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Coatleque · **01-18-2015, 09:14 PM**

Jameson's office was quiet still as it had been these past few days while he was away. Everything had been kept the way it was as he left it. Mister North had seen to that. Doubly so today when his Master was expected to return. Coatleque had guessed the man was quite used to seeing her around the estate by now. Or if not, he at least made no show of concern at her coming and goings. She had let herself into the office as the man himself was leaving. They exchanged little more than polite greetings.

His diligence was something Coatleque was careful to only notice now when Jameson was not present. He may prefer to lord his station over those beneath him, but she was still not used to being waited on hand and foot. Being a servant of the Sultansworn herself, she knew the meaning of servitude and did her best not to get in Gideon's way. She would even go so far as to clean up after herself if she was able to get to it before he did. He was often too quick for her though.

He had tended the fire before leaving and so she was greeted to the warm glow and light smell of smoked wood from the hearth in the corner. She crossed the room and disappeared behind the wall to change in the back half. Once finished she sat at the small desk by the bed to use the mirror. Pulling her hair back she noticed the glint of the silver key on a chain around her neck. It gave her pause as she considered it for the moment.

Jameson had given her this key to his room out of trust. She had won him over to the extent that he would allow her to freely access his personal room, office, effects. This was the very thing she had wanted from the start. What she had told herself those few moons ago during dinner at the Bismark. Get as close as you can, find what you need, and get out. Yet something had caused her to hesitate. Words they had spoken at dinner one evening came back to her now.

"If you've a confession that would force me to detain you as a threat... then no, I do not want to know."
"Then I know where the line must be drawn."
"And that is one line I shall never cross."
"Do not fear, my dear. I would not put you in such a position,...
... in all else, I shall be truthful as I can."

There was something. Some dark secret that she knew would ruin him. Something that would force her hand. She should have used the key ten times over by now. She should have ransacked his office the first night and merely played him for a fool. Yet something made her hesitate.

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She examined herself in the mirror, eyes trailing up to her neckline. Was she afraid of him? The bruise around her throat where he had nearly strangled her in anger had long since faded. Her hand slowly rose and gripped the same place he had before she turned away from the mirror. No. Despite his anger, she did not fear him in that way. She was no simpering farm girl either - the choice not to fight him was hers alone.

Looking across the room she noticed the suit of armor on its stand. Examining the wear marks on it she knew it was not just for show. The man's strength belied his true station. This, she told herself, is what she was so enamored with. This hidden side to the arrogant noble that everyone was used to seeing. Behind all of his pretense there was a strong, proud man struggling to survive under a weight he was too stubborn to ask help to lift.

"Does not Jameson Taeros also deserve a chance at redemption?"

Words she had spoken to Roen some days ago. Despite all Roen's ire for the man, even she could not disagree. Coatleque could find the evidence she needed at any time now, but locking the man away was a temporary solution. No, she wanted to help him if she could. She would uncover his secrets, but without reverting to stealing them. It would not do for her to look like an enemy now. Especially knowing at how quickly his temper could turn again.

She finished tying up her hair and put her things away into a drawer that she had managed to claim. Jameson's business was done mostly in the front-half of the office, so the rear desk was typically unused and empty. She went back to the front then and to the liquor cabinet in the opposite corner to the hearth. Procuring two glasses she also retrieved the brandy she knew he most often enjoyed at work. Whether it was his favorite or just one cheap enough that he was content to use it most often she could not say.

Arranging the bottle and glasses on the desk she then took her place at he front corner to wait. He would be back at any time now and they had matters to discuss. After the arrest of Captain Anduron, she had a feeling he would be in need of an albeit temporary distraction.

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Gharen · **01-31-2015, 01:27 AM**

I should have listened to my instincts.

Acrid smoke filled the air and billowed around the caravan, panicked shouts echoing into the night as its defenders attempted to discern the threat. The attackers moved in silence using the shadows as cover, attempting to disarm and incapacitate their targets. Gharen moved as quickly as he was able, his eyes squinting to peer through the smoke; his goal had been to simply stop the caravan with as little bloodshed as possible on both sides, and search for the manifests and ultimately the contents. He specifically stated to his accomplices, his newest pupil Evangeline Primrose and his longtime friend U'roh, that they were to avoid casualties at all costs. They had all agreed that innocents should not be harmed.

Even the best laid plans never truly survive contact with the enemy.

He was following the trail that had been given to him previously by Brynnalia Callae. Heâ€™d scouted it, learned the trail, and looked for signs that it was actually in use. Heâ€™d spotted this caravan bells before, and it was smaller than he had anticipated, a single cart. Perhaps it was the presence of the Immortal Flames guarding the caravan, but something didnâ€™t sit right with him. But it was a feeling he would regretfully choose to ignore, suspecting that it all could have still been a ruse on Lazarov's part.

I gambled that it was the right one... and lost.

Gharen moved for the wagon driver, ignoring opposition almost entirely, hoping to end this as quickly as possible. He was even willing to risk harm to himself as long as he could just get them to surrender. He had come dressed in all black armor and had set his mind to lie and play the part of the villain. He bee lined for the drivers perch, his eyes set on the Lalafell driver. The man could never have known that Gharen truly meant him no harm, and it was obvious in his wide eyes filled with fear. He frantically scrambled out of the Gharen's reach, and to the Highlander's dismay, the Lalafell drew a knife.

That was when everything spiraled out of control.

A small explosive planted upon the rear axle by Evangeline--meant to only cripple the wagon--went off with greater force than he had anticipated, rocking the cart violently. It threw everyone on the wagon off balance, Gharen himself included. He had to grab onto the seat to prevent himself from falling off the side. It was almost in slow motion that he watched the driver fumble for balance with his knife in hand, and as he fell forward, the blade disappeared beneath him. But Gharen had no time to react to the injured Lalafell. One of the Immortal Flame guards was upon him by then, another Highlander, his longsword drawn. Gharen managed to raise his his shield, leaving his own sword by his hip, instead demanding that weapons be dropped. He still had hope to tend to the injured driver.

But his kinsmen proved notoriously stubborn and hard headed.Â

Gharen blocked a sword blow, noting peripherally that U'roh and Evangeline were taking care of the other guards. He launched an attack of his own, but to his kinsman's credit, the Flame was skilled enough to turn and absorbed the shield bash with his off arm. He landed a glancing cut near Gharen's shoulder, but at the cost of his own broken arm.

It was then that the other Immortal Flame thankfully shouted their surrender. The rest of the guards had been defeated.

Gharen ran to the driver hoping to tend to his wound, while ordering Eva and Uâ€™Roh to get the guards down on the side of the road and search the cargo and manifests. It had all been for naught, the cargo was legitimate, the manifests indicated it did not belong to Redgrave, and the driver laid dead. To make matters worse, Evangeline accidentally called out his name in frustration.

Ordering his friends to leave, Gharen was set to turn himself over to the Flames then and there, but loyalty much like love, made people stubborn, stupid, and blind to the larger picture at hand. U'roh and Evangeline would not let him surrender. They refused to leave his side. So instead, Gharen spoke the officer in charge, a Midlander who had declared their surrender earlier. He removed his helm and explained himself, who he was and why he attacked the caravan. Gharen was not looking for forgiveness nor absolution, he knew he would find none here. He simply wished them to know why, and after doing so, gave his word that he would turn himself over to Sergeant Osric Melkire.

We had already done enough.

Gharen leaned back against the stone wall of the Thanalan cavern, his attention returning to the present as he looked over his camp. He had already spoken with Miss Crofte and left word with Miss Jakkya, and now waited to hear from Sergeant Melkire who had been strangely silent. He replayed the events of that night in his head again, as he had been for the last few bells. He would turn himself in, that much given, but until then he would plan his next move.

Coatleque · **01-31-2015, 05:36 PM**

"People are coming after Taeros. Do not be in their way."

A peal of thunder seemed to shake the estate to its foundation. Two glasses barely touching rang out as the vibrations knocked them together momentarily. Coatleque spared no glance from the fire in front of her where she stood. The hearth was beginning to die down and the hour had grown late.

The words were spoken to her earlier that evening as the rain had fallen around them outside the Sancrarium. Since then the hours had slowly crawled into the late of night. She had returned to Jameson's estate after her shift. In truth she found most of her nights were spent there of late, not that she could complain. It was quieter than the Hourglass, more private than the barracks, and more personal than the Still Shore.

The rain had let up only briefly before the bulk of the storm arrived, and the pattering of drops against the windows was interrupted by the crack of thunder infrequently at first. They had grown much louder now, and she was certain the storm itself was just overhead if not close to it.

Looking down from the hearth to the smeared ink of the article in her hand, she pressed her lips together in anger with narrowed eyes. It was easy for her to simply shrug off such libel. That was part of her job, after all. She could not, however, ignore the damage this may do to so many others. Jameson may suspect her - she was sure he would, in fact - but she had given him no reason to do so. After he himself was the target of so many other similar articles, would he even pay this one any mind?

Jameson. She had gone so far as to defend the man to Roen this evening. He was no saint, to be sure, but she had yet to discover damning evidence to convict him as opposed to Nero Lazarov who was confirmed now to have ordered the elimination of innocent women and children.

"Does it matter...?"
"... yes. Yes it does."

"Roen." She said her friend's name out loud just then. The realization that she would defend the man who committed such atrocities was almost too much to bear. Coatleque had sacrificed her own freedom to help Roen with her vengeance against Taeros. Yet it was clear that Roen had lost sight of that goal. What now did she sacrifice for? Was she even sure it was still a sacrifice?

"I believe we are close in bringing everything to light. Taeros' allies and their power are diminishing..."

