Stillness

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

((A distant relative of this thread and this one, and takes place directly after this.))

 

Annunu's treatment changed drastically once she was in the hands of Rosewater's security men, as she knew it would. In the custody of the Brass Blades to whom she'd surrendered herself, she had been treated quite courteously, even deferentially - after all, she was an Ul'dahn elite, one that might be paying them down the road, and the rules for the rich were patently different from those of commoners. She'd been kept under guard in a comfortable room alone - a far cry from Ul'dah's usual jail cells - and fed regularly and amply, given free access to pen and ink for letters, and even been given a consultation with a barrister. All in all, it had gone exactly as she had hoped and planned - up until the moment she was about to be led out to the magistrate's bench for sentencing, and a Sultansworn attached the heavy chains around her wrists and ankles.

 

From the first touch of the cold metal on her skin, An knew the situation had changed - her trial had not managed to escape Rosewater's notice, as she had hoped it would. Chaining a Lalafell maiden of high society who had turned herself in of her own volition for a non-violent crime, and who had not been chained for the previous parts of the trial, was an outrage - and undoubtedly was a tactic and a message. To the world, it was a sign of An's humiliation and defeat, and An wept in the courtroom accordingly, a public show of her grief, her disgrace, her conquering by the law of the sultanate, such as that law was. She gave Rosewater his victory - because the other message the chains were intended to send was for An alone. That she could not expect the genteel treatment she had been receiving up until this point from him and his men. She was a criminal, and a dangerous one at that, and Rosewater was beginning the process of breaking her.

 

So it did not particularly surprise An when she awoke, groggy and with the telltale medicinal taste in her mouth that spoke of drugs, still chained and nearly completely immobilized, in a completely dark room. It smelled faintly of dirt and perhaps blood, and the feel of air on her face was chill and dank. Sensory deprivation, she noted detachedly, wiggling feet and hands as best as her bonds would allow. A common first volley to breaking someone. Some had been broken with little more than this - darkness and silence and solitude and immobilization for days, likely accompanied with little food or water and the joys of wallowing in one's own filth. Or it could be the prelude to more serious efforts.

 

In her limited prior interactions with the man, Rosewater had struck her as a very patient, cunning, and talented man, who hid all of those traits beneath the veneer of a casually venal, lazy, and sloppy Hyur of questionable allegiances. An had secured Chuta's release from Rosewater's clutches half a year prior through her connections in Ul'dahn society - but she'd suspected at the time it was because Rosewater either had realized he would not get what he wanted from Chuta, or already had.

 

So the question facing An was: what did Rosewater want from her? The answer to that question would dictate both whether An could expect mere imprisonment, torture, or possibly death, and her own countermeasures. She surprised herself as a faint rattling sound drew her attention to her own trembling; she attempted to calm her muscles, to force herself back into clearheaded stillness, but her body rebelled. Fear gnawed at the edges of her consciousness in a way it never had before. That was entirely unexpected. She'd faced death many times before without being unmanned by fear. To be afraid was to give Rosewater exactly what he wanted!

 

Was it because this time... she actually had something to lose?

 

She forced quiet back to her mind, and her tremors eased. If Rosewater had wanted her dead, she thought detachedly, he probably wouldn't have permitted a trial in the first place, especially with such sensationalistic coverage. She'd seen reporters for no less than three society rags in the courtroom, smug and scribbling. Coverage got the public interested, invested. Killings - as An knew well - were best done silently, boringly. They should look like accidents or unexpected illnesses, to avoid drawing the public's eye. So it was likely Rosewater wasn't after her death, but would focus first on breaking her, making her pliable for whatever it was he wanted, and was content to use the public shaming of her trial to help soften her up.

 

But there was little about An - the true An - that was soft. She was a pragmatist, and knew her own weaknesses.  She had two, that coincided with the two most important people in her life:  Chuta and Master Gogonji. Annunu Nunu on the other hand, the Cherry Blossom Socialite, was nothing but soft. She was already a broken woman from the trial. So, who was Rosewater expecting - An, or Annunu?

 

The trembling returned. She stilled it again. The cover persona she had created and nurtured for so long had only been compromised publically when she had involved herself with Master Gogonji. Her dedication to him - her care and feelings for him - had brought her to throw away much, including her most precious tool for self-protection, that cover identity. His safety and sanity, his life, had been worth it, of course, but the moment she had stepped out of the shadows at the Bobbing Cork to protect him from Leanne, the moment he had called out to her by her true name - that had led her to this moment, in this cell, chained like a rabid animal.

 

And well she remembered how they had been under surveillance constantly in Mist during his recuperation. Enough had to know her secret now - her surveillants, Chachanji's friends and allies, Master Gogonji's compatriots in Khamja - that she was not the witless heiress she claimed to be in public... that undoubtedly, a man with Rosewater's intelligence and capability knew, as well. And that meant he knew she would be far harder to break than the persona of the Cherry Blossom Socialite suggested. The logic was undeniable, unshakeable. If Rosewater was as competent as she had assessed him to be, then he would begin the process of ensuring her compliance with whatever it was he wanted. And the implications of that were the true reason fear gripped at An's heart.

 

There was a slim hope that Chuta at least would be spared - if Rosewater believed he was associated only with her cover persona and knew nothing of the real her, Chuta would be weak leverage at best, because she had already demonstrated a willingness to compromise that cover. But that meant that Master Gogonji was the one Rosewater would look to exploit. Publically, she had shown willingness to do anything for him, up to and including dying. If Rosewater threatened him... how could she refuse him anything he demanded, if it meant keeping Master Gogonji safe and out of Rosewater's clutches?

 

The chains were rattling faintly again as her body shook. She forced herself back to stillness once more. There was another option, she knew, if she had to take it.

 

This time - Master Gogonji had not ordered her to return to him.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Annunu was escorted into what she assumed was an interrogation room by two Brass Blades, who then left her there, shutting the door firmly behind them. She listened for, but did not hear, a subsequent locking or bolting; another piece of evidence then, a telling indicator. She had not been searched, arrested, or chained; the Blades had approached her privately, not publicly; they had couched their invitation to meet with Rosewater as a request, not a demand. And now, fully clothed and armed, as he had to know she would be, she had been left - but not locked - in this room, a small stone-walled enclosure with no windows but brightly lit by torches burning in holders bolted to the wall. A table with two chairs facing one another sat in the center of the room. An assessed that Rosewater's next move, predicted from this series of events, would be to appear after giving her a few minutes to rest and just long enough to start to worry. Perhaps half a bell. She sat, and waited, her head down and her hands folded on the table.

 

Those best at strategic games could anticipate their opponent's moves not one or two turns in advance, but many. An had marveled, as a child, at stories of games between masters that ended far in advance of actual victory, as both acknowledged the inevitable result. Her father had tried to teach her a Doman game of skill involving capturing colored stones from an opponent, and had seemed disappointed and annoyed when she'd shown little aptitude or enjoyment for it; the ability to think ahead, he'd told her with rare anger, to anticipate an opponent's moves, to counter or evade them, was crucial to an assassin's trade. One must seek to evade discovery or danger entirely, he said, to escape if possible - and eliminate the threat by self-defense or proactive action only as a last resort. To use the blade was when danger was at its greatest, and the odds of survival lowest.

 

He had worried a lot about her survival after she had taken his place, An noted detachedly. Far more than he had ever worried about his own. Behavior she had no doubt absorbed along with his many other lessons.

