No Good Deed【Complete】

[Nero]

(( The previous post and the following posts are an edited recap of an in-game session. ))

 

His cheek still stung with the memory of her slap, but Nero could not help but take some satisfaction in it, even as the side of his face began to redden. She had struck him because some part of her knew he was right. It was an arrogant thought, egotistical, perhaps even narcissistic, but he could see his piercing barbs wearing down her idealism, her naive world view.

 

Yet within some part of him, there was some tiny regret. The smuggler was testing her. Roen had gone through some experiences she had only given hints or summaries to, but she was still sheltered in many ways. The smallest, most insignificant fragment of his conscience did not wish to see her idealism broken.

 

But it was far too late for that now.

 

Nero turned his attention back to unloading and inspecting the crates, moving to the other side to avoid the paladin's gaze. Some of the refugees could hear their argument echo in the caves, and the Hyur sheepishly distributed some supplies to them before shooing them off.

 

"I hope that day never comes, Mister Lazarov. For Ul'dah's sake." Roen's voice came from the other side of the crate pile. From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at the refugees. After a long silence, she finally spoke. "We both want the same thing."

 

"Do we?" Nero said, his voice melancholic and doubtful. "Have you even thought about what it is you want? Do you even know?"

 

"I, too, want to end the suffering of the poor." The cavern rumbled a bit as the crate lids were peeled off and the contents shuffled. Nero couldn't see her face--he was avoiding looking at it--but he could guess at her expression. "I am not blind to the corruption of the Monetarists. I wish for their hold on the Jewel to end...but I do not wish for a bloody war to achieve such goals."

 

Nero's bitter smile returned. Hopelessly naive, the thought rang in his head. He stood up from his crouching position, occasionally casting a sideways glance at the paladin as the two of them worked.

 

"I do not wish for the bodies of my enemies to litter the streets, or for their blood to run over the stones." Roen shook her head. "I do not mean to keep the status quo. I know the status quo is warped. Twisted. Unbalanced. Else I'd have never agreed to this." She gestured between herself and the smuggler. "But I knew not how or where to begin. I had hoped you had the answers that I did not."

 

She turned her face to search his ice-coloured eyes. "Perhaps you still do. In some way."

 

Nero could not help but snort derisively. She wanted to correct Ul'dah and had absolutely no plan whatsoever. And when some parts of his plan contained elements that she didn't like, she complained. Typical.

 

"And so your plan is to stumble about aimlessly in the dark, hoping that your goal will come to fruition by itself." Nero roughly brushed past her to reach the other crates. "Hoping that the story books weren't lies, hoping beyond hope that no one will need to sacrifice." He turned his head to glare at her. His words from yesterday had ached to be said, and now they received their chance.

 

"You are nothing but arrogant, Miss Deneith. You sit from your pedestal of righteousness and indignation and simply watch the suffering. You convince yourself that you are helping, that you are 'changing' things, that you are making things better. You watch filth like me stain our hands with blood and destroy lives, and you turn your nose away in disdain. 'I am not like that', you say to yourself. 'I am changing things. I am doing things the right way.' And so the people continue to suffer, to live in squalor, to be chewed up and spat out by the city that despises them...and you just watch, chained by your own delusions." As Nero spoke, his words became more inflammatory, his tone smoldering with repressed anger. 

 

He turned to face her. "What would you have them do? Raise their hands to the skies and pray for salvation from the Twelve? Have them watch their families starve and freeze in the night, their faith in the system so justly rewarded? What would you have them do, Roen Deneith?"

 

Roen slammed her hands on the box. "Stop that," she said, her voice hoarse. "Stop that!" The hoarse demand had turned into a growl. "I...I do not know! I did not have a plan! That is why I sought you out!" Her voice grew more infuriated.

 

"All I have known is the Order! I am trying to find a new way. A better way! You were my hope in finding it!" 

 

What was she talking about, this simpering girl? She saw him as some kind of guardian angel, that he would provide magical answers to the problems she wished to solve? How foolish could she possibly be? Nero did his utmost to keep his lip from curling into a scowl. Her naivete--no, it was beyond naivete, it was now borderline stupidity--was incredible.

 

He did not look at her face, but he could hear the paladin's voice calm at least somewhat. "No, I never expected gratitude from you," the bitter voice said. "I thought one day, I would be expressing them to you, for helping me find a solution that I had no way of finding on my own!"

 

"But now..." Roen fumed. "Now I am not so sure of that at all. Now I think that all you seek is to prove yourself right, and everyone else wrong."

 

"Where I thought I saw hope...that you too wanted to belong in that world you would help create, I was imagining things." The bitterness in her tone deepened.

 

Nero looked away. "Yes, you were imagining things. I have no hope of that. I do not belong in the new world I seek to create. My very existence is contradictory to everything that world stands for. Honesty, peace, justice, virtue, kindness, generosity...hope." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "No one knows me better than myself. And I know for a fact, I know within my bones and my blood and in the depths of my soul...that there is no place for me there."

 

He turned his head--his glare sharpened like a spear point, and burned like a wildfire. The smuggler's voice became steely, hard, and relentless. "I will commit as much evil as I have to. I will kill whoever I must. I will destroy everything, if I have to. In a twisted inferno, I will reduce everything to ash."

 

"And if I am so wrong, if I am nothing more than the same evil I wish to destroy," he flicked a challenging finger at the sword at Roen's side. "Then do me a favour...and take my life now."

 

His gaze intensified. "I will not hesitate. I will not waver. With fire and smoke and steel and a shower of blood, I will correct that which is remorselessly broken."

 

The paladin paused, blinking at him. Her stare was one of disbelief.

 

Nero continued. "And when the dust clears, when the flames have burned out and died, when the bodies have been buried and when I have paid for every single sin with every single ilm of my life...the future will belong to you, and to the people like you. The people who believe in honesty. Who believe in justice. Who believe in virtue. Who believe that life in Ul'dah is not about who devours whom, but that it is about living, together, in peace and cooperation. You and your people will construct the brightest possible future."

 

Roen searched his eyes; the doubt regarding his words had evaporated. She had seen it first hand, the exacting nature with which he pursued his goals.

 

Nero's eyes lost their sheen, that sparkle of ambition. They were dull and flat. "To enact extreme change, one must take extreme action, and the only ones who should take lives are those who are prepared to give their own." His mind was blank; no thoughts ran in the smuggler's head. His mouth moved on their own, as if he were reciting lines from a script.

 

"I belong to Ul'dah. Every fibre of my being is devoted to cleansing her in the only way I know how." And again, the fire re-ignited. "I will not suffer interference. I will not allow anyone or anything to stand in my way. I will crush and destroy and maim and obliterate and burn and ravage everything and anything I must..for the opportunity of a better future."

 

Nero turned to face the paladin. "You call me cruel, and brutal. You think me evil. That is fine. That is nothing less than what I deserve. That is nothing less than what I desire. I will become evil incarnate, if I must." In a swift motion, he flicked the knife from his belt and held the pommel towards Roen. It was an offer, a challenge, a dare...and a plea.

 

"And if such a thing is unforgivable," he breathed in, his face taking on an expression of peaceful acceptance. "Then end me now."

[Roen]

Roen stared at the knife. The steel edge of it gleamed, and she could see her warped reflection smeared along its metal shaft.

 

Cruel. Brutal. Evil. These are the things he desired to become. Nero's gaze had turned hard as he spoke of the extreme lengths that he would go to achieve his goals. The fire that burned in his eyes, it was for Ul’dah, it was for the better future; it held fury for the suffering that pervaded like an epidemic amongst the poor. But when he spoke of his own life--the life that would be consumed and eventually lost in the end--there was nothing but restrained apathy, a scripted acceptance to his fate.

 

To become evil. To die in a blazing conflagration that destroyed all else in its wake...these were the things that Nero said he wanted. The smuggler has said these words to her more than once now. Just as she had echoed her own beliefs of justice to only see it fall on deaf ears, was she doing the same? Was she refusing to see the end path he was committed to carving for himself?

 

Was she, as he said, trying to save him whether he wanted it or not? Were taking on such causes her way of validating her existence? The fact that she survived when so many had perished in the madness that was Dalamud?

 

Nero’s spiteful words were meant to crack her resolve. But Roen could not help but see a glimpse of truth in them. Did she not choose the path of the Order to atone for the sins of her homeland upon the people of Eorzea? She rarely even acknowledged to herself the deeply seated guilt in her heart when it came to her father and his hand in the Calamity, and her own inability to save him.

 

Was she trying to save Nero now?

 

Contorted grey eyes stared back at her, mirrored on the metal blade. Sorrow, loss, and suffering, they perverted the heart and mind of the person they infected, much like her own reflection twisted on steel made to cut flesh.

 

Nero had shown compassion, patience, and generosity to those less unfortunate than he. It was what drew her to his cause in the first place. And it was that very benevolence that then sparked and fed his fury in witnessing their suffering. So how can a man hold both kindness and sorrow alongside such willingness for atrocity? Was deadening his heart his way of reconciling the two opposing forces that must have waged war within him?

 

Roen could not help but see the similarities drawn between her and the smuggler.

 

For the pirate, his compassion had stepped aside to allow wrath to dictate his course, his life. However, in the struggle between them there had been no victor yet. There was still a chance. Still hope.

