Rosewater was up early and in an upbeat, positive mood. Today was the day he anticipated his little kitten Annunu would strike, eliminating the man Rosewater's men reported was undermining him in various ways in the sultana's court. Rosewater always had thought the guy an insufferable, stuck-up prick, one of those types that thought themselves far cleverer than they actually were. Now that the kitten was properly tamed, her claws could be directed at targets of Rosewater's personal choosing. Care would have to be taken, of course. An's loyalty and submission would have to be closely monitored. But in the moons that he had kept her close by his side, continually assessing, he'd come to know her, understand her.
He buckled on his armor with the Sultansworn tabard - mostly clean - and grabbed his sword and shield almost as an afterthought. His belt pouch filled with his tools, the activation device for An's collar, his sack of linkpearls, some gil. In his opinion, someone had trained An to be the perfect assassin. The Lalafell girl was a blank slate - an empty vessel with no real sense of self. She seemed to have no personal desires or ambitions, devoted body, mind, and soul to whatever her next task was, her next mission. Rosewater was aware most of her fear of him was probably feigned - but then, almost all of her emotions rang slightly hollow, as if she only acted and reacted as she thought she should rather than genuinely. Social situations in general seemed to make her timid and uncertain; even her friends seemed to get An acting out feelings rather than truly experiencing them, from the surveillance reports. The only times her true self emerged were when she was kept off-balance, reactionary. The fight with Oan, for instance. That had been a key moment. What a stupid fucker to hit her.
He headed out of his apartments into the grey light of dawn, one of the few hours at which Ul'dah's streets were truly quiet, even the thieves and cutpurses and filthy adventurers quiet. The An/Oan relationship fascinated Rosewater to a degree - it was such a huge, glaring vulnerability for both Lalafells. Oan fancied himself the puppetmaster in the shadows, pulling everyone's strings, eluding surveillance and proper assessment, but from what information they had, he was a sociopathic narcissist with an overinflated sense of self-worth. Certainly, he'd realized the gold mine he had with An, manipulating the girl into helping him engage in ultra-risky raids on Garlean castrums and even to take responsibility for Khamja in the end, protecting him when he foolishly -
Rosewater's internal monologue was abruptly cut off when two men in the drab tan robes of refugees, their heads and faces hidden by loosely-wrapped turbans and attached dust veils, stepped out of an alley directly in front of him, swords bare in their hands. Rosewater bit off a cruse, reaching for his own blade, but heard a step behind him, and saw more drawn weapons out of his peripheral vision. Surrounded. And at this bell, he didn't think any help would come running if he yelled, no patrolling Blades more than likely. Gods knew ordinary citizens knew better than to get involved in anything like this. And from how the men wordlessly herded him into the alley - they wanted him alive.
The alley was small, cramped, veiled with hanging laundry above, and terminated in a dead end, trash and crates heaped up carelessly against the back wall of the building adjacent. Two men were waiting for him there - one, a stocky, older Hyur in finery and an ornate gold mask in the shape of a lion's face and mane, thick gray mustaches drooping from the lower edge. And the other, a completely unremarkable Midlander man of indeterminate age - save that he was in the black and red robe and helmet of a Garlean soldier, brandishing a gun at Rosewater fearlessly. Rosewater considered himself passingly brave - few true cowards wore the Sultansworn armor - but his knees went weak at the sight. Garleans! I've been captured by Garleans!
"Well, well," Rosewater said, as levelly as he could under the circumstances. "This is... an unexpected development. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The masked man smiled. "Captain Rosewater. Please, call me Goerthe - I believe we have yet to be formally introduced." He bowed. "And this is Traianus, one of my top men. Forgive the abruptness of our, ah, invitation to this meeting. We're both quite busy men, and I feared our schedules may not align."
"And because we're busy men, let's skip the verbal jousting and get right on to what you want from me," Rosewater suggested dryly.
Goerthe nodded, his mouth thinning momentarily with displeasure. "Indeed. You are going to take Traianus back to your office immediately and give him all information, reports, documents, and files you have on the Garlean presence in the sultanate. Spies, informers, sympathizers, even those simply suspected. All of it."