 

After Master Gogonji had freed her in a dramatic showdown with Rosewater the other day, he had failed to obtain a critical piece of information - what it was that Rosewater wanted from her. For all that the Master had berated her lengthily about letting her emotions - her feelings for him - control her actions and open her up to Rosewater's manipulations, so his own emotions had driven him to act rashly and sacrifice long-term benefit (understanding Rosewater's plans and intentions) for the sake of short-term victory (An's freedom). An could not be sure whether that was because the sight of her in custody had inflamed the Master to rash behavior, or whether his ego and resultant underestimation of Rosewater had demanded immediate validation. She suspected the latter.

 

He had ordered her to find a way to foil Rosewater's plans that did not involve yielding to his unknown desire. An obeyed. She was a katana poised to be unsheathed, a blade wrapped in stillness. And so, methodically and without distraction or feeling, she had plotted how best to discover that critical piece of missing information and fulfill the Master's request.

 

If she knew what Rosewater truly wanted, that would be the key that unlocked all of the man's seemingly erratic behavior. Currently, he had the advantage over her, because he knew what she desired enough to throw away all she had for it - the Master's life and happiness. Rosewater would seek to exploit that vulnerability to control her, just as the Master had feared. But once she knew what Rosewater wanted - wanted badly enough to risk tangling with an assassin and a dangerous mercenary group like Khamja... Logically, it had to be something Rosewater wanted so badly, and so immediately, that he had rushed his hand by involving the Master in the first place. Rosewater hadn't even seriously tried to break her first. Rather than let time and isolation and deprivation wear her down like wind and water on a stone, he'd gone immediately for the sledgehammer. Perhaps he'd be so impatient now, so rattled by her unexpected release, so frustrated by the Master's actions, that he'd make a fatal error.

 

He would underestimate her.

 

And so, she had carefully baited the hook. She had let herself be seen in public, briefly but regularly, first in Thanalan, then twice in the city itself. She wore hooded robes - enough to throw off the press but not trained surveillants. She didn't return to her work, but lingered in surreptitious places. She had no contact with anyone, including the Master. Rosewater would understand it was an invitation to talk, this hesitant, unobtrusive behavior in his stomping grounds - and in his haste and desperation, he might even think he knew why she wanted to talk to him. He'd think he'd won, that she was coming to him to offer her complete cooperation in exchange for the Master's safety. Every aspect of her behavior and appearance outside of closed doors - her downcast eyes, her loose tunic that clearly concealed weapons and/or armor beneath, the carelessly wrapped bandages around her wrists and ankles where the chains had chafed her - was chosen carefully to reinforce that perception.

 

And as she had predicted, at nearly half a bell, Rosewater entered the room. He tossed himself roughly into the chair opposite, dropping two heavy files filled to bursting with papers and parchment onto the table. She saw her name on the top one; she didn't need to see the name on the other to know to whom it belonged. She swallowed hard and stared at the grain of the desk; she needed to be careful, she reflected dimly, and not overplay it.

 

"Well!" he said finally.  "Been a busy week for both of us, huh?"

 

She said nothing, shifting slightly in her chair. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, arms loose and draping. "Don't know how you got away from Oan. Must've been harder than escaping me, eh?" He chuckled. "Or does he trust you? Doesn't seem much like a man given to trust, but some are weak to a pretty girl."

 

An made herself wince, as it was the proper response to the goad; within her, nothing moved. "... Make me an offer."

 

His eyes lit up, but his voice remained light, casual. An kept her gaze downcast, as if she didn't see the excitement in his eyes. "Eh? What do you mean, missy?"

 

"You want something from me, don't you, Captain Rosewater?" An kept her voice neutral - the careful neutrality of someone barely holding it together. "That was the point of all of this, wasn't it - imprisoning me in the first place, contacting Master Oan." She lifted her eyes to his. "So make me a deal."

 

"Hmmmm."  He drew the syllable out, touching his tongue to his lips. "And if I say there will be no deal - that you will do as you're told, or your precious 'Master Oan' dies?"

 

An's voice remained impassive - both to play her part, and because she knew the threat was a feint. As was her response. "Then I kill you now, and as many of your men as I can on my way out."

 

He laughed. "You're not Oan - you know more will come, and that my replacement - or his - will get you and Oan both dead in the end."

 

"Yes, but that wouldn't help you much, now would it, Captain Rosewater?" An allowed drawing steel into her voice, permitted Rosewater's impending death into her eyes. "So the question is, Captain - how much is your life worth to you?"

 

For an endless moment, they stared into one another's eyes. Then he leaned back in his chair and pushed the two files toward her roughly with one hand. "Everything we have on you and Oan."

 

She opened her file, glancing quickly through it. Even wrapped in stillness as she was, she felt a momentary prick of respect; many of the documents within were originals or authenticated copies. A birth record from La Noscea with her true name, rather than the one her father had given her. A death record for him with his true Doman name, which he'd thought completely secret in his lifetime. Meticulous records of most of her kills. A few sealed affidavits - some of her clients had attempted to give her up, it seemed, whether under duress or for personal gain. And artist's renditions of Khamja and her work with them, the Master, Chuta, even a depiction of her last conversation with the Master at the beach before she'd turned herself in. It was likely enough to send her to the headsmen's block, all told - and even if they had copied the file, without some of these originals, the case would fall apart if attacked by a skilled barrister. At the very least, it represented years of investigation into her activities.

 

"I want signed assurances of immunity from prosecution, with the sultana's seal, for both myself and Master Oan," she said, then paused. "And upon my death, I want a sizable compensation paid directly to my estate."

 

Rosewater grunted, half-annoyed and half-amused, likely at her demands for still more after receiving the files. But then, he had brought the files in as nothing more than an additional bargaining chip. "Who said anything about you dying?" He smirked, confident of his victory now - after all, they were merely haggling over price at this point. "If you're skilled, you may even survive."

 

"And what exactly am I to be doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with just the right touch of asperity. Inwardly, she held her breath. Everything had led up to this moment - a baited trap, the irresistible urge to reveal his grand plan. She had come to him, vulnerable and alone but still defiant enough to threaten him and haggle over her price for cooperation. The temptation for him now would be to reveal, to awe, to reassert his power over her, to remind her that he'd won and he owned her now, no matter what files he surrendered.

 

He tossed his head back and laughed, his eyes closed. "Why, we're going to finish your beloved Master Oan's work, my dear - you will kill the Emperor of Garlemald."

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

It was a hunt, she had characterized it, and it was indeed still, a hunt of words, a hunt of subtle changes of expression, a hunt where she placed a mask over her face each day and wore someone else over herself.  A hunt where he did the same.  They hunted each other.

 

On the surface, Annunu Nunu, known as the Cherry Blossom Socialite and now disgraced for her past association with the mercenary group Khamja, served Captain Rosewater in order to earn the goodwill of Ul'dah's internal security service as the last condition of her freedom stipulated by an impartial magistrate.  For this purpose, she had become something of his secretary, ferrying messages, relying dispatches, and often demeaned to wash laundry and dishes, clean the barracks, and other chores of that nature.  Captain Rosewater, the eccentric, youthful, handsome leader of that arm of the Sultansworn, kept her busy in order to teach her a lesson - and had a bit of a reputation for organizational laziness anyway.  Some in a position to know remarked that Annunu's service to Rosewater and his men had done a lot of good.  The habitually slovenly Rosewater had finally started shaping up, his armor less splotched in public, his sword scoured free from rust, and their cumbersome bureaucracy had finally started actually answering notes and requests for assistance.  Annunu might hate it, they rationalized, but it was mutually beneficial.