Coatleque could see how tired Jameson was becoming. He was clearly losing ground as he himself confessed - as Roen had also confirmed. She wanted nothing more than to applaud Roen's efforts. To encourage her to strike now while she could. When the opportunity presented itself she could not do it. Coatleque turned away and held her tongue. Between the two men it was now clear which one was a danger to the city. Jameson may have his personal ambitions and bloody rivalries, but there was a line he had yet to cross.

"... you are asking me to believe he will not again only on your word."

She blinked away another tear as the conversation replayed in her mind once more. Another peal of thunder shook her back to the present and prompted her to look over her shoulder towards the back of the room. The suit of armor Jameson kept on its stand seemed to glare balefully at her as lightning reflected off its surface from the window. She shivered and turned back to the fire.

Her hand rose slowly to bring the article into view once more. She stared at it before releasing it into the fireplace. It laid across the smouldering coals before slowly blackening from the middle and spreading outwardly in a calm orange glow. With that she pushed Spahro's empty threats out of her mind. Miss Llorn can make all the noise she wanted, but Coatleque would not be bullied into compromising her investigations.

She stood there a good while longer as she watched the paper turn to a blackened and twisted crumple, and then an unrecognisable grey ash over top the softening glow of the embers. She did not know what time it was when Jameson finally returned. She was only suddenly aware of his presence next to hers.

Turning, she embraced him, quietly pressing her head to his chest. Things were now set in motion that could not be stopped. Decisions were made for her, it seemed, whether she would consent or not. She would defend him against Roen's growing madness, yes, but not only because she loved him. It was the lives of those who would be further caught in the wake of Nero's wrath that now weighed heaviest upon her heart.

***Nero*** · **02-02-2015, 04:30 AM**

The confident captain's face was pale. Gone was his smirk, his mirth, his mask of composure.

"A...mutiny?" he whispered, more to himself than to the assembled men before him. His back was to the railing behind the helm of the ship, the crew standing in front of the wheel in a neat formation.

It was all Nero could do to keep himself from collapsing to his knees. I'm...losing the Forte? He stumbled backwards, his arms clasping the railing, his mind spinning. Even as he struggled to react, a part of his mind was racing. This was Taeros. The Monetarists. They've turned them against me. Garalt...R'tyaka...Baenmann...all of them refused to look at their former captain. R'tyaka's tail was slack, her shoulder slump, her ears drooping beneath the fancifully decorated tricorne she spent so much time working on. Baenmann's broad shoulders were tightened as he clasped his hands together, his sea-green skin pale and his nose piercing silent, even as the tiny bell attached to it waved. Garalt's expression was chiseled from a deep pain and an incredible sorrow, but so too was it built from stony resolve. The shirtless Highlander's arms were crossed, and the rest of the men kept their heads bowed down in equal amounts of shame and solid, forlorn determination. The men were solemn, even as the gulls called to one another and the evening sun turned the horizon into a brilliant orange hue, providing a sharp and jarring backdrop to the scene taking place on the deck of the Second Forte.Â

A thousand possibilities spun. How did they reach him? His crew? How did the Monetarists find his ship, and manage to turn his entire crew against him? It was impossible. Utterly impossible. There was just no way that they could have managed this. Not at all. Nero had been perfectly discrete. He'd kept all of his assets hidden, his trail dusted. No paper could be linked to him. No crime could be properly linked to him. There was...just...no way this could..

"W...why? How did they do it?" Nero asked, dazed from the revelation. His crew. His family. They wouldn't turn against him. Not like this.Â "What did they say? They were lying. They're not..paying..you?" His questions were less of questions and more of near-gibbering fragments. "They lied to you. Whatever they said.."There was no way this could happen. It was impossible. His crew was loyal. Garalt was loyal, his brother, his guardian. He and Daegsatz were equal, the closest thing to a father Nero had when Vail had gone. "I don't know what they did, but they're lying."

"Are they lying about this, lad?" Garalt withdrew from behind him an opened letter. Nero froze at the sight of it. Kendrick must have...no, the boy was too weak-willed for that. Someone must have gotten their hands on it, and then exposed it to his crew. "An entire house of people. Men. Women. Children. The extended family. The elders." The Highlander's expression added deep disappointment to his sorrow. "You ordered their deaths. All of their deaths. With a pen, you murdered more people in a day than your father did in two entire decades of piracy with a galleon." How...how did they..but.. No. No, no, this wasn't right. This shouldn't be. It shouldn't matter. The Forte and he were one. They'd done some unsavory things in the past, but this was..

"I...that was for..Daegsatz!" Nero choked out. "They killed him. I didn't want them to die, but I--"

"Ye always said that in good or evil, a man must be takin' responsibility," Baenmann rumbled quietly. Nero looked at him incredulously. Baenmann was a shy Roegadyn, if ever was one. He kept to himself, rarely spoke, nearly died daily of anxiety of attacks. "We be seein' now...that yer just a boy." The Sea Wolf sniffed. "An'....no longer fit...ta cap'n this vessel."

"But that doesn't mean--" This shouldn't be happening. He'd lost control, of himself and his crew. Where was his composure? His smirk? His confidence? It was melting away under the withering gaze of pity emitted by his crew, his friends. This shouldn't be happening so easily. Not like this. Not like this. He'd talked his way out of everything before. Everything. When someone was trying to murder him, when someone was stealing from him, when he was stealing from someone.

"There always bein' a line no man be crossin'," R'tyaka said, tugging on the corner of her elaborate tricorne hat, her gaze focused squarely on the plank to the right of her foot. "We may be pirates, an' scoundr'ls, an' thieves an' beggars, and aye, som' o' us bein' bloody murderers s'well...but that don't mean we be lackin' lines we refuse ta cross. Ye be killin' women and children, cap--mate. We ain't bein' part o' that."

"And this is one line we cannot cross with you...Nero," Garalt said quietly. "This is something that we cannot, in good conscience, be complicit in."

Even as he reeled, a tiny voice of clarity spoke in the smuggler's mind. All I've done, all I have ever done is try to save people from their despair. Their poverty. And this.. No. No. He would not stoop that low. He would not blame his crew. Nero knew, the instant he began attacking Ul'dahn ships, the instant he sold the guns, the instant he offered his knife for Roen to kill him, he knew. This was one story that would have no happy ending.

Garalt seemed to notice his reaction, and he let out a deep, pained sigh. "Lad, there is no difference between an evil man, and a good man who stands by and lets evil deeds happen. All of us here..." he briefly unfolded an arm to gesture at the assembled crew. "We refuse to be that evil man. We kill...but not innocent women, and not innocent children."

The Hyur blearily gazed at the crew, aware that some manner of liquid had begun to slightly blur his vision. "But...where's Luther? And Norman? Lohtta?" They were pirates.

"They couldn't care less about your deeds...but with the rest of us refusing to serve, they went to seek greener pastures."

Garalt's words didn't even reach Nero. The Hyur had sunk beneath memories, his own voice and the past voices of others rising to the surface.

"Of course, this isn't just any other pirate ship. More like a party ship, really. With occasional loot and plundering." He leaned back behind the desk, boots propped on the surface. "I'm not convinced you'd be a good fit for our crew."

"Ye diggin' at me height, laddie?" The Lalafell violently swung a hand axe onto the desk. Nero quickly moved his feet from being sliced.

"No, no...but you better have some decent moral character, is all I'm saying." The pirate captain smirked.

"Since when'n pirates be needin' that mural whatsit?" The Lalafell bellowed, waving the hand axe again. The Hyur behind the desk stood up and leaned forward, staring the would-be pirate straight in the eye, his expression one of absolute smugness...and more than a little bit of arrogance.

"Since they started wanting to join my crew."

Several similar scenes arrived, flashing themselves in instants in his mind's eye. He slumped down, no longer holding in to the railing. The sorrow that filled Garalt's expression could only be described as infallible. The Highlander stepped forward and leaned down in a half-embrace of his former captain. The Midlander was near catatonic, unable to react. The women and children. I killed women and children. I killed Liam. And Martin. Daegsatz. I killed..

Why didn't they just understand? Everything he was doing he was trying to do for Ul'dah. Rebuild the system. A new future. A better tomorrow. No more pain, no more poverty, no more hunger, no more beatings. A better place.Â

Another side of him was laughing maniacally, incredulously. Since when did pirates ever balk at murder? They've murdered hundreds of people and sent them right down to Llymlaen's embrace. What made the Yoyorano houses so special? The crew of the Forte didn't just murder, but they stole, too. All of those raids, those screams as the ship broke apart from the cannons and the fire, the crew taking up swords only to be killed by the boarding party. Pirates objecting to this? Pirates? Since when? What kind of pirates didn't revel in that? The raids, the bloodshed. Women and children? How many women and children were on those ships?Â

Why did Vail take him in? What reason did that raider have? A shivering, skinny child who had pickpocketed his way out of starvation in Limsa Lominsa. He had nothing of value. Nothing to contribute. Why had he learned thaumaturgy? Why was he with Roen?

Where did I err?, he asked himself, bringing his gaze skyward, his eyes dull and glazed over.

His inner voice did not respond, but the answer he saw was his own face, sunken just beneath the surface of a roiling sea of regret.

***Nero*** · **02-04-2015, 05:30 AM**

((A brief note: because the narrative and internal monologues in the below post tend to get rambly and just a tad insane, be aware that an omniscient narrator only exists in very few, select passages.Â

Otherwise, unless explicitly stated, all events and internal thoughts are seen and described from a single character's perspective and decidedly unstable state of mind.

No, I don't know why I feel that that'd be an issue, but you're weird, RPC, so it's safer for me to clarify this now, lest I be OOCly accused of grossly misinterpreting people's characters.

Don't ask. It's happened before.

Also, this is a monster of a post. If you're planning on reading through the whole thing in one sitting, bring a sandwich or something.))

