Frost and Shadow [Completed]

[Coatleque]

They ate in awkward silence for most of dinner until she finally spoke up.

"There's a large chair in the room. It, um... should be comfortable."

 

"I mean, not that I was inferring you sleep there!", she blurted out suddenly.

 

Her face flushed at her own words. After a pause she spoke once more, slowly and deliberately, choosing her phrasing with utmost care. "What I mean to say, Ser Castille... is that between the two of us, you are more deserving of a proper rest... I can lay my cloak out on the floor and stay at the other end of the room."

 

She watched him for a response while desperately trying to push her own thoughts out of her head...

Unless you...

[Warren Castille]

Warren shook his head well before she was finished.

 

"You will sleep in the bed. I'll drag the chair in front of the door and sleep there. I'll have plenty of rest once we make it back to the city, and I wouldn't be able to sleep if I knew you were on the floor."

 

He didn't look at her, shaking his head again. "It's not up for discussion. I'm plenty able to sleep in a chair. Isn't the first time, won't be the last time." The spoon from his soup clattered into an empty bowl. "I'm going to go... Look around or something. You'll have your privacy."

 

He stood to go, unsure exactly what he was doing but gave a small bow before walking away. "I'm sorry."

[Coatleque]

She blinked, not quite sure how to respond to his abruptness.

Say something you fool!

But then he was gone.

 

She stood up and went to address the innkeeper, suddenly feeling as if she was walking on eggshells. "The soup was wonderful, Ser, however I have suddenly lost my appetite. Apologies." She bowed and returned to the room.

 

**

 

After preparing for the night she sat at the edge of the bed just staring into the dimly lit room. She had turned the lantern down low enough for Warren to see and not trip over something, should he return.

 

She held her face in her hands for a moment before rubbing her eyes, and hopefully her thoughts, away. "I must be mad.", she said to no one. Rolling into the bed she curled up and tried to sleep.

[Warren Castille]

It was some time before the paladin returned. He opened the door softly, ignoring the look from the innkeeper on the way upstairs, and surveyed the room for the first time. He saw the large desk and chair behind it, stepping as softly as he could and lifting the heavy piece of furniture off of the carpet so to not make more noise than necessary.

 

Once he was pleased that the door wouldn't be opened from the hallway, he stepped across the room again to dim the lamp. His hearing was drawn down and he hoped to not hear her stir, though her form was evident in his peripheral vision.

 

"Sorry, Cot," he offered silently to himself, pulling his cloak around himself and drawing his hood over his vision to block out the world. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.

[Coatleque]

The next morning...

 

She did remember how long she had laid there before sleep overtook her. At least it came quietly and with no strange dreams that night. She finally stirred just after first light as the sun began peaking through the window.

 

Rolling over in the bed, she saw Warren sitting in the chair asleep. Her first immediate thought was alarm.

How did he get in here?

She sat up straight, holding the sheets tight to her chest.

That's right... only one room was left.

 

The hearth had long since died out and the room was brisk with the morning air. She quietly got out of bed and retrieved her cloak from the post. She wrapped herself in it and quietly stepped over to where Warren was sitting. Kneeling down next to him, she gently tugged on his shoulder.

 

"Warren? Warren?"

"Ser Castille?"

[Warren Castille]

Warren stiffened immediately and his eyes shot open as he was shaken away, his expression unaware of the situation.

 

"They're here?!" He looked about with some alarm, then down at the hand tugging towards him. He drew his cloak in and his body away before his thoughts caught up with himself.

[Coatleque]

"Warren, it's me. Nobody is here..."

He sat up, drawing his cloak around him.

"....oh! Cot. Sorry. I was off for a second...", he replied sounding half-asleep.

Coatleque tilted her head him. "Only a second? Don't tell me you just came in to sleep?"

Warren blinked hard a moment, considering. "I think? I made sure not to disturb you. I didn't wake you, did I?"

She turned her head barely stifling a yawn. "No, you didn't wake me. I wasn't aware you even came in. Anyroad, it is just past dawn. I thought you would want to be up and off."

"Hm?"

She blinked at him. "Back to Thanalan?"

He seemed more responsive after those words, though his body was slow to move.

"It's not even light yet, are you sure?"

She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the brisk air began to set in.

"Y-y-yes. I think I've had enough of Coerthas for now."

He responded to her stammer, eyes opening and finding purchase.

"Alright. Are you sure you slept enough?" He rolled his shoulder in the socket, his joints were stiff from his 'rest' but he hoped not to relay that. Coatleque managed a smile.

"I've slept more these past three nights than I have all last week in the city. Worry not for me."

Warren frowned a touch. "I'm sorry to hear that, honestly." He knew he couldn't provide better but all the same lamented her dilemma. She shook her head at him.

"It comes with my station. I'm just... still getting used to it. I worry more for how you slept though, in this chair."