 

One layer down, deeper, An, a suspected assassin who hid potentially innumerable crimes behind the sweet face of an Ul'dahn socialite, was chained to Rosewater's side as a slave to his bier.  Serving under a threat - not to herself, but to Gogonji Gegenji, the mysterious true leader of Khamja - she had bowed to Rosewater's blackmail and now attended his every whim and desire.  It amused the master spy to have the Lalafell dancing attendance on him, and he used her as a servant and secretary to break her down even further.  He ruthlessly exploited her devotion and affection for Gogonji, who cared nothing for her in return, to keep her obedient and faithful to himself, and toyed with her mind as a child did a rubber ball.  Few knew of this deeper level.  An could count the number on one hand, unless Rosewater had trusted associates, which she doubted, for trust was no part of the man's makeup.

 

Deeper still, An hunted.  Of this layer, she was certain only she, Chuta, and Master Gogonji knew, and perhaps Rosewater suspected.  She hoped he did not, but she did not dare underestimate the man.  Even Master Gogonji did not.

 

He treated her as a mate, she had said, and it had become more and more so.  He began to call her to his side at all times of day and night, and undressed in front of her, sometimes took her hair down from its long pigtails to comb it as devotedly as any lover.  It was at those times that he murmured to her that she deserved better than Gogonji.  That Gogonji cared nothing for her at all, nothing, had barely seen her over the past moons, and should she truly throw her life away for such a man?  She should think of herself, he urged, and turn away from whatever she'd done in the past, and he would let her go, simple as that.

 

And An would push tears to her eyes and avert them and sniffle and blush, and inside she felt as cold and hard as a glacier.  Her every breath passed the choker on her throat, tight enough to make swallowing a little uncomfortable, and she hated him.  She had never hated before.  It was novel.  It felt cold and hard, too.  Sharp, as well.

 

She had two loose plans in mind to lay before the Master upon their next meeting. In those few moments when she was herself, lying in the dark on her bed, whether day or night, with the curtains around the elaborate Ul'dahn style four-poster pulled shut, she dreamed of them.  She ran her mind over each particular detail, over each unknown, and examined them from every angle.  In one, she discredited Rosewater, exposed his vulnerabilities, showed him to be no genius or master spy but instead a foolish weakling who would sell out his mother and his country given half the chance.  It was the more thorough revenge, and more appropriate.  It could turn Ul'dah's ruling class against the so-called internal security service for a generation.

 

In the other, she delivered him to Master Gogonji.  Perhaps it was like a cat giving a live rat to her owner.  That dream was infinitely more pleasurable.  Dreams of what Gogonji would do to Rosewater made her smile, and little did that anymore.  Sometimes she thought of how she missed him.  Sometimes she imagined his smile, too, when he ended Rosewater personally.  But that dream was a personal revenge, and perhaps would not end the longer threat.

 

Each step forward, each time she averted her eyes, slumped her shoulders, acted broken and breaking and mournful, she knew she was bringing the knife closer and closer to Rosewater's throat.  He sometimes seemed to forget who and what she was.  She never forgot who he was, what he could do.  Underestimating any of them was a colossal error, one that she was determined never to make even as she attempted to lure Rosewater's feet to the abyss.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Soaked through with rain, her long dress sopping and half-translucent from wetness, Annunu burst into the Duskbreak and bolted across the living room.  She fell, hands and knees, in front of the fireplace; it was warm outside, a summer evening in the desert, but someone had laid a fire on the hearth anyway, and An nearly stuck her head inside, pressing her face up greedily to the flames.  They crackled, heat and light burning off of her face and forehead, and she withdrew, concerned about singeing for her eyebrows and long eyelashes.  Shivering despite the fire's heat, she drew her knees up to her chest.

 

He had called her a whore, among many other insults.  Like all of them, they had been framed to insult her, and seem plausible.  A weaker woman would fall before them.  An had never felt less weak in her life.  Grimly, her hand moved to her chest, in the same movement as earlier, and she fished into her bodice for the hidden pocket, retrieving the Nymian-inscribed ring he'd given her.  It wasn't enough to look at it.  She pressed it to her forehead, leaning toward the flames again.  Her cheek smart, the red lines visible.  But probably not enough.  She dug her own fingers into them, emphasizing them, adding bruising.

 

She and Master Gogonji had agreed.  It was advantageous to argue, to be seen to separate.  To make herself vulnerable.  So they had fought, publicly and in full view of at least three of Rosewater's eyes-and-ears, and An had hurled every insult she could imagine at him, as he had at her.  It had been rational, in the cold way that they both could be rational; heated, in the way that both of them could be when they were threatened.  When she had insulted Chachanji, she had seen actual anger in his eyes.  Or had it been pain?  She mouthed "I'm sorry" to herself, but it meant nothing.  They were cut off from one another.  They had cut themselves off.

 

She was cut off.

 

Rosewater!  Her teeth clenched until they ground, and she dropped the ring from her face.  He was to blame for this, for all of this.  If Master Gogonji's words had caused her pain - if hers had hurt him - Rosewater's hand was the one that had lashed out at them.  Rosewater's hand was the one that hit her, not Master Gogonji's.  All of this was Rosewater's fault.  How dare he harry them to this point, yoke her, wrap his accursed device around her neck?!  It was his fault, and his alone!  Hate as intense as fire, as cold as ice, roared up within her, and she started to her feet without thinking.

 

Soon.  She gulped air, forcing herself back to calm.  Soon, Rosewater would be brought low.  Soon, he would be dragged before Master Gogonji for his punishment.  This was simply another few logs to add to the fire that would devour him.  Green logs that would take longer to burn.  She let a smile cross her face at that prospect, content in the safety of the Duskbreak to express her true feelings, and her fingers tightened on the ring until the unforgiving metal bit into her flesh.

 

A bell or two at the most.  Time to cry, and wipe it away poorly, and go back to Rosewater a woman defeated.  A woman with no one else left.  He would be expecting her, even if he hadn't formally summoned her yet.  A bell or two to be An again, and then Annunu Nunu would have to come out.  But she was surprised at the guilt she felt, even with the memory of his hand on her face, of the things he'd said.  But he promised.

 

They were all lies.  They had promised each other.  All lies.

 

I'm so sorry.

 

*********

 

Rosewater's foot came down casually, pinning the Ironworks engineer's wrist to the stone floor.  A few of his most trusted men were watching the door.  No one had had to be made an example of - yet.  That was the best way.  Bodies meant more paperwork.  And he'd gotten the girl to avoid paperwork, among other reasons.

 

"So you're sure the Lalafell girl came in here the other day just to buy a comms device?" he asked in a bored voice, his arms crossed in front of his tabard.  "You aren't misremembering?"

 

One engineer sat off to the side, groaning, his arms wrapped around himself; another stood in abject terror, almost unable to move, three swords pointed at his gut.  The one beneath Rosewater squirmed, her breath coming in panicked gasps.  She'd have been cute, he thought idly, if she weren't a brainiac know-it-all.  They all were, these types.  He hated people who got above their station.  He hated it when people didn't know their place.

 

"I swear, just a - please!  Let me go!"

 

"Because if she asked for something else - well, you don't need hands to live, now do you, girl?  I'm not so cruel as to hurt a lady's FACE."  He grinned, leaning down toward her, his foot pressing her wrist down painfully into the floor with the full weight of his foot.  She howled, her feet beating a tattoo against the floor.

 

"Alright - ALRIGHT!  She wanted a jamming signal device for a - for a mechanism around her throat -"

 

He listened, amused, as she spilled all.  They always did, in the end.  It wasn't like this was hard.  Rosewater wasn't much of a man of science, but he liked physics.  Physics meant that a little pressure in the right place gave you what you wanted.