 

Perhaps this time she could save him. And he would not cause needless deaths.

 

“Why..?” the paladin rasped, her eyes still fixed on the knife. She made no move to take it. “Why does Ul’dah own you so?” Roen peered back up at the smuggler, searching his eyes. “Why do you desire such horrible things? Why are you driven down this path? Why do you see such a violent end, and nothing else?”

 

"Does it matter, why?” He lowered his hand along with the blade. His voice had turned cold again, distant. “Why does fire burn? Why does your body draw breath? Why does rain fall from the sky?" He shook his head. "These things know no other way to exist. These things are defined by these actions. Without Ul'dah, I am nothing. Without my belief that I can change it, I am truly broken."

 

The paladin exhaled. “Fire burns. Rain falls. We breathe. Such thing are ordained by nature. Even hoping for a better future, we are born with these instincts.” She leveled her gaze at him, slowly shaking her head. “To desire to destroy one’s own heart, to throw away their lives to darkness so that others may find peace… that is not a natural thing. That is a conscious choice we make. Perhaps when we see no other choice left to us.”

 

“Is it not? Is this not the natural order?” Nero arched a brow at her, unconvinced. "You were furious with me because you thought of me as a wanton killer who took joy in suffering. Tell me, where in my actions did you receive that idea? Did I torture my victims? Did I force agony upon them? Did I want them to know the futility of their own deaths? Did I want them to forever recognise life's fleeting mercy?"

 

Roen bowed her head with a sigh. The bitterness and doubt had ebbed away, leaving only grim resignation. “I thought I saw gleeful satisfaction in you, as you took their lives.” She shook her head. “Now I know it was not malice. Not truly. But you also hold no remorse either.” There was still disappointment in her tone; it still leadened her words. “You are…who you say you are. I see that now.”

 

The smuggler’s ice-blue gaze narrowed. "Is that not natural, to take joy in vengeance? In the bandits, I saw the ones who beat me, who forced me to fight the bottoms of their boots for a scrap of food. In the Brass Blade, I saw the ones who stood by and did nothing, who watched children knife each other for their amusement."

 

"I took pleasure in exercising my power, in knowing that with their deaths, mayhaps some like me may find some relief on the morrow." His lips curled in a cruel way. "I found it amusing, that those who would force such desperation and depravity on others would themselves scrabble so desperately for their miserable lives."

 

The paladin blinked, her eyes widening slightly. "I...I did not know," she murmured, pity leaking into her tone. He had never spoke of his past. She had an inkling of some of the darkness he may have witnessed, he spoke too vividly of the hardships that the refugees faced for her to think otherwise. But he had never spoken of his own past. Until now.

 

Nero frowned, rejecting her sympathy. "You are still arrogant. You still believe that above all else, you know what is right and wrong. And you think you can impose that on someone without knowing anything about them or their experiences." He crossed his arms. "I take joy in destroying monsters, for if I destroy all of them, then no one will be forced to stain their hands with blood like I have."

 

"You are right." Roen said quietly. "I know nothing about you. Or what you suffered." Her tone had turned to that of regret and contemplation. "I...I did not know."

 

Nero looked to her long and hard. "Let me tell you a story, then, Miss Deneith."

[Nero]

Why was it always with this woman? Why was it always about Ul'dah? Something about Roen and that wretched hive always brought out the worst in him. The subject had come up often; often they were clashing about their ideologies, but such things weren't new to him. What was it about her in particular that made him so vehement in his methods? Whenever she tried to instill some idea about justice in him, gone was his usual smirking pirate routine, the mask he had thought he'd solidly affixed to his face. What was it about her that made him so determined to prove his own ideals, as dark as they were?

 

Nero took a deep breath, searching his memory. The smuggler never enjoyed talking about his past. The very last thing he wanted was pity or sympathy. The things that he suffered were not unique or special or of note; they were things that others were suffering right this very moment. The only difference between him and those unfortunate souls enduring those hardships right now was that he had endured before them. His past should remain exactly where it had always been: behind him.

 

Yet now it seemed, to make this maddeningly stubborn paladin understand, he would have to agitate the ghosts.

 

"This is a story about hope, and bright future. This is the story about someone who believed that they could overcome all odds and reach an opportunity for a better life," Nero began, his arms still folded. "This is the story about a young girl, full of that same hope, that same aspiration for a more prosperous life. This young girl lacked in material goods, but she was not lacking in spirit, or strength of heart."

 

"Every day, she was confident that an opportunity would come where she could grasp a better future. Our young girl was raised by the prostitutes, but she was not unhappy. They were kind to her, and it was among them that she found many other children. She saw that they were unhappy, and full of sadness and pain. Above all else, the only thing our young girl wanted was for them to believe in the same bright future that she did." 

 

It was always dangerous for him to be skirting on such memories. He was careful to omit any mention of his involvement, but Nero knew he teetered on the edge; these bitter recollections had a bad habit of setting him off. He kept his voice tight and controlled, his tone somber. Instead of looking at Roen, he looked at the crates behind her, focusing on anything but the woman standing in front of him.

 

"On some days, she would sweep in front of stores, and occasionally the merchants would see fit to flick a disdainful coin at her. On other days, she would brush boots with a ragged cloth until her hands bled. On good days, the less scrupulous alchemists would test their experimental concoctions on her. The effects were always thoroughly unpleasant, but often they gave enough gil for her to buy food."

 

"Even with all of this, she never gave up. She never let the city break her. One day, a kind man saw the brightness in her, and that determined luminosity inspired some generosity in him. He gave her many coins--a paltry sum, but to her, he may as well have given her all of the wealth in the world. 'Take that to the other children,' he told her. 'Show them the prosperous future they might achieve, if they but believed in hope as you do.'"

 

"With boundless joy and happiness she returned to spread her good fortune to all those she cared about. First she race to the prostitutes. Her smile and her beliefs did not waver as she watched the bandits drag them out of the brothel one by one. Her hope did not crack even the slightest as they kicked and screamed, insisting that they had paid their dues. She was not colored by a single inkling of despair as they beat the faces of those who resisted and broke the legs of those who tried to run."

 

"Undaunted, she ran to the merchants, eager to show them that she could buy some of their wares. Her smile never broke as they threw the street rat out of their stores, as the Brass Blades they had paid to be enforcers snatched some of her gil as they tossed her into an alley. As she ran, they played a common game, testing their marksmanship with rocks. Some of them found their mark, but she did not waver."

 

"And so, with great joy she found the children, her precious friends, and her hope in their future did not diminish by even a fraction as they stole everything she had, hoping for themselves that they could buy some food for the evening."

 

"And so she was left in the streets, alone, with naught but bruises and shattered legs and nothing to grasp, nothing to hold but her hope for that better future. She died as she clasped onto that tiny light of opportunity, prosperity, and happiness, and her body was taken to the mass grave behind the city, the one used for the poor and nameless, for the worthless and scorned."

 

Nero breathed in, keeping his emotions in check. "And as the next sun rose, another child awoke, full of that same hope, ready to face the challenges of a new day."

 

How many years had it been? No...it didn't matter. That was not the point. The entire reason he had dug up that recollection was because within him lay the desire to shove the city's cruelty at Roen's face. To yell and shout at her, to berate her. You believe that you can change this city peacefully? That you can change things if you simply try hard enough? Nero knew that she had more substantial plans, but as his mind entered another tirade, he did not care. He bit his lip to prevent any more of his thoughts from flying free.

 

He glanced at Roen and saw the sparkle of tears run unbidden down the side of her face. When he had concluded his statement, she blinked, and wiped them away. "How do you know such horrors..." It was almost a whisper, full of disbelief.

 

Nero's expression changed to a melancholy smile. It was knowing, as if he understood what she was feeling, and tinged with the smallest hint of despair. "This is a city that is merciless, and so I will show it no mercy. And for the sake of that brighter future that so many have died believing in...I will not hesitate to do anything."

 

The smuggler sighed, tapping the boxes. "Hand these out to the rest of the refugees. I will stop by Stonesthrow and make sure they receive their share." With no more words, Nero began to pile several of the crates back into the wagon, along with the rectangular ones they had retrieved before. He rubbed the neck of the chocobo as he clambered onto the wagon.

 

His grasp on the reins was tight, his knuckles pale as he gripped them with far more force than he should have. "Hya," he called out, lashing the reins, as the wagon began to lumber its way out of the cave.

[Roen]

Honesty.

 

That is what Nero Lazarov promised her, after inviting her for lunch at the airship bar. Their exchange at Lost Hope two suns before, had left things awkward and strained between them. Even when she had brought Ser Crofte for a brief meeting with the smuggler a day later, the tension had remained thick. The conversation between the pirate and the Sultansworn was cordial, and somewhat evasive at best, and it ended with a vague understanding where each other stood.

 

Roen was not even sure where she stood with the pirate anymore. So many angry words were exchanged between them at Lost Hope, and that conversation ended with a very dark glimpse of his past.

 

But when the paladin joined him at the bar at his request, she found the smuggler wearing his usual smirk, his facetious persona back in place. But then he said the words that she did not expect to hear. “You have questions, and I promise honest answers. Whether you choose to believe them is up to you.” His tone sounded candid, his gaze direct.