 

Warren sat forward and rolled his shoulders, his right arm needing more coaxing than the left. "I'm fine." He surveyed her, though his attention dropped when he realized she hasn't changed from how she has slept. She was clothed in only her cloak and a low cut night gown. Noticing his gaze, she blushed and drew her cloak together with her hand underneath. Standing up then she remarked, "Well... I should... make ready. And knowing our combined gil at this time, we may need to reconsider the Aetherite..."

 

Warren nodded, keeping his gaze away.

"I will speak with the guards. Take what time you need, I will... Talk to them." He rose without lifting his gaze in her direction, trying to give her what privacy he could afford.

 

Coatleque went back to the bedside and sat down to watch him leave the room. Once the door was closed she exhaled a breath she didn't realize she was holding, then went about changing back to her armor and packing up again for light travel. Once finished she left the room to go and find Warren outside.

 

**

 

Warren set about readying Victory for the ride home, and exchanging the little coin he had left for Coatleque's chocobo porter. The last bit in his wallet he spent on a breakfast of fruit and cheese, which her presented to his companion without comment beyond it belonging to her.

 

"Thank you.", she replied as she received the food. "You ate something already?"

He nodded. "I'm good. You need to pick up, though." He kept a continuous eye out on the inn around them, never seeming settled.

 

"If you insist.", she said as she laid her burdens on the bird. She was still shivering in the morning air, not quite awake yet. "I will just eat as we ride. Eager to be away from here."

 

"No one would blame you." Warren looked out to horizon, knowing the Shroud encroached on it already. The journey didn't matter near as much as the destination.

 

[align=center]End Chapter[/align]

[Warren Castille]

Warren paced in his room at the Quicksand, working to push unwelcome thoughts out of his head. He had no right to be angry with Rinh'a but his temper wasn't in the mood to listen; She was content to suck face with the next person who would give her the time of day and hadn't bothered to even ask about what had happened to Howl.

 

You don't have all the answers. Word may have spread through L'Atelier. You can't make assumptions here.

 

Warren tried to speak sense to himself, but deep inside something beastial roared back defiance. It was the same noise that worked through him at the Grindstone and he knew how well that had paid off. Absentmindedly he rubbed his shoulder, still remembering the feel of his joint collapsing. Warren shuddered.

 

One more night in Ul'dah. Tomorrow morning it was back to Coerthas. He was going to try out his camping equipment on the less-hazardous roads between Whitebrim and Dragonhead, culminating in his arrival in time to travel along with Prauvaulient.

 

Only a few days. You can give yourself a few days. It isn't giving up to take care of yourself.

 

If only things were so cut and dry.

[Warren Castille]

Check. Double-check. If you forget anything, you're a dead man.

 

Warren confirmed the contents of the rucksacks again and again, wanting to make sure he knew their stock without looking. He'd already practiced setting up the shelter and taking it down an setting it up, turning the lamp off and working furiously in the dark to make sure he could make the connections and slot everything as was needed without folly. It wasn't only his life that depended on being able to keep himself safe.

 

one

 

They can't possibly be safe. No one has heard from them, neither of their linkpearls have been active in weeks. You're not going to find them in some cave, keeping on until you whisk in to save them, you're not going to bring them home, you're never going to break bread or pour drinks or spend time

 

two

 

The thoughts had lingered for days, weeks. It was only a matter of time before they eventually crept into the cracks and snuck through the armor like so much water. He was drowning and every part of him knew it even if he didn't want to confess.

 

So be it.

 

The pack was good. The supplies were solid. There wasn't anything to stop him from killing himself in the snow and ice and dark, and no one would talk him out of it. A man has his duties, he reasoned, and he'd done a good enough job convincing those looking out for him in the meantime that he was capable.

 

three

 

He didn't know his mouth had contorted into a sneer of disgust. Three seconds was enough. Let the voices slip in. Let them bray and call and mock and laugh. They were powerless as long as Warren kept his goals at the forefront. It didn't matter what he thought he would find, what he thought and knew and feared awaited him. Where once determination and willpower existed and bolstered now only fear and hate dwelt.

 

He rubbed his cheek absentmindedly, wondering how true that was. Ultimately he realized it didn't matter; Fuel was fuel and he'd need all he could muster.

[Warren Castille]

He watched helplessly as they held her down, claws ripping and tearing her to pieces. They flayed her chest open and greedily devoured her heart, cackling as they began to fill the cavity with snow.

 

Warren bolted upright with a scream, kicking the blankets away and rousing himself to his feet. He glared at the bed as if it was responsible and took short, ragged breaths. A hand ran over his face, wiping the cold sweat away and he concentrated on breathing.

 

Just another dream. Just worries running over the top. You're alright. You're alright.

 

Warren sat heavily on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands to keep his fingers from shaking. His thoughts briefly touched on the distress running through Ul'dah but he quickly set them aside.

 

Doesn't matter. See this through. Everything else can wait. Everyone can.

 

He could make out the dark shapes of his rucksacks on the floor. They flanked both sides of a set of sturdy clothing and light armor. His thoughts touched briefly on the last time he'd worn that particular set and it served to distract him for a moment. Warren stood and crossed to it, his hands scooping up the basic-yet-serviceable longsword that rested on the table. Everything he was taking was nondescript but functional. His mission didn't call for flash or being noticed.