Rosewater swallowed hard, his throat bone dry and aching. Of course, the internal security branch had plenty of such information, both from their own sources, and that which had been shared by the Flames. But to hand it right over to the Garleans...! It would bet he single greatest intel breach in the history of the sultanate. It would destroy anti-Garlean operations for cycles - and Garlean intelligence would likely have free reign in Ul'dah in the meantime. "Or else you'll kill me?"
Goerthe smiled. "No, not at all." And he pulled a file out of his bag. Rosewater's spine suddenly turned to water and froze, gripped in a fist of the coldest ice. He recognized that file - the targeting package he'd given An. "I see you recognize this," Goerthe noted, watching Rosewater's expression. "We aren't above ensuring your crimes are reported to your superiors at the least, if not the press. Do you dare face the true enormity of what you've done, going to the gallows in disgrace like a common criminal, your reputation in tatters, as well as that of your security service? You can cooperate with us, or you can choose the hangsman's noose - and utter disgrace in death."
Rosewater's legs abruptly gave out, and he crashed to his knees hard onto the cobblestones of the alleyway. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It couldn't! He was screwed, screwed - caught in a cleft stick between treason and death. And they had documents, not just hearsay - physical proof, some of which had been written by his own hand. He'd been so sure they would never fall into the wrong hands - ! His eyes bulged as the truth hit home. An had betrayed him! An had turned on him, and given him to the GARLEANS of all people! Could she be a Garlean spy?! How could this have happened?!
Goerthe and Traianus simply watched Rosewater as he reeled and gurgled faintly, like a man caught in quicksand whose frantic efforts to get out only buried him deeper. Rosewater clutched at his head with gauntleted fingers, barely noticing the pain as the metal dug into his scalp. He could see no way out. None. If he rejected their "offer," they would ensure he didn't get away until the Blades had the evidence in hand. Even if the Syndicate decided to hush up his crimes to avoid a scandal, he'd be fired and disgraced in another way - and probably a knife would come for him in the shadows at some point. Maybe even An's. Running or fighting would only get himself killed faster. He could see no way out without betraying his country, to the greatest adversary there was, who posed a true existential threat to all of Eorzea.
But... if he gave them what they wanted... he remained alive a little longer. A little longer. And maybe he could even find a way to wind up on top. He always did.
And he could make sure he dragged An into the hells before he went there.
He licked his lips, and with a nod, sold himself to Garlemald. "Alright. Deal."
A small form watched from above, hidden by the hanging laundry, as Rosewater and the disguised Traianus made their way out of the alley together, and it followed them on to Rosewater's office, staying neatly out of sight.
He buckled on his armor with the Sultansworn tabard - mostly clean - and grabbed his sword and shield almost as an afterthought. His belt pouch filled with his tools, the activation device for An's collar, his sack of linkpearls, some gil. In his opinion, someone had trained An to be the perfect assassin. The Lalafell girl was a blank slate - an empty vessel with no real sense of self. She seemed to have no personal desires or ambitions, devoted body, mind, and soul to whatever her next task was, her next mission. Rosewater was aware most of her fear of him was probably feigned - but then, almost all of her emotions rang slightly hollow, as if she only acted and reacted as she thought she should rather than genuinely. Social situations in general seemed to make her timid and uncertain; even her friends seemed to get An acting out feelings rather than truly experiencing them, from the surveillance reports. The only times her true self emerged were when she was kept off-balance, reactionary. The fight with Oan, for instance. That had been a key moment. What a stupid fucker to hit her.
He headed out of his apartments into the grey light of dawn, one of the few hours at which Ul'dah's streets were truly quiet, even the thieves and cutpurses and filthy adventurers quiet. The An/Oan relationship fascinated Rosewater to a degree - it was such a huge, glaring vulnerability for both Lalafells. Oan fancied himself the puppetmaster in the shadows, pulling everyone's strings, eluding surveillance and proper assessment, but from what information they had, he was a sociopathic narcissist with an overinflated sense of self-worth. Certainly, he'd realized the gold mine he had with An, manipulating the girl into helping him engage in ultra-risky raids on Garlean castrums and even to take responsibility for Khamja in the end, protecting him when he foolishly -
Rosewater's internal monologue was abruptly cut off when two men in the drab tan robes of refugees, their heads and faces hidden by loosely-wrapped turbans and attached dust veils, stepped out of an alley directly in front of him, swords bare in their hands. Rosewater bit off a cruse, reaching for his own blade, but heard a step behind him, and saw more drawn weapons out of his peripheral vision. Surrounded. And at this bell, he didn't think any help would come running if he yelled, no patrolling Blades more than likely. Gods knew ordinary citizens knew better than to get involved in anything like this. And from how the men wordlessly herded him into the alley - they wanted him alive.
