once clear of the gates, Roen hurled the shield into the darkness with a loud, hoarse cry. Her scream was swept into the chasm below by the howling winds, just as the kite shield landed many yalms away, skidding and spinning upon the icy ground until it came to a stop at the edge of the ravine.

Ice cracked and crunched beneath her armored weight as the paladin collapsed to a seat on the frosted ground, her eyes forlornly looking out into the night. She refused to shed more tears; those she gave to the sea as were the last, the remnant shards of her shattered heart falling there too. But no more tears after. She had promised herself.

The paladin remained there, alone in the night, wanting the cold to numb her senses again. A thin sheet of sleet had cloaked her frame by the time Roen rose again, stiff hands pushing up against her knees to regain her bearings. She turned back toward Whitebrim's gate, intent on quick strides back to the shelter.

Instead, Roen plodded through the snow to the cliff’s edge and bent to pick up the kite shield. Its emblem still held onto the dim light that was behind her, glimmering ever so faintly. She did not notice the numbness of her fingers as she brushed off the dirt and ice from its surface, her weary eyes going over its dented but dauntless surface once more.

Releasing a long breath into the night, the paladin turned and made her way back to the fortress, the shield in hand.

[[Events of this post follows this post.]]



Roen woke with a start.

A sense of dread pressed upon her chest--so much so that she had to gasp for air as she sat up. It was an odd feeling. She was no stranger to nightmares, but this latest dream--even though she could not recall the details--felt real, ominous, and urgent. The paladin had to lean over the side of the bed, hands gripping the edge of the cot as she collected her breath. Her eyes glanced to the hearth and the fire that had long died over the span of the night. Goosebumps began to creep up her arms as she drew the thick woolen blankets over her shoulders; the haze of slumber was quick to retreat in the face of the ever present chill that hung in the air.

Slipping her feet into a pair of fur-lined boots, Roen padded her way to the hearth, bending next to the pile of kindling to restart the fire. She took care not to make too much noise, her eyes going to the rest of the barracks where another mound of blankets rose and fell with quiet snores. She knew not the names of the mercenaries that she had shared the barracks with, and they never seemed to care to know hers. She kept to herself, did not speak much, and did as she was told. They left her alone for the most part, save a few glances or leering stares. But her armor and sword kept any harassment at bay; most mercenaries hadn’t come to the frost-cursed region of Coerthas expecting any indulgences or comforts.

As the paladin took up the flint and tinder she paused, a memory on the edges of her thoughts rising to the fore. She suddenly recalled one of the earliest lessons with her brother regarding sword fighting. She had met Gharen near Stonesthrow and he was teaching one of his other pupils a lesson on building a fire. A shy and somewhat fearful Miqo’te named Anzil Oenomaus was set to the task of starting a fire while Gharen and Roen sparred. But it was only a moment later that a spark had caught onto Anzil’s hair and he was screaming in panic.

Roen recalled with distant amusement the horrified expression that the young Miqo’te wore after she dumped a bucket of water on his head, as if that was a fate worse than his hair in flames. She and Gharen had tried their best not to laugh out loud, for Anzil’s mortification was clear.

As the small flicker of flames began to take hold of the kindling, the paladin found herself staring at the fire, her thoughts lingering on those memories. A part of her was surprised to find herself remembering those days long gone, before all the sorrow and the darkness. She had pushed all thoughts of family and friends aside since that day in Aleport, and it was easy to not think about anything since her arrival here in Coerthas.

So why did thoughts of Gharen return to her unbidden now?

Pulling the woolen blankets tighter around her frame, Roen made her way back to her cot. She paused when she spotted the kite shield leaning against the corner of her bed, along with the rest of her equipment.

Perhaps I have shut out the rest of the world long enough. It had been since Starlight that she had spoken to her brother, and the last words they had exchanged were ones of anger and conflict. But he did send her a Starlight gift--a small woven doll--perhaps in an attempt to reconcile things, along with a missive wishing her well.

Never having had the gift for the written word, Roen wanted to find him then to speak to him in person. She too held hope that the rift would be closed between them. But then she was arrested by Coatleque and thrown into Taeros’ dungeon before she got the chance to even write him. Since then, after the escape and all that had followed, she never again had the chance to reach out to her brother, or anyone else for that matter.

But now, just for a moment, she found her thoughts wandering to all those she had left behind. Her brother, Gideon, Kiht… and so many more.

The cot creaked as the paladin settled into a seat, her eyes going to the small satchel next to her pack. It held parchments and ink. Her fingers curled and uncurled under the blanket, still reluctant to reach for them. What would she say? She did not even know where to begin.

It was then that the doors to the barracks swung open, the cold morning air rushing in and threatening to extinguish the hearth flames that were just gaining some life.

“Time to go, ladies and gentleman.” Idristan Tournes stood in the doorway, fully armored with a large shield hanging from his back. He wore his usual expression--a mixture of disapproval and impatience, his commanding tone never loud but always sharp. A few grumbles came from the other cots, but no actual protests were voiced as the mercenaries began to rise and gather their equipment.

Roen did the same, ignoring the chill that greeted her skin as she set the blanket aside, reaching for her breeches and armor.

The letters would have to wait.

“Why do you want to kill monsters, Deneith?”

Idristan Tournes had slowed his mount to fall in stride with hers, as the group of mercenaries and knights rode back towards Dragonhead. The skies had shown them mercy for the last few bells, withholding snowfall as the regiment made its way south from Providence Point.

Roen gave the knight-captain a sidelong glance and found his pale green eyes scrutinizing her keenly. She did not meet his gaze for long. “Things are simpler.”

When she gave no further explanation, the knight snorted, amused. “You care not for the Ixal to the east nor any other beasts that need thinning. But any mention of dragonkin and you are ready with your sword.” When the paladin continued to look straight ahead, the Wildwood Elezen continued. “You keep to yourself and do not ask for anything other than the essentials. All you seem to want to do is fight and kill scalekin. I suspect you only sleep so you can do it again the next sun.”

Roen only shifted slightly in her seat as the Elezen gave her another long look. She did not answer.

“Many come to Coerthas for their own reasons, Deneith,” Ser Idristan sighed. “Yours is but one of them.”

The paladin furrowed her brow, parting her lips to respond to him... when Goldwind paused, having come beak to tail with the rider in front of them. The entire group had come to a stop on the road, overlooking Witchdrop. The whole of their attention was turned toward a gathering there, so Roen nudged her bird to the edge of the road for a closer look.

A group of armored knights made a half moon around a singular robed figure in the center--an Elezen with a long flaxen braid and a book in hand. She stood tall, and her rigid posture held an air of authority. She stood in front of a group of four Hyurs, a couple and their two children. The youngsters huddled around the legs of the woman, while the male wore a pleading expression, gesturing to the three behind him.

“Move on, there is nothing to see here.” Idristan’s cutting tone brought everyone else’s attention back to the knight-captain, and the group around the paladin began to lead their mounts back towards Dragonhead. But Roen did not move. Her eyes remained trained on the scene ahead; she found herself leaning forward slightly to catch the words that were being exchanged.

“I beseech you, Inquisitor Dumergue.” The midlander male laced his fingers together, his hands shaking with emotion. “These charges are not true. My family is innocent. We have always been loyal to the Holy See!”

He was only met with a cold stare from the blonde Elezen, her gaze traveling down the length of her long hawkish nose. “Then place your faith in Halone’s judgement. Prove your innocence and leap forth and entrust your fate to the Fury.” She gestured with the sweep of her hand to the perilous edge of Witchdrop.

Roen blinked, her eyes going wide. Without a word she unhooked her feet from the stirrups and slid off her bird. But before she could take another step, Idristan came to stand before her, blocking her view.

“Leave this be, Deneith.” His words carried a sharp warning as did his narrowed eyes.

“But…” The paladin glanced from the knight to the scene beyond him. She tried to step around him. “Does she mean to… how is throwing himself off the cliff--”

“You are an outsider.” Idristan took a step to his side to match hers, still blocking her way. “And I have seen each and every one of your kind react to these proceedings in their own way.” His voice was not raised and likely not audible to those by the cliffside. They were only meant to gain and hold her attention. “This is our way. You have no right to interfere or question.”

“My children! Please, Inquisitor. At least spare the children!” The Midlander’s raised voice echoed into the chasms below.

“Are they all to jump? To prove their innocence?” Roen found her own voice trembling and not from the cold. “The woman? And the children?”

Idristan’s steely voice did not waver, nor did his stern expression. “That is up to the judgement of the Inquisitor. But if you obstruct her work in any way, you would be committing heresy.” When the paladin took another step to the side, the knight-captain grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her roughly against Goldwind. The chocobo bristled and jumped once.

“Do you really want to do this Deneith? Leap headlong into matters you do not understand? Impede an inquisition sanctioned by the Holy See, where the only outcome for you is to be branded an outlaw--or even a heretic? You will be exiled at best. At worst, you will find yourself standing by that cliff.”

“But the children…” Roen rasped. “Certainly they are innocent…”

“There is no such thing as innocence," the paladin heard another remembered voice whisper in her ear. "Only varying degrees of guilt.” She immediately shook her head, as if to push his words out of her mind.

“Perhaps if you can speak to the Inquisitor... appeal for mercy…” Roen looked up at the knight, and for a moment she thought she saw sympathy in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by chilled indifference--practiced and enforced in this ice-cold land--and hammered in place by a heavy scowl.

Idristan lowered his head to level his disapproving gaze upon hers. “This is our way of rooting out the drachen fiends, Deneith. If you are to stay on our soil, you must abide by our laws.” His hands released her shoulders and he took a step back. “Ask yourself again why you came here.”

Her chest rose and fell with heavy, quickened breaths, white puffs of steam quick to fade into the cold. No longer pinned to the side of her bird, Roen glanced to the cliffside again. The man’s head hung low and he nodded and murmured something to the Hyur woman. The woman was sobbing, shaking her head. Her grip was tight around the shoulders of her children, as she buried their faces against her skirt. The half circle of armored knights had drawn their bows and their lances, holding them at ready, warily watching the accused. With a nod, the man approached the edge of the precipice.

Roen stared for another breath, her hands shaking in tight fists by her side. When the man paused at the very edge of the drop and folded his hands over his chest, the paladin forced herself to spin away, grabbing and yanking on the reigns of Goldwind. She strode away from Witchdrop as briskly as possible, straight into the biting teeth of an angry northern wind.

Coerthas' howl could not drown the wail of a woman’s heartbroken cry. Roen could only bow her head and quicken her steps to remove herself from its proximity. It would stay with her long after the wind had fled.

It was as if a large spear point made of stone and ice had been stabbed into the mountain. Roen stared up at its apex from below the ground within the cave that was The Fury’s Gaze. The etched carving of the three spears on the stone--the symbol of Halone--only seemed visible to a pair of keen eyes or to those pilgrims who specifically sought out this place to pay homage to the Goddess of War.

Roen too had come to the cavern to look upon the Stone of Halone, although she had no prayers to offer. Being raised in Garlemald, she had never been taught to worship the Twelve, or any other gods. And yet, since her arrival in Eorzea, she had witnessed many good people who drew strength from their faith in their times of need.

Was that why she had come to The Fury’s Gaze? For strength? For hope? For answers?

The cold silent stone offered none as she was left to stare at the rippling reflection of herself upon the shallow pool of water that collected beneath the pointed massive stalactite.

"I don't really believe in the Twelve, if you must know, Halone included.”

He had said long ago when she had asked him about his patron deity. Nero was loath to admit to any sort of worship, but of all the Twelve, the patron goddess of Ishgard frequented his lips the most.

“I don't revere her. I find the concept of guardian deities laughable.”

Roen was not sure why her steps had always led her here when the thoughts of him came. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that Halone represented, for in that, he and Halone were so similar.

“But I respect what she represents.” His voice weaved through her thoughts effortlessly. “The idea her existence supposedly propagates. She's the mistress of war and the mover of glaciers. Cold, steady determination for the latter, and explosive, fiery wrath for the former.”

The paladin glanced to her right, where she could nearly picture the man; his soot-black hair with orange highlights hanging low over his eyes as he came to stand next to her, crossing his arms the way he always did. He too looked up at the three spears. “If the Twelve really existed, what kind of perspective does the duality of her being bring her, I wonder?” he pondered aloud. He always did seem to enjoy philosophical debates. “Does the blood of war tarnish Her sheets of ice? Does the lethargy of that ice insult the idea of war?”