 

Warren ran a thumb up the side of the blade, testing the edge. If Prauvaulient and his band proved to be malicious he had no doubts it would serve his purposes. His only concern in that case would be that he couldn't waste the space in pairing the blade with a shield.

 

He felt the blade bite into his flesh and jerked his thumb back, tucking it into his mouth and sucking hard.

 

Just a knick this time. Stop being distracted. You can't afford to lose focus.

 

The first light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the blinds and fell upon an empty room. There was much work to be done, too much ground to cover and no more time to waste.

[Warren Castille]

Warren woke from the dreamless black and was surprised to see the sun already illuminating his location. He was some malms between Dragonhead and Whitebrim and while his previous day's work had been as frigid and depressing as the rest, he found it odd that he had likely his best night's sleep since the whole ordeal began after bundling down in a hole in the snow he had to dig himself.

 

Just like where they're sleeping now. Just like your dreams. Black. Empty.

 

Warren groaned as he ignored the first voice of the morning, his joints aching. The decision to clamber in with armor was not made lightly; Removing it would have wasted precious time and energy better spent resting and recovering. A smaller part of him admitted he wouldn't have had the willpower to undo the many straps and buckles keeping his plate secure after working to the brink of exhaustion. He could work through the complaints his shoulders and knees offered. The wound from the Grindstone throbbed in his mind, a phantom pain looming in his peripherals and threatening to strike. Rinh'a had healed him but he wondered if he had subconsciously rejected the mending. He knew others could do it.

 

Yeah, but she's dead now. No healing in the world can bring her back from what she's become. Dead. Gone. If you're lucky, you can see her restless body traipsing around as a husk of her former self.

 

The thought stabbed icy daggers into his heart. As he went about cleaning up his makeshift camp - no fire, no light, no trails or signs of him being there - the torrent continued.

 

What would you do if you did find them? You know what happens to wayward souls who aren't recovered. You know what they'll become. Could you do it? If you found them trapped in the ice, eyes sunken and hollow, empty? Could you take care of them like that? Do what you know you'd have to do?

 

Warren listened with his jaw set tight under the facemask. He had been reckless before but wasn't going to risk losing himself to frostbite.

 

Could you strike them down if they became monsters?

 

"No time to waste chasing that thought," he murmured to himself. The sun was still rousing but he was behind it already.

 

Kill your girlfriend? Kill your best friend? Could you do that? Chop them into pieces to make sure, cut off the arms that held you, could you bash in the lips you've kissed, cut out the hearts

 

"She's not my girlfriend. I'm going to find them, and everything is going to be fine."

 

For a time, the voices relented.

[Warren Castille]

The, like all others, passed without incident. Warren had trouble concentrating while the sun lazily floated overhead and his vision was strained against its reflection off of the snow. He was trying to keep all of his birds in a row; The mental map of his trek through towards Whitebrim, compared to the mental notes of where he had fruitlessly searched already compared to where he should fruitlessly search, plus keeping his bearings, plus keeping his pace timed enough to get him to Whitebrim before Prauvaulient would leave, plus the deed of actually looking...

 

He breathed hard as he slipped into the snow, bracing himself against a withered tree and giving himself a few moments to rest. His body was finally giving out on him after weeks of pushing too hard despite the best efforts of his bed and the healers from the Grindstone. Only the elvaan had tended to him completely; Rinh'a was content to fix his shoulder but leave the bruises. He blinked hard and tried to remember who had tended to him the night he had won, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. His muscles had been knit together with aether but the bones remembered. Warren's vision danced across the mountainous horizon of Coerthas and for a moment the impossibility of his task set upon his heart like a ravenous dog to a steak.

 

Get up. You haven't been this way yet. Keep looking. You have to find something. Anything.

 

Gloved hands had pulled a bit of dried fruit from a pocket and he popped the morsel into his mouth before getting back to his feet. He told himself he would have a more complete break later, just a few more malms up the road. He'd never forgive himself if he missed his chance at driving into the deeper country.

 

He did it, chasing someone at night with none of the protection you're carrying. He got further than you could with all your amenities and you're relying on others to follow his trail.

 

Warren had already given up listening. He trudged on with the words in his ears and forced his mind to his plans. Stay on course. Check these hills. Make it to Whitebrim...

[Warren Castille]

Warren didn't sleep after arriving in Whitebrim, though for once he could honestly say it wasn't through any intentional act. The fort's outline had appeared lit by torches shortly after the sun slipped away. Knowing the hour and that his destination was nearby, Warren afforded himself the chance to continue looking along the road. Perhaps Howl had misjudged their location, perhaps they were closer to the roads than he anticipated.

 

Then their frozen corpses would have turned up.

 

The numbness in his fingertips and face eventually caused him to give up his search for the evening. He knew he was risking himself by pushing into the darkness like he had weeks ago but he considered that he might not be back on this road again, depending on what happened the next day. He didn't want to leave stones unturned, even if he knew it was impossible to cover everywhere by himself. He owed it to them to look.