A week had passed since then, and the now-former pirate had nothing to respond with but to throw himself into his work. He had stumbled off of the Second Forte in a daze, having somehow made it back to his estate intact. Upon closing the doors, they had promptly been locked. Even as he regained control of his senses, he lost his sense of time, and focused only on writing page after page. His thoughts were naught but a murky swirl of conflict and doubt, his hand mechanically piloting the quill across page after page, barely registering what he was writing.

The corners of his mind knew that what he was devising now was nothing more than a pipe dream. A hypothetical exercise. It had no possible chance of coming true, now more than ever, and yet he devoted himself fully to its conception out of subconscious desperation.Â

There is no difference between an evil man, and a good man who allows evil to happen.

That couldn't possibly be true. There was such thing as goodness, compassion, mercy. That was why Roen objected to his killing innocents. She so steadfastly believed in such a thing. Something like that could not have any veracity whatsoever, because if it did, if it held the slightest bit of water, then it would mean that that city was utterly irredeemable. And Nero did not want to believe that. It was why he had fought and bled, sacrificed and forfeited, murdered and stole.

Surely there were others. Others who saw what he saw. And if they saw what he saw, and if they too were good people, then they would not simply stand by and allow it to happen. They would try to change it, like he and Roen. Beneath the veneer of prosperity and wealth was a festering cesspit of deception, corruption, violence, and despair. He was not so egotistical as to think that he was the only one who saw it.

Bribes, lies, assassination, extortion, blackmail. Nothing was beneath him. Deposing the Monetarists from power required the support of the people, but he had quickly learned that any "legal" attempt at doing so was swiftly stifled. People are unwilling to act, so long as their daily lives are unaffected. And so, he put his plan into motion. A long, extended plan. Affect their daily lives by cutting off their supplies. Affect their daily lives by having the bandits inside the walls grow more violent, more greedy. Affect their daily lives by having the poor, the scorned, the destitute strike back. Show them that apathy was a choice, and that it was the wrong one.Â

There is no such thing as innocence, only varying degrees of guilt.

It was this veritable conflagration of jumbled, confusing thoughts that burned in Nero's psyche. Constantly did those contradict one another, his mind raising new ideas in the blink of an eye and tearing them down just as quickly. It was as if someone had written down every thought he'd ever on a sheet of paper before tearing it apart and picking at the bits at random. Gone was the decisive thought, the cohesive plan. Even as his turmoil threatened to rip his sanity apart, however, the Hyur found that he'd regained some composure over the past seven suns. It became much easier to slip into his usual mask, to pretend like nothing had happened.

By the time Roen had arrived at his estate, his mind had not settled much, but that mask had remained intact, and if nothing else was stronger than before, even as internally he ridiculed himself as he read through the sheaf of papers before him. Nero was seated in his study, a small crackling fireplace presenting itself as he continually flipped through the packet searching for typos and other minor technical errors. Something like this was impossible. It was not even worth attempting. He'd composed it purely as an intellectual exercise.

Still, being the kind of blind and exasperating woman she was, Roen would likely find it intriguing.

Nero put aside the sheaf as she stepped into his study, a neutral and relaxed expression on his face. "Glad you could make it." The paladin came to stand by next to a nearby chair, leaning against it with the crook of her arm. "It is rare to see you have some time to spare," Roen noted casually.Â

The smuggler smirked lightly. "Trust me, it only looks like I'm not working. There's no rest for the wicked, after all." It was so easy, to lie, to appear composed, to seem normal. It was almost disconcerting how easy it was. "In any case, I did call you here for a reasosn. I wanted your opinion on this." He tapped the sheaf of papers with his index finger. "I understand you may feel unqualified--and I don't mean to be condescending, mind--but it was important to me to have your thoughts on it anyway."

Nero had called Roen here for many more reasons other than that banal statement. Her presence calmed him somewhat--arrogant in her self-righteousness as she was, she held a certain measure of decisiveness at times that he lacked. Though he would never consciously admit it, knowing that the paladin was backing him was his only stabilising element of recent times.

He pulled several pages from the back of the packet and put them together to form another sheaf of papers that was considerably thinner than the one that lay next to him, and passed it to her. A small sigh, Roen's voice softened. "Well, still. You seem a little more relaxed than usual." She arched a brow at the papers and settled to a seat next to him. "What is this?"

Nero made a sweeping gesture towards the fireplace. "The plan outline for the reconstruction of Ul'dah."

At that, she arched both brows. "Reconstruction?"

His smirk returned. "Well, go ahead and read it." Roen nodded slowly and picked up the packet to read over the documents.

The plan itself was detailed in several short, succinct bullet points accompanying a rough timeline of events. It was a to-the-point, but still extensive summary of what would happen to Ul'dah after the Monetarist power base had collapsed. Though he'd composed it as little more than a distraction, Nero still felt some small measure of pride in its thoroughness. It detailed how to integrate the poor and destitute into society with a livable wage, how to handle the aristocracy, how to reorganise the Brass Blades and the Sultansworn, and a veritable litany of legislative suggestions ranging from new government bureaus to financial regulatory laws. Also mentioned was the participation of various Limsa Lominsan companies in the reconstruction and on the last page was a theoretical bill of citizenship rights.

Roen set the sheaf of papers back upon her lap, a considerably softer and more relaxed expression on her face. "You drafted...all of this?" she asked with a mild hint of incredulity.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not really trying to destroy Ul'dah," Nero responded with a wry smile as he gestured for her to continue reading. The smile the paladin gave him was a small but genuine one. "Aye. Contrary to popular belief," she echoed. Her voice dipped at the end.

Upon completing her inspection of the last sheet, she lifted it closer to her eyes, staring at the words before letting out a long exhale.

Nero patted the much thicker stack of papers next to him as he noticed her eyes reach the bottom of the page. "You're reading the short version of this."

"That is....quite the plan," Roen finally said after a long pause. She was trying to take it all in, passing a glance between the taller stack next to him and the man himself.

The smuggler flashed a confident, crooked grin. "Why not give me a quick test, then? Try to think of one thing I haven't thought of in this plan." Not that there was any point. An intellectual exercise, he continually reminded himself. Still, this diversion was proving effective from distracting him from everything else that had happened.

Roen shook her head slightly although her expression was brighter than it had been when she had first sat down. "The logistics of it all...I am still trying to believe that it canwork, but the ideas here..." she tapped the sheaf of papers as she laid it back down upon her life.

"Well," the paladin canted her head in thought. "You are allocating the poor to the repair and reconstruction efforts. What of those whose homes and businesses are affected by the shift in power? Can they take part? They too will be left without a home, or a source of income."

Nero frowned. "Ah. I know what you mean, but the proposed employment is not exclusive to the poor or the refugees. Of course, the government should properly compensate those negatively affected and be permitted to participate should they choose." He sighed, rubbing his head in contemplation. "I realise that for some, the collateral damage will be irreparable, whether it be buildings, goods, or people. Still, this is the decision that will benefit Ul'dah as a whole and secure her future."

Did he really believe that any more? "You ordered their deaths. All of their deaths. With a pen, you murdered more people in a day than your father did in two entire decades of piracy with a galleon." All of that...was for the greater result in the end, that would benefit the most people. But did he believe that?

"Those who had nothing, given a chance at comfort and security, they will take it up gladly. Those who had homes and businesses will want recompense." Roen exhaled, a small crease to her brows. "And aye, some losses cannot be replaced." She glanced back down at the papers again. "I fear there may not be enough wealth to make all of this possible." She paused as she glanced back at Nero. "Do you think there will be enough? Not just to repair, but build, employ, pay. You are also offering to give new entrepreneurs supplies to sell at a discounted rate."

"True," the smuggler said sighing again. "It'll be problematic for us if the Monetarists end up being much less affluent than I had initially projected. In that case, it would likely require selling assets such as mineral rights or trade routes, since the wealth of the Syndicate is in goods as well as coin. But even so," he leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Can you honestly look at all of those nobles and think that there's not enough money in the city?"

Roen glanced at the papers on her lap again. "People of Ul'dah will have to accept this new regime. After the Syndicate falls, they will have to find faith in the new government." She paused in thought for a moment. "We are making Ul'dah very vulnerable. As all things are when it is made to change. We need to see that the new influence that is allowed is still somewhat controlled. I would not replace Monetarists with Limsan nobles."

Nero snorted. "Limsan nobles? Have you been to Limsa Lominsa? That is not exactly the kind of environment that lends itself well to people like Taeros, you know."

"Just so, you are also putting a lot of faith in the Sultana to accept this plan."

The smuggler leaned his head against his fist. "It is rare of you to be more cynical than I am". And rather refreshing. "Though, I will not discount your point. The Sultana may very well be completely and utterly incompetent as a leader. In any case, Roen, bear in mind that this plan has never been about politics. I know it seems that way--considering a central element consists of deposing the current government for a new one--but that is only because removing the current government from power is the only way to ensure the birth of a new system that will provide for all of its people."

Roen nodded, her expression softening again. "Aye. But for this plan to work, we must have some ideas about the rulership that will be left in place. It is they who will maintain that new system. I do think that the Sultana and Raubahn are capable leaders, but they must accept this plan first." She exhaled and gave a small frown. "Do you blame me for being hesitant about allowing Limsan influence to leak into Ul'dah?"

"Limsa Lominsa may be full of rogues and scoundrels, and yes, Merlwyb is an iron-fisted tyrant, but they are not the wolves you think they are," Nero said confidently. "Limsa Lominsa will not threaten Ul'dah's sovereignty, so long as that sovereignty--or the lack thereof--doesn't threaten Limsa's own."

"I believe Ul'dah will be too busy licking its own wounds."

"Which is exactly why Limsa won't be a threat."

The frown evaporated from the paladin's face. "As you say. I will leave the details of the Limsan merchants in your hands."

Nero sighed again. "In any case, there is not much point to counting the chickens before they hatch. Before we can even seriously consider this, we need to change the power structure."

Roen nodded as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages. "About that. I suspect their hunt for you will intensify soon."