Roen stared at the ghostly image, even as the smuggler offered her his trademark smirk. “Make no mistake, I don't believe in her in the same way that I don't believe in flying basilisks turning airships into stone. But I think she and I would get along well."

His ice blue gaze lingered on her a moment longer, before life and light faded from his eyes. His color drained away, as did his buoyant expression. The paladin was frozen in place as she watched his smiling visage turn into an ashen figure of a dead man.

“I did not know it until that sun, but he wanted to die.”

The memory of Kiht Jakkya’s words seemed to shatter the sheet of ice that held her thoughts hostage.

The Keeper had long departed from this place of worship, though the exchange between the huntress and the paladin still echoed in Roen’s mind, much as it had within the cavern walls when they spoke. Her friend was shocked to find her here within the frozen cave of Coerthas, for the Miqo’te had come to pay pilgrimage to Halone for her own reasons. But her worry for the paladin was clearly written on her face, as was a lingering shadow of guilt.

Kiht had feared that Roen blamed her for what happened in Aleport, for forcing the paladin into a position where she had to kill someone. Only, Roen knew that choice could only be made by none other than herself.

“I know I did what I had to,” the paladin admitted even though regret laced her every word.

“You chose a ground to stand on, but you thought it would be different.” Kiht shook her head. “I apologize, Roen, I wish there was a way for it to be what you had envisioned. I felt you deserved it as you had pursued it so willfully. But things are hardly ever so dark and light. Most things are in between.”

To that Roen answered only with a hardened look. “There is nothing in between about death, Kiht. What I did to him, it was murder. I killed him. Unarmed. Hurt. Cornered.” The paladin felt a shiver run down her spine with that admittance. “I killed him, Kiht.”

“One to save a hundred.” His voice whispered in her ear again. “A hundred to save a thousand.”

“He was not giving you much choice.” The huntress scowled. “He threatened after he had done so much wrong. The Hells were you supposed to do? Ignore it? Tell me, how many people did he save with the deaths he caused?”

“Those are naught but echoes of the same things that I tell myself, again and again.” Roen shook her head, her voice turning quiet with her confession. “But it absolves me not. It does not set things to rights inside my heart.”

“Because no matter what, you had once loved him…?”

She had no answers for her friend. It was all Roen could do to don the stoic mask once more. But the guise was becoming easier each time. The paladin could see that Kiht spotted the shift as well, for her friend said no more on it. The Miqo’te exchanged some news about Gharen and Osric, and spoke of others who cared and were looking for her. After a quiet encouragement to reach out to those left behind, the Keeper huntress left Roen, reassured that she would be able to visit the paladin again.

Roen turned her eyes once more to the three spears carved into the stone overhead. A relentless warrior with a bronze greatshield, that was how Halone was depicted in most paintings and books. And yet the sharp piercing spears were what represented her.

They were weapons made to kill, not protect. She was the Mover of Glaciers and the Mistress of War. She represented determination and wrath. Halone represented two seemingly opposing ideals.

Was her own staunch adherence to virtue wholly one sided that she did not allow for any other lesser choices to be made? Did such idealism truly have no place in this world? Was it not her refusal to acknowledge the need for violence to end violence that brought about the tragic conclusion at Aleport?

Nero had believed it with all his heart, and Roen had opposed it with every fiber of her being. Yet it gnawed at her still--this idea of a "greater good" achieved through bloodshed. If Nero had even been partially right, she had not--could not--consider it.

At least not back then. Back when the man she loved still had a beating heart. Even now, despite the regret that weighed upon her soul, Roen could not deny that she did what had to be done. And yet…

What might sparing him his life have wrought?

She would never know.

Ishgard.

All the paintings and renderings she had seen of the place as a child did not do the majestic architecture justice. Roen stood before the impressive structure that was The Vault of the Holy See, awed by its towering columns topped with golden spires, their pointed peaks reaching for the heavens.

She could not help but wonder if such an august presence had a hand in inspiring reverence in those who looked upon it. Prayers to Halone were often heard upon the lips of those she had passed, and seminarians in their black and red cassocks milled about near the entrance to the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral.

Roen drank in the details of the place as she followed closely behind Idristan, the knight-captain’s long stride quickened with purpose as he strode through the streets of Ishgard. He had been called back to the city proper in light of the news of a possible insurrection in the making. Despite the paladin’s reluctance to become involved in any matters outside of dealing with bloodthirsty scalekin, the knight had ordered her to accompany him back to the city-state.

“You are still a stranger to our land and our ways,” Idristan had said. “And yet you deserve to see for yourself what it is that you and I would lay down our lives to defend.” His tone would brook no argument, but there was a hint of an entreaty behind his gaze. Though he would never admit it, Roen would have guessed that perhaps the Elezen wanted her to understand and accept the scene that she had witnessed at Witchdrop. They had never spoken of it again; Roen had decided that such things were not her affair, that she had not come to Coerthas seeking to change how things were.

And yet here she was, accompanying a knight to stop a possible revolution amongst the citizenry of Ishgard. Roen’s lungs tightened with something akin to dread.

A few glances were spared her way, her armor and equipment clearly marking her as a stranger, perhaps an adventurer within the city. Others dressed in mishmash of armor were scattered about, but most were merchants or nobles, all dressed in their furred coats and robes.

“Be on guard, Deneith,” Idristan drew her attention forth as the streets began to descend into the lower portions of the city. “This is The Brume.”

Her commanding officer had mentioned the situation briefly as they had made their trek back to Ishgard, but as Roen looked about this new district, she could not deny how much it reminded her of Pearl Lane. It was the broken underbelly of an otherwise beautiful and magnificent city-state. A stark contrast from the detailed designs of lancet windows and ornately carved finials that decorated the the buildings of worship, The Brume was a collection of unkempt alleys and broken down corners of buildings.

Piles of cracked stone and broken beams laid strewn about, and damaged walls and buildings seemed to be barely held together by wooden scaffoldings. An Elezen with dirty bandages wrapped around his head laid on the ground near one of the ruined buildings, his short and ragged breaths visible as short puffs in the frigid air. Two women were bent over him, but they held naught but pity on their faces. Beyond that scene further into a darker pocket of a crumbling house was another man on the ground, also looking sickly.

Roen’s eyes did not stay on any one of them for long. There were too many. Children huddled near a small fire while another man was raising both his hands to the sky as if to beseech the gods for aid or warmth. She strode past them all wordlessly and without slowing down, Idristan’s own pace quickening as he neared a gathering ahead.

“Ser Marat,” Idristan called out a greeting to a group of knights. They had formed a barrier at the end of the street, the tip of their pointed shields planted into the cobblestone below. Their weapons remained at their sides but every now and then one knight would glance apprehensively to another and they would shift their hands ever so slightly to be closer to the hilt of their swords. One of the knights turned in response to Idristan's call and slid his helm upwards, answering with a sharp nod of his own. “Situation report?”

“Ser Tournes, good to see you back.” Ser Marat glanced between the knight and the paladin before turning his gaze to the group of people that had begun to gather closer towards the end of the street. “Unhappy peasants have gathered to show their discontent. There were rumors of this gathering for many suns, and many feared that it may turn violent.”

Roen glanced past the temple knights, all armored head to toe in sturdy, well-crafted chainmail, shield and swords at the ready, to the press of people that were milling about. They were dressed in mostly layers of tattered woolen clothing, none of the furred coats were seen here. There were young and old, men and women, Elezen and Hyur alike. Many of them looked gaunt, their cheeks somewhat sunken in, their skin flushed and weather worn from the cold, but regardless of their condition their eyes glimmered with determination, however weak, and a firm sense of indignation at their treatment.

“What have they done, exactly?” Roen asked.

Ser Marat was quick to frown at her inquiry, but when a glance to Idristan was answered with a nod, he replied in an annoyed nasally tone. “They marched down the street, chanting their demands. They are collecting more people as they proceed.”

“Have they threatened anyone? Destroyed property?” Idristan calmly scanned the crowd.

Ser Marat shook his head. “They have naught but gathered at one end of the Brume. One of their ringleaders had been shouting something about marching up to the doorstep of the Four Houses and up to the Vault itself. For obvious reasons we cannot permit them to pass much further beyond the Forgotten Knight.”

“Do you mean to stop them by force?” Roen narrowed her eyes. “This looks like a peaceful rally.”

Ser Marat’s jaw tensed. “One or two stragglers pose no threat. But once a mob gathers, tempers flare and discontent turns into disorder. It is wise to put down such things before it presents a problem. They cannot even see that they are lucky to be alive and housed despite the ongoing war.” He tilted his head at the paladin, a scornful look plain on his face. "Regardless of their feelings, dissidents only weaken the Holy See's efforts against the Dravanians, and in their shortsightedness they may affect the security of Ishgard itself, for every knight that is called to quell their mob is another knight that is not in the field or watching the skies." His hands tightened their grip on the top of his shield.

Idristan gave Roen a sidelong glance. “I have seen the scales of Ul’dah that your chocobo bears on his barding.” If he noted her stiffening posture, the knight-captain did not make it known. “I have heard many tales of this place. You too come from a city-state where the impoverished is an undeniable presence and yet there is naught that can be done to alleviate their woes. How does Ul’dah deal with its dissidents that the peace is kept?”

Roen’s face hardened, her eyes refusing to meet that of her commanding officer. “Insurgents are not tolerated.” She clamped her mouth shut as if to end it there, but half a breath later she continued. “But if all who suffer believe that there is naught being done about it, that there are none who see their need and their suffering… there will rise another. Someone who is pushed too far, pushed too hard, who has decided that standing by is no longer an option.”

Idristan regarded her for a moment longer before nodding. He stepped past the knights forward the crowd, giving Roen just half a glance over his shoulder. “Follow me, Deneith.”

“Good people of Brume and citizens of Ishgard,” Idristan called out loudly, his hands held up in front of him. His helm rested atop his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. “You have come far enough, and your message has been heard. Know that your needs are not being ignored nor dismissed.”

“And yet what is being done about it?” a woman called out from the crowd. “The nobles sit high and mighty in The Pillars while we’re expected to eat rocks and ice down here! And the rest of you knights are telling us to be grateful about it!”

“The four houses are providing all they can for the Dragonsong War.” Idristan gestured toward the paladin. “They are providing funds to hire outsiders to also help in this unending conflict. We are fighting for our very right to exist despite the will of the dragons that would see us burnt and buried. We need all the resources we can spare to ensure our survival.”

A scornful laugh barked from the rear of the mob. "'Providing all they can', ser knight says!" It was a low, almost guttural voice. "Them nobles are parading around in silks and petticoats and throwing parties day and night, and they're providing all they can!" Several other shouts in agreement and affirmation rang through the throng of people, and some of the more aggressive dissidents stepped forward closer toward the line of shields. The knights, in response, raised their shields onto their arms and placed hands on their swords.

"Stop lying to us!" Another cry from a woman lost somewhere in the crowd, the voice of one who was desperate and full of tears.

"How many of us have frozen today?" The same guttural voice shouted. "Do you even know? Do you care at all?"

"Please, firewood, blankets, anything!"

The crowd had begun to grow in size and volume, and the shouting intensified. Ser Marat's eyes glanced quickly to Idristan, expecting an order to put down the riot. The latter, to his credit, pressed his lips together in an expression of stern restraint, though he too had begun to thumb the pommel of his sword.

Roen could feel some of the crowd look her way, some in disapproval, and others with wary curiosity as others shouted and began to push forward towards the knights, though not close enough to be threatened by their blades.

“What have you seen out there?” A young man called out to her. He was perhaps sixteen winters old, or maybe younger if he were not so thin. But he had an inquisitive gleam in his eyes, and a rebellious hint to his voice. “All we hear about are what the noble houses want us to know. And what the temple knights report. What do you see out there?”

The paladin straightened, clearing her voice. “I have seen many dragon thralls lay waste to caravans and a group of knights. I have come upon burnt or severed bodies littering the mountainside. They want naught but your deaths, and the blood of man split upon the snow. There is no sense or reason. Only violence.”