 

"Was that so hard?" he asked gently - then brought the heel of his armored foot against the most tender part of her wrist.  The crunching sound that immediately resulted sounded like snapping twigs in a dry winter.  He congratulated himself on that mental analogy as he turned away.

 

"Bring Annunu to me tonight, late.  My bedroom."  Physics were useful for more than one thing.

[Gegenji]

Again, Gogonji found himself massaging his hand as Annelace strode into the Toll, though his face remained as dour and unreadable as ever. He had thought on it as he rode the ship to Vesper Bay from Limsa, remembered far too clearly the feeling of his palm striking her cheek - the look on Annunu's face as the imprint reddened into the distinct shape of his hand. It had been little more than a stage slap, more sound than force done to add realism to their deception, done because the words she had said would have logically been followed by such an action. And yet, seeing her expression afterward - feigned or not - had caused a brief pang of... something... in his gut that he had been forced to swallow and ignore for the sake of their plan.

 

It was something he could only really remember feeling a couple times. Once when he had left the twin of his cactaur-shaped earring on the nightstand of young Chachanji before departing on the journey that started all this, and once again when he realized that the doppelganger had been - in truth - that selfsame brother of his. A sharp, negative pang in his stomach and a brief chill at the base of his neck to accompany it. He could feel faint echoes of it even now as he dwelt upon the slap, along with the phantom tinglings of the contact along his palm. It was why he felt the need to try and massage it away.

 

It was also why he had decided to detour into the Toll rather than head straight back to his secluded home deep within the snowy fields of Coerthas. While he couldn't make direct contact with An while they were in this stage of the plan, there were still several things he could do on his own. Fail-safes that he could check upon, to ensure they were prepared for any of the various possible outcomes. The jammer for the explosive collar was one such fail-safe, tasked to the Garlond Ironworks - as much as Gogonji disliked them for their antics during the development of the Rousers - to complete as quickly as possible. Perhaps it was also that distaste, or a twinge of his own paranoia, that had urged him to check in on their progress.

 

And perhaps a bit of Nymeia's hand was in it as well. The Lalafell's wary gaze had caught sight of the men set out around the doors of the Ironworks, replacing the Roegadyn who usually served as front-man. His paranoia sought him to pull his white-feathered bird sharply to one side, hiding both her and himself among the other chocobos in the stable adjacent. His cynical nature bade him creep forward and observe - after switching to a hooded coat from his saddlebags - as this likely meant nothing good. All leading to the Doman observing as Rosewater himself left the facility, his lackeys joining him as he departed. And he was smiling - an expression Gogonji had quickly learned to despise.

 

Why was Rosewater here? He could easily have been following some other lead, or pursuing one of his own depraved goals... but that gnawing paranoia that had ingrained itself so deeply in the Lalafell wasn't so willing to dismiss it so easily. Not when only suns prior had An and himself met to speak and plan at the restaurant that overlooked the still-growing town. It was exquisitely placed, that restaurant; high up enough to both give a solid view of the town below and keep conversations held there from floating down to unwanted ears. Gogonji had been keeping tabs on anyone heading their way while speaking with his Plainsfolk companion and had not noticed anyone seeking to tail her to the meeting itself. Yet, that did not mean they hadn't known she had come to the Toll at all... or that she had visited the Ironworks.

 

Gogonji remained hidden in the stables, hood pulled over his head and fully coated in the unappealing stench of chocobo, for a quarter bell after Rosewater had left. His violet eyes flitted from spot to spot, checking for any other of the Sultansworn's cronies that might have been left to keep tabs on the Ironworks. He mentally marked about two or three that could possibly be in the Hyur's camp, and about two more that he just had a bad feeling about. Moving with what little stealth his vague memories from the joining with the Ninja fragment brought him, the Lalafell made his way to - and into - the Ironworks proper.

 

The place was eerily quiet, which was never a good sign. The only noise a quiet whimpering - which was possible worse - coming from one of the darker corners of the facility. One of the engineers was huddled there, weakly trying to hide from the new arrival, cradling a hand that drooped uselessly at the wrist. Gogonji didn't need his paranoia or cynical outlook to put two and two together, but he also could see a way to twist this situation to his advantage. Another cautious sweep for any leftover goons stationed within the Ironworks itself, and he approached her.

 

"S-stay back..." she murmured, pushing herself further into the corner. "I-I told him everything I knew..."

 

"Calm yourself," Gogonji hissed quietly with his usual 'cheery' bedside manner as he withdrew his tome from its hiding place within the folds of his coat. "I am here to... mend. Not... further harm. Though... you might want something... to bite down on."

 

The mechanic nearly bit through her oil-stained worker's glove as the Lalafell uncaringly moved her hand into the proper position, followed by the rusty silver glow of his healing aether as it slowly erased the bruising and knitted back together her shattered wrist. Nearly ripping that selfsame glove from her mouth, it was sacrificed along with a couple iron rods to make a slipshod brace to keep that hand from moving until the rest of the damage could heal naturally. It was vaguely familiar to the leg braces little Chachanji had been put into, and that only soured the elder Gegenji brother's mood further.

 

"Don't move it," he stated flatly, an order to be obeyed rather than a mere recommendation. "So... he knows... about the jammer, then?"

 

The question grabbed the woman's attention away from nursing the freshly healed injury.

 

"W-what? How do you...?"

 

"Do not... concern yourself with such things," Gogonji shushed her icily from the shadows of his hood. "How goes... the progress?"

 

"Well, we had... blueprints drawn up that could work," the engineer explained. "H-He's seen them, though. That man. He... didn't destroy them, though."

 

"Of course he didn't," the Lalafell murmured with a disapproving sigh, like a teacher who had been asked an obvious question. He wouldn't want the plans destroyed - he likely made sure to copy them or at the very least memorize them. So he could either make adjustments to the device itself or just to have the knowledge of it to use against Annunu. Or he might have made some slight modifications to the plans, subtly sabotaging the design. Whatever move Rosewater had made, Gogonji had to react accordingly to keep the balance in his favor.

 

"Show me the plans."

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

One of Rosewater's lackeys brought Annunu to the Captain's rooms, pausing a moment to leer knowingly down at her before opening the door and thrusting her unceremoniously inside.  It was late - well past midnight - and An was a pathetic sight, dried tears smudging her face, her cheek red and slightly swollen with an obvious handprint.  Her long pink pigtails were in disarray, and she had the generally dazed air of shell-shock, her movements jerky, her eyes red-rimmed, her reactions a hair slower than usual.  Within herself, An's spirit was wrapped up tightly behind impenetrable walls.  If she had gauged the man right, here was where Rosewater would make his move.  Now, with An's spirit crushed and her support all gone - with An at her very lowest - only now would he tip his hand.  The past moons of lying and acting and positioning had led up to this.  She was ready.

 

Rosewater's bedroom was black save for the glow of a fireplace to the right of the bed.  He was sitting upon the bed wearing only loose cotton pants, his face in shadow, his eyes fixed on her as she shambled nearer.  "Well, well," he said softly.  "My birdies tell me you've been a busy bee again, An.  Making a trip to the Toll, heading out to Mist, getting drunk in the Quicksand... all without my say-so."

 

An felt a flash of surprise, her stomach jolting.  He knew about the Toll?  Then did he know she'd met Master Gogonji there?  All could be ruined - but no.  She'd carefully checked for surveillance after leaving the Ironworks, and the advantage of the rooftop restaurant was that you could see anyone approach - likely why Master Gogonji favored it.  So Rosewater probably only knew about the trip to the Ironworks.  Still bad, of course.  She was supposed to be defeated, not looking for workarounds for the trap she was in.  She averted her eyes, chewing her lower lip, fingering the choker.  Perhaps if she spun it as a last act of defiance... "I-I just wanted... to see what it does," she mumbled.