Nero sighed, standing up to stare at the fire as he scratched the back of his neck. "Yoyorano, is it? I heard that word of what happened at their estate leaked its way to the nobility. Of ocurse, very few know why they died, but a few more know only that they did."

Roen's tone lowered as her mood did, her thoughts returning to the conversation with Coatleque, and she nodded again. "Aye."

The smuggler remained silent for a very long time, what felt like hours, his mind gaining a sudden and inexplicable measure of clarity. He exhaled slowly, his arms folded and his gaze fixed solely on the fireplace.

"I have a question for you, Roen," he spoke suddenly. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "What is the worth of a life? Can one life be worth more than another?"

The paladin looked to the fire that crackled in front of them. She had no immediate answer.

"There is a reason I ask. Would you like to know it?"

"Aye."

Nero exhaled. "Ever since the nobility heard about it, I've only heard one phrase. 'Why the women and children?' That is all I have ever heard." He shifted from one leg to the other, noting the tiniest of sparks that would flicker as the embers danced on the firewood. "'Who would kill the women and children?' 'What monster does not spare the women and children?' The women and children, the women and children..."

Memories flashed to the forefront of his mind. Incoherent fragments, like sparks leaping from an open flame before vanishing beneath the invisible pressure of air. Like a firework, a brief second of colour and light was all that was needed to have an effect.

Roen gave him a strange look as he grew silent. He sat back down on the chair, leaning forward, his hands clasped together, the knuckles growing a pallid white as he grip intensified, his fingers straining against one another.

There is no difference between an evil man and a good man who allows evil to happen.

A cloud of emotions darkened the expression on his face as he spoke. "I never knew my mother." Roen blinked. "I never knew who gave birth to me. I never knew, and will never know what named she had intended to grant me." Nero inhaled and exhaled softly, in a controlled manner. "But even as a child, I did have...a sort of mother-figure. The men called her Ember, and she'd been reduced to prostituting herself to survive, but her real name was Fiora. She was from Ala Mhigo."

He inhaled and exhaled again, almost mechanically so. "I must have been...maybe eight years old." Nero's voice wavered. "And even though she made no money, though most of her day was spent bedding men who had coin, she still managed to show me some kindness, some affection, a hint of what I may have missed from not knowing my real mother."

"This is one line we cannot cross with you, Nero."

"And that city...repaid her by having some bandit try to drag her into an alley, and her neck being broken against a wall."

"We kill...but not innocent women, and not innocent children."

His chest was trembling, trying to keep his breathing controlled, the memory of the incident bringing forth something furious, something that seethed and boiled. The blood had drained from his hands, and his wrists were trembling as they sought to contain one another.

"Ye be killin' women and children. We ain't bein' part o' that."

"What..." he inhaled and exhaled again. "What right to they have..to judge me?"

"To kill families? Children? Simply because they share a bloodline to one noble? That was your plan?"

"What right do they have to judge me, when their precious women and children starve at their doorstep?" His fingernails dug into his hands, not enough to draw blood, but leaving visible, red indents.

"'The women and children'. 'Whoever did it killed women and children.'" His hands writhed in each other's grip, as if trying to prevent each other from tearing the other one straight off of his wrist. "Is it because they had money? Is that it? Is that why they're worth lamenting? Because they had status? What separates them from us? What makes some pampered brat dying in his estate worth more than the packs of urchins being ignored as they're left to rot?"

Roen was silent, her voice just above a whisper. "I cannot imagine the anger that must have burned in your heart."

Nero either didn't hear her or didn't acknowledge her statement. "Women and children, women and children..." He was repeating the phrase now like a mantra that would preserve his sanity. "Why won't anyone think of the women and children..."

There is no difference between an evil man and a good man who allows evil to happen.

"It is not that they hold the women and children of Yoyorano with any more import," Roen began quietly, carefully. "Harm coming to such innocents and often weak, it stirs rage. It screams of injustice. The same rage you felt against the man who killed Fiora. They...did not want to see you in the same light." A pause. "I...do not want to see you in the same light."

"Injustice...they fight against injustice, then..?" His tone was flat, neutral, questioning without being condescending.

"My brother. My friends. They cannot abide by the thought that you would prey upon the weak. The innocent." A pause fell between them as Roen looked at him questioningly. "You do feel remose? For those lives that you have taken?"

"Remorse..." Nero repeated.

His mind was a chamber of echoes, filled with hateful shouts and quiet whispers both. No such thing as innocence. No difference. Good man who allows evil to happen. Injustice. Remorse. Women. Children.

"What shall you do when faced with an evil you cannot defeat through just means? Will you commit an injustice to correct one? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that means surrendering to injustice?"

Daegsatz died alone, in a gaol. His crew abandoned him, abhorring the thought of the harm that had fallen on women and children. There were no allies. None who saw. None who tried.

"The lives I have taken..." Nero said slowly, his thoughts ceasing to become comprehensible even to himself. "I mourn them. I shed tears for them. But I do not regret taking them. I wish that I did not have to kill. I am stifled by the grief that is felt for them." His hands tightened again.

"But no, I do not regret taking them. Because this is a war, and war is cruelty. And the crueler a war is, the sooner it's over." Those were Vail's words, words of a veteran of Garlemald's first invasion of Eorzea.Â

Roen turned her gaze away from him, forcing her gaze back into the fire as she was trying to hide a frown. "They fear you would do it again. Kill more children. And women. The helpless. The weak. The innocents. Would you?"

Inhale. Exhale. Controlling one's breathing was essential to controlling one's emotions. The more rapidly one took in breath, the more heated and emotional one would be. Instead of focusing on feelings, one should focus precisely on controlling their lungs. "For every child I kill, there are fifty souls buried in the depths of Ul'dah, unable to comprehend why they cannot obtain food." Inhale. Exhale. "For every woman I killed, there are a hundred forced into whoring themselves to survive. Forced to become playthings for men who are richer, men who are more important, but not men who are better." Inhale. Exhale. "For every helpless man I killed, there are five hundred with no option but to go into banditry and murder, driven by absolute poverty and destitution to preserve themselves." Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"And for all of those souls suffering within it, the city does nothing....but watch."

Inhale.

Exhale.

"There is no such thing as innocence. Not there. Not in Ul'dah."Â

inhale

exhale

no differenceÂ

Inhale.Â

between an evil manÂ

Exhale.

and a good man

inhale

whoÂ allowsÂ

exhale

evil to happen

"There is no difference between those who are evil, and those who are good but do nothing."

He turned his head, practically able to hear the creaking of gears as he did so, forcing his steely gaze to bore into her face. "So yes. If it means ending the suffering of the many, I will kill the few. If it means preserving the hopes of those who are ignored, I will destroy the dreams of those who aren't. Kill one to save ten. Ten to save one hundred. One hundred to save one thousand. I believe all lives are equal, and all lives have value. Therefore, for the scorned many, I will kill, even torture, the affluent few. If I have to."

Roen's head snapped back at him. "To those that died, they care not whether they were killed by an evil man or a man with good intentions. Only that their lives were ended." She stiffened. "Tell me, Nero. Tell me that there are no more plans to kill innocents."

His gaze became a glare, though Nero was visibly attempting to suppress it. His expression was one of frustration as he turned away, staring balefully at the flames that reflected the incoherent inferno swirling beneath his eyes.

Roen's own gaze lowered back to the sheaf of papers on her lap, as she carefully set it on the table. "We do this often, do we not?" she said quietly.

He said nothing in response for a long time, slumping back on to his seat, his head in his hands. To be born wealthy. That was all he had wanted for a long, long time. It would mean never being hungry, never fearing the chill of night, never wanting. But fate has never been kind to one who has erred so much.

"I believe in this dream. And I believe in you. I believe in the hope that I know you still hold deep within."

Silence.

A thought rang like a bell.

No, you do not.

And now the woman who claimed to support him was now opposing him at every turn.

Was she?

Was he?

"You are merely using her."

Was he?

"And I've yet to decide which is more despicable: the idea that you are using her without being aware of it, or the idea that you are fully aware and simply do not want to admit it."

Nero leaned his head in his hand, one clasped to the left side of his face. For the first time since Daegsatz, a sliver of a stream escaped from beneath his hand. Was he truly so deplorable? So worth abhorring? All I wanted was for things to be better. But was that not the excuse that every tyrant and despot used? All I wanted was for things to change. What separated a well-intentioned revolution and a vengeful rebellion? All I wanted was for others like me to hope. What purpose was there in climbing to the heights of hope, if it meant naught but tumbling off of the cliffs of despair?

"Why don't..." he breathed, his voice wavering, shaking. "Why don't they just drown us as infants? Why give us those illusions of hope if not to torture us?" His chest heaved as again he focused on controlling his breathing, though he was gradually growing aware of that control slipping through his fingers.

"If all that matters is the 'how'...then that means I can change nothing? What possible chance could I have had of saving Ul'dah?"

"Bright, pure, innocent hope," Roen said softly. "I was told that is what was hidden behind all the rage. The anger." She reached over to brush the moisture from his cheek. "I believe in that hope."

The smuggler barked a bitter, scornful laugh, even as he held his head in his hands. "You believe in it. Hah....ahaha...what does that even mean, you believe? You cannot grant that belief to others. You cannot force them to see your delusions. You...you..."Â

Inhale.

Pause.

Exhale.

Focus on control.

Breathing.

"Try as you might, there is no peace to be had, no hope to be gained. No answers to these questions." He slowly managed to raise his head from his hands.

"If there were answers, none of us would be struggling so much. And we do. Every day."

"And that justifies it?" Nero snapped.

"I...do not know," the paladin responded quietly, looking back at the flames. "But the 'how' matters just as much as the end. Because I believe that how it is carved determines the shape the end will take. Hope is only an illusion until it is made real. Until then, it is an intangible thing."