When the crowd had quieted to a low rumble, Roen continued. “Go home to your hearth and your beds. Know that in the time of war, there will be deaths, there will be suffering. Your city has closed its walls to the rest of us for as long as I can remember. But now I stand here before you, because the need has become more dire. The war has only grown more fierce and your losses have only deepened. Ishgard needs help from outsiders because it can no longer provide for its own. So if you were to start a revolution now, to push for a change when you should all be banding together... know that you will not survive.”

Her throat tightened as she said the next words. “So choose. Accept what must be and endure... or fight this and die.”

The young man who had looked upon her with a flicker of hope now looked crestfallen. With a deep scowl he spun away and disappeared around the corner. The rest of the crowd began to grumble amongst themselves.

“We will take it from here,” Ser Marat stepped in front of Roen, as he motioned to the rest of the knights to shepherd the crowd away. There was a nod of acknowledgement he gave to the paladin before he turned toward the peasants, and Roen thought she spied a small satisfied curl to his lips. It made her stomach roil.

“Will that be all, Ser Tournes?” she asked curtly to Idristan.

“I think our work is finished here,” Idristan nodded. “Good work, Deneith. I think we deserve a bit of…”

Roen did not hear the rest of what he had to offer. She spun on her heel and quickly strode away in the opposite direction, eager to put distance between herself and The Brume.

“That’s one fat kitten.”

Stray Oak poked one thick finger at the white round ball of fur, and the feline rolled onto its side. It was so fat its small stubby feet were dangling from its full belly. The kitten mewled quietly as it pawed at his finger, and the mercenary could swear it smiled.

“What’s he eatin’ anyways?” Heibert asked. The Midlander sellsword was leaning against the bar of the Forgotten Knight, one crooked elbow propped up next to the ledger that was open on the counter. He had a few hunting bills laid out and was waiting on the old man Ardolain to appear. The small common room was pretty vacant for the early afternoon, of both patrons and chairs.

“There be plenty of table scraps, even in a dump like this.” The Hellsguard remained squatting over the small calico kitten, rolling the little creature back and forth like a miniature log. He was rewarded with happy purrs. The Roegadyn grinned for an instant, then coughed and furrowed his brow instead.

“You mean to tell me that the little fat runt can beat a hungry rodent to a piece of breadcrumb?” The Midlander cocked a skeptical brow.

Oak eyed the kitten that was still rolling around on its back. “Maybe the little thing is quick. Uh… despite its uh... “

“Girth?” Heibert snorted. “The fact that its belly almost prevents its feet from touching the ground? Or that it shouldn’t be possible for them four little paws to carry it anywhere considerin’ the mass-to-limb ratio? That thing arrived mere fortnight ago and already it’s grown twice in size. All in width.”

Oak gave the Hyur a wry look, letting the kitten gnaw at the end of his callused finger. “How else ya goin’ ta explain it? It’s not like The Brume has food to spare. And the captain don’t allow for pets on the road.”

Heibert crossed one foot over the other in a lounging pose, his eyes going to the stairs leading up to the entrance. The old Elezen had yet to make an appearance. “I bet the ol’ man Ardolain sneaks it table scraps while we’re gone. Or Deneith is actually feeding the thing. Who knows with that strange woman?”

“What’s so strange about feeding yer pet?”

“She keeps to herself, don’t talk much, and never gave me more than two words in response to anything.” The Midlander shrugged. “The woman’s like stone. Not a smile or even barely a glance. But she gets gifts like it’s Starlight. First that shield outta nowhere, then this kitten. Something’s off about her.”

It was Oak’s turn to snort. “There’s not a conspiracy behind everything, Bellows.” The broad shoulders of the Hellsguard rose and fell in an idle shrug. “Sides, captain seems ta think she’s worth somethin’, lettin’ her keep the cat here and all. Even asked for the innkeeper ta keep an eye on ‘im while we’re on the road.”

“Yeah, notice that? Outta all of us, the captain took her to the near riot.” The Hyur sucked at his teeth, his lips curling downward in annoyance.

“As if you’d rather gone ta face an angry mob rather than hunt down some marks eh?” The Roegadyn jutted his chin towards the bar. “You’re here just like me, ta make some gil from fancy nobles who don’t want ta get their delicate petticoats bloody. I ain’t lookin’ ta figure out the whys and the hows as long as I get paid. ‘Sides, what you care about Ishgard politics anyroad?”

“I don’t.” Heibert rolled his eyes. “But I need to know who I’m fightin’ with. I need to be able to trust that someone’s watching my back.”

The Roegadyn let out a loud wheezy exhale and plucked his fingers from the kitten’s grasp to wag it at the Midlander. “I’ve seen Deneith heal wounded soldiers. She’s one of them paladins, and they be good ta have at yer side in a clutch.”

“Did you not notice the Ul’dah banner on her bird? You heard the rumors coming from the Jewel. What if she’s mixed up in alla that?”

Stray Oak cocked his head and plopped unceremoniously onto his rump, taking a seat on the wooden floor next to a table. He crossed his arms and gave Heibert a long straight faced stare. “You’ve been thinkin’ on this I reckon.”

“I just notice things that you don’t, Oak.” The Midlander shrugged. “Did you ever see Deneith use that shield that got delivered? It sits by her pack but she never carries it out onto the field. I wager if I were to steal it away, she’d notice though. It’s got sentimental value. Just like that cat she’s allergic to.”

The Roegadyn scratched his head. “How you know that?”

“Because she sneezes and rubs at her nose whenever she’s around it, but she keeps ‘im anyway, even letting it onto her bed while she sleeps.” Heibert tapped his temple with a finger. “I notice these things, you big oaf. So whoever sent it must mean somebody. There’s a mystery there and I mean ta solve it.”

“You don’t watch me while I sleep do ya?” Stray Oak gave him the crazy eye.

That gave a pause to the Hyur’s speculations for a moment as his cheeks grew a ruddy complexion. He gave a long narrow-eyed stare back at the Roegadyn, and did not deign to even formulate a response. He shook his head as if to dismiss his annoyance before starting again. “I am tellin’ ya, Oak. She’s hiding something or--” He stopped abruptly, both brows raised.

It was the perplexed look on the Midlander’s face that also made Oak pause. “What?”

“Well, I’ll be.” Heibert chuckled. “I guess you’re right. First time for everything.”

Stray Oak followed the sellsword’s gaze and turned back toward where he had left the kitten on the tavern floor. There he saw the feline ball of fur now with a small mouse in its grasp and a piece of cheese in his mouth. The kitten looked to be playing with the creature more than anything else, despite the rodent’s desperate squirming to try and get out of the clawed grasp. The Roegadyn stared at it a bit longer in disbelief, watching the cat play with the mouse as it was playing with his finger earlier.

“Huh.” He grunted, then a slow grin spread across his face. “See, I told you--”

The doors to the Forgotten Knight swung open with some urgency, enough to draw the gaze of both the mercenaries towards the stairs. Idristan Tournes stood at the entrance, his long face etched with grim intent. His eyes scanned the room quickly before they narrowed in on the two sellswords.

“Where is Blacke, Deneith, and Fenco?” Tournes barked.

“Still north of Falcon’s Nest, ser.” Stray Oak lumbered back to his feet, straightening in attention. “They were looking to the last of the caravans from The Convictory.”

“There was a heavy blizzard coming in so they might be delayed,” Heibert chimed in, gathering his hunt bills on the counter and stuffing it back into his pocket.

The knight-captain regarded the cat on the floor for a moment before turning sharply on his heel. “They’ve not checked in for bells. Let us go make certain they have not found unwanted trouble.” The Elezen exited the inn without looking back.

Stray Oak began to follow Heibert towards the stairs but paused halfway and turned back to the table he was squatting next to. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small piece of dried meat and set it on the ground next to the calico kitten, who immediately tossed the mouse aside and pounced on the morsel. The Roegadyn grinned and scratched the happy feline behind the ear until a bellowing call from the Midlander made him bolt up and hurry out of the tavern.

"What did he do to you?"

Roen angrily poked at the coals, sending a flurry of embers and ash scattering to the winds. She replaced the metal grid above the brazier without care, the iron hinges clanking in protest at the harsh treatment. The paladin spun away from the cylindrical grill, a sharp glance given into the blizzard that had begun to whirl about the campsite.

Delial Grimsong and Kage Kiryuu had long gone, but their footsteps were still visible in the snow from where they had left her; their words had left their own impression upon the paladin.

Roen did not know how they found her. The paladin had volunteered to watch the campsite just south of Greytail Falls, knowing it would give her the solitude she wanted. The group she worked with under Ser Tournes left her alone for the most part, though Bellows had been asking more questions of her lately. She did not care to talk about herself, nor did she even want to get to know any of the other mercenaries she was working with. Despite being afforded a room at the Forgotten Knight, Roen rarely stayed there for long, only returning to make certain the kitten was being fed and taken care of.

She had to yet to even give the fat little thing a name.

The paladin sat back down on the stool next to the fire, running her hands through her frost licked hair. She mulled over the words that were exchanged between herself, Kage, and Delial, thoughts awhirl like the chaotic spin of snowflakes tossed by the Coerthas winds.

They were not a welcomed sight when they approached: the tall dark Highlander and the smallest of the Lalafell that Roen would ever know. The former rarely came bearing good news, and the latter…

The latter the paladin had not seen in over a cycle. When I last saw Kage, Natalie had been alive, Roen thought with a shake of her head.

At first Roen had just frozen in place, staring at them in shock. She had never expected to find those two--in Coerthas, of all places--or together, for that matter.

But together they had come, in search of her, and bearing ill tidings about Gharen, her brother.

“He is gone, duckling.” Delial relayed the news. Kage remained somewhat timid; the Lalafell was just watching her while the Highlander spoke in her usual gruff tone. “Gone and vanished and none would know where or why he has gone. I had hoped that he would have sought you out. But… well. I suppose not, hm?”

Roen winced. Last time she and Delial had spoken was about Gharen; Delial had beseeched her to seek him out, for he had habitually begun to fall into dark moods as the siblings had grown further apart. Roen had promised Delial that she would speak to him after her ordeal with Nero was done. But that was back when she thought that she would simply find the smuggler and bring him back to Ul’dah to face justice for his crimes. Such was not to be.

“I left him in your care,” the paladin accused the Highlander.

“And you made a promise, did you not?” The Highlander retorted back.

“....I could not keep that promise.” The paladin fought the sudden constriction in her throat.

Delial crossed her arms with a displeased look on her face. “The Sergeant relayed your message to me that you were fine. But honestly, I was quite unsure if he believed it himself. Drifting about Coerthas after a spat with your love, fighting dragons if what I have heard is true. Now, I have a mind for violence now and again, but even I must wonder if that might qualify as being 'fine'."

Roen instantly shot her a glare. "Is that why you are here? To pass judgement on what I choose to do? Is that not what you do? You had plenty to say when I was trying to change Ul'dah. You had plenty to say when I awaited judgement for being a spy. Matter of fact, you had plenty to say when we first met, but that was the only time you whispered honey in my ear."

The paladin found her ire rising quickly, vitriol spilling from her tongue. “Even after all that you have done, I asked you to look after him. And now that he is gone, you come here to pass judgement on me? You are not welcomed here. Do not stand there and speak of things you know nothing of.”

There was a smoldering frown on Delial’s face that barely changed when she barked out a laugh. "Plenty to say, mayhap, to a girl with not the wit to heed me when it mattered. Let it not be said that I, at least, have fled my obligations. I would not be here were it not for him."

Kage raised his hands, interrupting both the women. "I-I'm not here to judge! But Roen! Dragons! I had to fight them helping Melkire and it's... well..." The look he gave her was one of deep concern. "You don’t look fine to me, Roen. Somethin’s happened over the cycle since I’ve seen you. But..." The Lalafell's voice softened. "I'm still happy to see you after all this time. I wish I was able to support you before."

His words of sympathy only made Roen harden further. She was determined not to be moved. The paladin turned from him to scowl at Delial. “What do you want from me?”

"Eyes and ears, of course.” Delial shrugged, as if exasperated. “Yourself, your Huntress friend ... These are the people he was meant to see before he vanished. I have found little and less of him, much less you. But even Ser Crofte had reason to think there may be something foul stemming from nearby Ishgard." She paused, her expression darkening. "Banurein. And if Banurein is indeed afoot, then I imagine this disappearance is indeed not a matter of choice."

That name should have moved her. Banurein was the woman Roen had only heard about, the woman that plagued her brother’s nightmares, and the same woman who was the very reason that Roen began to investigate Taeros in the first place. It was that investigation that led her to follow the smuggler that was suspected to work for the Monetarist...