 

He didn't bother with securing a room. He wore the look of an adventurer with his armor and crude weapon and pack of supplies and found himself settled down by the central fire. He wasn't going to miss the expedition the following day, nor did he know when it would be departing.

 

Bedding down someplace warm and cozy might be the death of you. Better to brave the conditions outside and be sure of your surroundings than find yourself waking past noon.

 

He didn't sleep. His mind drifted slightly ahead of him, considering the day to come. For once the voices seemed content to give him a few bells of reprieve, and the occasional pop of a log on the fire or passing of the guards kept proper rest at bay.

 

"Castille." The name slipped from the mouth of the severe Inspector Prauvaulient. Warren wasn't aware of anyone standing nearby, and the hyur was still sitting beside the fire with his hood up over his head.

 

"Thought you said you weren't going to look for me, Inspector."

 

"Don't think so highly of yourself. You have been sitting in my encampment for some time. I was merely checking to see if you were already frozen to death."

 

Warren got to his feet and looked the elezen in the eye. He wasn't used to meeting someone's gaze head-on.

 

"Ready then?" Warren didn't wish to engage in a game of oneupsmanship.

 

"Soon." The elezen gestured to a covered caravan lead by a team of chocobo. Within the hour they were off, Whitebrim quickly fading behind them.

[Warren Castille]

The ride was quiet. Prauvaulient kept to himself with books and scrolls, things Warren was interested in but couldn't display open interest towards. The driver was an elezen in common clothing, looking all the part for someone just making their way to the far outposts. Of course there were the trio of guards. Two had longswords on their hips that hung lazily against their chainmail swathing, but one held a longspear that he kept propped against his shoulder and the floor.

 

Mind the one with the spear

 

He ignored the echo, his eyes watching the speartip bob and weave lazily through the air and threatening to get caught on the thick leather bundling that kept their wagon covered and, slightly, secured against the cold. Warren tried to ignore that without eyes to the outside, he had no way of being sure which direction he was being taken. He trusted his sense of direction, however, and felt no discernible change in direction or heading on their trek. The lack of conversation made it easier to focus.

 

you just passed them he was out there hand out reaching to you you missed it

 

They stayed that way for some bells and Warren felt the tug of weariness behind his eyes. It was easier to ignore that feeling when he could get up and do something instead. His eyelids felt heavy and he had no choice but to speak up. He needed something to keep his attention, anything to keep him awake.

 

can't hear through the wagon they're calling out for you can't hear

 

"So what are you doing out here, anyway?" Warren kept his tone neutral and disinterested. Prauvaulient took a deep breath and exhaled, sighing as he let the parchment he was holding land on the barrel he had propped up for a table in front of him.

 

"Ser Castille. You are not in a position to know these sorts of things. Let us just call it Ishagrdian business and leave it at that, hm?" The Inspector's tone was that of an adult trying not to scold a child too badly.

 

"Alright, alright." Warren held up both hands, palms forward to make a show of apology. "I just thought it was a bit odd that we're undercover. I'm on the side of law and order, you know."

 

"I'm sure all adventurers mean as they say, Ser Castille," the Inspector responded slowly, deliberately.

 

When they finally broke for a meal, the sun was already edging away behind the mountains. They exited the back of the caravan and Warren was having trouble placing his location but was glad to have new ground to tread. After some efficient minutes spent creating a fire, one of the mute guards - One with a sword, Warren noted - carried over a bowl of stew he had drawn from a pot.

 

"Yeah, thanks." He smiled while fighting the urge for his teeth to chatter, gloved hands accepting the bowl and taking grateful mouthfuls of the warm meal. He knew it would be his last for a time. Warren caught Prauvaulient looking in his direction, and Warren returned the look. The rest of the stew went uneaten.

 

The guards broke camp down as quickly as they had erected it, if it could even be called a camp. The one with the spear watched while those with hands free diligently and obediently dispatched of their presence there, then loaded their boxes and makeshift tables back into the cart. Warren got to his feet and moved across the small area they had chosen, meeting Prauvaulient standing before the open wagon.

 

"I'm sorry, Ser Castille." The elezen sighed, looking put-upon. Warren didn't flinch, instead eyeing the trio of guards while his hand rested on the pommel of his broadsword. He felt confused for a moment, blinking hard and focusing his vision on the Inspector.

 

"You think I'm just going... to go down like this?"

 

Poison you idiot you accepted their food you know better you trusted them why did you trust them

 

His thoughts hammered like train cars in his head, his face twisting to a sneer.

 

"You drugged me?!" He drew his sword, pointing it forward but the tip dipped and wobbled. Infuriated, Warren took a heavy step forward in the snow and was intercepted by the sworsman on the Inspector's right, deflecting the blow and knocking the weapon from Warren's hand. A rudimentary disarm that the paladin couldn't respond to.