It was something small, so infinitesimally small that clicked. All of this talk of "hope" and "believing". It pulled a trigger of explosions. In that instant, he wanted to scream at her. You have no idea what you are even saying any more, do you!? Every time she opened her mouth, it was nothing but utter nonsense, metaphysical and meaningless, idealistic garbage. "Believe" in "hope". You're satisfied with that, just believing in it? From the corner of his eye he stared at her face. Always so pure, always so self-righteous, always so arrogant. It made him nauseous....and angry. So, so very angry.Â

He stood up again, staggering towards the fireplace, holding out one arm to lean against the mantle as he stared directly into the flames licking the last of the firewood. "So...that's it then."

The more he thought about it, the more he made sense.

Believing in hope.Â

What a farce.

What a worthless idea.

"That's it. That is all I need to do."

Inhale.

"All I need to do...is stare those tormented souls in the eye."

Exhale.

"And tell them...'your suffering is noble as long as you believe in hope.'"

a good man

"I will proclaim in all of my righteousness, 'your pain will sustain my ideals if you believe in hope."

an evil man

"I will look at them and say, 'I know how to save you.'"

Kill one to save ten.

"And they will reach for me as their savior..."

Kill ten to save one hundred.

"And I will slap their hands away."

is life equal?

"I will tell them, 'but saving you like this is not the right way.'"

What makes one life worth more than another?

"So I will command them. To suffer, and starve, and despair until their graves, for my ideals."

Strangely enough, a memory of one of their many, many arguments floated to his mind. It was after their raid on Nanawa Mines.

"Why do you fight, Roen? What do you consider worth killing for? At what point will you commit evil to destroy it? Or will you spend your whole life in the twilight, surrendering to injustice after injustice, paralyzed by your ideals and your conscience, despite the power you wield to change things?"

That was what he had asked.

"I do not believe that. I do not believe I have to compromise justice to fight injustice."

That was what she had answered.

I see your truth now, Roen Deneith.

In that moment, Nero understood. If there was truly no difference between one who was evil, and one who was good but did nothing...then what soul could be more selfish, more wicked than that of the paladin who claimed to support him? He could see it now, what she was trying to say. Allow those souls to suffer for ideals. Ignore their torment, deny them succor, so long as the 'how' was correct. In all of this time, Nero Lazarov was determined to believe that he would never understand such self-righteous people, and they would never understand him, but in that fleeting, brilliant moment...he saw what he could only describe as their truth.

What was the difference?

Between one who was evil.

And one who was good but did nothing.

Roen frowned, looking at him again, her expression darkening. "Am I not here? For all that I believe in, for all the people I wish to protect, am I still not here? Do you think I wish the suffering to continue? For people to continue to starve? Waste away?"

He remained quiet.

I see you now.

Nero turned away.

"Yes," he affirmed softly. "I do believe that."

The paladin's lips twisted downward, her grip on the chair tightening. "You know me not at all then, Nero Lazarov. After everything, after all that I hid from...everyone that trusted me, turning my back on friends and family to protect you, after you have killed women and children."Â

Women and children.

"Ye be killin' women and children."

"To kill families? Children?"

Why do they not see?

Inhale.

It is either because they cannot...

Exhale.

Or they will not.

"I do not expect you to understand," Nero cut her off, his voice steely. "Given how self-centered you are."

She froze. "Self-centered. Now you are calling me--"

I can see your truth. "You are a slave to your ideals. To your conscience."Â I can understand now. "It doesn't matter how many are dying, or starving, or suffering."Â Kill one to save ten. "As long as your ideals are pure and your conscience clean..." Kill ten to save one hundred. "...you are perfectly content to allow that pain to continue." Â Nero leaned both of his hands against the mantlepiece. Though she couldn't see it, his expression was one of smug depravity.

"If I am not wrong, then tell me how your righteousness and your nobility will save Ul'dah." He did not allow her time to object. "You can't, can you? Because doing so would mean breaking your ideals, staining your conscience. And you can't have that. You will leave them alone in their torment and despair, forever, so long as it means your precious ideals are intact." He sneered at the stonework. "You won't even try."

Roen buried her face in her hands as if to hide the expression that twisted her expression. She shook her head and she punched her cushion of her seat. "I have asked people, good people, to risk their lives to spy and spread lies, to weaken your enemies. Did you know that Mister North delivered poisoned wine to his friend who worked for a noble that Taeros was targeting? And Taeros ordered him to deliver the poison. He did it, because I asked him to go work for him, so he can start insinuating himself into that society. Why? Because I was trying to destabilize their alliances. For him to spy on a noble that was out for your blood. So he delivered poison, knowing very well that his friend would be made to taste it. Then the noble drank it. They both died."

So that's what you've resorted to. Laughable anecdotes to defend your selfishness, because you have no defense. You know I'm right. She was no longer even attempting to argue his point. She herself had never had to break her ideals. Even now, she was having other people break theirs for her sake. And so, like she always did, she would lecture, condemn, damn them, because they--he--was able to do what she could not. He was able to succeed where she could not.

That was it. That must have been it. Roen was jealous. She was jealous of his lack of fetters. He was not so devoted to something as hollow and worthless as ideals. He could obtain the results he wanted, and improve the lives of those around him, and she didn't want that. Because that would mean that she was no longer the savior, the people's beloved knight. And she couldn't have that. She wanted his dream to come true, but in her way. That was all that mattered to her. She was using him to get what she wanted without having to get her own hands dirty, her own conscience stained.

The only condition for victory is to be able to do what your opponent isn't.

"And now? Sergeant Melkire tells me there will be even more Monetarist blood. I told him to trust you. That you had Ul'dah's best interest at heart. The man who swore he would not cut, is sharpening his knife. Why? Because I believed in your dream. Despite my ideals. Despite what is right. Despite the fact that you killed women and children, I came back to you. Do you think my conscience still remains unstained?"

"Women and children..." That was always what it came down to. "Women and children, women and children!" Nero was suddenly shouting now. He raised his right fist and brought it smashing down onto the stonework of the mantlepiece, a sickening crack heard as his knuckle split open and rivulets of blood flowed from his hand. He did not even register the pain.

"Yes! Women and children!" Roen shouted back, rising herself. "Because even with everything, there is still a line!" Her breaths were coming in short gasps as she glared at him.

Nero whipped around. He was so close, so close to wrapping his broken fingers around her neck, so close to crushing that pretty, self-righteous little neck of hers. The smuggler resisted, but only barely.

"Don't you dare," he gasped in fury, drawing himself up to his full height, his hands closing into fists even as blood seeped from the hint of exposed knuckle. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare lecture me, you arrogant, ungratefulÂ bitch! You, who've never had to experience that kind of guilt, that kind of hardship! You've never had to sacrifice! You've always had other people, people like me, people like your brother, people like North, who have always shielded you from the truths you refuse to learn! People who have always broken themselves, their ideals, their conscience, for your sake!"

He would make her understand. He would make her understand, and if understanding broke her, then so be it.

"You, who are content to let hundreds of your precious women and children suffer, just to save your own conscience! Just because...." his breathing grew heavy, his hand numb. "Just because you're afraid. Because you're so afraid of guilt. That's why. You're afraid, so terrified of responsibility! You're unwilling to become the evils that are necessary, even if that means saving them and their future generations! And when push comes to shove, you just sit back and condemn those who are willing to do what is necessary!"

"Content!? You think I am...I am not content!" Roen's voice and her emotion were rising to meet his. "I have those nightmares! Of those killed and those still dying!" Her voice broke. "You say my ideals mean more than those lives? If I was saving my own conscience, I would have stayed far away from you. Why...why do think I keep...I keep coming back here? To you? Despite this twisting pain that grows inside? This dread, this pit in my stomachâ€¦ It is because I want to stop the suffering that I am still here!"

The difference between one who was evil, and one who was good and did nothing. There was a difference, and the difference was that the one who was evil never felt the need to lie to himself about what he was doing. He never felt the need to console himself, because time spent wallowing in self-pity was time that could be spent obtaining results.

She had ceased listening to him. Of course she did. She wasn't even going to try to argue his point. All she was doing was trying to start some emotional pity party with herself as the center. What an incredible hypocrite. To claim that all she wanted was to stop suffering, while allowing it to continue all the same.

"I've considered everything. Tried everything." He staggered back, his voice growing hoarse from shouting. "I don't want to kill! But this is the only way that is left, the only option remaining!" He paused to catch his breath, taking in air in gulps, a sharp contrast to the overly controlled breathing he had exercised before. "I wanted to believe...for so long, I wanted to believe that there was a way to save everyone without killing anyone! But your righteousness cannot save anyone, much less everyone!"

â€œYou said that you hoped for so long that there was a way to save everyone. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I still believe it so?! You said you thought of every possibility, you exhausted every option to come to believe that you had to kill. Well I have not come to that! I do not want to believe it! I have only your word that all the options have been considered! That only killing is left! That it is the only way to save them!â€

"You may not have come to that, but I have!" Nero roared. "I know it is the only way because I have tried everything else, with every onze of my being and every drop of my blood! And because you have never been forced into that corner, never been reduced to that level, you will never understand. You never did! You could never see that some death is necessary. Your precious conscience prevents you from seeing even that! It's not possible to save everyone, Roen, and if we try, then all that will mean is that the ones we could save will continue to be forced to endure that much more hardship!" His fists tightened. "If I can save them from their despair by killing..then I will kill! I'll kill as many as I have to!"

"Stop saying that." Roen's determination seemed to waver somewhat before his eyes, even as it rose to match his. "Stop throwing your conscience, your ideals away! Don't you see that the easier that act becomes, the more your dream turns to ash? Do you truly fail to see how much more suffering your bloodshed will create!?"

"Then why don't you tell me what to do!? You have always insisted on your own righteousness! How will your exclusive justice save Ul'dah!?"