 

"It's none of your damn business what it does!" Rosewater snapped.  "It's there to make sure you obey, that's all you need know.  And then to get a report that you're sneaking off to see Oan again?!"  He lifted a sheaf of papers, shaking them incredulously.  "I warned you before the narcissistic arse didn't care about you, and now look at you!"  He got up, flinging the report down at her feet.  Papers scattered.  An turned her face away, tracking the papers out of the corner of her eye.

 

Rosewater knelt in front of her, his hands on his thighs.  "And now it's over, An," he said, his tone kindly, his eyes glittering in sinister counterpoint.  "It's all over.  You failed.  He hates you.  Probably always did.  Women always seem to think they can change a man, fix him, heal his wounds."  He laughed shortly at that, unable to hold back bubbling incredulity.  "And you just had to pick the most fucked-up guy of the bunch.  But all of your effort and care and love... and he throws you away anyway."

 

He raised his hand, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling first one pigtail free from its clasp, then the other.  She stared up at him, her pale face framed by a veil of loose pink hair.  He reached out to cup her cheek gently, his palm dwarfing the mark made by Gogonji's hand.  "He even hit you.  You... the woman who saved his life, who kept him from jail."

 

A tear escaped from her eye, and she tried to turn her face away, to hide it; but he turned it back to him, and, with one hand moving to rest over her heart, he leaned forward, his lips seeking hers.  She jerked back instinctively before he could touch her, his hand pressing the hidden ring into her skin, Gogonji's warning - his illogical fear of her bearing Rosewater's child - echoing in her mind.

 

Rosewater's eyes met hers, and before An could stop him, his hand reached out and touched her chest - then violently ripped out the ring and its hidden pouch.  She gasped, wrapping her arms around herself, and he looked down at the ring in its tatters of fabric.  He pulled the cloth away, studying it.  "... You love him that much, huh?" he asked softly.  An opened her mouth to reply - and was sent to the floor as he swing the fist containing the ring into her already-damaged cheek.

 

"Your only value is as a tool, a weapon," Rosewater said, eeriely calm, turning the ring over in his fingers.  "Since apparently I can't sway your heart toward me... it's fine.  You'll still do as I say, because you'll go to the gallows if you don't - and it's not like Oan will take you back now anyway.  Pity.  I thought you'd be easier to control if you fell for me instead - but you have no reason to fight anymore, so you'll do as your told and be grateful for what crumbs you get.  Won't you, An?"  He patted her head, his earlier false sensuality gone now, entirely a master with a favored pet.  She gazed up at him, her expression terrified and twisted, but with no hope left in her eyes.  None.

 

Behind the walls within her, she leaned forward.

 

"Y-you... want me to kill?  More...?  Who?"  She choked back a sob unsuccessfully.

 

He picked up a file on the bedside table.  "I'd hoped for pleasure before business," he said mockingly, "but I guess it's all work and no play for now."  He threw it at her, and the file hit her head, papers going everywhere.  "Best clean it up."

 

An hastened to comply.  Her heart leapt as she reassembled the file, carefully tucking the earlier report on her and Gogonji's argument inside with the other papers.  It was a personnel file for a prominent Sultansworn.  One even higher in the ranks than Rosewater, known to have the sultana's favor and a trusted associate of the Flame General.  Handwritten notes about his personal habits and comings and goings were included, in Rosewater's own hand.  And assessment data... also in his hand.  She stacked the papers neatly back into the file, sniffling, rubbing her cheek.  "A S-sultansworn...?" she stammered unsteadily.  "But... but I don't understand... why?"

 

"A weapon doesn't need to know why, An," he reminded her with a faint sneer.  "It's enough for you to know he's in my way.  Kill him and bring his hand to me.  Let's see if you're half as good as your reputation.  You have two days."

 

"Two days?!" she gasped, her shock unfeigned.  "For one of the sultana's top men?!  I-I can't do any of the prep work in that time, much less -"

 

"Two days.  I did the prep work for you in that file.  Don't fail me.  I'm all you've got left now, aren't I?  And wouldn't it be a shame if you lost me, too?"  He bounced the ring on his hand, smiling.  "Now get out and get to work."

 

She stumbled out of the door, clutching the papers to her chest.  Only when she was sure no eyes were upon her did she permit herself a broad smile.  Two days.  A tight timeline, but she could make it work.  Two days to absolute victory.

 

Yes, indeed, she had work to do.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

((At last, the triumphant return of the Gilded Knuckle!))

 

Goerthe - not his real name, naturally, but the one by which he was most well-known here - never refused a request to visit the Gilded Knuckle, even at three bells past midnight, his manservant shaking him awake to deliver the familiar engraved invitation.  Each of the invites to the ultra-exclusive playground of Ul'dah's notorious elite brought him information, and Goerthe was information broker to a very limited clientele.  He dressed quickly in his finest, choosing for a mask tonight a maned lion that left his mouth and neck bare, long mustaches gray with age drooping down.  Those that knew him would know those.  Few suspected they were fake.  Such was Ul'dah.  Such was the Knuckle.

 

He was whisked away by a waiting attendant through the streets, into the depths of the city, where no light could enter - nor would the gamblers, businessmen, merchant-princes and the ever present servants ever comment.  The Knuckle ostensibly was a gambling club and bar of the highest luxury and quality, and every surface gleamed with polished wood, marble, or gild; to Goerthe, it was a treacherous jungle that he had long grown accustomed to traveling.  His superiors had left him in Ul'dah since just after their so-called Calamity.  Cycles long to abide, by his profession's standard, but he had a certain understanding of the smallfolk here and their customs.  And he suspected some of them had a certain understanding of him, too.  Not the sultana, of course.  Nor the Flame General, also of course.  But those who were not adverse to making mutually profitable arrangements without the need for official entanglements.

 

Goerthe was led to a private table, secluded even from the wait staff, his drink of choice already waiting for him.  Some siad the bloodsands were the most dangerous place in Ul'dah; others, Fesca's Wash, home of the Grindstone.  Some even said the Quicksand, where unwashed adventurers mingled and squabbled and rutted.  Taking a swallow of the brown liquor in his glass, Goerthe gazed around the Knuckle and knew better.  With its masked patrons, its fortunes won and lost and exchanged with all of the casualness of a kiss, its access to exclusive information that ruined lives and wealth at a single word - the Knuckle was easily the most dangerous place, not only in Ul'dah but in Eorzea.  Goerthe only knew of one more dangerous place in the entire world.

 

He shifted a bit restlessly in his seat as a Miqo'te serving lass guided a figure across the empty expanse of the floor to their secluded table.  The serving lass herself was in Thavarian silks that probably cost more than one of the Ala Mhigan refugees beyond the walls would make in a year of hard labor.  "Took you long enough," Goerthe growled as the other masked figure took a seat across from him and the serving girl withdrew.  He recognized them - another regular.  No doubt their drink would materialize later as if aetherically.  The servers here knew not to dare be seen anywhere near conversations between patrons without being first summoned.  Those who breached protocol at the Knuckle were not fired, but disappeared utterly.  "I'm a busy man, even at this bell."  Lies, of course.  He was never too busy to refuse a summons to the Knuckle.