 

Roen stared at the man that sat across the table from her, long and hard. There were too many questions; she was not sure where to begin.

 

“You were raised here. In Ul’dah. Aye?”

 

Nero nodded, setting down the steel cup in his hand. "The word 'raised' implies the presence of parental figures, of which there were none. But my first memories are of Ul'dah, yes."

 

“What happened to them? Your parents?" The paladin canted her head.

 

"Never knew them. Never cared to find out. Parents were like gil to me: something other people had that I didn't. Would it be that I were born in a more prosperous location in Eorzea, or Garlemald, but we cannot begrudge the circumstances of our birth."

 

Roen noted that he spoke of Garlemald yet again. The name Nero was common in the Empire. When she had assumed in previous conversations that he was from Garlemald as she had been, he had never corrected her. But from the details that he had shared unwittingly of his past, she had come to suspect otherwise. His home was Ul’dah, the City-State that owned his soul. "...So. You are not of Garlemald."

 

Nero curled the corner of his lip wryly. "I am loath to sever that connection of kinship between us, but no. I did not have the fortune to be raised in the Empire."

 

His admission did not come as a surprise, even though a part of her wanted to take umbrage in the fact that he misled her all along, perhaps to gain her confidence. Roen set that annoyance aside."But your name. Did you choose it? Or was it given to you?"

 

The smuggler shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "What does it matter? What is a name? A name is a label, used for the sake of convenience. You can say that it was given to me, in a manner of speaking."

 

“But you were given an Imperial name.".

 

"And why does the presence of an Imperial influence intrigue you so, Miss Deneith?" He cocked his head. "You yourself are not Garlean, unless your hair hides your third eye very well."

 

Roen leaned back, crossing her arms. "I have ties to the Empire." She reflexively looked around and lowered her voice. Exonerated for not, advertising one’s Imperial past was not a wise thing to do. "I was raised there. But born in Ala Mhigo."

 

"And yet, your attitude implies that you felt connected to the idea that I was raised in the Empire. But you are here, in Eorzea, serving the Eorzean city states." He seemed amused and curious at the same time, studying her from across the table. "What if I were truly raised in the Empire? What if I desired the subjugation of your cities and peoples? Would you still have felt some manner of kinship if that were the case?"

 

"If that were the case, you would be behind bars," she said matter-of-factly and without hesitation. "We would not be conversing across a dinner table."

 

"A pragmatic answer." Nero waved a hand mildly. "Odd, then, how the Eorzeans resist subjugation out of...what? A desire for autonomy, perhaps? Yet for all intents and purposes, the citizens of the Empire seem to enjoy some manner of comfort and respect. Odd how such things are so foreign on the home front, as it were."

 

"Aye. The Empire enforces Order. They need not worry about Primals and all things made of twisted aether." Roen exhaled, her voice lowering. "Most of my life, I considered it my home, and worth defending."

 

"And what changed?"

 

A long silence fell between them before she answered; her mind was hesitant to recall that horrific day, when her life changed forever. “Dalamud fell," she whispered, her expression falling with shame. "I...did not know anyone could be capable of such horrors."

 

"And so the actions of the Legatus condemned the entire nation in your eyes. Damned all of its citizens to be thought of as nothing more than evil, the soldiers little more than pawns to be slain on the battlefield?"

 

Roen quickly narrowed her eyes. "Trying to bring order to chaos, to wield the power needed to defeat the mad Primals...I never opposed those things. But to unleash something that would indiscriminately destroy all things in its path..." The paladin shook her head. "I could not condone that." She paused before she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "But that does not mean I condemn the entire nation."

 

Nero was watching her oddly as she spoke, but saying nothing for now.

 

Roen shook her head. "I was one of those soldiers, Mister Lazarov. I snuck onto the battlefield at Carteneau. I would never see any of them as pawns to be slain." She inhaled; the horrors the Calamity had passed long ago from her mind, but even the faintest ghosts of those memories darkened her mood. “I would not ever support efforts to invade or kill citizens of my homeland. Aye, I still consider it my home. I was raised there. My childhood memories--happy memories--are of the Empire."

 

The paladin drew a long breath, a new calm settling her thoughts. “But Eorzea... Eorzea is my second home."

 

"I envy your perspective,” Nero said wryly. “How gratifying it must be…to have not one, but two places in which you feel you can belong." He snorted. "I would have dropped Dalamud as well, if it meant having something like that."

 

Roen frowned, but saw the joviality draining from his face as he glanced away.

 

"I am not sure I belong either place now." She offered quietly. “I still cannot talk about my home to most people here. And the Empire may call me a traitor."

 

“And yet from your words, you are still willing to defend both, despite those odds."

 

"Aye, I hold loyalty to both." The paladin nodded. She was not sure if it was wise to confess these things, especially to a man she’d only known for such a short time. Roen had never been comfortable discussing her divided loyalties between the Empire and Eorzea. She had never willingly brought it up to those who had been closest to her: her brother who remembered losing their parents to the Garleans, and all her paladin mentors that had fought against and shed Garlean blood. And yet, now she found her confessions came easily to her lips in front of this smuggler. "There are good people on both sides, Mister Lazarov. People worth defending."

 

“Each side see the other as monsters, or primitives." Roen shook her head. "They are just...people."

 

"Just people..." Nero offered a bitter grin for her efforts. "I suppose that is the way it must look." He fell to silence again, looking to his cup as he sloshed the liquid within it to and fro.

 

Roen took up her own glass of sweet water, taking a sip. "Most people are. Most people just want to live their lives in peace. With a bit of happiness."

 

"Most people..." the smuggler echoed her words softly. "You'll excuse me if I have trouble believing that sentiment."

 

The paladin could sense his doubt, a hint of smoldering bitterness that he was keeping in check. "You called my view of the world askewed. I say the same for you." Her voice held no accusation or contempt as it would have suns ago. Rather, threads of empathy entwined itself into her words. "You saw what many do not. Or many refuse to see. But I think you also do not see outside of that darkness."

 

Roen leaned back on her chair again, her finger absently rubbing at the edge of the table. “After I ran away from Carteneau..." she paused, and peered back up at him. "Aye, I ran away." She allowed a moment to let that sink in, her confession echoing in her own ears, before she continued. “I was taken in by a traveling merchant family. They took me in. For five years, no questions asked. Just...kindness offered." Her voice grew soft in recollection, wistful. "Their happiness lay in having made enough gil at the markets to lay meat on the table. Or to have a good harvest of what little crops they planted."

 

The paladin lifted her gaze back to Nero. "When I say people, I think of them. And many like them."

 

Nero said nothing in response. He propped his arm against the table and leaned his head on it, staring at the wall to his right.

 

"When I joined the Order, I did it to protect people like them." Roen's words were softly spoken. She picked up her drink again, eyeing the clear liquid within. "I took their last name, because I saw them as my second family." She paused, her glass held in front of her. “You feel the need to fix Ul’dah for the suffering you have witnessed. I too see that need. But I also see the rest of the people, who only want to lead simple lives in peace. I need to protect them too.”

[Nero]

Nero kept the frown from his lips, but they curled slightly nonetheless, even as he kept his gaze focused on the wall. "And why have you not rejoined the Order?"

 

The paladin fell silent. Perhaps she had realised how one-sided this conversation had become. From the corner of his eye, the smuggler saw a pensive expression cross Roen's face as she fingered her glass absently. "Because...since I arrived in Ul'dah...I saw things I did not expect to see. I learned things that the people outside Ul'dah never knew about. The struggle of power. The struggle of the poor. The corruption that runs unchecked."

 

A snort managed to keep itself from escaping Nero's nostrils. "Why have you not rejoined the Order?" He echoed his question.

 

Roen stared at him for a long moment before lowering her gaze. "Because I want to do more," she murmured. "Because the Sworns' hands are tied to the will of the Sultana...and the Sultana has to maintain the balance of power for peace to exist in Ul'dah.

 

Nero took up his cup again and swirled the liquid in it, his thirst satiated. The smuggler continued to stare at the wall as he spoke, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Roen at this point. "You want to protect the people. Being a member of the Sworns grants you that authority. You may not always be able to punish the wrongdoers, but at the least you have the power to defend the innocent." He did not glance at her from his peripheral vision, but the silence that followed was noticeable.

 

"Aye," came the response. "But there are other Sworns. And they will continue to do so. But none have sworn to change things. They cannot." Roen shook her head. "I never even imagined that such things would be possible. And I do not know that it is. But... I called you a dreamer once. For this impossible goal. It does not mean one should not try."

 

Ironic how she was calling him the dreamer when he had spent so much time belittling her foolish ideals. Nero kept his gaze averted. "At least we can agree on that," he muttered, more to himself than to the paladin.

 

"Some have called me foolish to hold allegiance to both the Empire and Eorzea. But... it is what I feel is right. So I shall." Roen canted her head, noting his evasive expression. "How old were you when you left here?"

 

Nero sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Old enough," was the vague response. "Old enough to have seen things that are the stuff of nightmares. Old enough to know why I had to leave or be consumed by it. Old enough." His statement ended with a morbid sense of finality.

 

A long silence followed that was eventually broken by Roen. "The story you told me...you saw that? First hand?"

