"Are we friends?"
Roen’s stride was brisk, her steps light. The basket full of La Noscean oranges hung from the crook of her arm, along with a bottle of fine black rum that she had procured from the Bismarck. She had brought some fresh pastries and bread as well, although she knew not if the Sea Wolf favored such things. They were things of Vylbrand, and having just returned from two-day trip to Limsa Lominsa, the paladin was eager to share some of its bounty.
But her thoughts did not linger on the coastal City-State, only the man with whom she had spent those days.
“I don’t know. I don’t know where I stand with you, Roen.â€
She had found Nero in Vesper Bay, as Daegsatz had said she would, preparing to return to the Forte--and leaving Thanalan altogether. And at his behest she had joined him on his ship, despite her absolute dread of getting back onto a boat and sailing out to sea.
“Let us be honest then, Nero. Where do I stand with you?â€
Somehow, she had managed to suppress her fear while she and Nero exchanged tales of their pasts and their respective families on their way to Limsa Lominsa. The further away from Thanalan he got, the more honest and reflective the smuggler had become. He spoke of his father, and she of her Garlean parents. Then the two days that followed in La Noscea…
"I don't believe I've decided whether or not I even fully believe your…selflessness."
Roen had asked him for an afternoon to themselves. She wanted to clear the air, to lessen the tension that always seemed tighter between them. When he had met her on an early afternoon, she took him riding on the backs of chocobos through the Noscean hills, ending the day on the southern coast overlooking the sea.
"I do want things. But…I think I often wrestle with what I want, and I want to see for others."
A small smile found her lips as she recalled the laughter and the conversation that followed. Riding into the winds had filled her with a lightness of being, and the day had taken off that mask that Nero always guarded himself behind.
"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?"
Roen had not the answer to give him when he asked her forthrightly of her own feelings. She still remembered his ice-blue gaze boring into her. It made her catch her breath.
"I am...not sure. I am not good at this. I know how to protect people and defend their lives and I know what is the right path. This. This is… not right or wrong. It is just..."
What would she tell his First Mate? She knew the last time they had spoken, with her tongue loosened by that cursed brandy, that he had been curious about their relationship. Of course he would be, Nero was his captain and ward after all. Would she tell the Sea Wolf that she was starting to develop more than just a feeling of friendship for Nero?
What would Daegsatz think?
Such were the questions that buzzed around her head like busy bees that she did not at first notice the frown that was on Ser Jojon’s face when she approached the gates of the gaol. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then bowed his head instead with a small shake. He muttered something about ‘seeing for herself’ and reached for his key ring, unlocking the thick doors.
Roen just gave him an arched brow, still pondering how she would even start the day's conversation with Daegsatz. It was...very much an awkward topic.
"Then...let me help you decide…if you will have me."
Ser Jojon broke the awkward silence as he led her down the corridor, his steps slower than usual. “It was only a sun ago, I am sorry Deneith…â€
The morose tone in the Lalafell’s voice made Roen pause, her own steps slowing at first. Then they quickened, and she passed the jailor to hurry toward the Roegadyn’s cell. All thoughts of Limsa were gone.
Their kisses…
Neither of them had wanted it to end.
The basket in her hand impacted to the ground, spilling its contents to the stony floor. An orange broke open with a sticky spat. Others rolled across the cold stone floor, bouncing weakly off the ungiving wall.
The cell was empty, with naught but the remnant of a dark stain that had recently been washed down the drain in the center of the room. The grate was marred with crimson smearing its edges; no amount of water could fully wash away its bloody scars.
Roen stared at the empty cell. Her chest was caught in a vise. She could not breathe.
“It happened without much a warning, I’m afraid. Else I might have sent word to ye. I know he may have wanted to see ye before the execution was carried out...†Jojon prattled on behind her, even as she slowly sank to the ground. What other words of comfort he may have offered then, Roen heard them not.
Her gaze stayed fixed onto the drain, and the dark stain that coated the metal grate there. The pile of parchments with elaborate sketchings on them--drawn by deft yet untrained hands--still lay in a neat stack in the corner of the room. The small bronze music box that had played that single, simple melancholic tune still rested under the cot, where the Sea Wolf had laid it, carefully, so it would not be crushed. Even the empty bottle of brandy remained where it had rolled against the corner of the room.
Mostly she only saw the damnable hole where Daegsatz’s lifeblood had drained away.
He had been killed, throat slit, alone in a windowless cell, death delivered by the hands of someone who could not have known him at all.
Her vision began to blur as she hung her head low, hot tears dotting the floor beneath her. Her trembling hands curled into fists on the ground, it was all she could do to steady herself as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She did not hear Ser Jojon quietly walking away.
Roen sat alone in the Daegsatz's empty, darkened cell and wept.