 

Especially from this creature, now that he knew who had summoned him.  Diamond was how most referred to them, a Lalafell from their height and body shape - but that was all anyone had ever been able to discover.  They wore a thick leather bodysuit and a full head mask with an abstract diamond shape panted over the face; their voice was distorted, deliberately low and husky and androgynous whenever it floated forth from the mask, which was rarely.  Rumors among the Knuckle's rarefied clientele were plentiful and cheap, but it was said when Diamond made an appearance at the Knuckle, the Syndicates enemies died under mysterious circumstances soon after.  Goerthe did not believe in coincidences, especially when the Knuckle was involved.  Or the Syndicate.

 

"I have information for sale."

 

Goerthe's eyes brightened.  Of course, Diamond didn't ask if he was interested in such; nor did he ask how they knew.  He kept his voice curt, even dismissive in return.  "I don't trade in rumors.  If you brought me something accurate, verifiable, well-sourced - "

 

Diamond placed a file onto the table, thick with documents.  "I am sure you know of the good Captain Rosewater, head of the internal security service."  Goerthe nodded shortly.  "Rosewater gave this targeting package to an assassin for a hit on this man."  One gloved finger tapped another document.  "His rival in the Sultansworn.  I've included a few of his signed and sealed documents for comparison - you can see it is his own hand on the targeting and assessment data."

 

Goerthe leaned over the table, flipping quickly through the documents.  A chill sweat ran unseen down his spine beneath his black tunic.  The documents certainly appeared entirely legitimate.  If so, the possibilities were incredible.  Of course, it could be a dangle, a false lead, originated by this Rosewater, who had proven a wily and capable foe in the times Goerthe or his people had crossed paths with him.  "How much?"

 

"Three million gil."

 

Goerthe's mouth twisted.  "A princely sum for one man."

 

"For an intelligence official, with his access?" Diamond said coldly.  "Don't patronize me, Goerthe.  I know what you kind does with information like this, to men like Rosewater.  You will have invaluable information in return for your investment, information that you can leverage for that which is even more precious to you.  This could greatly impact your operations in Ul'dah."

 

Goerthe considered it.  Of course, Diamond was entirely right, which likely indicated the mysterious Lalafell was a player in Ul'dah's robust intelligence arena, or had been given insight by their Syndicate masters.  All anyone knew about Diamond was their attachment not just to the Syndicate, but to Ul'dah's ruling class in general.  They were rarely seen even in the Knuckle, and at unusual times, in unusual places, but afforded nearly as much respect as those who had cash to burn.  So perhaps Rosewater was being fed to Goerthe as one of the Syndicate's notoriously opaque power plays.  Goerthe had heard of vast sums of money spent to marry one child off to another by one member of the Syndicate, while another spent equally vast sums to prevent the union; the wars over commodity prices alone were legend, and some of the strangest events were tied to Syndicate power games, like annual festivals and popular competitions.  This Rosewater could have angered the wrong person, and now the wrath of the rules of Ul'dah was coming down on him - not via arrest, but from his darkest secrets being peddled at Ul'dah's most dangerous market.

 

And clearly Diamond was at least partially aware of his affiliations.  There was a danger in that as well - unless he was paying for the privilege of being their cat's paw.  Which, given the benefit he was likely to receive from it, was not entirely untoward.  Either way, he could not afford to throw away this chance to remove a player from the game like Rosewater.

 

"Alright," he said finally.  "Three million."  He gestured to one of the distant, lurking serving girls, who apparated to his side as if by magic.  She offered him a wax tablet and a stylus; Goerthe marked the amount, three million gil, without any other terms recorded as per the Knuckle's policy, and pressed his signet ring into the soft wax.  Diamond "signed' with a small diamond shape identical to the stylization on their mask.  The Gilded Knuckle guaranteed all deals struck on its premises and would provide the discreet and anonymous transfer of funds; its appeal was its complete security and secrecy.  Goerthe accepted the file, continuing to look through the papers.

 

"I'll give you this tidbit as an extra service, Goerthe," Diamond noted, standing.  "He wants this Sultansworn dead in the next sun.  He may have plans to cover his tracks after that."  With a curt nod, Diamond vanished off into the Knuckle.

 

Goerthe pondered the packet of damning information.  So the operational schedule was tight, tight indeed... No time to contact the capital for instructions.  A more simple, more direct use of this information would be best.  It had been some time since their last blackmail operation - but Goerthe found he enjoyed those best of all, especially when it lead to an eventual defection.  His Imperial Majesty would be most pleased if they could secure the loyalty - however obtained - of the head of Ul'dah's internal security service.  But the blackmail would be less effective if Rosewater's assassin achieved their goal before Goerthe's men got to him.

 

Goerthe also had much work to do.  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts as he left the Knuckle that he didn't notice Diamond watching him leave from the shadows, then move to follow.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Rosewater was up early and in an upbeat, positive mood.  Today was the day he anticipated his little kitten Annunu would strike, eliminating the man Rosewater's men reported was undermining him in various ways in the sultana's court.  Rosewater always had thought the guy an insufferable, stuck-up prick, one of those types that thought themselves far cleverer than they actually were.  Now that the kitten was properly tamed, her claws could be directed at targets of Rosewater's personal choosing.  Care would have to be taken, of course.  An's loyalty and submission would have to be closely monitored.  But in the moons that he had kept her close by his side, continually assessing, he'd come to know her, understand her.

 

He buckled on his armor with the Sultansworn tabard - mostly clean - and grabbed his sword and shield almost as an afterthought.  His belt pouch filled with his tools, the activation device for An's collar, his sack of linkpearls, some gil.  In his opinion, someone had trained An to be the perfect assassin.  The Lalafell girl was a blank slate - an empty vessel with no real sense of self.  She seemed to have no personal desires or ambitions, devoted body, mind, and soul to whatever her next task was, her next mission.  Rosewater was aware most of her fear of him was probably feigned - but then, almost all of her emotions rang slightly hollow, as if she only acted and reacted as she thought she should rather than genuinely.  Social situations in general seemed to make her timid and uncertain; even her friends seemed to get An acting out feelings rather than truly experiencing them, from the surveillance reports.  The only times her true self emerged were when she was kept off-balance, reactionary.  The fight with Oan, for instance.  That had been a key moment.  What a stupid fucker to hit her.

 

He headed out of his apartments into the grey light of dawn, one of the few hours at which Ul'dah's streets were truly quiet, even the thieves and cutpurses and filthy adventurers quiet.  The An/Oan relationship fascinated Rosewater to a degree - it was such a huge, glaring vulnerability for both Lalafells.  Oan fancied himself the puppetmaster in the shadows, pulling everyone's strings, eluding surveillance and proper assessment, but from what information they had, he was a sociopathic narcissist with an overinflated sense of self-worth.  Certainly, he'd realized the gold mine he had with An, manipulating the girl into helping him engage in ultra-risky raids on Garlean castrums and even to take responsibility for Khamja in the end, protecting him when he foolishly -

 

Rosewater's internal monologue was abruptly cut off when two men in the drab tan robes of refugees, their heads and faces hidden by loosely-wrapped turbans and attached dust veils, stepped out of an alley directly in front of him, swords bare in their hands.  Rosewater bit off a cruse, reaching for his own blade, but heard a step behind him, and saw more drawn weapons out of his peripheral vision.  Surrounded.  And at this bell, he didn't think any help would come running if he yelled, no patrolling Blades more than likely.  Gods knew ordinary citizens knew better than to get involved in anything like this.  And from how the men wordlessly herded him into the alley - they wanted him alive.