 

Nero nearly flinched. Telling that story was foolish, but there was no use in regretting it now. "My place in that story..doesn't matter. All that matters is that it happened," he said evasively. The smuggler held a solid mask of composure over his face, even as his tone was stiff in its neutrality.

 

Roen's grey eyes searched the face that refused to look at her. Her voice was soft and gentle. She did not want to sound as if she was pitying him, but the sympathy was clear in her tone. "It does matter," she insisted. "It explains...." she paused, as if feeling that that was not the right word. "It helps me understand you." She tilted her head, as if to draw his gaze.

 

Nero glanced at her from the corner of his eye, not willing to look directly at her, lest she spot the smoldering glare he wore. "And why do you care?" The question was still in the metallic, neutral tone, but held an edge of bitterness. "The only people who have ever cared are people who wanted something in return. I have no reason to believe you are any different."

[Melkire]

((This post obviously takes place mere hours after the events of this post.))

 

 

 

Mere bells had passed since the commotion.

 

The east wind was picking up, and the overseers were none too pleased by the ongoing delays that kept them from getting their workers back inside the mines. Not that it mattered: there'd been another incident, and that meant visitors. A canopy had been pitched over the body. Word has been sent to Black Brush Station, and from there relayed to the city, to the headquarters of the Brass Blades.

 

Not a bit of which explained why a lone figure now sat on his haunches over the corpse, emerald eyes darting back and forth over the dead man in what amounted to a cursory inspection, occasionally glancing over to the dismembered limb lying several fulms away. The figure's arms were strung out over his knees, the tails of his unbuttoned trenchcoat billowing behind him, and his boots crunched on sand as he pivoted to examine the body from a different angle.  Not that it mattered: the cause of death was as obvious now as it had been from first glance. Charred face. Singed hair. Burnt fabric.

 

Thaumaturgy.

 

There came the heavy rattling of shifting chainmail, and those emerald eyes glanced back, glanced up, to meet the fly-mask of another highlander dressed in Brass Blade uniform. The figure smirked. "Friend of yours?"

 

A disgusted shake of the head and downturned lips answered him. "Can't reckon why you middies all seem to think that the big blokes all know each other. We'd best get going, only just managed to convince the shortie in charge to hear you out. Might change his mind if we dally."

 

The midlander nodded, tugged his gloves back on and zipped them up the back as he rose to his feet and fell in line with the other man, taking three steps for every two just to keep pace with him. "I asked you t'call ahead and ask certain questions, Rand. Did you?"

 

The highlander snorted. "Aye, Sergeant, I did. Time-sensitive, you said, so I did. Just the usual, was the answer they gave me."

 

"No odd prints? Unusual markings? Nothing untoward or out o' place?"

 

"Nah. Usual prints and tracks for the wagons and carts leading in and out. Usual prints for the workers, likewise. Nothing out of the ordinary, Melkire."

 

Osric frowned as they approached the Lalafell in charge. The Brass Blade lieutenant turned from his attempts to mollify the overseers as they pulled up short. The midlander flashed the little fellow his most winning smile as his companion saluted. The lieutenant returned the gesture, fly-mask still focused squarely on the man in the trenchcoat.

 

"An inspector from the Flames. How tiresome. If this is another insipid attempt at undermining our lawful and legal authority--"

 

"--I assure you, ser, it's nothing of the sort. No official inquiry has been made, no allegations levied.”

 

The lieutenant scoffed. “Then why are you here?”

 

“Given Nanawa’s recent history," Osric swept a hand out to encompass the mines, "Commander Swift thought it best that y'have our full cooperation in assessing the extent o' damages and, afterward, our testimony that this is an isolated incident, a tragic case in which a man lost his life whilst on duty, a man who performed with honor t'his upmost ability. So he sent me out, ser, with instructions to survey the scene 'n' report back."

 

This was complete and utter gobshite, of course, as his companion knew all too well. The commander had done nothing of the sort; after the original incident at Nanawa and the resulting pandemonium, Osric had gone to Rand and offered him rather generous sums to pass along any word of Brass Blade activity in the area. The highlander had, of course, followed through, and here they were. It was vital, or so the Flame Sergeant thought, to keep an eye on this gods-damned facility and others like it; too often were they convenient locations for nefarious activities, and that didn't even take into account the numerous goods, supplies, and arms that passed through this mine in particular to Northern Thanalan.

 

Several long, tense moments followed, during which Osric wondered if he hadn't been altogether wise to interrupt and interject. The little lieutenant glared up at him... then sighed.

 

"My second and third are up above. Inspect the bodies and ask questions if you'd like, but don't get in the way. As you said, this is a tragic case. No incident worth looking into here; just misfortune. Understood?"

 

One pair of boots and one pair of sollerets slammed together, and two different fists met two different chests. The Lalafell glanced between them, then returned the salutes before waving them off and turning his back on them in dismissal. Osric and Rand turned on their heels and made their way up the scaffolding leading to the mines proper.  

 

Shards were the first detail to catch their attention. Shards upon shards of ice were scattered about, each one thin, sharp… clearly aetheric in origin, or else they’d have melted away long ago, leaving nothing but a damp spot of earth for the sun to bake dry. A rough circle of ice sticking out of the ground was odd. What was odder was the lack of ice in the center of that space, in a shape that was approximate of….

 

“Rand.”

 

“I see it.” The highlander gave the circle one last glance, then made his way over to another canopy that had been pitched over two more corpses. There, he drew a pair of Brass Blades - a midlander and another Lalafell - off to one side and into a heated discussion more suited to the sands of the coliseum than the perimeter of a crime scene.

 

Now here was an opportunity, and the sergeant didn’t waste it: into the shade beneath the canopy he slipped, and his hands threw back his coattails as he knelt before his second corpse of the sun. This one reeked more than the last; they were decomposing fast. That was Thanalan for you: you had to move fast if you wanted to reach the scene before the sands swept away what little damning evidence could be had.

 

The second corpse was that of a midlander. Osric reached out with one gloved hand and gently, slowly slid back the handle sticking out of the throat. A quick once-over of the blade itself told him that there was nothing to be gained by tracing the knife; this was a common piece, purchased for just such a purpose as this. He pushed the blade back in with a scowl, then shuffled over to the third corpse.

 

Cause of death: asphyxiation, better known as lack of gods-damned air. Or it would've been, if it'd hadn't been for, well... the throat had been crushed, but not with a mere hand strike. For the structure to have caved in this deep... this much damage required weight, and that meant…. Osric’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the second corpse. Professional… the third corpse again… yet passionate. Knife to the throat, common steel that would undoubtedly prove impossible to trace? That said professional. Stomping a man to death? That screamed vindictive. He knew; no one better.

 

Rand sauntered over. “Dead. Bled out before anyone could reach'm. There was a survivor, though. Took a bit of shock therapy, courtesy our perpetrator. He’s in no shape to talk, and likely won’t ever be. Gone simple, him. Even if he hadn’t, they’re not going to let us anywhere near the fellow.”

 

The Flame rose and stretched, left hand holding his right wrist as he pushed his arms to full extension, first this way, then that. “No need, I’ve seen enough.”

 

He cracked his neck next, then beckoned Rand back down the scaffolding. One terse farewall to the lieutenant later, and they were on their way back south. That fly-mask kept swiveling back and forth as Rand glanced at Osric, then back out at the road. The sergeant couldn’t help but grin.

 

“Did you notice?”

 

“Notice what?”

 

“Those were bandits.”

 

The Brass Blade sneered. “That’s not unusual. You know that, I know that. For everything in Thanalan, there’s a price. Everyone knows that. ”

 

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire stopped walking and turned to look up at the highlander as the big man kept walking. “Those were bandits bribing a Brass Blade. Or somethin' t'do with coin, anyroad.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“…Rand, where were the Stone Torches?”

 

His companion opened his mouth… and then shut it again without a word. He came to a stop, and turned a deep frown on the Flame.

 

The Stone Torches were not well-known among the general populace, and for good reason. That branch of service saw to securing the natural resources of Thanalan on which Ul’dah was so dependent for trade. Duty always called, and theirs was always to guard the various mines and quarries that supplied those resources, those commodities… yet there had been not a one in attendance at Nanawa this sun.

 

Rand snarled. “That’s gods-damned peculiar, aye, but I don’t see why--”

 

“--there were no goods, Rand. Where there are bandits and Blades and bribes, there are goods.”

 

The highlander snapped his mouth shut yet again, teeth clacking against one another. He harrumphed and started walking towards the Jewel again. “Wagon, eh?”

 

Osric fell in beside him. “Or a cart.”

 

“So where to?”

 

“Black Brush Station. Someone will have seen something.”

 

“Well, good luck with that.” The Blade eyed him one last time, held out a hand, and beckoned.

 

“…I already paid you.”

 

“Aye, you did. Paid me to keep you informed. Now you’re paying me to keep my silence.”

 

Osric rolled his eyes, dug inside his coat for a small coinpurse, and tossed it over.

 

Business as usual.

[Melkire]

"This is obstruction of justice," the inspector stated.

 

"I have no idea--"

 

"--what you're talking about," snarled the two Brass Blades together.