"I cannot tell you because I do not know! If I knew, I would have done it by now! I would have shouted it from the top of my lungs! All I know is, I am trying the best I can to help you without more killings! There has to be a way.â€

Nero weakened, feeling the pain from his right hand begin to register in his mind. He staggered backwards, leaning heavily against the stonework of the fireplace. "That's what you always say," he muttered, exasperated, exhausted, still a hint of fury in his tired voice. "That's what you always say. That there has to be a way. By who's word does there have to be the perfect way?" He laughed bitterly. "The Twelve's? If they're here, they've abandoned us long ago. Crawling around in that cesspool of a city. Gods and hope were always sold out whenever I went looking. But no, you and your damning, idiotic faith! There has to be a way!" He leaned backwards heavily. "And you, and others like you, you'll scramble around looking for the right way, refusing to see the dirty but surefire option standing before you. You'll leave the problem alone for months, years, decades, all for some hollow notion of there being a right way!"

The desperate man raised his pained and bloodied hand, pointing at her. "Have you ever considered that just because you demand that there be a way, doesn't mean there is? This is a cruel world! You know what they call people like you, people always insisting that there has to be a way? Deluded fools! Naive children! Because you refuse to grow up from your image of a perfect world that always works the way you want it to!"

He slumped down against the fireplace, clutching his right hand with his left. The paladin only looked at him with her usual infuriating combination of sorrow and pity as she spoke. "I have told your line, that sacrifices must be made to bring about change, believing that those losses would come from those involved in this political war. I have told those lines to many, and they have all looked upon me with horror. Dread. And only few still stand by me, even if in silence protest. The rest, they believe I have discarded my ideals and beliefs. For you."

Nero laughed bitterly again, an expression of true, mirthful despair. "And the punchline to that joke is that you haven't. Not by a long shot."

A pained expression twisted Roen's face. "To them, I am like you. To you, I am just like them." She shook her head. "I am trying to help you, but trying to find a way to protect those I have sworn to protect."

The man only continued laughing. "Must be great, being in their shoes. Walking down a merry street, being able to just...turn a blind eye to everything. Won't you tell me, Roen?" His tone had shifted to one of anger to one of unstable, child-like wonder. "What's the difference between those who are evil, and those who are good and fail to act? They'll continue along, like that damnable knight Coatleque, who exists only for the law. She'd probably kill herself if the law said so, that stupid bint." Nero laughed again. "And that Flame Sergeant, Melkire...'think of the people', that moron would say. 'Don't kill the people, the people, the women and children!' Meanwhile, he gets to live on his life without even a passing godsdamned thought to those people in Pearl Lane."

A laugh, and he sunk down, sitting next to the last embers of the fireplace, seated on the bloodstains that the wound on his hand left on the rich carpet beneath him. "I have to be in the wrong, don't I? There's just...no way such fine, upstanding people like them would just ignore all of that, right? They have their own solution, right? One that I haven't seen. They'll fix the system, because they're good people, right?" He laughed again, a wide, cheshire-esque grin on his face.

"That has to be it, because if it's not, then really, this is pretty pointless, isn't it? Extreme poverty never really did anything to hurt anyone, after all!"

"The point..." Roen lowered herself in front of him, trying to draw out his gaze with her own. "Is that we have both crossed that line already. I have too," she whispered, a look of despair flitting across her face. "I see the suffering that you do. I see their pain. But I see your dreams too. And your hopes." She looked to his bleeding hand. "And now, I see your despair."

"Hee..hee hee!" A disturbing, infant-like giggle escaped from his lips, the Hyur's formerly sharp, ice-blue eyes now dull and glazed-over. "I...I had it wrong the whole time! That's why they abandoned me. They were...Garalt was just..waiting for me to come to my senses! But I can tell him that I understand now!"

Her eyes narrowed instantly, and she slapped him across the face. "Stop. You think no one understands you therefore you are alone in your anger. No one else sees the suffering. Just you."

The slap seemed to reinvigorate some of his senses, even as he nearly collapsed sideways on to the floor, his left hand barely arriving in time to prop his torso up. "If...heh..hee...if I'm not the only one who sees it....then why am I the only one trying to change it?" Still his voice held that dissonantly reverent tone, like a young boy asking why the sky was blue. "If I'm...if I am not the only one trying to change it, then why has nothing changed? Heh...heh...and if nothing has changed...if the efforts of all of those good, honest, law-abiding people adds up to nothing..then really, why bother?"

That slap seemed to deflate Roen's own flash of anger and she sat back onto her legs. "Because if no one tries, then truly nothing will ever change."

Nero, in his daze, either did not hear her or did not care. "But...oh, I think I get it! I just have to wait, right?"

The paladin shook her head. "You have to be strong."

"That's...that's the solution," the man continued idly. "If I just wait...then all of the good people will change things the right way. Maybe it'll take a year. Maybe ten! Maybe even a hundred! But sooner or later things will..change for the better!" He shifted so that his body leaned right instead of left. "I can't...take the shortcut. That's the bad way. But because they are good people, they are always trying to change things in the good way!" He let out another pained laugh, propping himself up with his back resting firmly on the stone of the fireplace. The blood on his right hand seemed to clot enough to stem the bleeding, and he did not seem to acknowledge the still-hot air that emerged from the last of the fireplace's embers.

Her nostrils flared again as his mocking words returned. She maintained control over her own tone. "You are not all bad. And they are not all right. I am just...desperately...trying to find a middle ground." Her head falls forward, she sounded more weary than ever before.

"Why not just...go get your friends back, huh?" Nero asked lazily. "Just go tell them that you've seen the error of my ways. Maybe even get me arrested or something for all of that atonement malarkey you lot are all so fond of."

That brought her to glare at him almost immediately. "Stop this. STOP THIS. That you would just assume I could wash my hands of everything now. After all that has happened. After all the--"Â

"Ooh," his face lit up, cutting her off. "You can just put me on the same cell that Daegsatz was put in, right? Then that obnoxious...what was her...ah, Natalie Mcbeef. She'll come along and do that execution thing. That'd work just dandy for me, actually. Roegadyn have this belief about dying in the same spot as your family members. Or maybe not. I don't know."

They weren't statements or sentences any more so much as it was just Nero verbally vomiting whatever came to mind. His thoughts were incomprehensible, even to himself, such that there was no rhyme or reason to his statements. He lacked control over a filter, even his tone. If he was mocking Roen, he did not seem to know it.

"Ooooh," the broken man said, imitating a ghost. "Don't touch the innocents, the women and children, the women and children! Oh, unless it's those women and children. You know, poor types that don't matter. Just leave those ones alone. If I'm not the only one who sees the failed system, then why am I the only one trying to change it? If I'm not the only one trying to change it, then why has nothing changed?"

Roen could do naught but stare at him, finally some glistening in her eyes. "You do not even see..." she whispered. "You are right," she said, bitterness lacing her words. "You are the only one. You are the only one who sees the suffering. No one else cares. Nothing has changed." She stared at her hands, now laying limp on her lap. "This has all been an enormous exercise in futility."

Nero glanced at her with the first hint of clarity he held in the past bell. "Ah, now that's what I wanted to hear."

"This is what you wanted to hear. Do you feel better now?!" She spat out those words.

"That means it's okay, right? It's...okay for women and children to die, just as long as I don't kill them. I hear starvation's on the menu...heh...get it? Menu...maybe more bandits. Brass Blades?"

"Stop. Saying that," she growled through gritted teeth.

"I'll...have to give Scythe a call...make sure he doesn't do anything rash...can't have him killing women and children, after all, right..? That Hammerbeaks business was terrible, wasn't it? I mean, he wasted an awful lot of ammunition, and Clauremont got himself killed with that silly bravado." Nero let his arms go slack as he stared intently at the top of his boot. His thoughts were in an indescribable state, like a ball of yarn that had been unraveled and raveled again too many times.

"Guns, in the hands of the bandits. In Ul'dah. All to deliver a message. To turn the blame to the Monetarists." Roen glared at him darkly. "It will not just be the blood of bandits and rivals gangs that will be spilled.Â You said it would be best if the bandits were driven out. Did you even mean that?"

"That was the intention, you know?" The man said lazily, still staring at his boot. "Ul'dah has the skilled manpower and the training to drive out all of the bandits within its walls with minimal bloodshed. Could even get some of those adventurers to help out. But they let them stay. Because the Monetarists don't care. They even profit as long as the bandits pay their fees, or they just join the Brass Blades to be cannon fodder for the Amal'jaa. So bandits are fine, the Syndicate says! Prey on many people as you like! As long as you don't ruin the upholstery." He lolled his head to one side. "The problem was never the gangs having guns. It was that gangs were permitted in the first place."

"The gangs rise out of poverty! And you just gave them ways to escalate their discontent! Their proclivity to commit violence to get what they want." The paladin sighed and hung her head. "I cannot deny that they are a problem. But to give them deadly weapons..."

"Who do you think enforces that poverty?" Nero's voice still held that dreamlike tone but had taken on a familiar sharpness. "Who do you think ensures that the poor never rise above their station? Who do you think forces crime as their only option?"

"I know. I know. You speak as if I do not understand this problem!"

"Ah, but simply cleaning them out is the wrong way to go about it. Be sure to tell your Sultansworn friends where Scythe is...so they can stop that bloodshed. And then..." He raised a hand and closed it into a fist before spreading it, in a gesture of a puff of smoke vanishing into the sky. "Someone else will come along, someone who really knows how to save that city without spilling the blood of the women and children, the women and children..."

"So I am to sit back and watch the blood flow, and keep flowing until Raubahn decides there has been enough bloodshed? And blame the Monetarists?"

"No, no, you have it all wroooong," Nero drolled. "You're supposed to stop the bloodshed, then kind of just...sit back and let the city fester in itself. Like what the Sultansworn do now. Hey, I just realised, you never really stopped being a Sultansworn! Heh! Imagine that." He waved the hand to and fro. "I'm sure the Syndicate will be deposed of another way. Maybe Garlemald will come save us all."