Roen did not want to think on those memories. She had come to Coerthas looking to bury them and to find a new path, and yet she was constantly being reminded of what had passed before and what she had left behind. The two standing before her and even the political state of Ishgard itself were just yet another reminder of what she wanted to forget. She was tired of questioning the choices she had made, of what could have been. She did not want anything to do with Banurein. Nor Delial. Nor Kage. Nor anyone.

“I will ask Kiht to aid you,” she offered coldly after a pause.

A long white breath was released through the Highlander’s nose as she studied the paladin. “And what of you?”

Roen no longer looked to either of them. She only stared at the flames. "I will keep my eyes and ears open." She heard her own voice, and it was without emotion. A part of her wondered if she was relieved or shocked. This was her brother’s fate they were speaking of. And yet, the paladin took comfort in the cold numbness that quelled any stirring within. “I am no tracker."

"I suppose not, but that is not the whole of what I ask.” Delial glanced down at the Lalafell. “Mayhap Kage might be better in your company than mine. I am a tiresome creature, I know."

Another scowl twisted the paladin’s face instantly. "Setting a sitter on me? Still worried, aye? Worried about the fate of poor Roen Deneith. When will she end up in trouble yet again?" Her voice had taken a cynical turn. "I do not need anyone to stay with me, travel with me, or watch over me." She shot a glare to both of them. "I do not need you."

"Spare us," Delial sighed. "Ever a poor liar, duckling, but it matters not. We will need you."

Kage looked taken back. "You may not need anyone Roen, but you are needed by your friends."

Roen turned away from them both, a deep frown etching her face. "I... I have nothing to give you. Understand?" She looked over her shoulder to them both, without meeting their eyes. "I have nothing to give. I am tired of caring. Of trying." It was a lie, but it was one she becoming more comfortable with.

"I don't want you to force yourself to give anything.” Kage blurted out, his voice shaking with disbelief. “I don't expect you to give me anything."

“Then leave." Roen sharpened her words even as she kept her back to them. "I will send a missive when I hear anything about Gharen."

The paladin heard the defeat in Kage’s voice. "I'll leave Roen... but I'll be at the Forgotten Knight if'n you ever need me, you need but ask and I will come." From the corner of her eyes, she could see the Lalafell trudging away. But Delial remained where she stood for a moment longer, unmoved by her words.

"What did he do to you?"

Roen could not answer. She did not want to answer. For her to even ponder a response would open up the wounds that had frozen closed since her arrival. They were no longer raw--they were just numb. She had deadened them with a resolve to kill monsters, and she had buried the sadness with resentment instead. It was easy to blame the smuggler for her broken heart and for her shattered ideals. She had been a fool to believe in the man, and the condemnation she held for him as well as her own naivete withered away what emotions that would only bring despair.

The paladin clenched her fist tight by her side. She did not want to care, nor did she want to feel any stirrings of sorrow. So she refused to.

“Leave,” Roen said once more without turning around.

And so Delial left.

Their footprints were no longer visible upon the snow as Roen absently stared out into the blizzard. The bitter chill bothered her no longer, nor the howling winds that constantly wailed in the distance. They were becoming familiar companions to her solitude.

Roen sat there for a long time, trying to convince herself it was better this way.

A parcel arrives. Attached is a letter.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: Deneith, Roen

Greetings and Salutations on this (There are several scratches and splotches of faded ink, indicating that this section was rewritten over a few times) 10th Sun of Llymlaen's Third Astral Moon, the year 1574 1575 1576 this year, from the Office of Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises.

I, Jeulerand Ganathain of Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises, am pleased to inform you via this letter of your status as the beneficiary to a trust fund opened with us here, at the Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises. At the time of writing, you: DENEITH, ROEN (the letters are written in massive block letters on the parchment) are now legally entitled to lay claim to the following POSSESSIONS, FUNDS/CURRENCIES, ESTATES, INTANGIBLE PROPERTIES Circle all that apply (Possessions, funds/currencies, and intangible properties are circled) within the fund as detailed by Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises' client: SEBASTIAN REDGRAVE.

Enclosed are POSSESSIONS, FUNDS/CURRENCIES, ESTATES, INTANGIBLE PROPERTIES Circle all that apply (Possessions, Intangible Properties are circled) that our client requested that you receive directly.

Please make time to visit the Office of Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises within the next eighteen (18) moons in order to personally claim the remainder of the funds. Attached is the location of our offices. (A small map is enclosed detailing Old Gridania. A small building is circled, and the phrase "Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises" is written next to it. The writer ran out of space and therefore it only says "Ent" at the end.) Please have proof of identity prepared before arrival so that we at Ganathain & Templeton Gridanian Arbitration Enterprises may release the contents of the fund to you with promptness.

The parcel itself is actually comprised of two boxes. One is a small, wooden, and rectangular box used to hold papers; the inside of the box is lined with simple cloth. Within the box itself is a litany of documents: letters of credit in values upwards of several hundred thousand gil signed by trading companies throughout all three city states, vouchers to various guilds for items and equipment, and other financial certificates.

The slightly larger rectangle beneath it rattles a bit when shaken, and the items within far more whimsical and carefully packaged. One is a brilliant blue bottle with an equally brilliant blue liquid, labelled "HAIR DYE" in large block letters glazed onto the glass. Another is a small, cubed jewelry box wrapped in velvet containing a pair of amethyst earrings set in elaborate filigrees of silver and gold; they jingle with movement. The other items include an elaborate and polished ocarina carved from the tooth of a large animal, a bag of rough-cut gemstones, a watercolor painting set, a pair of immaculate punching gloves in padded leather, an Eorzean bestiary, and a porcelain tea set guarded by padding such that it is impossible to tell what it is without unwrapping several layers of silk and carved wooden dividers. Last but not least, a stuffed chocobo doll had been unceremoniously crammed into the last remaining corner of the box. The doll had been roughly made of bright yellow felt with large bronze buttons affixed to its head for eyes. The seams were unsteady and the attitude of the maker was clear in the item's construction; careful knots and weavings of frustrated determination, smooth patterns of hesitant confidence, and several sections of abandoned dissatisfaction where the cloth segments had been woven together not unlike a stitch in a wound. The letters "G.W." were sewn into the chocobo's back with orange yarn.

At the very bottom of the larger box is a sheet of folded parchment. It is mostly blank, except for a few sentences written in elaborate cursive.

"One handful per fulm of hair. Dye washes off after roughly one cycle. Lather in hands, grasp locks, wash gently. Blue would look good.

The chocobo is a reply to the Starlight Festival. Sewing is hard. One of the buttons may come off. Don't ask me to repair clothes.

To stand in twilight is to witness the beauty of both day and night.

The stars may blind those who dwell in darkness.

The sun may cast eternal shadows upon those who bask in light.

I thought I wanted you to join my side.

But what I wanted was to be able to go to yours.

may you forever have the strength to defend what you believe

N.L."

"One handful per fulm of hair. Dye washes off after roughly one cycle. Lather in hands, grasp locks, wash gently. Blue would look good.”

It was a mistake to step onto the ship. Roen had regretted the decision to follow Nero onto the Second Forte as soon as the anchor was hoisted and the canvas of the main sails went taut with the winds of the Rhotano Sea. The sound of lapping waves soothed her not, and the view of the land growing smaller in the distance weakened her at her knees.

And yet she had followed the pirate on board after she came upon him preparing to leave Vesper Bay, as Daegsatz predicted he would when she could not find the smuggler at any of his safe houses.Their business was far from done, their alliances being just over a fortnight old. Especially after he kissed her a few suns ago; she could not just watch him leave. So despite the twist that came to her stomach at the thought, Roen agreed to accompany him as he prepared to return to the Second Forte. She was not about to let her recent ordeal with Crimson Mountain paralyze her with fear, even though she had silently vowed never to be stranded at sea ever again--not following that nightmare.

But what was she to do? Let the pirate go? When he offered her his hand, she took it and climbed on board the ferry.

The man she saw once she climbed onto the main deck of the Second Forte was no longer the jovial smuggler she had first met; now he was a pirate captain in every sense--a man who barked orders like a Maelstrom boatswain, sending his crew scrambling about the deck. But when the ship was finally well on its way to Limsa Lominsa, Nero seemed to look upon her with some measure of sympathy. He soon led her below the deck and away from the rest of the crew. He seemed to sense the paladin’s nervousness, despite the fact that she was trying her best to control her breathing and dismiss the pounding in her chest. He had given her a vial during the ferry ride for sea sickness, but it did little to quell the fluttering in her stomach. She was not about to show him that.

Once they were in his quarters, he offered her a seat that she did not take. Her eyes went from him to the small porthole and the view of the sea.

"Why did you seek me out, Roen? For my dashingly handsome looks, perhaps?" The pirate broke the silence with what seemed a jovial attempt to set her at ease. The smirk on his face had also returned.

"I just... wanted to clear the air."

"What about?" His facetious mask was almost a pleasant and familiar distraction now, within the confining walls of the rocking ship.

Roen licked her lips, slightly hesitant. "About… what happened a few suns ago." Her lips twitched. "About you kissing me." That came out more hurried than she had intended.

Nero kept the smirk on his face, raising an eyebrow. "And you are back for more, perhaps?" His tone was playful. "Unfortunately for you, we're in the middle of the Rhotano Sea. Running away is less viable of an option this time around."

"I know,” the paladin said calmly. If he hoped to bait her, she refused to take it. “I ran. But what was my alternative?" She regarded him carefully, trying to see beyond his air of arrogance. "This is a game to you, aye?"

The pirate stepped closer to her. "Dear Roen, you do not give yourself enough credit. You are not simply a game. The fact that I am enjoying myself does not mean it is trivial, no? What answer are you looking to get from me, Roen Deneith?"

"I do not know,” she blurted out. “I know you not, but all I have said, all I have committed to, it is because of what I believe about you." Roen inhaled deeply, collecting herself. "But… it does not put me at ease when you..."

"You are not at ease when I do this?" The smuggler stepped forward and pressed his lips on her again. It was not nearly as long as their first at Crescent Cove; this kiss was brief and quick.

The paladin’s eyes widened, and this time she had a sense to step back. She exhaled and placed her palms against his chest, with a quick tap. "Stop that."

Nero’s grin widened. "As you wish."

"You have a way of catching me off guard, time and again.” Roen began to feel the heat rise to her cheeks despite the numerous times she told herself she would not be flustered again by this man. “And… I will admit you are good at--at what you do. You probably have had your share of kisses and women. But I.... I want us to work together. Perhaps even be friends. But if you keep doing that..."

The smuggler tilted his head slightly. "...Then perhaps we may end up as more than friends?" he teased. Then he gestured, almost impatiently, as if the thought of kissing were a gnat. “It is irrelevant. If we are seen together, Natalie is likely to come over and pull my intestines out through my neck. Which is why I left and in a hurry. Your friends were… very insistent that I stay away from you."

The mention of Natalie made her frown instantly. "What she thinks of us should have no bearing on this discussion. Natalie can go jump off a Noscean cliff for all I care. She has meddled in my life long enough."

Nero spread his arms theatrically. "Ah, it is heartwarming to see you insist that nothing get between us. I understand." Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and placed his hand near her face, twirling a lock of her hair. "Though, I would be interested in seeing how you look in a ponytail."

Roen let out a long exasperated breath. "You are clearly not listening to--" She was forced to pause. "A... a ponytail?"

The pirate grinned, nodding. "I think you would look good in one. Have you considered growing out your hair? Perhaps have it coloured like I have." He brushed his own fiery orange forelocks. "An exotic colour. Blue, perhaps?"

The paladin found herself absently tucked a lock away, even as he withdrew his hand. "I used to have--" She stopped, giving him a straight face look. "Mister Lazarov," she said his surname in a chiding tone, both words firmly spoken.

"You would rather our emotions not cloud the circumstances of our alliance or interfere with our goal. I understand." He inclined his head in what seemed a mockery of deference. "Should there come a time where you must choose between myself and success, I pray you will know which choice I would have you make." Nero still had a smirk on his face and his tone was still light, despite his sober words.

