Nero could only guess at the process happening beneath the man's skin, but from Roen's assessment, he supposed that the leg had more or less been recovered. The paladin looked tired, as if she had donated some of her own energy in the conjury. Her neat auburn hair had taken on some subtle signs of unkemptness, and her shoulders sagged a bit after the procedure.
At the paladin's indication, he lifted his arms off from the man, as the door to the shack creaked open, with Lancel standing in the doorway. The boy looked rather pleased with himself, if rather tired and covered in dust that matched his matted hair, bearing his grand prize. It was a solid-looking branch, about one ilm thick. As fate would have it, it did not end in a convenient Y-shaped nock or curved end, as such discoveries usually did, but it would serve its purpose as a walking stick well enough.
"That's a good find," Nero said, letting out an impressed whistle. He stood up and rubbed the boy's head. "Nice work, Lancel. You did a good job." The smuggler gestured an arm towards the man leaning against the wall, before turning a kind gaze to the wide-eyed boy. "Your father will be fine. Try to keep him from walking for some time."
Nero reached for his gil pouch, counting out several coins. Stripping one of his fingerless gloves from his hand, he deposited the fistful of coins into the glove as a sort of makeshift pouch, holding it from the bottom before pressing it against Lancel's chest.
"There's an apothecary who comes by this gate once every two days or so. His name is Reynold. Wears a fancy blue coat and hat." Nero's expression morphed to somewhat playful. "If you need something, potions or the like, talk to him and tell him that you're friends with Sebastian, and pay with that." He pointed a finger at the glove of coins. Reynold was one of Nero's newer clients who did regular business with the Alchemist's Guild. He was not overly wealthy, but he was mostly fair and didn't ask for anything too dangerous.Â
Lancel glanced between the coins, his father, Roen, and Nero, as if the boy could scarcely believe his luck. It was with an amazed silence before the child's face broke out into a wide and innocent smile. "T-thank you!" He reached out to shake the Hyur's hand, which Nero obligingly provided, a soft expression on his face. The boy's tiny hand shook as vigorously as he could, with a child's innocent ignorance as to the purpose of a handshake.
Lancel skipped over to Roen and did the same with her hand, simply grabbing it from her side and waving his arm up and down enthusiastically. Nero couldn't help but smile at the boy's earnest gratitude before covering his mouth with his hand, turning away lest the paladin catch his expression.
As Lancel was about to skip outside, Nero caught the boy's shoulder as the smuggler knelt down again. "Lancel," he began, his tone firm yet kind, "be careful not to tell any of the other boys about this, okay? Not Sayer, not anyone. This'll be our secret."
"But--" came the protest, which Nero silenced with a shake of his head, his earrings chiming as he did. "You can't tell anyone what we did," Nero continued. "If anybody asks, Miss Deneith and I weren't here. Can you promise me that?"
With an expression mixed with both appreciation and confusion, Lancel glanced between Nero and Roen before nodding slowly. "That's good. You have my thanks," the smuggler said, tilting his head down in approval. He made a gesture to Roen towards the exit of the shack, stepping outside. Thanalan's heat began to make itself more and more of an unwelcome presence, though Nero couldn't tell if the heat was genuinely uncomfortable or if it was just because the pirate was so used to the mild climate of Vylbrand.
Nero glanced at his left hand, now gloveless, in quiet contemplation. He had belittled Roen before on her idealism, on her beliefs, her naivete...and yet, did he not now just engage in that same foolishness he had mocked? There was no guarantee that the father had been hunting in the first place; Nero didn't see a bow or spear or anything suggesting such in the shack. Lancel was a child, but that didn't mean he couldn't lie. The Ala Mhigans might have been informing on the happenings of the refugee camp for the Blades or the bandits. The refugees were often driven to be the pawns of such people just to survive.
And yet, without questioning it, he and Roen provided for Lancel and his father, without even considering any ulterior motives or possibly dangerous affiliates the two might have. Without even considering the logical options, without taking into account whether or not the boy was serving as someone's ears, the smuggler had exposed his plans, his name, and who he was working with. There was no telling how much Lancel had heard or who he would report to. In this instance, Nero's pragmatism had failed him.
He lifted his bare hand in front of his face, flexing and unflexing it. Was he a hypocrite? Perhaps his own feelings were simply repressed. Perhaps his cynicism was merely a defense mechanism, a mask that had become so ingrained with his identity that he had forgotten why he donned it in the first place. Nero recalled the words he had said to Roen at Crescent Cove.
"But should justice fail, I will see the Jewel drowned in blood, if that's what it takes to change it."
At the time, he believed passionately in those words. His resolve burned like a wildfire. But if he was still prone to such weakness, and yet continued down a path that had no place for compassion, would he still have the determination to see his vision through?