"Why not simply level Ul'dah to the ground. Build your machine and level it. You eliminate everything that is wrong there. Then everything can be rebuilt." Her voice was tinged with bitterness.

"No, no, that won't be necessary. No dreadnought, no burning, no nothing. That would result in innocent people dying, and I really don't want that." Nero's voice relaxed somewhat from the tense, light tone he had been using. "I really, earnestly do not want people to die."Â

A pause.

"You think I'm joking, don't you? I'm serious. I'll tell you how to stop Scythe so he won't kill innocents. I'll tell your friends about what I'm building. Truly, on my word as Vail Lazarov's son, with no sarcasm or mockery, I'll stop."

As little as one week ago, he would have thought speaking such words as absolute insanity.

Roen stared at him for a long time. "Why are you saying this?"

He exhaled, looking down at his bloodied, broken hand. "Because I think I give up," he exhaled. "Surrender. Forfeit. Let all my chocobos loose. Cash in my earnings. Cut my losses. Can't touch the women and children, the women and children..." He rubbed his head with his good hand. "I really did try. Thought about it. Consulted with a lot of very serious people with very serious jobs. And every route led me to the same conclusion: a few people dying so that the majority could live a better life. But every single person who could possibly care about Ul'dah..." another glance down to his hand. "Disagrees. So, I must be in the wrong." He chuckled helplessly. "All of this time...everything...all for naught. Still, someone will find a way to save Ul'dah. Find that precious middle ground. Maybe that someone will be you! And no, I'm not mocking you."

"Is that it? Because the rest have judged your actions to be wrong, you are now just...going to give up."

"The rest?" Nero cocked an eyebrow at the paladin. "You're part of that group, you know. Not that I blame you."

"I am the only one here who--"

"Believes in my dream? Pfffft." Nero dragged himself over to a vertical locker that stood to the right of the fireplace. With his good hand, even in his dazed state, he managed to spin the dial until a loud click was heard and the locker swung open. He dug around and pulled out the first bottle he could find, pulling out the cork with his teeth. "No you don't. Not my stupid dream. You believed in your dream, certainly. There has to be a way. But no, what you dreamed and what I dreamed were completely different. Yours is a fantasy world, see. A perfect paradise where everyone understands each other. Mine is a little bit more realistic." He spat the cork off to the side and took a long pull of the liquor, ignoring the incredible burning sensation as the liquid traveled down his throat.

Nero exhaled as he pulled the bottle away from his lips. "So which is it, Roen? Kill a few innocents to save Ul'dah, or give up and let Ul'dah save itself? Ah, don't bother answering, I know what you'll say. Results gained by contemptible means are worthless, after all, hah...hahah."

"Why is it always one or the other with you?"

The man took another short gulp from the bottle before glancing at her. "You know, you never did answer my question." A pause. "Is one life worth more than another?"

A long silence fell around them. "I swore to protect the lives of the innocent. The helpless," was the paladin's answer, it sounded recited. Roen exhaled. "But... all life is precious."

"So, no. A life is not worth more than another. All lives are equal. Good. I'm glad. I agree. But that's also bad. What a terrible dilemma we've fallen into..."

"So that is it?" Roen gestured to the pile of papers on the table. "What of that? What could be? Are you just giving up on hope?"

"Hah!" Nero scoffed, waving nonchalantly at the papers as if shooing away an annoying bird. "That was nothing. Just an exercise. The minute I put pen to paper to compose that farce of a pipe dream is the minute I surrendered. So yes, more or less, I'm giving up. Really, it makes my life much, much easier. Well, what little of it remains." He spun the bottle around in his hands. "I'm sure someone or other is coming along to collect my head. Good on them. Hope they spend that bounty well. Am I worth a lot in Ul'dah? I hope so. It'd be a little insulting if I weren't by now. After all," another pull from the bottle. "If I try to change Ul'dah, I lose. If I don't, I lose. It's a strange game. The only winning move is not to play. Oh, won't someone thinking of the women and children, the women and children..."

"You care about them too," she shot back.

"You're right. But all life is equal, so I also care about the women and children, the women and children...those who are out on the streets, you know?Â I can end the suffering of the women and children, the women and children, by killing a few of the other women and children, the women and children....really is a dilemma."

Roen eyed him oddly now. "You are a smart man. You can find a way without killing women and children."

"Hah!" Nero let out a baleful bark of a laugh. "I used to think that too. Spent nine years on those plans. Thinking. Testing. More than that, actually. Since I left Ul'dah. Ooh, must have been...maybe sixteen years now. Guess I'm not as smart as you think I am. You know, Vail once said that bullets and swords change governments more surely than words ever did. Guess the old fart was wrong. He clearly wasn't thinking of the women and children, the women and children..."

"Then tell me. Tell me why you need to, and maybe we can find a way around it. Maybe we could have find a way for you to get--" Roen paused again, her jaw set. "You keep saying that."

"Being a politician means getting assassinated." he continued idly. "Organising a protest means getting put down, or worse, the protesters stop being interested. Every single revolution has a giant, fatal flaw, a flaw that's one word long. And that flaw is people."

Another gulp from the bottle. "All it takes..to win a victory, is to be willing to do what your opponent won't. But we won't stoop to their level. So does that mean we lose? Probably. Maybe? No. Yes? Nah. Or not." He grinned easily, one of genuine, if mentally unstable, relaxation.

Roen stared at that grin. "I have no answers for you, Nero." Her shoulder sagged. "But to give up on this, after all that has happened..." She shook her head. "I cannot accept that either."

"Always the middle ground with you, eh? You'll get run down by a wagon, walking down the street like that. Must be awful crowded up on that fence you keep sitting on...."Â

"And it is always extremes with you."

The smuggler offered the bottle towards her. "What a pair, eh? Sword and shield. I think I said that once."

The look the paladin gave him was full of sadness. Even though he was telling her he would kill no more. The only thing she felt was emptiness when she should have felt some measure of joy. "A pair of fools."

"To us!" Nero proclaimed loudly before bringing the bottle to his lips.

She watched him awhile longer, her jaw set. There was a steely edge when she spoke again. "Tell me where to find Scythe."

"What're you gonna do when you find him?" Nero asked lazily, slowly spinning the bottle in his hands.

"Whether you give up or not, there are still bandits with guns in Ul'dah."

"Pfffft. Let the Sworns take care of it. I'll tell'em later. Besides, Scythe wants you dead. You are directly responsible for killing his lieutenant, you know."

Roen let out a sharp exhale.Â "Is this it then? After everything? You are just...going to give up?"

"Have to make sure..." The broken man mumbled to himself, taking another brief drink from the bottle. "The women and children, the women and children..."Â He closed the locker shut and slumped against it, taking a deep sigh.

"Fine." The paladin said as she rose. "I am going to..." She could not continue. What would she do? But this could not be it. "....find a way. Somehow."

"Maybe ask that Osric fellow, huh? Good head on his shoulders. He'll know."

"I thought...Ul'dah was your one and only love. For you to give up on it so easily..." She shook her head. "I knew you not at all, Nero Lazarov."

"Looks like...I didn't know myself at all either. Not at all. Hmph. Guess this is what could be considered a happy ending though, huh? Considering things might have gone the other way."

"Happy ending for whom..?"

Nero proffered a wide grin. "Why, the women and children, of course, the women and children. I gotta tell you, after everything that had happened, my choices were to give up, or join up with Scythe in some of the killing. Help him with the revolution. Make the people look at the Monetarists like they're supposed to." A short pause, and he snorted. "You're right. I'm nothing but extremes."

She tensed where she stood, her hand closing into a fist. "Join him. In the killing," she repeated his words grimly, as if she was trying to confirm what she heard. Roen looked at him again, as if seeing him for the first time.

"That was what I was thinking...the people had to see. Most are content with turning and looking away. Most people don't care, as long as it doesn't affect their daily lives. But then, make the problem, the Monetarists, make it affect their daily lives...cripple them with shortages. Attack them with the Monetarist's bandits. Heap more and more pressure, until their anger removes...that which was in power."

Roen shook her head. "I have been the fool," she snorted bitterly. "All this time I thought...I thought I was having some effect..." She rubbed her eyes and her deeply creased brows. "And you would kill, women and children," she said those words again, and she was starting to hate the sound of them.

"I don't want to..I never wanted to kill..."

"But you would."

He stared at the bottle in his hands. "If it meant things improving in the long run, for the future...then yes. The people had to be made to see...that the system they lived under would never provide happiness. Never provide choice. Never provide opportunity or fairness or justice or equality. I never intended to join Scythe. Not initially. But then things...changed." The broken man sighed. "As they always do."

The paladin hid eyes behind her hand as it lingered there, but her lips were twisted into a pained expression. She turned to face away, and sniffed once. She only turned back when some veil of composure was in place.Â Her eyes glistened but it had been hastily dried. She nodded with her lips pressed tightly upon each other.

"I..I never wanted to kill. I never wanted this. I just..." Nero said weakly.

"You are a foolish...desperate man," she rasped.

He snorted. "Yeah...yes, I am. I'm...exactly what Ul'dah made me into. Nothing but the sum of my parts. Not that I'm blaming anyone else."Â

Again Nero brought the bottle to his lips. "Fault's all mine. Thought I could be done what was needed for my goal...suppose I was just too weak for the task. Fed myself one too many lies. Blew away from me." His vision was beginning to darken, his body growing chilled. If this was the cold embrace of death...it wasn't that bad.

"Why. Why does that city own you so. That it destroyed your heart, blackened your soul, made you so desperate.â€

"Oh, Roen. If I told you all of my reasons, you'd end up just like me." Nero wiggled the bottle in her direction. "And I don't want that."