The gravity of his sentiment made her pause, and a part of her was glad he was no longer teasing her. This push and pull between them... was this not why she had sought him out? She settled her thoughts and nodded with a knitted brow. "Aye. I know what your choice would be as well. But..." She glanced back up at him, her voice soft. "I also think that you and I... we have had nothing but arguments since we met. Perhaps we should change that."

"And what an interesting run it has been, no? I have not had such fun in intellectual sparring since dear paps disappeared. You are resolute in your bright ideals as I am relentless in my tarnished ones. It would make for a good story."

Roen regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps if we can find a compromise, Ul'dah will benefit all the more for it." She straightened, inhaling deeply. "Once we get to Limsa... give me an afternoon."

"Ah, an afternoon where you want me all to yourself, I take it?" The arrogant smirk remained plastered on his face.

The paladin narrowed her eyes on him with a hint of amusement. "Something like that."

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of an afternoon date with the lovely Miss Deneith, Free Paladin of Ul'dah?” The pirate arched a daring brow at her. “Or is it a surprise?"

"You will just have to find out." Her expression eased into a slight smile.

Nero answered with a smile of his own, a new twinkle in his eye. "As you wish.” He lightly brushed her cheek as he passed her by. She only wrinkled her nose at the touch but did not draw away. As she watched him exit the Captain’s quarters to make his way back up to the deck, she realized that she had forgotten about the ocean, the ship’s walls closing in, and the swaying of the ground beneath her feet. Her mind was a little bit more at ease.

Roen told herself that it was the potion that was beginning to settle her stomach. It certainly could not be anything else.

“Blue would look good.”

~

“Right! No, right, you beast!”

That was the first time--if ever--that Roen thought the smuggler actually sounded panicked. Nero had a head start on her as he took off in a full sprint on his chocobo down the hill, but the paladin was starting to close the distance between them as she spurred Goldwind into a gallop. That was when she spotted Nero’s mount suddenly veering off left and the rider’s elbows were raised to his side, clearly demonstrating his struggle to control his bird’s heading.

Roen’s grin soon turned into a grimace as Nero and the bird looked to run into a giant boulder, but it was narrowly dodged, the bird skidding around it despite the confusing directions being given by its inexperienced rider. Seeing him still bouncing upright on his saddle, Roen grinned again as she rode past him.

“How is your backside?” she called out over her shoulder.

“Not nearly as shapely as yours, my dear!” He shouted back, undaunted.

She licked her lips in anticipation and lowered herself near the neck of her bird. With a gentle kick to the hindquarter, she and Goldwind took to the next downhill with abandon.

“Agh!” The smuggler’s cry this time was indeed panic. “Too fast, too fast! Halt! Stop! Cease thine movement!”

With a tightening of her legs and a firm hold on the reins, she brought Goldwind to a skidding stop at the bottom of the hill just overlooking the cliff. She placed her bird well away from the edge, but in between Nero and the precipice to allow for him to come to a safe stop.

It was not meant to be.

The smuggler was desperately hanging onto his mount’s neck as they came sprinting down the hill. Goldwind gave an alarmed kwark with a flap of his wings, to which Nero’s bird responded with a sharp skid. This sent its unfortunate rider flipping head beneath heels off his mount, with impeccable comedic timing. Roen winced at the landing. Dust rose into the early afternoon Noscean sky.

The pirate rubbed his back as he sat up. "Right, well, I told you not to laugh. But by all mean, please do it anyway. I know you want to." He raised his hand to stop her when she dismounted and approached. “No. Do not magnify my shame any more than it already has been, woman! Allow me to sit with some dignity!”

The paladin just shook her head with an amused smile, crossing her arms instead.

“I believe the bird they gave me was possibly drunk.” Nero grunted as he rose to his feet. “There should be a law against that.”

“I think your bird is in heat,” Roen glanced over to the two chocobos, watching Goldwind as he rubbed his head against the other one’s feathery neck. “They seem playful.”

Nero placed the back of his hand on his forehead in feigned shock. "Dear Roen, coming on to me so strong, and so soon? Why, we hardly know each other!" He followed her gaze and shrugged. "Well, I suppose the bird tried." He approached his chocobo and scratched it under its chin. "Still think you may be drunk," he muttered to the bird.

Roen approached Goldwind and gave him a pat on the neck to send him off to graze. Nero’s bird soon followed. “I think your mount did just fine." She gave a smirk over her shoulder to the smuggler. "Despite the rider."

Nero rolled his eyes. "Please forestall your judgment for now. Chocobos are not my favored element." He turned towards the view of the sea and let out a sigh. "This is far more my preference."

The paladin inhaled deeply of the sea air. "I cannot say I blame you. The view is wondrous."

The pirate glanced at her, a carefree grin on his face. He held out his arm to her. "You need not enjoy it standing so far from me, Roen."

She glanced down at his proffered arm, before stepping up next to him without taking it. "I asked you for this afternoon, because… I wanted us to enjoy each other's company without unease."

Nero shrugged, withdrawing his arms and folding them across his chest. “Consider your mission accomplished, then."

A pregnant pause filled the silence before they broke it at the same time.

“Nero, you are much more better at this than I. But--”

“Where did you learn to ride?”

Roen made a face and glanced away while Nero coughed. “Ah, you first,” he said quickly.

"When I was young,” the paladin pressed her lips together to chase away a sheepish smile. “I learned to ride early. It was one of the first things my mother taught me."

"Chocobos in Garlemald? Were they perhaps magitek chocobos?" A hint of amusement laced his tone. He lowered himself to the ground, leaning one hand against the soft grass of the cliff.

“They were available.” Roen joined him, tucking her legs to her chest as she took a seat. A gentle sea breeze began to waft past them. “Imports of course. My mother held all sorts of fascination with things that were foreign in nature." She looked back out into the oceanic horizon again, her mood growing wistful. "I suppose that bode well for me, since I was not born of the Empire either. She loved many things, Imperial or not."

“She sounds like a very compassionate woman."

"What little I remember of her. And after she passed, riding was one way I could hold onto some of those memories."

"Then for what it's worth, I am glad that at least something exists to grant you good memories of her."

Roen glanced down to the ground, her fingers playing idly with a blade of grass. Such relaxed conversations were rare between them, so she was determined to enjoy it. “Racing aside, this is nice. That we can get to know each other little better, away from talks of political upheaval and past tragedies.” When he looked back to her with an equally easy expression, she bit her lower lip. “Let us play a game of sharing a secret.”

“Oh?” Nero arched a brow. “Do tell.”

The paladin shrugged. “It is something I used to do in my youth to break the ice. Tell me something that you would never want your father to find out. Should you find him on the morrow, is there anything you would be mortified for him to discover?”

The smuggler turned away with a grimace. "Well… he'd probably be pretty annoyed that I've… um.." He scratched his head. “He... before I left to study thaumaturgy, he said I should… uh...." his cheeks turned ruddy as he coughed. "...get married."

Roen raised both eyebrows.

"I wouldn't want to hear his tirade when he found out I've still failed to do that much for him."

"Married?” The paladin eyed him oddly. “I… I never thought your pirate stepfather was so... traditional!"

Nero shrugged, wringing his fingers together. "I mean, even if not by blood, he was technically my father… he started getting on in years. I think he was married in the past, so… I suppose he wanted the same for me? Or he simply wanted grandkids to boss around. Make a pirate dynasty or something."

Roen chuckled quietly behind a curled hand. "And why did you not?"

He blew a breath out his nose. "Never found the right woman. I've been with women before, sure, but they were... dalliances. Or crazy." He seemed to consider something for a moment, then added, "Or both." He shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in tying myself down either. At least not yet. Honestly, could you imagine me a married man, settling down in some cottage somewhere, living out my days in peace? I think Halone would throw her shield at me if she found out."

"I honestly cannot. Nay." She was trying her best to look sympathetic rather than amused.

The pirate flashed a playful glare at her. "You are enjoying this far too much. Your turn, then. What wouldn't you want your parents to find out?"

She bit her lip, her chuckle giving way to a wince. "My mother would be appalled that I am wielding a sword. Or wearing armor. Or trained in the arms." She wrinkled her nose. "She was a loving mother…. but a very noble, proper, and gentle woman."

"I suppose she wanted you dressed up in gowns and petticoats, practising your curtsy for noble suitors?"

"Had she been alive, I think I would have attended many balls. My life would have been full of courtships and..." she said dryly. “...proposals of marriage." She nodded to the man. "Those formal lessons began early."

Nero tilted his head in interest. "Care to demonstrate?" When she canted her head questioningly, he elaborated. "Whatever your noble mother taught you about nobility. Such as the aforementioned curtsy."

Roen pursed her lips, hesitating, then she straightened and rose, dusting herself off. "My mother was a good teacher," she said proudly. "I took her lessons to heart." She stepped back from him and drew herself up, lifting her chin, very noble like. Her hand moved smoothly as if floating in water, and she lowered herself ever gracefully into a deep curtsy.

“How do you do, Mister Lazarov,” she said with a slight accent. “I am ever pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She was rewarded with applause and a smile from the smuggler. "A shame you never did become a proper noblewoman. I would have paid money to see your potential suitors scramble for your hand in marriage."

Roen tucked a stray hair behind her ear and sat down again. "I think I prefer the ways of… what do Eorzeans call it, an 'adventurer.' The paths of paladinhood. Much like you, I cannot see myself settled in a house to live out my days."

"Heh. Perhaps that will change in our twilight years."

“Perhaps,” she mused. “I am in no hurry to get into petticoats. I am never sure why such things are so popular, both north and south of the border!”

"It was meant to… exaggerate one's form, I believe," Nero's hazy response was tinged with some awkwardness. "Not that you'd have trouble in that department," he flashed a smirk at the paladin.

Roen made a face. This was not the first time he had remarked upon her clothing whenever she was out of her armor. She tugged at her loose tunic absently. "Does my manner of dress really seem that ostentatious to you? I was just going by the advice of Yellow Moon in the Weaver's Guild. She seemed to know what she was talking about." There were doubts leaking into her words.

The smuggled grinned. "No… well, perhaps. You present the image of a lady knight. Any deficiency in modesty seems… out of character. If you have any doubts, however, be assured that I do enjoy what I see." His tone was daring even though he glanced away again.

"I suppose I am still trying to figure out who I am. No longer a Sworn, learning what it is to be a paladin, an ex-Garlean..."

"Why does it matter? Why can you not simply be Roen Deneith, a woman who believes in what is right?"

"That is at least one thing I am sure of, my beliefs." Roen smiled, then drew in a breath. “One thing I am not sure about is..." She peered up at him. "What we are. Are we friends?"

She was met with a look of genuine surprise from the pirate. He glanced away. "I… don't know."

Roen took the opportunity to study him carefully; she was almost expecting the charming rogue to make a return. A part of her was relieved that he did not put that mask back on.

"I honestly don't know where I stand with you, Roen."

"Let us be honest then." Her voice had softened, even the sound of the waves seemed quieter. "Where do I stand with you, Nero?"

"I don't know. I don't..." He sounded as unsure as she had ever heard him. "I've… never known someone like you. Someone who did not expect something in return. Someone who did not want some form of compensation." He glanced back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't think I've even decided whether or not I fully believe your selflessness." That, oddly, seemed the gravest truth from him yet.

She just regarded him without judgement. "That is for you to decide. I have already asked you the one thing I truly wanted." She glanced back down to her hand, where she began to absently play with the blade of grass again. "I am… not entirely selfless. I do want things. But… I think I often wrestle with what I want, and what I want to see for others."

"Then what is it you want from me? I know you want me to be better, but that is something you want me to become. What is it you want from me?"

"I… I am… not sure." Her voice had lowered to a whisper. “I am not good at this. This." She gestured between them. "I have never… and you have but..." She was struggling with her words. Why was this so difficult to say? "I know how to protect people and defend their lives and I know what is right and what is wrong. But this. It is… not right or wrong. It is just..."

It was then that Nero reached his arm out, pulling her closer to him. "Then let me help you decide… if you will have me." His face was now dangerously close to hers. She could feel his breath upon her cheeks.

Roen swallowed, her own breaths coming quick but shallow. Her eyes darted between his, studying the icy blue gaze. She then looked to his nose, following its course to his lips. Before she knew it, she leaned in and placed her lips against his. It was a tentative touch, a light brush.