Nero shook his head quickly, trying to dispel his doubts in the same way a dog did with fleas. He folded his arms and turning his gaze to Ul'dah as he waited for Roen to emerge from the shack.
At the paladin's indication, he lifted his arms off from the man, as the door to the shack creaked open, with Lancel standing in the doorway. The boy looked rather pleased with himself, if rather tired and covered in dust that matched his matted hair, bearing his grand prize. It was a solid-looking branch, about one ilm thick. As fate would have it, it did not end in a convenient Y-shaped nock or curved end, as such discoveries usually did, but it would serve its purpose as a walking stick well enough.
"That's a good find," Nero said, letting out an impressed whistle. He stood up and rubbed the boy's head. "Nice work, Lancel. You did a good job." The smuggler gestured an arm towards the man leaning against the wall, before turning a kind gaze to the wide-eyed boy. "Your father will be fine. Try to keep him from walking for some time."
Nero reached for his gil pouch, counting out several coins. Stripping one of his fingerless gloves from his hand, he deposited the fistful of coins into the glove as a sort of makeshift pouch, holding it from the bottom before pressing it against Lancel's chest.
"There's an apothecary who comes by this gate once every two days or so. His name is Reynold. Wears a fancy blue coat and hat." Nero's expression morphed to somewhat playful. "If you need something, potions or the like, talk to him and tell him that you're friends with Sebastian, and pay with that." He pointed a finger at the glove of coins. Reynold was one of Nero's newer clients who did regular business with the Alchemist's Guild. He was not overly wealthy, but he was mostly fair and didn't ask for anything too dangerous.Â
Lancel glanced between the coins, his father, Roen, and Nero, as if the boy could scarcely believe his luck. It was with an amazed silence before the child's face broke out into a wide and innocent smile. "T-thank you!" He reached out to shake the Hyur's hand, which Nero obligingly provided, a soft expression on his face. The boy's tiny hand shook as vigorously as he could, with a child's innocent ignorance as to the purpose of a handshake.
Lancel skipped over to Roen and did the same with her hand, simply grabbing it from her side and waving his arm up and down enthusiastically. Nero couldn't help but smile at the boy's earnest gratitude before covering his mouth with his hand, turning away lest the paladin catch his expression.
As Lancel was about to skip outside, Nero caught the boy's shoulder as the smuggler knelt down again. "Lancel," he began, his tone firm yet kind, "be careful not to tell any of the other boys about this, okay? Not Sayer, not anyone. This'll be our secret."
"But--" came the protest, which Nero silenced with a shake of his head, his earrings chiming as he did. "You can't tell anyone what we did," Nero continued. "If anybody asks, Miss Deneith and I weren't here. Can you promise me that?"
With an expression mixed with both appreciation and confusion, Lancel glanced between Nero and Roen before nodding slowly. "That's good. You have my thanks," the smuggler said, tilting his head down in approval. He made a gesture to Roen towards the exit of the shack, stepping outside. Thanalan's heat began to make itself more and more of an unwelcome presence, though Nero couldn't tell if the heat was genuinely uncomfortable or if it was just because the pirate was so used to the mild climate of Vylbrand.
Nero glanced at his left hand, now gloveless, in quiet contemplation. He had belittled Roen before on her idealism, on her beliefs, her naivete...and yet, did he not now just engage in that same foolishness he had mocked? There was no guarantee that the father had been hunting in the first place; Nero didn't see a bow or spear or anything suggesting such in the shack. Lancel was a child, but that didn't mean he couldn't lie. The Ala Mhigans might have been informing on the happenings of the refugee camp for the Blades or the bandits. The refugees were often driven to be the pawns of such people just to survive.
And yet, without questioning it, he and Roen provided for Lancel and his father, without even considering any ulterior motives or possibly dangerous affiliates the two might have. Without even considering the logical options, without taking into account whether or not the boy was serving as someone's ears, the smuggler had exposed his plans, his name, and who he was working with. There was no telling how much Lancel had heard or who he would report to. In this instance, Nero's pragmatism had failed him.
He lifted his bare hand in front of his face, flexing and unflexing it. Was he a hypocrite? Perhaps his own feelings were simply repressed. Perhaps his cynicism was merely a defense mechanism, a mask that had become so ingrained with his identity that he had forgotten why he donned it in the first place. Nero recalled the words he had said to Roen at Crescent Cove.
"But should justice fail, I will see the Jewel drowned in blood, if that's what it takes to change it."
At the time, he believed passionately in those words. His resolve burned like a wildfire. But if he was still prone to such weakness, and yet continued down a path that had no place for compassion, would he still have the determination to see his vision through?
Nero shook his head quickly, trying to dispel his doubts in the same way a dog did with fleas. He folded his arms and turning his gaze to Ul'dah as he waited for Roen to emerge from the shack.