 

The alley was small, cramped, veiled with hanging laundry above, and terminated in a dead end, trash and crates heaped up carelessly against the back wall of the building adjacent.  Two men were waiting for him there - one, a stocky, older Hyur in finery and an ornate gold mask in the shape of a lion's face and mane, thick gray mustaches drooping from the lower edge.  And the other, a completely unremarkable Midlander man of indeterminate age - save that he was in the black and red robe and helmet of a Garlean soldier, brandishing a gun at Rosewater fearlessly.  Rosewater considered himself passingly brave - few true cowards wore the Sultansworn armor - but his knees went weak at the sight.  Garleans!  I've been captured by Garleans!

 

"Well, well," Rosewater said, as levelly as he could under the circumstances.  "This is... an unexpected development.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

The masked man smiled.  "Captain Rosewater.  Please, call me Goerthe - I believe we have yet to be formally introduced."  He bowed.  "And this is Traianus, one of my top men.  Forgive the abruptness of our, ah, invitation to this meeting.  We're both quite busy men, and I feared our schedules may not align."

 

"And because we're busy men, let's skip the verbal jousting and get right on to what you want from me," Rosewater suggested dryly.

 

Goerthe nodded, his mouth thinning momentarily with displeasure.  "Indeed.  You are going to take Traianus back to your office immediately and give him all information, reports, documents, and files you have on the Garlean presence in the sultanate.  Spies, informers, sympathizers, even those simply suspected.  All of it."

 

Rosewater swallowed hard, his throat bone dry and aching.  Of course, the internal security branch had plenty of such information, both from their own sources, and that which had been shared by the Flames.  But to hand it right over to the Garleans...!  It would bet he single greatest intel breach in the history of the sultanate.  It would destroy anti-Garlean operations for cycles - and Garlean intelligence would likely have free reign in Ul'dah in the meantime.  "Or else you'll kill me?"

 

Goerthe smiled.  "No, not at all."  And he pulled a file out of his bag.  Rosewater's spine suddenly turned to water and froze, gripped in a fist of the coldest ice.  He recognized that file - the targeting package he'd given An.  "I see you recognize this," Goerthe noted, watching Rosewater's expression.  "We aren't above ensuring your crimes are reported to your superiors at the least, if not the press.  Do you dare face the true enormity of what you've done, going to the gallows in disgrace like a common criminal, your reputation in tatters, as well as that of your security service?  You can cooperate with us, or you can choose the hangsman's noose - and utter disgrace in death."

 

Rosewater's legs abruptly gave out, and he crashed to his knees hard onto the cobblestones of the alleyway.  This couldn't be happening.  It couldn't.  It couldn't!  He was screwed, screwed - caught in a cleft stick between treason and death.  And they had documents, not just hearsay - physical proof, some of which had been written by his own hand.  He'd been so sure they would never fall into the wrong hands - !  His eyes bulged as the truth hit home.  An had betrayed him!  An had turned on him, and given him to the GARLEANS of all people!  Could she be a Garlean spy?!  How could this have happened?!

 

Goerthe and Traianus simply watched Rosewater as he reeled and gurgled faintly, like a man caught in quicksand whose frantic efforts to get out only buried him deeper.  Rosewater clutched at his head with gauntleted fingers, barely noticing the pain as the metal dug into his scalp.  He could see no way out.  None.  If he rejected their "offer," they would ensure he didn't get away until the Blades had the evidence in hand.  Even if the Syndicate decided to hush up his crimes to avoid a scandal, he'd be fired and disgraced in another way - and probably a knife would come for him in the shadows at some point.  Maybe even An's.  Running or fighting would only get himself killed faster.  He could see no way out without betraying his country, to the greatest adversary there was, who posed a true existential threat to all of Eorzea.

 

But... if he gave them what they wanted... he remained alive a little longer.  A little longer.  And maybe he could even find a way to wind up on top.  He always did.

 

And he could make sure he dragged An into the hells before he went there.

 

He licked his lips, and with a nod, sold himself to Garlemald.  "Alright.  Deal."

 

A small form watched from above, hidden by the hanging laundry, as Rosewater and the disguised Traianus made their way out of the alley together, and it followed them on to Rosewater's office, staying neatly out of sight.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

An waited in silence, stillness, wrapped in the watchfulness that preceded violent action.  At this very moment, Rosewater and the Garlean agent that had gone into the offices with him were being apprehended by the Brass Blades and Sultansworn she had tipped off.  At this very moment, the final piece of the puzzle had snapped into place, the final bar of the cell had dropped around Rosewater; his downfall had been swift and assured, written by his own hand, devised by An and Gogonji's ingenuity.  Now all she had to do was stalk the Blades to wherever they were going to imprison him, free him, and bring him to Master Gogonji.  She clutched the postcard he had sent her with the location to bring Rosewater tightly in one fist.  He had taken her ring - she would find a way to get it back, no matter what it took - so the postcard now served a similar function.  It was a connection.

 

Soon.  Soon.  It was all almost over.  Rosewater stood between them and freedom, happiness.  That bastard!  He would pay soon - he would die.  Pay with his very life.  She hoped it was slow.  Why was her heart racing so fast?

 

The first indication something was wrong was when Blades and Sultansworn poured from the building, the ones that had been guarding exits, the ones merely there to collect evidence, in obvious disarray.  An concealed herself further, but they weren't looking for her; they were disorganized, shouting, many with blades drawn.  There went the Garlean, bound hand and foot and hustled away - but where was Rosewater?  Her throat seized, gripped by fear.  Had he gotten away somehow?

 

"Find the traitor!" a big Roegadyn Sultansworn ordered, one of those with his blade in his fist.  "Find him now, before he can get away!"  She dimly noted it was the very man she was supposed to kill for Rosewater.

 

She turned away, stunned, skulking in the shadows, circling the building for a few moments before turning away and escaping down a side alley.  Rosewater had escaped the authorities - but from the sounds of it, not before they had caught him in the act of espionage.  He was truly ruined if he was caught, but now he was loose, and he knew she was the one that had set him up.  She began to run, abandoning stealth the further she got away from the scene, her long pigtails streaming out behind her.  She had to find Gogonji - had to warn him - had to make sure that somehow, he wouldn't -

 

It was only a few ticks later, not even a quarter of a bell, and the barely-detectable humming noise from her collar swelled, increasing, and the sparkling gem at the center went alight.  An's eyes widened in shock and terror, but she had no more time than that startled reaction before everything abruptly went white.

[Ha'uruh Nunh]

Annunu carefully stoked the fire in the safehouse tucked away in Coerthas' western highlands, shivering despite her heavy winter coat.  Master Gogonji had yet to return from the Runestone, giving her a chance to make the house more hospitable for him - welcoming and warm.  The previous fire they had laid was nothing but a few glowing embers when she had stumbled in from the snow and the cold; the snow was kicking up outside, filling the impenetrable dark with choking flakes.  An considered it lucky she'd found the door again.  She piled firewood high, using her limited thaumaturgical skills to set the fire ablaze rapidly, and carefully set a lit candle in the tiny, clouded window by the door.  She doubted Master Gogonji needed the guidance - but there would be light leading him home.

 

She strayed from the fire to the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea.  The Costa blend tempted her - enough that she greedily inhaled the scent from the box still on the counter - but she located among the many varieties taking up one entire shelf a blend for relaxation and rest.  It had been a long day of travel, important conversations, the odd disagreement, and even the rousing of another soul fragment within Master Gogonji's mind.  They both needed rest.  And for the first time, An had the opportunity to stop and digest the past few days' events.

 

She felt at the hollow of her throat with gentle fingertips, exploring the pale, smooth skin.  She still felt like she was wearing Rosewater's hateful choker, the beautiful yet constrictive jewelry with its brilliant crystal front and center.  After his escape, Rosewater had activated it at last.  Everyone - An included - had assumed the collar was explosive.  She knew if it had been, she'd be dead now, and possibly Master Gogonji too.  But the choker's crystal was a modified piece of an aetheryte, and the mechanism around it served not to explode but to summon her against her will to Rosewater's side.