 

Black Brush Station wasn't particularly busy. It was a late afternoon that saw the sun rapidly descending from its zenith. Traffic was dying down, merchants were closing up shop, folks were turning in, and the local authorities had a collective stick up their asses.

 

Osric sighed. He knew stonewalling when he saw it; either his luck had gone rock bottom or the Twelve had a sense of humor, because the men stationed here were more belligerent and obstinate than usual. Approaching the officer in charge had made for an... interesting... conversation. Or lack thereof, as the case had been.

 

"There been any commotion here lately?"

 

"No."

 

"Less grift t'go around?"

 

"No."

 

"May I speak with the--"

 

"No."

 

So he'd bided his time, clambered up a series of crates and barrels to seat himself atop a low retaining wall and waited. His eyes scanned the station, the stalls, the aetheryte, the men, the women, the gear, the goods... everything. He waited. The cook eventually sent a scullion over with a plate for the evening meal. He politely declined. He waited. He slept.

 

Bells upon bells upon bells. He waited an entire sun. Morning came and went, as did midday. He waited. Then, having seen what he'd needed to see, spotted what he'd been hoping to spot, he slid down off the wall, brushed himself off, and walked over to one Brass Blade in particular... which was how he'd found himself speaking with two of them.

 

"Gentlemen," he said, "it works like this. Since I arrived and stood vigil, you've spent the evening, morning, and midday meals together, out of sight, out of mind, abandoning your usual circles. On that basis alone, you've aroused my suspicion. The fact that you're both nursing various injuries - a broken hand, a split lip, a welt - hasn't helped your case, either. Given your apparent lack of cooperation, I'll have no choice but t'file for a warrant. As I am an official inspector--"

 

Liar.

 

Shut up, I'm selling it.

 

"--there's no question that I will get what I want... and here's the clincher, gentlemen: whether or not I'm right, in the end, your superiors will see you suffer for causin' trouble and bringin' attention to their work here."

 

He glanced between the midlander and the highlander with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask, "do you really want that?" The former's scowl deepened, but the latter... the latter bit into his lower lip, his face contorting in concentration, in thought. Osric smiled up at him from where he sat on his haunches.

 

"Oooooorrrrrrr," he drawled, "y'can tell me what y'know, I don't file for a gods-damned thing, and we all go about our lives. No report, no harassment."

 

The two traded a look from behind their fly-masks, then eyed him carefully.

 

"Aye, there was a wagon here," spat the one who'd introduced himself as Raffe. "Confiscated a few suns back from some smugglin' pissant who ain't worth his weight in tuco piss."

 

The one named Louvel snorted. "Some bitch what used tae run with us--"

 

"--thought she'd buy us off, didn't she? Bribe us to look the other way, while she made off with it."

 

The sergeant smirked. "So y'tried squeezin' her for more, and she beat you both down."

 

Raffe grimaced. "Didn't say that."

 

"Didn't have to."

 

Louvel cradled his wrist as he spat to the side. "Ruttin' coeurl thinking she owns the sand she walks on. Redheads... ain't worth the trouble. Ya'd think havin' all that red sheared off would've learned her."

 

His companion snorted. "Women... ya alright, inspector? Ya lookin' pale there."

 

The "inspector" was anything but "alright". The color had drained from his face, a sickening knot had formed in the depth of his gut, and a dread chill had fallen over him. He had to force his next few words past the wooden block that had somehow lodged itself in his throat. "The name," he rasped. "The woman's name."

 

The highlander glanced askance at him, eyes narrowing into a squint. "Deneith. Roen Deneith."

 

Shite. Shite, shite, shite, shite, SHITE.

 

He shot to his feet, turned his back on the two Blades, turned a deaf ear on their feigned concern, and walked away. Out the gates.  Across the tracks. Down the path. When the trance finally broke, he found himself passing the Coffer & Coffin.

 

You're not ready for this. Light, you're not ready for this.

[Roen]

Honesty.

 

That is what the pirate promised. But thus far he had answered most of her questions vaguely, and had actually turned the questions back onto her. Roen had not realized immediately that she was revealing more about herself rather than finding out anything about Nero, even though the purpose of this luncheon had been for the latter.

 

But Roen held no misgivings for it; a part of her was surprisingly relieved to share some of the details from her past. She also hoped that in sharing something about herself, it would ease his guarded nature somewhat, and perhaps encourage him to open up a little. It was obvious now that sharing anything about his past came with great difficulty for the man.

 

There was a tinge of resentment in his controlled voice and a stiffness to his posture as he avoided her gaze. But where she may have been affronted by his veiled temper and bitterness suns ago, Roen felt a measure of patience about her this day--a sort of serenity--being afforded the smallest of glimpse into the hardships that Nero had suffered early in his life. Having recently discovered a brother who suffered similarly, she knew how it could twist the core of a person. And just like Gharen, Nero did not seem to have encountered much kindness in his life either.

 

“Stuck in twilight…” the pirate sneered, though his voice was quiet. "You are in the position where you can court the ideals of justice and fairness...and yet you still choose to associate with someone like myself. You still choose to condemn what I feel must be done."

 

Roen listened, now trying to glean the truths of the man’s intentions and thoughts as he spoke, rather than trying to formulate a defense, a rebuttal against his accusations.

 

"You feel that you are above the idea of partaking in the darkness, and yet you refuse to fully rejoin the light," Nero continued, his tone distant and cold. “You are stuck between your old life in the Sultansworn and the goals you seek to achieve. You are unwilling to let go of either of them. You do not want to accept that achieving your goals will require sacrificing your virtue. And you do not want to return to a life of law and order because you know you cannot change things."

 

Roen nodded just slightly, in acquiescence. Her voice remained quiet. "If twilight is my path, I will walk it best I can. I can still see the remnants of the day, and prepare for the night." She glanced back to her drink, her finger resting absently next to it. “You are right, perhaps I do not want to let go of either."

 

The paladin drew a breath, leaning in as she tried to draw his gaze yet again. "Perhaps I believe somehow, I can change things, without falling to complete darkness. But my eyes have been opened to the fact that night always comes after the sun sets." She gave him a small smile. “And yet so does the sun rise again, giving us hope anew. I owe allegiance to two lands who would fight each other to the death if given the chance. I hope for their peace. Some may call me foolish. Or even a dreamer."

 

When Nero said nothing in return, only regarding her from the corner of his eyes, Roen continued, emboldened. “You are here, talking to me. Because you do need me. After you have burnt everything to ash, you rely on the goodness of people to rebuild. Even if you hold no hope for yourself, you have to have others with hope, to see your dream come to life." She nodded, peering at him intently as she canted her head. “I can help you in that.”

 

"Perhaps it was fate that we be brought together," Nero mused after a long silence.

 

Roen exhaled, a sense of relief washing over. Perhaps he and she can start anew. She now somewhat understood where his rage came from, and despite his barbed and often cruel remarks, his actions were driven by altruistic motives.

 

"Appropriate,” the pirate said to himself as he pulled the linkpearl out of his ear and placed it on the table. He turned to face her after what felt like years. "An alliance between us…will not work."

 

Roen stiffened, her eyes widening with disbelief as his words echoed off the stone ceiling above.

 

"I have no use for those who cannot make the hard choices." The pirate said in a distant tone. "Protect the people. Provide for them. Guard them from the wolves at the gates." He rose from his seat, leaving a stack of gil on the table.

 

The paladin sat stalk still, confusion turning her limbs and tongue leaden. She could not formulate a response. Her brows slowly furrowed into a frown.

 

"As for me..." The smirking pirate facade returned. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find a way to get Satz out of prison. He's probably queasy as all hells right now. Poor bastard." His expression did not waver. "I hope the view here in the twilight lets you see the fireworks. I can assure you they'll look nice.”

 

He tapped his fingers twice on the table. “Thank you for humouring my little lunch date. It was…interesting." With a parting ironic smile, he nodded her way once then left, leaving Roen stunned in silence.

[Nero]

The late afternoon glow of the Thanalan sun cast a warm hue over the docks at Crescent Cove. The docks were not overly busy, but there was some small manner of bustle as Nero and two other men, two Highlanders, prepared a ferry. The smuggler was dressed for combat; a night blue tabard hung over a shirt of chainmail, the leather boots had been replaced with steel sabatons, and a simple yet elegant sword was strapped to his side. The two Highlanders were similarly armed and armored with battle axes and chain hauberks.

 

“You need to take command,” the taller Highlander said, even as he prepared the ferry to take off. Garalt Lyons was typically a very quiet man who did little more than follow orders or nod his silent approval. Now was one of those rare times where he made his opinions known. Nero shook his head, pointing at the ship anchored in the horizon. “You, too, need to be prepared, Garalt. I am trying to do everything I can to get Satz out. I know you can lead the crew. Vail trusted you. I do too.”

 

“It’s not about whether or not the crew trusts me,” Garalt said gruffly. “It’s about whether they trust you. Daeg and I know better, but your constant shore visits are making them anxious. Not having the captain is trouble enough, even if Daeg is in command. Not having either of you on board is causing some concerns. Now you are participating directly in a raid? They don’t like it.”

 

Nero raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Tell them to look at the bright side. If the ship’s not being captained by a Lazarov, they can’t vanish at sea. Besides,” he patted the sword at his side. “I think a good old fashioned raid will be good for my health. Haven’t been in a decent fight in a while.” The smuggler briefly recalled Nanawa Mines, and the subsequent argument with a certain paladin.