 

"It will be easier this way, Castille. You will be asleep soon enough, and the frost will do what it needs to after that. You don't know how it pains me to waste you like this, but you are simply too meddlesome for me to leave around. Your snooping is too close to my interests." The inspector was matter-of-fact in his dismissal and Warren's head spun.

 

"I... What? You...!" His exclamations were punctuated with staggered breaths.

 

This isn't it can't be you stop promised

 

"At least you will have found your friends, Ser Castille." Prauvaulient's tone was almost sympathetic but Warren couldn't hear him. The highlander sank to his knees, his sense of touch already fuzzing and dimmed. He fell forward onto his hands, his mind blanking.

 

The Ishgardian group of four returned to their caravan without another word. The back was drawn tight and secured, then the crack of a whip sent the team of chocobo forward, turning away from the sun's last light.

 

get up get to your feet catch them stop fight

 

you promised get up for her for him for them

 

too cold can't you won't make it freeze

 

please Oschon please Halone please

 

Menphina please

 

I'm sorry Howl

 

please

[Warren Castille]

Blind you went blind are those the stars can you see what are you looking at

 

He had slipped into his back at first, shivering and spasming as the poison took hold. A dim enough part of his mind forced him onto his side and he curled up in the snow, one eye open and locked onto the horizon. The sun had already crawled away for slumber and the shimmer of the stars was too subtle for him to register.

 

Dead maybe you're dead this is what happened to them maybe they weren't real did you ever have friends

 

His breath hitched, coming in tiny gasps and steamy exhales. The dim part was aware that at night, it would take even less time for exposure to set in. The part of him awake wasn't sure what that word meant.

 

probably better this way probably okay just rest for now it's been such a long walk you won't walk again that's okay there's no one to walk to you killed them already

 

He blinked, his eyes red with tears frozen to his face.

 

can't cry don't cry why are you crying oh right they're gone you're gone why is it so dark your eyes are open right you won't see them again

 

He coughed, a harsh noise slipping from his throat as his emotions bubbled over and latched on to escape. A horrid, low sobbing moan crept out of him, the dim part aware it would call the wolves if they heard.

 

no more warmth no more sun no more sky no more home nothing no one gone this is it you killed them all she didn't care you let down him he died because you told him to you killed him

 

He didn't have the faculties to picture the Duskbreak. It was like looking through someone else's photographs; He recognized the place but he couldn't recall why.

 

The table your seat facing the door just in case didn't have to worry his seat always on the right drinks on the shelves behind you drinks in the bottom drawer letters in the bottom drawer laughter so much laughter all gone now

 

What was the last thing they had said? An argument of some sort. Talking about how things change when you wake up some days. Promises not to get themselves killed for no reason.

 

kept trying useless weapons couldn't win with them neither could he kept trying though almost made it couldn't win no one to tap fists with no wonder you couldn't you won when you did

 

His shivering caused his vision to shake. The mountains bobbed into sight in the distance, ever visible even in the moonless night.

 

where are you where did you go i almost found you your right here i need you why couldnt i get you back what did i do

 

He wasn't too far gone that all of his senses were forgotten to him. There was a noise behind him, a shuffle. Fear leaped from the darkness and seized him.

 

wolves oh god the wolves oschon menphina please someone anyone let me save him just let me have saved him im sorry i tried i let you down im sorry im sorry imsor

[Warren Castille]

Warren's mind continued to run through everything, driving it home as deeply as he could to make sure the details weren't lost to the remnants of whatever he had been drugged with.

 

The old man had taken him for dead and Warren wasn't sure that wasn't the truth. The geezer had pulled him to his feet, made a makeshift tent with his cloak. Warren remembered the blue fire, the memory spreading phantom warmth into his fingers and toes and lips and cheek and nose.

 

That's not warmth. You're going to lose them. Frost is too much.

 

He pushed away useless data and focused on the important parts. He didn't dare pull the lock out, not with his fingers are far gone as they were. Even through his gloves the long night had simply been too much. He thought again that he was actually dead somewhere on the mountainside, frozen to the snow and worthless.

 

The thought turned his focus to anger.

 

Geezer was holding a lock of her hair. He took it from her, and Warren regretted his decision to not tear him limb from limb.

 

Focus.

 

A camp. High in the mountains. An impassable ravine. A voidsent turning them into monsters.

 

He has them. He took us all. A fiend out of the hells to reshape us. To make us living weapons. The boy followed for her, he had to have, he wants nothing to do with that fiend or his ways, but he won't leave her.

 

Someone took them. Someone found them in the snow and took them.

 

You love the girl then? She's given herself over to the fiend you know... she wants to be like him.

 

Warren blinked against the thought. No time for it.

 

I told you - they're in the hells with the nastiest voidsent of all. He wants to turn them into demons, too. It's half-done now. Maybe more. He'll either kill them or they'll come back as demons.

 

Enough. Worthless details. Concentrate.

 

Prauvaulient's girl was found dead of exposure in the snow past Whitebrim. A spear was beside her, crudely fashioned but effective. Warren was carrying a similar one now, a replacement for his sword, taken from Geezer. Prauvaulient tried to murder Warren.