Nero pulled his head back from her momentarily, his eyes blinking in surprise. But then he leaned forward again and returned with another kiss, this one much more aggressive than her own. The motion repeated a few more times, where he would release his hold over her, only to kiss her again with equal parts force and gentleness. It was a dance, an intimate waltz that seemed to simultaneously last forever and yet not long enough.

Their sparking passion was far too quickly interrupted by a crackle in Nero's ear. The pirate pulled his head away from hers, though his hand remained upon hers, where they had somehow become entwined together upon the soft grass.

"I believe… I may have missed an appointment," he said breathlessly, allowing his lips to meet hers again ever so briefly.

It took another breath to register his words, her cheeks bright red. "An... an appointment?"

The smuggler kissed her again. "I did not expect our meeting to go on for as long as it did."

She smiled warmly, no longer caring about the flush to her face. "Ah, I did not expect... that is..." She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, trying to suppress a smile. Too late for modesty but she tried anyways. "This was not what I had planned."

"It is best when it is unexpected," he smirked at her, caressing her face. "Trust me on that.” His hand lingered for a moment longer. "I'd best not keep my clients waiting. Mayhaps we can continue this on the morrow, if it pleases you, my lady Deneith." There was a lingering sense of regret as he slowly released her hand and rose.

"It... it would." Roen swallowed as she rose with him. "Aye."

He gave her a slight nod, with one last parting kiss on her cheek. "Then we will meet later."

The paladin watched him leave, this time taking his chocobo in a slow walk. She cupped her cheeks with her hands to find them burning, but she did not care. Her smile would not abate. She broke out into a light laughter when Goldwind came next to her with a quiet coo, and rubbed his beak against her hair.

~

“Sewing is hard. One of the buttons may come off.”

A droplet of moisture. Then another upon the bronze buttons that stared up at her, its round yellow face made of felt stained with tears.

Her thumb trembled as the paladin traced the seams, every last imperfection sewn in with care and determination. Confidence hampered by frustration, dissatisfaction despite the earnest intentions… that was who he was, was it not? This very thing nestled within her hands, staring back up at her…

“I thought I wanted you to join my side.”

She had told herself that she had been a fool to believe that he wanted to be a better man. That the hope she held for him was naught but her own imagination. His promises were words of convenience, a rope thrown to a drowning person with the intent to lure them in. Their confessed feelings for each other had been birthed out of pure loneliness in a sea of darkness.

“But what I wanted was to be able to go to yours.”

She had promised no more tears, that she was done with sadness. But as she stared at his last confession to her, gone from her mind were their last conversation at Aleport--angry, indignant words of accusation.

All that she could remember was the laughter and the kisses they shared. She missed his caress upon her cheek, his jovial mask, and his snarky retorts. And she missed those rare glimpses of genuine compassion... and even the doubts and the exhaustion that weighed him so.

Roen held the doll tightly to her chest as sobs rose, and allowed herself to grieve for the death of the man she had loved.

“Aye ser, that blizzard was somethin’ else. I couldn’t see Fenco standin’ within an ilm o’ my own knees.”

“How is it that you and Fenco got lost together if you could not even see each other?”

The conversation between Idristan Tournes and Hobard Blacke barely filtered through her senses. Roen sat at the table within Camp Dragonshead, her beef stew untouched and cold in front of her, a thick hunk of crumbling bread equally ignored beside it. She could feel Bellows studying her from the corner of his eyes, but the paladin did not care. She said nothing as Stray Oak’s hand hovered for a moment over her uneaten bread, before it was snatched up and away by the Roegadyn. She just stared absently at her once-steaming soup even as the knight-captain continued to inquire about the botched caravan escort in Coerthas Western Highlands many suns ago.

“He’s exaggerating a bit,” the Lalafell seated across from her piped up in his nasally voice. “We thought we saw some suspicious activity on the road and thought we should investigate. Deneith went ahead with the caravan and we stayed behind.”

“And then you were unable to catch up with the caravan until back at Falcon’s Nest?” The Elezen sounded skeptical.

Fenco and Blacke exchanged a look and then both shrugged helplessly.

The knight let out an exasperated sigh and turned to the paladin. “And you encountered a bandit on the road while they were gone, Deneith?”

Roen’s blinked, dragging her attention back to the conversation at hand. She knitted her brows as she tried to work through the murk that was her memories. It had been only a sun since she had returned back to duty, since Ser Tournes had ordered her out of her self sequestration after her receipt of Nero’s parcel. She had not given the caravan incident a second thought, since it had been many suns before, even before Delial and Kage found her. With all that had happened, some lone bandit in the middle of a blizzard was the last thing that was on her mind.

“I did, but our encounter was short,” she replied without meeting anyone’s eyes. “I wounded him in the chest and he knocked me out. I woke up shortly after and he was gone.”

Idristan Tournes drummed his fingers against the wooden table, clearly not satisfied with the answers he was getting. But he pursued it no longer, instead rising to his feet and taking up his shield that had been set aside.

“We have border patrol until the next moon,” he said in a tone that would brook no argument. He ignored a distant groan from Stray Oak. “A thankless job, but it has to be done. We will rotate in shifts, starting with Blacke, Fenco, and Deneith for tonight.”

When the rest of the sellswords shuffled out, the knight-captain remained behind, crossing his arms and looming over Roen who still sat unmoving at the table.

“I do not know what troubles you left behind, Deneith.” His voice was quiet, its usual severity absent. “Nor will I ask. But Halone’s icy glaciers cannot bury everything.”

When the paladin did not answer nor even meet his eyes, the Elezen leaned over and placed something on the table next to her soup. It was two amethyst earrings set in filigrees of silver and gold. It snapped her attention back at him, eyes wide.

“Where did you get this?”

Idristan shook his head with a surly tug of his lips. “Do not forget the Forgotten Knight shares its doors with the residents of The Brume and the lowborns. The starved and the poor do not care who they steal from. If they can, they will.” His word held no contempt, despite his frown. “The Innkeeper found a youngster trying to make out of your room with a box and all the contents within, these earrings included. I’ve asked him to keep your box in safekeeping considering its contents...” he trailed off.

Roen lifted the earrings gently as she brought it before her eyes. It jingled lightly hanging from her fingertips, before she closed her hand around it and rested it against her chest.

The Elezen studied her a moment longer, before he reached into his breastplate, pulling out a thin silver chain. He unclasped it and laid it on the table in front of the paladin. “For things we want to keep close to our hearts,” he offered. “The pendant that used to hang from the chain is with a goldsmith to get it repaired. I had commissioned a better chain to go with it; it would be a shame to let this one go to waste.”

The paladin stared at the offering and nodded absently. “Gratitude.”

Idristan exhaled patiently and turned toward the door. “Perhaps the patrols will be good for you. There be naught but thoughts of how to stay warm and alive through the darkest of nights in Coerthas. When the Goddess rains Her wrath down upon thee, it is easy to forget thine own troubles.”

The ceremonial chords of the organs pulsated through the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral, echoing off the vaulted ceilings and permeating through every beam and stone. It was as if they wanted to herald to the world the august might of the Goddess of War, whose statue stood erect upon the altar with her spear and bronze greatshield at her sides. The shafts of colored daylight filtered in through the stained glass windows above her and crowned her head with an unworldly halo of brilliance.

The vision of Halone was meant to inspire awe and wonder to all her supplicants who looked upon her.

But rather than a paragon of strength, Roen only saw a lone, armored woman standing in solitude. Her stance was dignified, her shoulders squared with purpose... but the figure seemed cold and empty. She wondered if the woman within had ever been plagued with doubts. Did she ever falter under the weight of the knowledge that people of Ishgard all looked to her for deliverance? Or did that not matter to the Goddess of War, who only sought to unleash wrath upon all her enemies?

Roen often found her steps leading her here, to this place of worship, whenever her thoughts and wanderings became aimless. She did not like such idle times, especially within the city, but on too many occasions she was left to her own devices in between nightly patrols. Perhaps it was the music, or the austere architecture, but her seat at the back of the Cathedral became her refuge where she could come to drown her thoughts. Sorrow had become an unwanted, ghostly companion, and Roen had become desperate to part from it.

All of Ishgard seemed to implore the Mover of Glaciers for guidance, so why couldn’t she receive a similar epiphany? And yet, sun after sun, no such revelations came.

Until one ordinary afternoon, when an Elezen supplicant joined her, taking a seat on the pews next to her.

His armor, appearance, and mannerisms all spoke of an Ishgardian knight. But curiously enough, the Elezen was a Duskwight. The paladin peripherally knew of House of Dzemael, but had not come into much contact with Duskwights in Ishgard, much less one of knightly rank.

"Is aught amiss?" he had asked.

Roen was not sure why she did not dismiss his inquiry to her welfare. Perhaps a small part of her hoped to glean some answers of faith from a reverent knight rather than the silent idol.

"Are you devout?" she asked bluntly.

"While I would not call myself a priest, I have much faith, yes." He spoke softly but clearly; his regard of her was one of genteel courtesy.

"I came here seeking answers. I am finding none." Roen returned none of the cordiality as they spoke.

“Mayhaps then I can be of some aid.” He smiled amiably. “When I find myself here, 'tis oft to clear my thoughts. Providing such aid to another is but the least I can do."

"Your Goddess of War." The paladin did not hold his gaze for long, her eyes going back to the statue. "She holds a great shield, and yet it is her spear that represents her. Is it wrath that drives her? Or the determination to protect her people behind that shield?"

The Elezen pondered a moment. “While ‘tis true many see Halone's spear and look only to her wrath, some, including myself do not forget her shield. I am of the mind of the latter."

His sentiments… they were so similar to her own not so long ago. His pride in defending his people was obvious in his expression. It only made her frown. "If one does not take up the spear, if one does not destroy one's enemies, does that not only prolong the suffering of those you protect?"

"Such is true.” He did not seem to notice her darkened mood. “And yet the tale of loss is a common one amongst our people. I know not a single soul who has not been touched by it due to the war. One can wish to see peace without longing for war, can they not?"

“Some would say such wishes are made of fantasies and dreams. For those who seek to take up the shield, they should warn those shield bearers, they also need to kill. I have wondered if Halone shares such teachings to those of her faith."

Roen paid no mind as the knight turned to studied her, a curious look in his eyes. "One has need of both. To shield alone would invite a slow death, so one must needs strike with sword as well. I left behind the spear to take up shield some years past and I cannot say I regret such, despite my thoughts at the time."

That made her turn to peer up at him. "Why did you? Take up the shield rather than the spear? Did you find what you were looking for?"

"T'was not to search for anything that I did so.” He answered with a distant look. “Not at first. It was more disgust at those who sought to use their power to oppress others." He did not seem to take notice when Roen stiffened. "Taking up the shield was, to some, a dishonor. Father, brother, sister… each walked the path of the dragoon. And I would choose to do otherwise? Such was laughable. Dragoons are the elite. The highest and most holy defenders of our nation. A symbol of our strength."

He then turned to her, offering her a small smile. "And yet, if the spear Halone holds is a holy instrument, why should the shield be any less such?"

The paladin narrowed her eyes. "Many hold the idealism of protecting others and seeking peace without violent means as a virtue to be held above the rest." She sighed and fell back into her seat. "I have found such beliefs to be hollow."

"Violence, at times, is unavoidable,” the knight said quietly.

"Violence upon good people at times... is unavoidable." Roen echoed as she stared straight ahead.

"Perhaps. This is not a world free from such. Beasts, men, all manner of creature exist… some of which only understand the language of violence."

She was starting to find some comfort in his words. Was it his faith in Halone that lent him such composure? "...Do you believe in sacrifice?"

The Elezen drew a long, slow breath. "I believe sometimes such is necessary. Part at times must be sacrificed for the better of the whole. 'Tis neither easy nor as noble as is depicted in tales."

Roen bowed her head, her forelocks falling before her eyes. His words were not missing their marks, whether he had intended to or not. Suddenly what brief reprieve she had found in his wisdom had turned to remorse. "Nay, it is not easy." Her own voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. "Or noble."

His voice had quieted as well. "Not to the one who offers up the sacrifice, no. Perhaps to those who remember it."

She fought the warmth that threatened to blur her vision. A part of her was angry that she could be so easily stirred. Her hands clenched into fists as she remained silent for a long time, and the Elezen remained as he was, unobtrusively patient. The paladin swiped at her cheeks and inhaled deeply. "Perhaps I should have sought the teachings of Halone sooner. If such wisdom is imparted upon her followers."