 

Garalt narrowed his eyes at the jest, but said nothing.

 

Nero shrugged. “This is just a routine raid. We’ll try to keep the enemy crew alive. They’re just bystanders; if they let us have the cargo, they can live. Once we’ve let them reach their lifeboats, we’ll send the ship to Llymlaen’s depths.” The smuggler vaguely registered footsteps approaching behind him, but ignored them. “There’s no need to be easy on this, Garalt. You’ll be fine in command of the ship.”

 

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and a familiar voice spoke. “Mister Lazarov."

 

]Nero turned, glancing at a slender, feminine face and neatly arranged auburn hair. Roen’s appearance wasn’t unexpected, but at this juncture it was somewhat annoying. “Can you talk while we sail?” He gestured to the ferry. “I’m in something of a hurry right now.”

 

The second Highlander leaned towards Garalt. “Spat with the missus, then?” the man said gruffly in a crude attempt at subtlety. The comment rang as loud as a gong. To his credit, Garalt didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

 

Roen paused, her lips parting briefly as she wrinkled her nose. “You are leaving now?”

 

Nero rolled his eyes in response. “”No, I’m leaving six months from now. Is this urgent?” In exasperation, he threw up his hands. Any more delays would mean the Second Forte would miss her mark. “You know what, nevermind.” The smuggler gestured at Garalt. “I’m leaving you in command. You know what to do.”

 

Though the Highlander clearly wanted to protest, Garalt nonetheless nodded wordlessly as Nero undid the rope tying the ferry to the dock. The two Highlanders took up the oars to hasten their departure.

 

The Hyur turned back to face Roen, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Consider yourself in possession of my attention.”

[Roen]

Roen was not sure why she came.

 

She had stewed, sitting alone at the airship landing bar, after Nero had unceremoniously dissolved their alliance. A part of her thought maybe this was for the best. Since the day they had first met, their course had been nothing but turbulent. Never had she felt such a swing of emotions--from annoyance, to relief, to rage, to empathy--and seemingly back again. The smuggler had a way of setting her nerves on edge, and Roen had to constantly remind herself to keep the end goal in focus. To serve the greater good.

 

Except now, Nero no longer thought her useful to his cause. Their difference in ideology had been too great. Her resistance to ‘make hard choices’ was more of a hinderance than he deemed worth the trouble.

 

The paladin had hoped that if she tugged the opposite way from his ruthlessness and willingness for violence, if she could anchor his ambitions just a little, that their course could stay out of the darker, more troubled waters. But in her efforts to try and make him understand her views, he had come to see her as nothing but a liability, and eagerly cut himself free.

 

But as Roen pondered on Nero’s possible future, the path he was headed down, she felt a sadness rise in her that robbed her breath. Her hope for him still remained deep down, that he choose the path of compassion and light, rather than descending into darkness. She wanted to see this through, for that reason as well. But it was clear he wanted nothing of her interference.

 

Roen had also believed that through him, she would find her own path. Not having returned to the Sultanate, she herself was wandering lost, searching for a new destination. She thought that helping the poor, reforming the Blades, and working against the corruption of the Monetarists, that that was her new path. And that she had found someone also walking that same path. And his fervent need to fix Ul’dah...it lit a fire in her as well, one that could not be extinguished now, alliance or no.

 

Roen refused to let herself become adrift again, wondering what path to take. Through his words and his eyes, she had become more intimate with the sufferings of the poor. It was not something she would ever be able to ever forget now. With or without him, she would continue on this path.

 

Perhaps that is why I came, she told herself as she regarded the smuggler’s cold demeanor. To just tell him that.

 

“Is there something you need, or am I free to carry on with my business?" Nero said coldly, his arms crossed in front of him.

 

His icy demeanor made her stumble over her words at first. "Yes. You are free to carry on. I was just here to--" she paused, drawing out an envelope from her satchel. She stepped forward and shoved it towards him. “Here. You wanted this.”

 

Nero glanced at it curiously but did not take it. "The list, I assume? I am surprised you remembered."

 

"Do with it what you will." Roen held it out a moment longer, her eyes fixed on it. When he did not accept, she glanced at him. "Do you not want it?"

 

"No longer needed. The only reason I suggested a swapped forgery was to appease you. That's no longer a concern. Kejin Zinjin has some family in Costa del Sol. A direct application of force will make him turn. Although..." He flicked the envelope from her hand, shoving it into his belt. "This might come in handy later, so for what it's worth, thanks." His indifference did not waver. "Was that all?"

 

"No. That is not all." Roen narrowed her eyes, her voice growing steely. "You are not the only one that want this. But you shove whoever else away that does not fit into your plan. Fine. I was on this course before I met you. I will stay on it with or without your help."

 

Nero waved idly, glancing at the ship that began to depart the horizon. "I wish you luck, then. Say hello to Ser Crofte for me, if you see her."

 

Roen glanced to the waters to try and quell her frown. He did not care. Not one onz. Did she expect anything else? "My apologies if my ideals were so inconvenient to you.” She kept her voice even. “I will do what I can to get your first mate out of the gaols."

 

"They weren't as inconvenient to me as they seemed as inconvenient to yourself.” The smuggler shrugged it off. “And while I appreciate the thought, that will take far too long. Worry not about him. Daegsatz is no longer your burden." He returned his attention to the envelope, peeling it open and studying the sheet of parchment within.

 

Roen frowned, looking down at the wooden planks beneath her feet. Not one onz. She turned to leave, but something held her where she stood. She spun back around.

 

"What did you expect when you asked me for help?" Roen demanded.

 

The smuggler passed her an idle glance, his attentions seemingly elsewhere. "I was expecting you to understand. I wasn't expecting you to enjoy it or consider me a saint or any such nonsense, but I was expecting you to understand that what I was doing was absolutely necessary. I have thought through all of the alternatives, all of the less violent solutions, and none have seemed feasible."

 

"I have known you for only a few suns. How would I have known that?"

 

Nero did not seem interested in answering her. "You and I are locked on separate paths. Unfortunate, but it happens."

 

Roen sighed, her voice lowering. "I thought we knew we walked a different path, but in the same direction."

 

"Perhaps we do, but that never meant we were to walk together."

 

He may be right, Roen thought to herself. She was not even sure why she was arguing with him, only that she felt the need to with every fiber of her being. "This dream you have, is not an easy one. Nearly impossible one, alone.”

 

Nero turned to her fully, his usual smirk emerging. "On the contrary, it is far easier than I initially projected. All it required was a different perspective."

 

"A different perspective." She echoed him, puzzled.

 

Nero sighed, rubbing his head. "You say we walk in the same direction. Without me, Roen, what is your plan? I wish to know." But before she could even drew a breath to respond, he raised a brow, that infuriating smirk still on his face. "Right, that's what I thought,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to the list.

 

Roen no longer knew what point she was trying to make. But her words kept coming. "I was investigating Taeros when I met you. I am going to resume that course."

 

"And? Did you have leads? Contacts? Resources? How were you going to coerce his associates? What would you do if--or rather, when--he disguised or destroyed the evidence and slipped through the fingers of the law?" Nero crossed his arms again. "Even if you did arrest Taeros, what then? Who will you pursue next? Why is he even important to the Monetarists? Now, if this was a quest for vengeance, I would understand, but you claim it to be something more noble than that, which means you are thinking of a larger scope."

 

Nero did not give her a chance to say even a word in response; he just kept going, his voice edged with disdain. "How will you eliminate the corrupt Brass Blades? How will you eliminate the bandit gangs? How will you redistribute the wealth of the Monetarists? How will you allow the Sultana and Raubahn to secure power?"

 

Roen stared at him in disbelief. "And you have a plan to do all that?"

 

Nero smiled. His look was one of absolute certainty, near arrogance in his ice-blue eyes.

 

"If I did not, I would not be here."

[Nero]

Despite his reaction, Roen's words did propel Nero's thoughts somewhat. What did he expect from her? He expected her to be willing to sacrifice her virtue. He expected her to protest and perhaps despise his methods, but to recognise when they contributed to their goals. He expected her to always hold on to her compassion for the people, but to discard that compassion when it became necessary for the sake of those same people.

 

He expected her to act a bit more sensibly.

 

"Oh, that is right. Burn everything to the ground," Roen retorted bitterly in response to his claim of having a plan. "I had forgotten."

 

The smuggler's eyes rolled nearly right out of his head. Now she was being childish. "Just because I am being petty and nitpicking your ideas doesn't mean you should do the same," he responded with a slight edge of reprimand. "Do you not believe yourself to be better than that?"

 

Nero shrugged. "No plan is flawless, of course, but I will adapt and make changes as the circumstances require."

 

Roen glanced to the skies with a look of exasperation. She seemed at a loss for words at the moment. A small part of Nero secretly celebrated. It was always a triumphant feeling to have the upper hand in a conversation. "You chide me for..." The paladin shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever rebuttal she had planned. "I know Taeros better than you do. I know his contacts in the Blades, his employers, even those he knows in the Flames. Once I figure out his sphere of influence, I can start tracking--" she stopped. "We are no longer working together. I need not justify myself to you."