She fell to her knees in front of him, her eyes full of sorrow. "I thought I was here to help you share in that. This loneliness. This pain you hide behind. I thought I could take some of that away from you. That I can help you in this." She gestured to the papers on the table. "And help you find your way. But you never let me in."

"Always have to be the savior, huh?" Nero snorted derisively even as his eyes blinked unevenly. "You always have to be the good one, the one who redeems the villain. You're...obsessed with it. Your messiah complex." He blinked. "To be honest, I'm not sure I ever knew where the door was in the first place."

"And now...is this you finally crippled by your regrets?"

"No...no..." he tried to force his trademark smirk to come to the surface. What arrived was an awkward, almost frightening amalgamation of a grin, a frown, and a scowl. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, his heart weakening, the beat slowing down. Down, and down, and down.

"This is just me...without any masks." he whispered.

Roen's eyes flitted between his, as if to search for something. Then it lowered to his bloodied hand, one she took in her own. She grazed it tenderly with her fingers, her head bowed.Â She seemed to be studying it for a long time, her thumb lightly over the darkened dried blood. She then brought it up closer to her and placed a light kiss upon his wrist. "I am sorry," she whispered.

"No, I am," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She shook her head, not looking back up at him. She just whispered against his hand. "For all that I could not do. And for all that you have suffered."

He said nothing, blearily bringing the bottle back up to him and tipping it downward, not carrying about the liquid that spilled onto his shirt and chest. His arms grew limp. Nero had never been on the brink of death before. Maybe it was the liquor. It certainly felt strong, too strong to be the kind to be gulping down by the mouthful. His eyelids sunk, the strength swimming away from every part of his body.

"Guess I win this bet...Satz.." his lips managed to allow those words to escape.

And then there was darkness.

Roen · **02-05-2015, 09:05 PM**

Roen sat by the foot of the bed, her fingers laced together and her elbows propped up on the mattress. She paid no mind to the heavy rain that pelted the windows and the occasional lightning that lit the night sky. Candles flickered from the desk, their faint but stubborn flames fending off the darkness and holding steady in the paladinâ€™s vigil.

Her silhouette resembled someone in prayer as she watched the man laid in bed, her gaze on Nero as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He had fallen to unconsciousness after drinking too much and too quickly of the potent liquor that he had kept hidden in his vault. She had dragged him upstairs to his bedroom and made sure that his unconsciousness was just a product of the liquor and the exhaustion, rather than anything more fatal. As the paladin regarded the sleeping form of the pirate, she could see that his eyes had sunken in, the dark rings under them that spoke of sleepless nights, the near gaunt cheeks that betrayed the toll this all had taken on him.

And from the breakdown she had witnessed earlier that night, Roen guessed that something else must have happened. He had mentioned something about Garalt deserting himâ€¦

A long exhale escaped through her nose as she found herself frowning.

"You are a slave to your ideals. To your conscience. It doesn't matter how many are dying, or starving, or suffering. As long as your ideals are pure and your conscience cleanâ€¦you are perfectly content to allow that pain to continue."

Even now his words still twisted her insides. They had screamed at each other, neither wanting to really hear what the other had to say. He was convinced she cared not one onze for all the suffering, no matter how much she tried to tell him that she was protecting him, lying for him, involving good people, all for his--no, their--cause. It mattered not to the smuggler; it was not enough. It was as if nothing short of a willingness to kill would prove that she was willing to make sacrifices for the sake of others.

And that was what he truly wanted to hear. He wanted her to admit that evil was necessary to fight evil--the tenet that had driven all of his actions. But she could not utter those words. Instead, all the doubts that she had harbored, the regrets that festered inside for so many moons since the Yoyorano incident, it all came spilling forth.

Nero had been so angry, fury blazing in his eyes as he roared at her in indignation. It was as if she too had betrayed him--judged him--when he deemed her unworthy of such an act. But there was something else there too: desperation. A fervent need for her to understand and to justify the sacrifice of his conscience to save people.

"I need to know that you will stand by me. I need to know that I am not wrong to pursue this path. I need to know that--that this dream we share, of changing Ul'dahâ€¦I need to know that it is something worth believing in.â€

He had asked her that, so many moons ago on that pier, when he promised to be a better man.

Only now, Roen realized it was all a lie, whether intentional or not. Nero was still fully willing to commit more murders. To kill more people in order to draw attention to the Monetarists. And when she pressed him further, he admitted he would kill innocents as well, the one thing that she could not abide by. Even with all of the violence that he had wrought, she thought he would never cross that line again. But he confessed that he would. He would kill more women and children if it meant saving so many more.

How could he be so willing to cause the very suffering he was trying to endâ€¦?

â€œYou've never had to sacrifice! You've always had other people, people like me, people like your brother, people like North, who have always shielded you from the truths you refuse to learn! People who have always broken themselves, their ideals, their conscience, for your sake!â€

Those words still echoed painfully in her head. Roen unclasped her hands, fingers digging into her hair by her temples. Her eyes were shut in fervent denial of the pirateâ€™s angry accusations. But another voice joined him in her memory, a cold mocking voice of a Miqoâ€™te she once called mentor and friend.

"Whatever you suffered, you still came out of it with your ideals and your precious virtue unscathed. Some of us were not so fortunate. Some of us had to bend. Some of us had to shed whatever righteousness we had left, all to do what was necessary. Some of us had to make deals with the devil for you. So donâ€™t you dare cast your judgement upon me.â€

Those were Natalieâ€™s words. Roen had not listened to her then, she was furious at Natalieâ€™s wrongful execution of Daegsatz. But nowâ€¦now when Nero was accusing her of the sameâ€¦

Did she allow others to make sacrifices while she held her own ideals behind a protective wall of indecision? Did she hold them more important than saving people? Were they not the same?

Just what was she willing to do to end the suffering of others?

"You're so afraid of guilt, so terrified of responsibility! You're unwilling to become the evils that are necessary, even if that means saving them and their future generations! And when push comes to shove, you just sit back and condemn those who are willing to do what is necessary!"

Did she see Nero as a necessary evil when she first accepted entering into an alliance with the man? He promised her then that he would not have her spilling blood for him, but that they would work together for the betterment of Ulâ€™dah. She had accepted that. Was she reassured that she would never have to commit wrongs for the right cause?

That had been their struggle all along. She wanted to convince Nero that there was a right way. That even in reaching for that impossible dream, to vanquish the corruption in Ulâ€™dah, he did not need to resort to the same methods as his enemies. He promised her that the Syndicate ships he raided, he would always offer them an option to surrender without losing their lives. That regular merchants and sailors need not die for the sake of who they worked for. In turn, she did what she could to destabilize the alliances between Monetarist families, and weaken the power of his enemies. All without needless killings.

But after the massacre of the Yoyorano family, Nero was partnering up with Scythe and supplying his gang with guns; he had planned for much more violence down the road. And he did not care if innocent deaths were part of the collateral damage. No, she reminded herself harshly, he does care, he does not truly want it. Only...

He saw this as the only way. And she could not accept that. There had to be another way.

"Have you ever considered that just because you demand that there be a way, doesn't mean there is?"

Roen shook her head, as if to deny the very thought. How could he have thought of and tried everything? It was impossible. And yet, cycle after cycle, he was hoping and looking for a way to oust the Monetarists without loss of innocent lives. And he had come up empty.

If she came to the same realization, would she choose the same path he did?

A crack of thunder rumbled against the window to break her from her dark trance. Roen straightened in her seat and leaned back against her chair, looking to the prone figure in front of her as she tried to fight the weight of hopelessness that pressed against her chest.

What now? She had tried and hoped so desperately to save Nero. To show him the right way. But she too had compromised, forgiven and accepted deeds she would never have done so before, to try and save both him and Ulâ€™dah. And now he laid in front of her defeated and broken. Ulâ€™dah was stillâ€¦Ulâ€™dah. What would she do? Had she failed as well?

â€œWhy did you ask me on that harbor?â€ She had asked him many suns ago, when she felt so alone in this cause. â€œWhy did you ask me if you had more than my trust? Why did you ask me for my heart? I had already told you I believed in your dream. That I would see it through to its end."

"Because I was tired of being alone. I was tired of being the only one who saw that city for what it was. I was tired of being the only one trying to change it. That is why I asked. Even if we disagreed on how it should be done, at least you understood. Even if you found my methods repulsive, you would at least see how they worked towards my--our--goal."

"So it is a shared dream," she told him softly, "and a shared loneliness that bind us."

She had paused for a long moment before she asked again, "So what...are we?"

"A dubious pair of fools."

Indeed, a pair of fools they both had been. Nero made himself believe that the evils he committed for the sake of everyone else would be understood and justified in the end. He believed he could live with himself and with the decisions he had made, the lives he had taken.

And she believed she could save him, and that a wealthy and corrupt power like the Monetarists could be toppled from their gilded thrones without undue violence. That somehow, justice would prevail this time when in truth, for cycles it had turned a blind eye while greed and exploitation prospered.

Now what...?

Would she still see this plan through to its end? Even when Nero has given up? She had involved too many. Sergeant Melkire had warned her that he was going after Taeros in earnest. That he would cut, perhaps more than once. Coatleque and Gharen had already suffered in their own way, because they felt that they needed to get involved for her sake. Gideon had already risked his life in infiltrating the Monetarists society and spreading just enough lies while gathering information; he was determined to continue in his course for her benefit. Or perhaps his.

Roen knew she could not stop now. Things were set in motion; Nero had armed bandits within Ulâ€™dah with guns and had primed them for more violence. She had to see them stopped, and perhaps even see the rest through, even without Neroâ€™s help.

Suddenly the air around her seemed to grow heavier in its weight as it pressed down upon her. Her weariness was palpable and suffocating. She folded her arms and laid her head upon them, closing her eyes as faint light of the candles was eclipsed by the angry flashes of lightning outside.

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