 

Too close to him. You're too close, it was an accident but you're on the same path. Geezer will be gone, too, found in the snow.

 

All he needed to do was get back to Whitebrim as one piece. It didn't matter what fell off of him when he got there; As long as he was breathing he could see this through. Prauvaulient was the lock on the rest of what Warren needed.

 

He owned many sharp, pointy keys. One of them would fit.

[Warren Castille]

"You're awake, finally. I thought we were going to lose you for a while there."

 

Warren groaned but was surprised to find himself still alive. His hands felt like they were on fire and he couldn't feel his toes but he was alive.

 

"...what?" He was surprised at how rough his voice sounded. "How long was I out? Where...?"

 

An elezen woman turned to meet him from across the small room and ice filled Warren's veins when he realized he recognized her. The woman who had absently left the door open.

 

"Relax." She could see the distress on his face. "As far as anyone else is concerned, you're just another adventurer who couldn't handle the cold. It's more common than you think."

 

Warren frowned, unsure how to proceed. The woman didn't seem to mind.

 

"I did what I could for you, but healing magic isn't really my forte. You'll need to see someone more skilled than I. You're in a bad way."

 

Warren looked away, trying to keep his composure. If he was already known to be back, he'd lose an advantage.

 

"I'll be going, then. I'm not keen on sticking around." It wasn't a lie.

 

"That's probably for the best. You won't want to be here when the Inspector returns in five days. I don't think he'll want to see you."

 

Warren turned and measured her. She continued talking, shrugging.

 

"No business of mine what happens. I see so many adventurers come through my lands. He can't expect me to keep track of every single one." She folded a paper in her hands and crossed to the doorway, hesitating for only a moment before leaving.

 

"The Fury watch over you, traveler."

[Warren Castille]

Warren permitted himself one of the potions he'd arranged on the desk. He'd intended on saving all of them for his guest but the nagging in his shoulder needed to be quelled, and he was worried about the greatly spiked amount of magical healing he had needed in the recent days. He wouldn't allow himself to become dependent on conjury or alchemy to cover for his mistakes.

 

The quarters were less humble than Warren had expected, though he wasn't sure why he thought someone as full of himself as the Illustrious Inspector Prauvaulient would cede luxury when away from his homeland. A large, expensive wooden desk. Numerous bookshelves lined with, as near as he could tell, imported historicals and rare editions. Ishgard was a popular subject and there were tens of volumes dedicated to the history and might of the Holy See.

 

There were portraits on the wall; Excellently made and likely the works of a master. The Inspector himself. Ishgard at dawn. A knight, one who looked much like the inspector but younger.

 

The spear Warren retrieved from Geezer was nestled behind the door. He was seated beside it, just biding his time until the Inspector returned from his expedition. One hand absently went to the cool glass vial he had tucked away in his pocket. It was one of a handful of items there and the most valuable. It had been given to him alongside advice to be prudent.

 

"It will look completely natural. No one will know anything was amiss."

 

He considered the proposal. He knew what he intended on doing, and the potential ramifications it would bring. He was given an out, a way to get what he wanted without destroying himself.

 

Warren released the vial, his eyes moving to the tools he had arranged on the inspector's desk. His trip through the Gold Court had been one that would have seemed almost hopeful to someone without insight. A stop by a culinarian vendor to purchase a heavy iron cleaver. A brief moment spent before selecting a skinner's knife from a leatherworker's hut. Warren purchased a set of pliers from a Limsan armorsmith and exchanged small talk on their proper use.

 

The Inspector would be back soon. There would be much to discuss, none of it about proper use of any of those tools.

[Warren Castille]

A butcher with a practiced hand will be able to bring the edge of a cleaver down at the weakest part of a joint. Whether it be neatly quartering a dodo or removing a lava toad's leg at the hip, the art of preparing food is equal parts knowledge, precision and execution. Unfortunately for Inspector Prauvaulient, Warren Castille never spent time in a kitchen.

 

Thwack.

 

The edge of the butcher's blade came down an ilm or two further to the right than intended. Instead of catching the elezen's hand at the thinnest part of the wrist, the metal bit down into flesh and muscle and latched into the bone.

 

"Clumsy. Gonna need two for this one." He wrenched the metal free as a torrent of blood spurted from the wound and held it aloft, considering.

 

Thwack.

**

The initial struggle took only moments. The Inspector, for all of his bandying about and self-importance, was unconditioned to carry out his own fights. He was also completely unsuspecting that he would be accosted by a dead man mere moments after returning from a successful expedition.

 

As soon as the door latched shut the shadows came alive. The inspector was hauled by his collar onto his wonderfully expensive desk, furnished by the Holy See of course, and he was pinned before he could do much more than stutter. There was the faint hum as the silencing wards kicked in; Prauvaulient had always felt secrets were worth keeping and spared no expense - of Ishgard's - to be certain his domain was secure. The thought didn't dawn on him on account of the first knife being driven through his left hand, sinking into the wood.