 

The memory was a mere two suns old, but it felt like an age ago that it had happened.  He had attacked her, raving, accusing her of treachery, demanding to know where Master Gogonji was.  The activation of the collar had superheated the crystal, and it burned hot against her neck; Rosewater grabbed it, only for the crystal to shatter from heat and pressure, leaving him holding the burnt ends of the choker.  An had managed to cut his leg in an effort to hamstring him to keep him from Master Gogonji, but Rosewater had a range of tricks befitting his station as a spymaster, and had blwon her off her feet with a concussive grenade.  He drove a knife into her back as she lay stunned from the blast and wrenched the postcard showing Master Gogonji's location from her hand.  Perhaps thinking her dead or close enough to it, he had yanked his knife free and gone after Master Gogonji without a backwards glance.

 

An had been wearing thick leather armor, and his strike had been imprecise; he'd gotten mostly shoulder.  Still, she suspected his hubris in thinking her defeated was more due to madness than rationality.  An downed a potion hastily from her pack simply to stop the bleeding and went in pursuit of Rosewater.

 

The scene in Upper La Noscea had been frightening when she arrived.  Rosewater, clearly insane from his downfall and their manipulations, was in pitched battle with Master Gogonji, who had pressed him to the very edge of a cliff looming over Fool's Falls.  With all of her strength, An had flung one of her poisoned knives end over end, which buried itself into Rosewater's sword arm; with that last threat eliminated, Master Gogonji had made quick work of him, blasting him off of the precipice so that his body plunged into the pools beneath the Falls.  Between his heavy Sultansworn armor and the pound of the Falls above, his body would be trapped in the depths for all time.  A fitting end for the master spy An had coerced into disgrace and treason.

 

An stifled a yawn as the house warmed grudgingly around her, unwilling to shed her coat just yet - there was still enough of a chill in the air in the kitchen, though she imagined the immediate surroundings of the fireplace were warm.  The gentle herbal smell of chamomile beckoned from the teapot, and she helped herself to a cup, leaving the rest on the stove to keep it warm.  She shuffled back to the fireplace, sinking down onto her pillow positioned in front of the flames to sit and enjoy her tea as she waited.

 

Master Gogonji had spirited her away to the hot springs at Bronze Lake after the fight's conclusion, healing her wounds with his arts, and An had recounted how she had manipulated Rosewater and the Garlean spy network in Ul'dah to the detriment of both.  The three million gil she had wrenched from Goerthe at the Gilded Knuckle she had already used to pay the fine levied on her by the magistrate for her role in Khamja, lifting that stain from her reputation.  With Rosewater's downfall, the last obstacle was now gone.  In celebration, she and Master Gogonji had enjoyed sake together at the hot springs, and purple drops.  To help her lie low during whatever fallout emerged from Rosewater's treason, Master Gogonji had offered her the safety and security of this Coerthas hideout, and early this sun they had made the journey out from Falcon's Nest.

 

An sipped her tea, staring into the dancing flames, and at last eased off her coat to rest behind her on the pillow.  She and Master Gogonji had had a long talk when they arrived here previously, ranging over issues as diverse as the situation with Rosewater to the remaining fragments in his mind.  She had even inadvertently angered him by suggesting his younger brother Chachanji may not obey Master Gogonji's imperious order to cease all contact with the purple-haired fighter Virara.  An suspected Chachanji and Virara were involved somehow, and in any case, they lived together as members of the same company, so a blanket ban on contact seemed illogical and impossible to enforce.  Would Gogonji himself accept such an edict against seeing An?

 

But Master Gogonji had irrationally refused to even contemplate the idea of Chachanji's disobedience, and An had retreated in the face of his cold anger.  She suspected Master Gogonji's little brother - forever a child in need of guidance and protection in his mind - was his most treasured person.  But An feared Master Gogonji would take defiance of his order as a rejection, and would be deeply hurt - which would no doubt manifest in more of his ice-cold rage.  An mentally resolved to be there for him when it inevitably occurred.

 

An finished her tea, but continued to cradle the teacup on her lap, staring blankly at the fire.  This all felt so new to her, and yet, they had been drawn inexorably to this moment from the beginning.  Some force had been pulling her toward Master Gogonji since the moment she had chosen, after the Thaliak pilgrimage half a cycle ago, to meet him again.  It had been steady and gradual, but with an ever-increasing intensity that perhaps could not be ignored, could never have been ignored.  Was it because she had felt he was lonely, deep down?  That perhaps he needed her by his side?  It almost didn't matter, she reflected drowsily.  She had promised him on the eve of the Castrum assault that she would always be there to protect him, always be beside him.  "Always?" he had asked, not in his then-typical suspicious way, or with skepticism and doubt, but as if needing to hear it again, needing to hear it affirmed, to believe in it.  And so far, moons later, she had kept that promise.  Even Rosewater hadn't managed to break them apart, nor the self-serving, warring fragments in Master Gogonji's mind.

 

When Gogonji returned home, the safehouse was warm and welcoming, with tea prepared on the stove, and An was curled up asleep on the two pillows left before the fire with her coat pulled loosely up over her.  The candle still burned as well in the window, a single point of light in the snowy darkness.

 

****

 

The large Roegadyn Sultansworn, his tabard spotless, his armor as bright and scoured as if he were headed to the parade field, moved slowly through Rosewater's office, which looked as if a tornado had blown through it.  Papers were discarded everywhere, chairs overturned, the telltale signs of a struggle.  He had been there when they had tried to arrest Rosewater, had been one of the officers that had volunteered it in fact.  Rosewater's deputy, Zazafili Rurufili waited by the door.  He was a good enough knight, the Roe ruminated, but unimaginative, a little slow, a plodding work chocobo suited to drawing carts, not winning races.  The head of Ul'dah's internal security service should not be plodding.  The sultana's security was at stake.  The Roe had the reputation of being the sultana's man, a Royalist, honorable, well thought of.  He loosely held a file in one hand, dropped by Rosewater when he made his escape - papers describing the Roe knight's whereabouts, movements.  How to track him, how to kill him.

 

"Lieutenant Rurufili."

 

"Y-yes, sir?"

 

"The Syndicate is unanimous that Captain Rosewater's duplicity and treachery must be hidden for the good of Ul'dah.  The people must not lose trust in the institutions of government, especially given the man was treating with Garleans.  Suppress all mention of these events in the press.  Issue a statement that Rosewater has been dismissed and exiled for corruption and embezzlement of sultanate funds.  The man must be halfway to Garlemald by now, but if he ever dares show his face back here again, the exile order will mean his immediate arrest and execution - and corruption will not alarm the people, as they expect little more from their officials."

 

"Understood, sir."

 

"You will remain on as deputy, and Her Resplendence has asked me to take the reins as the new chief.  I plan to whip this organization back into shape.  No more lazy, unmotivated knights wanting to ride a desk job to a cushy pension.  We are Ul'dah's first line of defense, the light in the darkness, and we need experienced, dedicated knights for this kind of intelligence work."

 

Rurufili gulped slightly.  "Y-yes, sir."

 

"You have my orders, Lieutenant.  Time to climb out of this mess."

 

The lieutenant saluted and left; the Roe moved slowly to the fire laid on the hearth, still holding the file.  "Well, well, Rosewater," he sighed, tossing the file into the flames.  "You HAVE been a busy bee, haven't you?  I trained you better than that."