The knight offered a rather hollow sounding chuckle. "Mayhaps, though I would venture to say your questions may have found a different answer should you have asked others."

Roen no longer turned to face him. "I have infringed on your time long enough, good ser. Gratitude for your time and answers.”

He quirked a brow at her. "I trust your curiosity to be sated then?"

The paladin shook her head as she stood. “Nay, but you reminded me that the world is full of losses. For me to dwell on mine own does nothing."

The Duskwight rose when she did. “I am glad to have been of some assistance. Mayhaps should our paths cross again, you will have found some of which you seek."

Roen allowed herself to peer up at him, unable to shed her lingering sense of sadness. "I hope you can remain a shield bearer. One without regrets."

He looked upon her questioningly but eventually nodded. "Life oft has them, fellow shield bearer. We can only hope to carry the right ones in the end."

The paladin shook her head quickly. "I am a poor shield bearer. I should have taken up the spear. The greatsword. The axe. Anything but the damnable shield." Her words were turning bitter.

The knight canted his head, his voice remaining soft. "And why, praytell would that be?"

Roen glanced to the exit. She no longer wanted to be here, speaking with this stranger about all the misery in her heart. "That is not a tale anyone should wish to hear. Nor one I wish to share." She bowed curtly. "My apologies, that I cannot offer you the same courtesy in suitable answers."

The Elezen exhaled and waved a hand. "No apology is needed. 'Tis not my intent to pry, m'lady. Such… is perhaps still an open wound. Of this I understand well. It needs time to heal." There was a small pause before he continued. “Mayhaps 'tis forward to say as such, but there is little harm in one who bears the shield allowing some measure of selfishness."

The paladin instantly glared at him. "But what cost? My past selfishness allowed for things that should have never happened."

The knight folded his arms. "Tis one to measure is it not? We oft give of ourselves, every onze of our essence to protect others. If one does not allow time for yourself… you will simply give until you are spent. And should such a thing happen? Your shield will be of little use to anyone, especially oneself."

Roen shook her head. "Ser... I have much to atone for." Her gaze lowered, and she knew not why her next confession left her lips before this stranger. “Perhaps it was not answers I sought here." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Perhaps I sought forgiveness.”

"Another gifting such a thing to you would do little if you have not accepted it for yourself, my friend."

"Well then, it is futile for me to seek it here." She forced another frown to chase away all else. She bowed sharply at the waist before turning. "Gratitude, once again."

Her armored footsteps echoed over the stone floor as she made her hurried exit, the music of the cathedral's organs now distant and muted to her ears.

They were supposed to be dragonkin.

Roen stared at the bloodied men and women huddled on the ground, their hands shackled behind their backs. More bodies laid beyond them in the snow, crimson stains spattered beneath them and across the frozen landscape. Severed limbs and scattered weapons littered the road, as well as the overturned caravan that still billowed smoke from the conflict that had ended mere moments ago.

Heretics. Roen had been sent to assist a squad of mercenaries and temple knights as they were to intercept what was thought to be a group aevis attacking a caravan on the road to Falcon’s Nest. But when they arrived, it was not dragonkin they found, but rather a group of armored men and women--declared to be heretics by the temple knights--attacking the convoy.

Dragonkin were easy to identify. Scaled, horned monsters that bore fangs and claws as they tore into human flesh, Roen felt no hesitation in fighting such fiends. But these assailants were Elezen and Hyur; they wore the same faces as those she had defended, and spoke with same intelligence and fervor as any religious zealot that she had encountered within the walls of Ishgard. And now, with naught to comfort them but the anticipation of what was to come and the frozen embrace of the frigid breeze, the fires of pious belief that had fuelled their crusade had vanished and in its place knelt the desperate common peasants in tattered, rusted armour, barely mustering the energy to shoot baleful glances at their opponents.

“Line them up!” Ser Marat shouted to the men. The mercenaries that Roen had accompanied then began to lift the chained captives up along the side of the road. Their knees trembled with each rough pull that forced them to kneel in the soft snow drift. The Elezen gave a nod to the rest of the temple knights who then began to draw their swords once more. The symphony of steel leaving scabbard caused one of the heretics to visibly cringe, and the knights grasped their weapons upright in both hands in practised stances. Though their faces were not visible beneath their helmets, their hardened gazes focusing on the heretics said enough: this was to be judgment.

“What are you doing, ser?” Roen asked under her breath as she approached the commanding temple knight.

Although Ser Marat had recognized her from their encounter in Brume many sennights ago and had accepted Ser Tournes’ offer to have her join his ranks for a sun, his expression quickly soured at the question. “Execution, Deneith.” Ser Marat said pointedly, in the same way that one might describe the current colour of the sky.

The paladin's eyes widened. “Should they not undergo a trial?”

The knight arched a contemptuous brow. “We witnessed their crimes against Ishgardian citizenry firsthand. They bore arms against the sanctioned knights of the Holy See. There is no ambiguity in their guilt, Deneith.” His words were clipped and scathing. “No trial is needed. Only the administration of their sentence.”

A dark scowl twisted her expression as she turned from the Elezen to the scene on the road; the prisoners were put to their knees with their heads bent forward to expose the nape of their necks. The rest of the soldiers had their swords drawn and ready, standing almost completely still like statues or chess pieces. Roen wondered with dismay if this was a regular practice for them.

The mercenaries and the knights all looked to Ser Marat for the final order, but it never came. A distant warning shout and the aggressive howl of a hunter's horn brought all eyes to the fore.

Through the light flurry of snow appeared several riders, many of them armored. Contrasting sharply with the functional chainmail of the temple knights, the new arrivals wore shimmering silver plate mail, immaculate in their polish and make. Their faces were hidden by helmets topped with flourishing azure tassels, matched by brilliant barding donned by their chocobos. Ser Marat barked another order and the Ishgardians parted so they could approach. Only one rider rode forward, dressed in dark cerulean robes trimmed in silver, the insignia of Ishgard emblazoned upon his breast. His face was obscured by the cowl of a heavy woolen cloak, but his steps carried confidence as he strode up to Ser Marat and leaned close to confide in the temple knight. Roen was not within earshot of the conversation, but she could see the temple knight’s expression shifting from irritation to one of reluctant acceptance.

“Of course we will comply, Inquisitor Bellamont,” was all the paladin could hear from their exchange, bitter words only barely kept from being uttered from behind clenched teeth. But she watched Ser Marat give a deep bow to the head rider, who now visibly wore robes of the Inquisitor under his heavy wool cloak.

A second rider -- a lean, aged Elezen -- rode forward, dark eyes narrowed with disdain as he looked down the length of his long nose. He, too, was dressed in the cerulean robes of the Inquisition, but he was lacking in the first inquisitor's shroud. His hawk-like features glared balefully at the execution line, and it was impossible to tell if his scorn was for the heretics or the knights. “Give praise to Halone, for the bell of your death has been belayed.” His eyes swept the row of heretics, many of them who now looked upon him with an expression of shocked relief. “All these transgressors are under arrest by the authority of the Inquisition.”

Roen exhaled, some tension lost from her shoulders. She never thought she would be relieved to see an Inquisitor, much less witness them granting what seemed to be a mercy to heretics.

“Rise to your feet, sinners. Some of you will be afforded the fortuity of atonement. Raise your voices in both praise and sorrow for the tribulations you shall face, for should you conquer them, even you may be redeemed.”

A few questioning glances were exchanged between the mercenaries, but the knights were immediate to obey. Such was the authority wielded by the Inquisition. The heretics were brought to their feet and lined up, leather collars clasped to their necks as they were strung together and marched away

“Where there is fear, we carry light.” The Elezen’s cold voice rang clear as a bell as he and his armored soldiers disappeared into the snowfall along with the prisoners.

Roen breathed a sigh of relief as she watched them ride away. More than a few of Ser Marat’s men grumbled in seeming disappointment as they began to gather up what was left of the caravan, but the paladin remained staring after the Inquisitor and his company. It was the first time since Roen's arrival to the north that she had witnessed any act of leniency granted by the Holy See. A tentative sense of gratification filled her heart, knowing that despite the strict and unbending fealty demanded by the theocracy, the church was still capable of some measure of forbearance.

Perhaps Coerthas, was not such an unforgiving place after all.

"I hope you can remain a shield bearer. One without regrets."

"Life oft has them, fellow shield bearer. We can only hope to carry the right ones in the end."

Regrets.

There were times when Roen had forgotten the weight of it. It was still there, like the cold that always pervaded Ishgard, but on some suns it was easier to ignore than others. Busying herself with fighting, patrolling, or just struggling to stay warm, daily tribulations would divert her attention so that even for just a few bells she carried on as if the last year had not happened. But in those rare moments where a smile or a laugh could have risen, Roen only felt a sense of emptiness inside, and it was then that she was reminded why she had come here. And in her periods of solitude, especially when the night fell, the memories returned.

The paladin was thankful for her nightly patrols, for in the morning when she retired to her room, she immediately surrendered to sleep from exhaustion. Her mind seemed too tired to even dream. But in the few bells after she woke, before she was sent out on her next assignment, she had to seek out some other sort of a distraction within the city. And her steps led her once again to the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral.

Despite the fact that the last time she sat within the church, the words that were imparted to her threatened to break her composure that eventually she fled her company, Roen found herself under the vaulted ceilings again, staring at the austere statue of Halone.

And when the familiar voice greeted her from across the pews and the paladin recognized the Duskwight knight again, she was surprised that her apprehensions did not return. After all, was it not his words that made her return to this place for rumination?

"More questions, I take it?" the Elezen asked quietly.

"As ever.” She returned a polite nod to him. “I hear nothing but organ pipes here, and yet I continue to return to stare at a silent statue. I suppose the devout may glean more wisdom from this place.”

The knight lowered his head with a quiet laugh before he rose and walked around the back to take a seat near her. "Mayhaps. Or mayhaps 'tis merely the calming presence which draws those near to such a place as this."

Roen lowered her gaze, her tone one of apology. "I wish not to impinge upon your time of reflection, yet again."

"If you were doing as such, would I have joined you here?" He waved a hand, nonchalant. "Be at ease, friend."

Roen was not so quick to want to refuse his company this time. "Your words when we last spoke... they stayed with me.” Her confession was nearly drowned out by the blare of the organ. “I suppose, who better to ask than the person who imparted such wisdom?"

He cast a sidelong glance her way. "It is my hope such was not of discomfort."

The paladin met his gaze, her expression pensive. "Regret. It weighs upon me. You said... we hope to carry the right ones in the end. How does one know?"

The Duskwight exhaled, seemingly considering her question for a moment. "Only in hindsight. In the moment we are distracted… and directly after, lost in our feelings and thoughts in what may have been or could have been. I am oft given to consider things logically. Weighing for and against for every decision and the outcomes thereafter." He sighed quietly. "Make no mistake, regrets, by definition are not pleasant."

He glanced back to the paladin after a pause. "But some? Some can be lived with."

"Hindsight." Roen exhaled, her frame sinking into her seat slightly. “We have no choice in that, aye? What is the alternative?"

"The alternative?” The Elezen arched a brow. “To become lost adrift in the past, forever doubting, forever questioning. Never moving beyond the moment and moments of action or inaction.” He slightly shifted in his seat, his expression intent. “You must decide. Will you merely carry the matter or learn from it? The past, as they say, can repeat itself for the unfortunate."

The paladin stared at her fists on her lap, avoiding his scrutiny. "And yet, if you cannot reconcile that you did the right thing, if you forever regret and question..."

"Do you believe you did the right thing?"

A long pause followed. This was the same question she had asked herself many times over since Aleport. "I did. I believed, for many suns, nay sennights that followed, that it was the only choice I could have made." A deep frown darkened her expression. "But… I have only recently discovered something that I did not know at the time."

The Elezen turned back to the statue, crossing his arms. "Mm. This was something you had no way of knowing, I take it?"

Roen shook her head. "I thought I could live with what I did." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "That the sacrifice that was made... the price was something I was willing to pay. But the cost... turned out to be so much greater."

"You cannot change the past, however."

Her head dipped in acknowledgement, and stayed there, held low. "Would that I could."

"A wish shared by countless, of that I can say with certainty. No. All that we who live can do is move forward. T'would be a disgrace to those who cannot, to do any less." He turned his head back towards her with a warm smile. "Perhaps it is naive to think as such, but I am of the mind that as long as one draws breath, there can be hope. Scars serve to remind of the wound itself, as it takes time for them to heal.”