 

Nero shook his head in a gesture of knowing disappointment. "You are treating the symptoms, not the cause. Taeros and his ilk are weeds that have drained the earth. It is not enough to pull them out by the roots: you must start with new soil." The smuggler cocked an eye at her curiously. "I could always have someone poison him for you. I do so enjoy ironic deaths." Crofte had told him that Taeros wasn't involved in Roen's poisoning, but then Nero had no reason to believe a snake like him was innocent.

 

"His death would solve nothing," Roen insisted. "Another would take his place."

 

Nero snorted. "Amusing how you seem to think arresting him will have a more lasting effect than simply murdering the bastard," he said derisively. 

 

Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "Do you not think that the people know of nobles like him? Of...the power that they wield? Many already think they own the Sultanate."

 

Nero raised an eyebrow. "You say that as if the people are wrong when they are, in fact, completely right," he commented idly. Evidently the paladin was deliberately ignoring his prods and jabs now, but that didn't stop him from tossing out quips like daggers.

 

"Just killing a man does nothing. It is simply bloodshed." Roen shook her head. "To publicly and legally condemn their actions...that carries far more weight. We are either too bound by our power, or we have sold ourselves out in your eyes."

 

Nero folded his arms, covering his mouth with his hand to cover the incredulous and mocking smile that had crossed it. "Publicly and legally condemn them? In Ul'dah? Do you even know what city you're dealing with here?" The smuggler stopped just short of throwing another jabbing barb at the paladin's frankly absurd naivete.

 

It took some seconds for Nero to hold back his laughter, but the grin remained as he moved his hand from his mouth. "Yes, publicly and legally condemn them. In Ul'dah. It's just like having a tea party on Dalamud, really. I suppose you could always take Taeros out to the stocks for him to be flogged." Nero put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if they would sell tickets. I'd buy one."

 

Roen shook her head. "I cannot seem to convince you of it otherwise. But know this. The people you fight know how to dodge the system. Or make it work for them. They will have the advantage over you in that."

 

Nero's eyes rolled again, and it was the smuggler's turn to glance to the sky and sigh in exasperation. It seems neither one of them had really been listening to the other this whole time. "Which is why I am circumventing the system entirely. Did I not tell you about this already?" The smirk returned to his face. "Fighting the system with the system--and losing basically every time, I might add--is something you lawful types do. That sort of method is far too good for me. I'm beneath it. I'll be down in the blood and dirt."

 

Roen shook her head. "You do not have to be beneath--"

 

The linkpearl in his right ear crackled as Garalt's voice came through. "We've taken the ship, and secured the ceruleum." Nero paused, pressing a finger to the linkpearl as he glanced away from the paladin, who paused in her statement. "Already?" 

 

"The Forte has some hold space left for the rest," the gruff voice resounded. Nero gave a slight shake of his head.

 

"No, I said destroy the whole thing. We have what we want. Also, the East Aldenard Company has a captain out of Limsa....Bluegill or Bluetrill or some such. Does the Forte have enough for another strike?" His tone was crisp and business-like.

 

"Nay, we will need a restock. Mayhaps we strike him before he departs from port."

 

"That's fine. I'll check in later."

 

Nero gave a helpless shrug. "Sorry. Business calls and all that. You were saying?"

 

"How are you going to circumvent the system?" Roen prompted.

 

The smuggler shrugged again. "Isn't it obvious? Gil is king in Ul'dah. Make gil worthless, and the whole system collapses. You can't eat gil, after all. You can't build houses with it. You can't grow crops with it. When you get down to it," his tone had become rather matter-of-factly. "Gil is just a piece of metal. It's a currency, not a good. Get rid of its value, and the Monetarist's entire power base will implode."

 

Roen's face slowly creased into a frown. "Gil is power because it obtains..." she paused, her head tilting slightly. "...things. Do you mean to rob people of food? Crops? Supplies?"

 

Nero shrugged again. "No, I am going to make the Monetarists rob the people." Roen blinked in response.

 

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Nero rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I mean...the Monetarists are already robbing the people. What I mean to say is that I am going to make them rob the people more. Enough to break the status quo." He coughed in embarrassment. "To be honest, saying that I'm going to make the Monetarists rob the people of Ul'dah is rather like saying I am going to make the sun shine, or that I'm going to make fish swim. But you get my meaning. Probably."

 

Roen stared at him, a look of confusion in her eyes. "You are setting them up," she guessed.

 

The smuggler shook his head. "No, I am making them set themselves up. I am merely setting the stage and letting things run its course. There's no script to follow, no ballad, no routine. When the situation becomes desperate enough, they'll react how they always react--throwing other people's gil at the problem until it goes away--and that will be their undoing."

 

The paladin's eyes flitted about. "Why would they even...how do you know they will go that far?"

 

Nero folded his arms, a knowing twinkle in his eye. He was clearly enjoying explaining himself, parading his "wisdom" in front of the naive paladin. "Because, dear Roen, the thing a man with power fears the most is losing that power. And fear is a very potent substance that can drive even the calmest of men into irrational decisions."

 

"The reason why they have never forced the hand of the people or of Raubanh's Flames is because no one has ever gone far enough to make them push." He spread his arms grandly, like a magician opening an act. "And that's where I come in."

 

Roen blinked, narrowing her eyes. "What are you going to do...?"

 

"Kill many people, and destroy many things," Nero stated matter-of-factly. "As many as I have to. The innocents will be caught in the crossfire, which is regrettable, but in the long run this will have very good benefits. Given time, they can rebuild."

[Roen]

He could not mean them.

 

This is his unrelenting ambition talking.

 

Roen told herself these things, even as his promise of violence and the death of innocents hammered into her head like a metal spike chipping away at a stone statue. She felt as if he was relentlessly, purposefully, trying to cause her to crack and crumble, shattering her principals until there was nothing left but rubble and dust.

 

Nero’s ice-blue gaze seemed to bore into her as he continued. "The reason, Roen, the reason that I cut off our alliance is not because I found your idealism annoying. It was because I did not want to see it broken by following me down this path. Our conversation over that meal made me certain. You are stuck in the twilight, yes, but you have the good judgment not to leap headfirst into the darkness. I am glad that such people like you still exist."

 

Roen flicked her gaze at him, surprised.

 

"Your experiences have brought you to the edge but they have not pushed you off. Disassociate yourself with me. Pursue the path you feel is best. And if the time comes where we cross blades as enemies...well. I pray your sense of justice is still intact when that day comes."

 

So bent is he on this course, so ingrained is he in who he believes he should be, he has already accepted his fate. He has accepted that he is already lost. Roen frowned, but said nothing.

 

"You will never betray your virtues or your principles. And I admire that." The smuggler still smiled; it was smug, perhaps, but earnest. "Keep it close. Guard it well. In this world of blood and shadows, that virtue may be the only thing left worth defending."

 

Roen shook her head. "Is there no room for maneuver in this plan of yours? Must it be so rigid in the deaths that it demands?"

 

Nero nodded. "It must be. It must be swift, without remorse, without concern for welfare."

 

Roen narrowed her eyes. "And do you expect me to just sit idly by and watch innocents get caught in the crossfire? Is it not the very welfare of those you wish to save that drives you so? And now you are just pushing that aside?"

 

“Indeed I am. I wanted to--I still want to--hold on to it. But there is no place for compassion, not where I am going. There is no place for humanity. As of right now, I am the same thing I seek to destroy." His jaw set, he regarded her with squinted eyes, before drawing his sword that hung from his hip and jabbing it into the dock between them.

 

"I am going to kill many, many people. There will be many innocents dead. Many more will starve and suffer. I will be responsible for countless deaths. The people will revile me, as they should, as the one who ruined their lives." His gaze didn't waver. "Blood and war will fill the streets. And if you want to prevent all of that from happening…if you want to save Ul'dah. Take that blade," he made a thrusting motion to himself. "And eliminate me now."

 

Roen stiffened, her eyes darting between the man and the blade. He had pleaded with her the same two suns ago when he offered her his knife. She had refused it then.

 

Nero continued to hammer at her. "I am a threat. I will tear down everything you hold dear about that wretched hive of a city. I will demolish it to the ground. The bones of the people will be ground beneath the rubble. It's within your power to stop all of this now, because I will not turn away from my path. Not ever."

 

Her breaths were coming heavy, she felt a viselike grip of dread around her chest. She glanced to the sword again, its hilt just ilms away from her hand. She did not take it. "And why...why are you offering me this chance?"

 

"Because I am helping you choose, Roen Deneith. Even now, the pirates under my command attack innocent merchant ships, those unfortunate enough to work for the Monetarists. People simply trying to feed their families. They are being sunk and sent to the bottom of the ocean."

 

Roen’s eyes shot back to the pirate, widening with horror.

 

"Even now, bandits plan to take to the streets, for they have tired of living in the squalor of Pearl Lane. They will clash with the Brass Blades in open warfare." Nero continued, his voice sharp and cutting. "Even now, the other city states begin to contemplate cutting off trade, waiting for the 'Ul'dah Situation' to resolve itself before endangering their citizens. The Jewel will be locked into a whirlpool of blood and death." He leveled his gaze with hers, holding it intently. "But it need not be so. The head of the monster is here. None know of my plans other than myself."