 

His hunter reached to his belt and removed another knife. There were words spoken but they were unheard. The inspector's screams began in earnest when his head was wrenched to the side and the second knife bit into his ear. He felt a tugging and a tearing and then everything sounded strange. Flatter. His voice cut off, the surprise of the situation overruling the pain coursing from his palm and the hole in the side of his head.

 

Prauvaulient's eyes fixed onto the man's hand. It was holding his ear and he fought the urge to laugh madly, completely and utterly mad at how ridiculous the scenario was. He had just returned from delivering yet another to Ryuuga's camp. He was furthering the line of Ishgard's heroes with the blood of the unworthy. Making weapons. The brief moment passed as the adrenaline spike dipped and the gravity of the situation returned with all the weight of Coerthas' snow and ice.

 

He looked to his attacker and saw a ghost. The fool knight who he had left to die in the snow. There was single-minded fury in his eyes and he brought his face close to the elezen's, leaning in the direction of his remaining ear and speaking, too furious was he to whisper.

 

"I'm going to take everything from you."

 

Prauvaulient opened his mouth to scream and sputtered as the potion splashed onto his face, the bottle rammed into his mouth and down his throat. He gulped desperately at the liquid, his only options compliance or drowning. For all his muster, Prauvaulient feared death.

 

He felt an aching itch on the side of his head as the wound closed. His ear was still gone, he could tell, and pain shot from his wrist as flesh attempted to suture itself around cold steel. He turned his face away from the highlander, letting his vision fall to one of the bookshelves on the opposite wall.

 

Once he was able to count the number of potions that were stored there, he was able to scream once more.

[Warren Castille]

"Do you know what this is, Inspector?" Warren tumbled the vial in his bloodstained hands, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. What was left of the Inspector groaned, remaining limbs writhing slowly. The highlander sighed, knowing the elezen's mental limits were nearing capacity.

 

He stood and paced the room. They had only been together for a few short minutes - half a bell at the most - and they had been uninterrupted for the duration. Warren didn't have a plan if he was discovered and he realized he was covered in blood. None of that seemed to reach the front of his mind.

 

"I took them to him! I found them wandering blindly! Near frozen! He could reshape them, reforge them!"

 

The Inspector had explained as quickly as he could and sputtering how he and his team had followed the reports of adventurers passing through. The blue haired girl not dressed for snow. The miqo'te male who chased her. He explained how he found them huddled near one another, her completely nude and him curled and shivering, muttering to himself.

 

"They will be remade into something glorious!"

 

Prauvaulient rambled about the camp. A different camp every time, so as to not be tracked. Even he didn't know where it was, he only knew where to drop the bodies. He explained that his son had gone, willingly, and had become something more than even Ishgard's best dragoons could amount to.

 

"They won't be the same. Not now. Far too long. He will have broken them."

 

He explained how his son hadn't even let him know he had survived. He was beyond caring. His family was his spear. His love was combat. The humanity had been carved out of him and replaced with unfeeling cruelty, a lust for carnage. He tried to explain with no small reverence that whoever had gone to that camp would never return down the mountain.

 

"This is Rhalgr's Bile. It has killed kings. One drop, anywhere on your body, and you will die. It will look completely natural. Your heart will stop, and no one will know why. You will simply...die."

 

Warren studied the vial, the contents eerily similar to a vial of a man's blood. He looked at what remained of the Inspector's face and put on a mask of sympathy. The elezen's remaining eye was looking in Warren's direction. The highlander grinned. He had the mental capacity to understand him still. That was good.

 

"I think we've seen enough of each other, Inspector. Should I repay your honesty? Give you a peaceful death after all I've put you through? There's not much more I can do, huh?" Warren's tone dropped, guilt creeping in. Before him the inspector's useless mouth strained, groaning something low and mournful.

 

"You can't save them."

 

A moment of defiance, from when the Inspector still thought he might survive the day. Warren's expression soured and he leaned in, speaking quietly over the Ishgardian's sobs.

 

"I would, Inspector. But this kills kings. Are you a king, Inspector? Are you worth more than the contents of this vial? Than a drop of it?" He surveyed the shattered body of the elezen and shook his head. "Not even when you were whole."

 

The low sob rose to a high moan as Warren picked the spear from the corner. He turned and gave the inspector one last look.

 

"If I can't find them, Inspector, I will find your son."

 

There was a gurgled cry, cut off as the spearhead bit through into the desk.

[Warren Castille]

Warren hurled the empty across the room at the fireplace. He'd already knocked the candles out and the small explosion of glass shards satisfied a visceral part of him. He staggered across to his - their - stash of bottles and took an armful, returning to the front door and bracing his back against it before sliding down the length of it, crumpling to the floor. He pulled off a cap and drank heavily, just as he had the others.

 

"Suh... 'sposed 'ta bring you home." He emphasized the last word, indicating as if he had taken him somewhere else. " 'sposed to be here. Suhpose t' be here..." He cut off the emotions with a flash of anger, emptying the bottle.