Roen’s stride was brisk, her steps light. The basket full of La Noscean oranges hung from the crook of her arm, along with a bottle of fine black rum that she had procured from the Bismarck. She had brought some fresh pastries and bread as well, although she knew not if the Sea Wolf favored such things. They were things of Vylbrand, and having just returned from two-day trip to Limsa Lominsa, the paladin was eager to share some of its bounty.
But her thoughts did not linger on the coastal City-State, only the man with whom she had spent those days.
“I don’t know. I don’t know where I stand with you, Roen.â€
She had found Nero in Vesper Bay, as Daegsatz had said she would, preparing to return to the Forte--and leaving Thanalan altogether. And at his behest she had joined him on his ship, despite her absolute dread of getting back onto a boat and sailing out to sea.
“Let us be honest then, Nero. Where do I stand with you?â€
Somehow, she had managed to suppress her fear while she and Nero exchanged tales of their pasts and their respective families on their way to Limsa Lominsa. The further away from Thanalan he got, the more honest and reflective the smuggler had become. He spoke of his father, and she of her Garlean parents. Then the two days that followed in La Noscea…
"I don't believe I've decided whether or not I even fully believe your…selflessness."
Roen had asked him for an afternoon to themselves. She wanted to clear the air, to lessen the tension that always seemed tighter between them. When he had met her on an early afternoon, she took him riding on the backs of chocobos through the Noscean hills, ending the day on the southern coast overlooking the sea.
"I do want things. But…I think I often wrestle with what I want, and I want to see for others."
A small smile found her lips as she recalled the laughter and the conversation that followed. Riding into the winds had filled her with a lightness of being, and the day had taken off that mask that Nero always guarded himself behind.
"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?"
Roen had not the answer to give him when he asked her forthrightly of her own feelings. She still remembered his ice-blue gaze boring into her. It made her catch her breath.
"I am...not sure. I am not good at this. I know how to protect people and defend their lives and I know what is the right path. This. This is… not right or wrong. It is just..."
What would she tell his First Mate? She knew the last time they had spoken, with her tongue loosened by that cursed brandy, that he had been curious about their relationship. Of course he would be, Nero was his captain and ward after all. Would she tell the Sea Wolf that she was starting to develop more than just a feeling of friendship for Nero?
What would Daegsatz think?
Such were the questions that buzzed around her head like busy bees that she did not at first notice the frown that was on Ser Jojon’s face when she approached the gates of the gaol. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then bowed his head instead with a small shake. He muttered something about ‘seeing for herself’ and reached for his key ring, unlocking the thick doors.
Roen just gave him an arched brow, still pondering how she would even start the day's conversation with Daegsatz. It was...very much an awkward topic.
"Then...let me help you decide…if you will have me."
Ser Jojon broke the awkward silence as he led her down the corridor, his steps slower than usual. “It was only a sun ago, I am sorry Deneith…â€
The morose tone in the Lalafell’s voice made Roen pause, her own steps slowing at first. Then they quickened, and she passed the jailor to hurry toward the Roegadyn’s cell. All thoughts of Limsa were gone.
Their kisses…
Neither of them had wanted it to end.
The basket in her hand impacted to the ground, spilling its contents to the stony floor. An orange broke open with a sticky spat. Others rolled across the cold stone floor, bouncing weakly off the ungiving wall.
The cell was empty, with naught but the remnant of a dark stain that had recently been washed down the drain in the center of the room. The grate was marred with crimson smearing its edges; no amount of water could fully wash away its bloody scars.
Roen stared at the empty cell. Her chest was caught in a vise. She could not breathe.
“It happened without much a warning, I’m afraid. Else I might have sent word to ye. I know he may have wanted to see ye before the execution was carried out...†Jojon prattled on behind her, even as she slowly sank to the ground. What other words of comfort he may have offered then, Roen heard them not.
Her gaze stayed fixed onto the drain, and the dark stain that coated the metal grate there. The pile of parchments with elaborate sketchings on them--drawn by deft yet untrained hands--still lay in a neat stack in the corner of the room. The small bronze music box that had played that single, simple melancholic tune still rested under the cot, where the Sea Wolf had laid it, carefully, so it would not be crushed. Even the empty bottle of brandy remained where it had rolled against the corner of the room.
Mostly she only saw the damnable hole where Daegsatz’s lifeblood had drained away.
He had been killed, throat slit, alone in a windowless cell, death delivered by the hands of someone who could not have known him at all.
Her vision began to blur as she hung her head low, hot tears dotting the floor beneath her. Her trembling hands curled into fists on the ground, it was all she could do to steady herself as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She did not hear Ser Jojon quietly walking away.
Roen sat alone in the Daegsatz's empty, darkened cell and wept.