"You seem hopeful, shield bearer.” Her own voice sounded hollow in its sentiment. He was naive. She wanted to tell him so, this stranger who still bore hope for the world despite the pains and the darkness that pervaded it. And yet, she wanted that unwavering faith for herself again. She narrowed her eyes on the Elezen. "I would guess you are my senior by many years yet. Do you have scars of your own?"

The knight nodded slowly. "Of course. Scars come to us all, though as we have agreed, those who carry shields oft are prone to being wounded while protecting others."

“I thought, bearing a shield would be the most honorable and unquestionably the right thing to do.” Roen sighed. “The thought of being able to protect others... it called to me. And yet I found that in trying to protect everyone, to save everyone, I failed so many." The paladin hung her head once more, her tone one of remorse. "My hubris blinded me to the possibility that I would fail. And the consequences it would bring."

The knight’s voice remained calm, soothing. "And yet, in the desire to save many, you have done so. Not all as none… none among us could do such. While we have failed few, I am certain many more have been saved."

Roen felt a constricting grip around her heart. "But..." She peered back at him, struggling to keep her composure. But in this, she could not. "What if that one person you failed... was the one you wanted to save most of all?"

The serenity in the knight’s countenance faded then, as he met her gaze only for an instant before he looked away. He bowed his head and his dark hair covered his face, hiding his expression from hers. She saw his lips part, but no sound came, not for several moments more. When he finally spoke, his voice had lowered, perhaps a sign of the wound she had inadvertently found.

"Then… we resolve to be better,” he said quietly without looking up. “To never let such things happen again beneath our watch.”

Roen watched him in silence. It may have been his own sadness, or the fact that this stranger who had only been a source of consoling smiles and steadfast hope had wounds of his own... that she found her own melancholy lessening somewhat. He was not so naive after all. "Is this the scar you bear?"

When the Elezen looked back to her, it was with a sad twinge to his smile. "More than one, I am afraid. But yes. It is."

"How long?" she whispered. "How long before the wounds closed..?"

The Duskwight exhaled slowly. "That I cannot say. The wound has healed and yet at times I feel the pangs of the injury. Oft due to memories, a sight shared, promises made. It is sad to know such ebbs and flows with time only serving to lessen the bite."

Roen frowned. The memories of sights and promises… they were what plagued her thoughts. These were not words of comfort for her. "And you saved many at the cost of one?"

"One saved me, I am afraid. And the other… saved yet sacrificed in one fell swoop."

The paladin gave him a sidelong glance. "Would you make that choice again?"

The knight curled a wistful smile, looking back to Halone. "I have asked myself such time and time again. If I were to have died then, all whom I have saved or helped in the time after… what would become of them? Would another aid them? Would they perish without me? Such is folly to think, in truth. And yet… what is the worth of one? Of myself?"

He paused, as if to replay the memories in his mind’s eye. “She was sacrificed but yet may live. Otherwise, death was assured.”

Roen watched him carefully, her brows knitting as she tried to understand the pieces of his own history he was offering. She did not want to pry further, but recognized the distant melancholy that colored his mood. "So perhaps all is not lost. There may still be hope for you shield bearer, that this scar will heal completely."

"Time, as they say, shall tell the tale." He studied the statue in contemplation for a moment longer before looking back to the paladin. "Yet and still, I would not cut mine arm away to remove a scar. I must simply carry it." His expression had lost its amiable air, his countenance that of intent determination.

Roen blinked, considering his words. "One day, perhaps I too will say the same about mine own. " She nodded, her own composure regained. "You at least give me some measure of hope of that possibility."

The Elezen smiled, bowing his head politely. "I am grateful for that. Forgive my saying such, but you yet appear to be in short supply. By appearance alone."

The paladin curled her lips in a reassuring expression, but no warmth rose from within. "I am afraid my wounds are still fresh." She turned back to Halone. "I pray that time will… lessen the bite someday. But the strength of your resolve... I have yet to discover it for myself."

The knight too turned his gaze back to Halone. "Perhaps that too will come in time. I pray Halone will guide you to such."

Roen took those words to heart, before she stood and bowed. "Gratitude, yet once again. It seems you are the one that answers my questions when I seek them from a silent deity."

The knight stood as well, bowing in return. "Were I of the clergy, mayhaps I would say she merely speaks through me." He canted his head, his eyes studying her for a moment.

The paladin’s expression softened. "I think your own scars and experiences do better."

The Elezen returned a smile and a nod. "As of now… I will merely state I am glad to provide aid."

"I shall leave you to your prayers, kind ser."

"May Halone guide you, shield bearer. Be well."

The hum of pipe organs had faded, at least for a moment, allowing the echo of Roen's bootsteps to crawl across the high ceiling as she exited the cathedral. She heard only her thoughts, however, but for the first time in a long time they weren't deafening.

Roen stepped out through the heavy double doors of the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral, her eyes squinting as the darkness of the church was washed away by the snow-brushed brightness of a rare luminous afternoon. Snowflakes spun and twirled in their descent, and her breaths still puffed in a cloud of white steam before her lips.

It was four bells after the midday, always on the sixth sun of each sennight. She had returned to this place of worship after their first two encounters; the first one was by chance, and second one by fortuitous happenstance. Then in the following sennights, she had found herself waiting for the same bell and day to return.

It was all to speak to her anonymous confessor--a Duskwight knight of Ishgard and a fellow shield bearer.

Roen still knew not the Elezen’s name, but it mattered little. She knew of his proud family, who held their duty to Ishgard above all else. She knew of their allegiance to the Holy See and their honored tradition of serving as dragoons. The paladin had also learned that her polite and well-spoken confidant had chosen to go against his family’s wishes and bear a shield instead.

Was it that common thread--both of them being shield bearers--that drew her to seek his advice? Or was it the security in anonymity that she felt some freedom in sharing some of her deepest doubts?

As they spoke under the arched roof of the cathedral, Roen found more commonality between her and the knight. Even though she could not ultimately admit to the exact nature of her own losses, she had shared with this stranger her guilt in failing someone who was precious to her. And he in turn, admitted the same. The blame the knight held for himself in losing his sister still seemed to weigh heavily upon him, even though he admitted it was a distant scar rather than an open wound. The paladin found herself promising to pray for his sister’s welfare, if a prayer ever left her lips. Where as he feared the worst, she held some hope that the one he held dear, still lived.

Was that the reason then, that Roen felt free to admit her own guilt about her brother, the next time they spoke? While the Duskwight had forfeited his honor and duty to try and save his sister, and eventually be ostracized by his family for his sacrifice, Roen had done the very opposite. In losing someone she loved, she ran away from her family and friends. And when Delial and Kage sought her out to ask her for her aid, the paladin turned them away.

She was not ready to face her brother or anyone else that cared for her. Roen had worked so hard to construct her fortress of apathy, she was not prepared to tear it down yet.

But the fate of her missing brother still plagued her thoughts. Roen told herself time and again that she had sent the most capable tracker to aid them. If Kiht could not help Delial and Kage, who else could? Certainly not she.

The paladin told Delial more than once that she did not want to be involved. The Highlander had acquiesced begrudgingly. The keen woman seemed to suspect that something had happened, but kept her silence on the matter. There was fire lit within her amber eye that Roen knew that Delial would not stop until Gharen was found. And she had Kage standing by her side. That should have eased her mind. That should have been enough.

And yet…

She could not ignore that small sliver of doubt whenever the apprehensions returned. She confessed those thoughts to the Duskwight knight; since he had been exiled by his family for choosing his sister over all else, Roen could not imagine that her revelation would be met with anything but disapproval.

But no such censure came. He asked for more details on the circumstances, but when all was said and done, he sympathized with her need for solitude. Even from her family. He also offered gentle encouragement to allow herself to face her fears and her loved ones when she was ready.

“What is it that you said about forgiveness?” Roen had said in response. “Another gifting such to me would mean little… if I am not ready to accept it."

The Duskwight then answered her with something she was not expecting, a smile. "I must say, it is refreshing to have one listen so intently to my words."

That made the paladin pause, blinking. There was a reluctant and unexpected curl to the corner of her lips as well. "You have no idea... how your words stayed with me." She shook her head again but this time it was with less sobriety. “You are wiser than you know.”

The knight only smiled wider with a dip of his head. "Ah, mayhaps I am then. I would not have considered such before."

She exhaled, a quick release of breath with a hint of rebuke. "Then perhaps it is I who is out of sorts. I usually do not pay such close attention to strangers." Her tone remained neutral, but some of that somber cloud was dissipating from her mind. "Believing a deity speaking through you and all that."

The Elezen grinned but shook his head. "I cannot say I would ever claim such for myself!"

Roen pursed her lips, rolling her eyes slightly. "Would I be getting better guidance from the clergy then?"

His grin was now ear to ear. "I do believe you stated you much preferred mine words to that of the robed clergy."

"At least our attentiveness is mutual,” she acquiesced begrudgingly. “Aye, shield bearer. I do think your wisdom exceeds that of the clergy."

Perhaps it was the fact that the organs had just finished their song and was preparing another, that her words carried a bit too far. Another Elezen noble seated on the pews ahead of them gave her an incredulous glare over his shoulder. The paladin pressed her lips together as she glanced away, clearing her throat.

Amusement only seemed to grow on the knight’s visage as he shook his head at her. He offered the noble a polite dip of his head. "Quite mutual, indeed." He turned to her with an earnest smile. "I am grateful for these conversations, however."

Roen widened her eyes, a sense of relief washing over her. “Are you? Whatever for? It is I who should be grateful. I always seem to come here and demand answers from you, Ser Knight. And never return the same consideration."

The Elezen quirked a brow, apparently bewildered. "Is such how you view our interactions? Truly?" He canted his head in thought. “I believe I have learned much from speaking with you as well as listening. I have stared at mine self and mine own wounds. You have never demanded anything of me, my friend."

The paladin chewed her lower lip. "I am... glad," she finally said softly. "In my own struggles, I know I have only asked. And asked again. It is you who have found a way to turn that into something hopeful and benign.”

He inclined his head in a nod. "And I have but answered, conversed where I can. Tis enjoyable, truly."

She snorted softly. "Enjoyable. Surely, you are just humoring me."

The knight arched his brow again, with a hint of an admonishment in his voice. "Were it not, would I return time and again to speak with a woman whom I do not know?"

Roen blinked. "...And here I thought I was the clever one, somehow discerning your schedule on visiting this place."

"Truly?” A look of amusement split across his face. “I thought I found myself here in times that you would arrive."

A hand rose to cover her mouth, and hide her sheepish expression. "Well then." She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose we were both clever and yet not as clever as we thought."

"What a strange pair we are.” He then flashed her a bright, genuine grin.

Roen regarded him oddly, but her expression eased with a slight curl of her lips. "Indeed." She exhaled, organ music filling the silence between them.

"Gratitude," she said quietly.

"Much and more back to you,” he nodded.

Then as if remembering herself, she inhaled quickly and rose. "I should go, however. I have indulged myself long enough."

The Elezen rose as she did. "But of course. It was, as always, a pleasure." He bowed deeply at the waist.

Roen bowed in return, her frame having lost much of the tension from before. "I will... continue to think myself clever... next sennight." There is an upward tug to one corner of her lips.

To that, the Duskwight laughed. "And I shall likewise do so. Be well, Shieldbearer."

A stranger and a confidant…

Roen raised her hand to shield her eyes as she looked up at the sky, the distant shafts of sunlight somehow breaking through the eternal grayness of this wintry place. That was when her reverie was broken by an approach of a familiar figure as Stray Oak lumbered up the steps leading to the Cathedral.

“Deneith! Ser Tournes is looking for you.” The Hellsguard gave her a shrug when she quirked a questioning brow. “Blacke and Fenco again. They didn’t report back in time. He probably wants ya ta go track ‘em down.”

The paladin let out a long exasperated sigh and nodded. Those two were becoming a thorn on her side when it came to their indolence.

“I didn’t know ya were a religious type,” Oak said, eyeing the cathedral with some measure of suspicion.

Roen shrugged, a small amused curl to one corner of her lips rising as she began to walk away. “I am not. But I have found that confessions are surprisingly cathartic.”




[[Events that follow can be found here]]