 

"S' my faul'. I'm th' reason yer' not home anymore. I sen' you t' that place, an' it's my faul' yer not comin' home." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, the beast speaking through his own tongue. "S' my faul' yer' probly dead up there. I killed you."

 

The words reached his ears as a foreign entity and he broke down, the bottle bouncing off of the floor forgotten as he drew himself into a sobbing ball on the ground. "Killed you fer a girl who didn' even look at my 'nymore. Killed you by not bein' able to take a gods-damned hint." He spit bile at the words, his face contorting into an angry snarl. "Killed you by bein' weak."

 

It was a flash in the pan, his words lashes against his own back. He retreated back into grief, wiping his eyes as they leaked and scooping up the remaining bottles and managing to get himself on unstable legs to his seat at the table. He didn't notice the bits of broken glass sticking to his feet, or the red trail he was leaving.

 

He sat heavily, taking his head in his hands and then removing the top on another bottle. "S'not fair, you know. Leavin' me to drink all'a this. Even if I knew I'd be drinkin' it all anyway. You can' hol' your liquor, not like ol' Warren can." He snickered to himself, teasing his absent friend. "I'd en' up carryin' you to yer bed. Ace can hol' more booze than you can." Warren laughed, sniffling and taking another long swig. "S'alright. I'll get ridda these bottles. You woulda-" A hitch, followed by a whisper. "Woulda wanted it this way." The laughter had drained out of him now. He looked towards the empty chair opposite his and felt something inside of him strain, then burst.

 

Warren collapsed his face into the crook of his arm, nodding and sobbing. "Alright. I'll leave one. Jus' one. For when you get back." He slid one of the remaining bottles across the table, directly in front of the empty chair.

 

The highlander drew his hands over his head and quietly sobbed himself to sleep.

[Warren Castille]

You gave yourself a night. You're fine. Pick up the pieces, now.

 

Sunlight poured through the windows of the Duskbreak as Warren cracked his neck and groaned, rolling his shoulders. There were more comfortable places to sleep just down the stairs but he never would have allowed himself to rest. Parts of the previous night came back to him as the fog rolled itself away.

 

More glass. You never cleaned up the first bits.

 

He went about the task of cleaning. The bits of bottle and glass from the smashed map were simple enough to rectify and the highlander moved on to wiping down surfaces and setting things right. He made a mental note to refill the drink selection next time he was able.

 

You two prided yourselves on keeping the place looking like it was tended by a woman. You're going to have to work twice as hard to keep that appearance up now.

 

Ace was returned, though now the ancient puppy sat facing Warren's bed. He was the paladin's responsibility now, and the poor thing looked ready to bust his seams if mishandled. Warren wouldn't let anything happen to him.

 

Should think about opening her up sometime. There's no use for it as a stronghold anymore. No one's going to need it for shelter. Maybe it'd do some good.

 

The blue lock went away with the letter in the secured chest at his desk. He briefly considered the fireplace since it wasn't his by right but it seemed unkind to dispose of it in that way.

 

You can do this.

 

Warren made sure the bottle was still in front of the chair before leaving.

[Warren Castille]

Warren sat on the stone bench in the center of the Goblet, one fist pressed into the palm of his other hand and his chin resting upon them both. His eyes flitted left and right, back and forth and up and down. He wasn't watching the stones, or the waterfall or the birds or sky; Warren's entire attention was directed into the noises he heard.

 

The linkpearls had been easy enough to acquire. In a world as tumultuous as Eorzea there was always a need for communication, but more importantly there was a need for security. A linkpearl is traditionally free to communicate two ways but there is a market for those that may only transmit and never receive. Warren had procured a number of these pearls and linked them to a single receptive one; The result was a network of ears he had placed only inside of his own home. The Duskbreak was fashioned once as a safehold and Warren thought he would have need to know what went on there. He had only ever removed the master link once, and that was when he couldn't bring himself to hear the words uttered from the rooms.

 

The last thing he expected to hear was the door open. Not forced, but unlocked. Footsteps, soft but clear. The sound of a bottle being dragged off of a tabletop. Someone had come home.

***

[Warren Castille]

I think some thanks are in order.

 

First to everyone who stuck around in the thread. I wasn't really sure what to expect when I started it, but I certainly did NOT expect to be received as well as I was!

 

Second, a huge thanks to everyone who ended up helping to rally Warren during the past month. This was originally designed as an aside to the roleplay, something going on in the meanwhile but you guys refused to let it exist on its own. For everyone who let themselves get tangled up in what I was doing, thank you. Warren needed the back-up and none of you let him down.

 

Finally, thanks to the other side of the story. I was waiting to show this part at the end because I didn't want to spoil it, but hey, we're done now so it's time to pull back the curtain!

 

This wasn't just a sidestory. The whole time I'd been writing, someone else was too. While this thread catalogs the month Warren went through, he wasn't alone on this journey.

 

Give it a read if you can. I think it helps complete the story. Well, as much as living, breathing RP can be completed. This chapter's done but I somehow think the book's going to be much longer.

 

Thanks guys!