The alley was small, cramped, veiled with hanging laundry above, and terminated in a dead end, trash and crates heaped up carelessly against the back wall of the building adjacent. Two men were waiting for him there - one, a stocky, older Hyur in finery and an ornate gold mask in the shape of a lion's face and mane, thick gray mustaches drooping from the lower edge. And the other, a completely unremarkable Midlander man of indeterminate age - save that he was in the black and red robe and helmet of a Garlean soldier, brandishing a gun at Rosewater fearlessly. Rosewater considered himself passingly brave - few true cowards wore the Sultansworn armor - but his knees went weak at the sight. Garleans! I've been captured by Garleans!
"Well, well," Rosewater said, as levelly as he could under the circumstances. "This is... an unexpected development. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The masked man smiled. "Captain Rosewater. Please, call me Goerthe - I believe we have yet to be formally introduced." He bowed. "And this is Traianus, one of my top men. Forgive the abruptness of our, ah, invitation to this meeting. We're both quite busy men, and I feared our schedules may not align."
"And because we're busy men, let's skip the verbal jousting and get right on to what you want from me," Rosewater suggested dryly.
Goerthe nodded, his mouth thinning momentarily with displeasure. "Indeed. You are going to take Traianus back to your office immediately and give him all information, reports, documents, and files you have on the Garlean presence in the sultanate. Spies, informers, sympathizers, even those simply suspected. All of it."
Rosewater swallowed hard, his throat bone dry and aching. Of course, the internal security branch had plenty of such information, both from their own sources, and that which had been shared by the Flames. But to hand it right over to the Garleans...! It would bet he single greatest intel breach in the history of the sultanate. It would destroy anti-Garlean operations for cycles - and Garlean intelligence would likely have free reign in Ul'dah in the meantime. "Or else you'll kill me?"
Goerthe smiled. "No, not at all." And he pulled a file out of his bag. Rosewater's spine suddenly turned to water and froze, gripped in a fist of the coldest ice. He recognized that file - the targeting package he'd given An. "I see you recognize this," Goerthe noted, watching Rosewater's expression. "We aren't above ensuring your crimes are reported to your superiors at the least, if not the press. Do you dare face the true enormity of what you've done, going to the gallows in disgrace like a common criminal, your reputation in tatters, as well as that of your security service? You can cooperate with us, or you can choose the hangsman's noose - and utter disgrace in death."
Rosewater's legs abruptly gave out, and he crashed to his knees hard onto the cobblestones of the alleyway. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It couldn't! He was screwed, screwed - caught in a cleft stick between treason and death. And they had documents, not just hearsay - physical proof, some of which had been written by his own hand. He'd been so sure they would never fall into the wrong hands - ! His eyes bulged as the truth hit home. An had betrayed him! An had turned on him, and given him to the GARLEANS of all people! Could she be a Garlean spy?! How could this have happened?!
Goerthe and Traianus simply watched Rosewater as he reeled and gurgled faintly, like a man caught in quicksand whose frantic efforts to get out only buried him deeper. Rosewater clutched at his head with gauntleted fingers, barely noticing the pain as the metal dug into his scalp. He could see no way out. None. If he rejected their "offer," they would ensure he didn't get away until the Blades had the evidence in hand. Even if the Syndicate decided to hush up his crimes to avoid a scandal, he'd be fired and disgraced in another way - and probably a knife would come for him in the shadows at some point. Maybe even An's. Running or fighting would only get himself killed faster. He could see no way out without betraying his country, to the greatest adversary there was, who posed a true existential threat to all of Eorzea.
But... if he gave them what they wanted... he remained alive a little longer. A little longer. And maybe he could even find a way to wind up on top. He always did.
And he could make sure he dragged An into the hells before he went there.
He licked his lips, and with a nod, sold himself to Garlemald. "Alright. Deal."
A small form watched from above, hidden by the hanging laundry, as Rosewater and the disguised Traianus made their way out of the alley together, and it followed them on to Rosewater's office, staying neatly out of sight.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
Howl's Wiki
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