 

Roen stepped around the sword, her own eyes searching his, for some measure of truth. "Stop this. It is not too late. Stop this. I beg of you." Her voice shook. "You are offering me this chance, because somewhere under there, there is a part of you that does not want to carry out this plan. There is a part of you that do not want to see innocents die. Families suffer. Fathers drowned."

 

Nero slowly shook his head. "No, I do not want to carry out this plan. I never wanted any of this."

 

He smiled softly, without regret, without a sense of forlornness. "But I will not stop. Take up the blade. If you care about Ul'dah as you claim, then prevent these ravages from happening. Do not do what is lawful, not what is justice, but what is right."

 

The paladin stared hard at him, her breaths now coming quick. She glanced to the blade again.

 

"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? What will you do when there is an evil that will not negotiate, that will not hesitate, that cannot be persuaded or convinced? Shall you commit evil to destroy the greater evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous...even if that means surrendering to evil?"

 

Roen stared down at the blade, her brow furrowing with deep dread. She close her fingers to quell the trembling there.

 

“...What if I prove you wrong?”

 

The paladin curled her hand around the hilt of the sword and yanked it free from the wood. Her swing was quick as she brought the edge of the blade next to his neck. "If you are planning violence and bloodshed, and drowning innocent men...I cannot let you walk." Her voice was that of forced calm. "But your death is not for me to deliver."

 

Her next words pained her, but it did not falter. "You are under arrest, Mister Lazarov. For piracy against innocent merchants. For conspiracy of violence against the City-State." She stepped back, out of arm's length, the sword's reach lengthening.

 

Nero did not flinch. "And if I resist arrest?"

 

Roen turned her wrist just slightly, the blade catching the fading light of the sunset. "I pray you will not." She said quietly. Her muscles coiled, her eyes watching him carefully.

 

The smuggler only grinned. He pressed the flat of the blade with a finger, slowly moving the edge towards his neck. "Under whose authority do you arrest me, Miss Deneith? You are not a Blade. You are not a Sultansworn. This is an act of vigilantism. You are above the law, are you? You are above the justice of the system?"

 

Roen inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. She held her sword steady. "I am a Free Paladin, trained and authorized by the Captain Jenlyns Straightblade. I am going to to bring you in, the Flames can question you."

 

Nero’s grin did not waver. His left arm made a quick motion--not for the sword, but underneath his tabard. A knife was flicked out, but it was not pointed towards the paladin. It was aimed directly at his neck. Steel met flesh met steel again, as he sandwiched his own neck between two blades. "And if I am not in a state to be questioned?" His tone clearly signalled his intent. "Hard to talk with a severed jugular, after all."

 

"Why are you doing this." Roen rasped, instinctively pulling her sword away from the edge of his neck. "What do you want?”

 

The pirate continued to hold the dagger against his neck. "I have discarded the notion that I can pursue a fulfilling life. All I want now...is a meaningful death. And the redemption of Ul'dah is plenty meaningful enough for me. I am not Ul'dah's saviour. I am not its messiah. I am simply another victim, one of thousands." There was a twinkle in his eye, but it was not a mask. It was a dare, a challenge, and an acceptance.

 

Roen stared at him in disbelief. She lowered her sword, outrage filling her chest. So determined was he in this path. So willing to throw away his life and the life of countless people for a chance…a fleeting chance of a future he would leave others to rebuild. He would immolate himself in the process of trying to raze Ul’dah to the ground, and was asking her to wield the executioner’s scythe in delivering his end. It was not enough that he confessed to her his dark brutal intent, but he would leave it to her to end his life. It angered her--this indifference to his own life and everyone else’s.

 

"You are no martyr.” She said bitterly. “You are just another misguided thug who knew nothing else but to lash out the only way he knew how. You can end your own life, but do not think Ul'dah will be better for it. And do not expect me to stand here and watch you bleed yourself out, thinking you redeemed yourself with your sacrifice." Her words were filled with fury and indignation.

 

Roen lowered her sword, stepping forward, searching his eyes. She would plead, this one last time. "It takes more courage to put out the fire and save who you can, than to set things ablaze, yourself included. Do not do this. Please.”

 

Nero responded to her advance with one of his own. "It is not about courage. It is about results." He brought his face within a few ilms of hers.

 

"Countless deaths are not results to judge yourself by! Nor the fear you bring upon your enemies!"

 

The smuggler’s eyes darted between hers, as if to search for something. "Then what would you suggest? Let us say I put my plans on hold. Let us say I will adhere to your bloodless path of justice.” The smirk returned to his face.

 

“Persuade me to stay the course."

[Nero]

He slipped the knife away into its hidden sheath beneath his tabard. This wasn't unexpected. If Roen had actually possessed the courage to run him through, then that would have been that. It would have been unfortunate for him, but Nero might have accepted it. He might have accepted that someone in her position--someone in the twilight, who could see both the day and the night--would have the power to change things. But her virtue would not be so easily broken. The smuggler had claimed that he did not want to see her idealism broken--and that was partially true--but if Roen truly shared his goal, sooner or later she would have to come around to his way of thinking. It would not be a pleasant transition, but the sooner it happened, the more she would benefit from it.

 

What was the purpose of all of this? The question he asked himself echoed in his mind. Nero felt that he had to push her. He had to force her to choose, and with this refusal to kill him--indeed, with her attempt to arrest him, with no evidence, no witnesses, nothing that would hold up in Ul'dah's shallow excuse for a justice system--she had chosen. Roen would never willingly walk the same path that Nero did. Despite his insistence that there are some enemies virtue cannot win against, she was determined beyond reason to walk her righteous path.

 

And yet, what was this feeling of bitterness, of regret? He felt that he had failed. He felt that in some way, failing to push her over the edge was...a misstep. Sooner or later, she will see, came the forlorn thought in his head. In failing to break her idealism early, Nero felt, perhaps egotistically, that he had damned Roen to an immeasurable despair.

 

Let her have her delusions, then. Let her believe that she could "turn" him from this path. Nero would tell himself that he had done everything he could--as was usual--and that would be that.

 

The paladin averted her gaze, her brows drawn in thought. "Taeros was going to be my lead. Just the first. He has a large sphere of influence and many contacts. If I can make him turn somehow..." Roen glanced at him. "If he can be convinced to...work for our cause, for his own sake, rather than against us..." she trailed off.

 

"I already have grounds to put a few Brass Blades under his influence under arrest," the paladin shifted the topic. "It is a slow start...but Broken Nose and I...we were speaking of some kind of reform. From within."

 

A reform from within the Brass Blades. Ordinarily, Nero would have thought of that was the least amusing joke Roen's ever told, but considering his plans called for something similar, he kept silent.

 

"This...we need not bring about a bloodbath on the streets, Nero." Roen's voice lowered. A quiet plea to his humanity. "We need not tell the girl in your story that her father has been drowned. We need not tell her that she was going to be caught in a crossfire between Blades and bandits."

 

Nero clicked his tongue. Her plan wasn't terrible, but it was sorely lacking in the bigger picture. Perhaps it was arrogant to think that she would never succeed without him...but that he could carry out his plans without her. The smuggler recalled her question. What did he expect from her? Why had he agreed to an alliance with her in the first place? Did he truly need someone on the side of the law to aid him? What was preventing him from simply circumventing or dodging the law as he had usually always done?

 

On a practical level, Nero didn't need her. She had her occasional uses--the list he had jammed in his belt was proof of that--but Roen had naught else to offer him, and yet here he was proposing--even hypothetically--that they join forces again.

 

Was it merely attraction? That was a possibility, however doubtful. The paladin had a fair, unblemished face. Any noble would be intrigued by her presence in their court. The smuggler briefly tilted his head, trying to imagine Roen wearing a ponytail, an endeavour that was difficult given her fairly close cut. Yet, Nero knew himself well enough to know that he was (probably) not that shallow. There had to be another reason. Roen had no significant coin to speak of. She was not willing to break her virtue. Her conjury might be useful in a pinch, but as a resource she did not hold much value. Not economically, not tactically, and not strategically.

 

So then...?

 

Nero clicked his tongue, bringing his attention back to the conversation and shelving away those thoughts from his mind. "Ever the warrior for justice," the smuggler commented. "I am doubtful of your plan, but I will not rule it out completely." He ruled it out completely. Taeros might have his contacts but it didn't change the fact that the noble was just a lapdog to his betters. The Monetarists were like a hydra; simply cutting off one head wouldn't do. To destroy his enemies, he would have to collapse their power base. Ordinarily the smuggler would have pointed these facts out, but Nero was surprisingly no longer interested in prolonging the argument.

 

"As for my plans...they can be put on hold." Easy to do when one was simply lying about them to begin with. "But like I said..." Nero placed his left hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look directly at him. "Persuade me."

 

Roen looked him square in the eyes, relief clearly washing over her features. She blinked.

 

"What reason do I have to stay the course? I can simply take to the sidelines and watch. If you are so confident in yourself, I no longer have a reason to participate. So persuade me." Nero's tone had a daring edge to it.

 

She blinked thrice more.

 

"You believe your plans will work out that smoothly. That you can condemn Taeros and his associates within the confines of the system. You believe Broken Nose will be able to reform the Blades from within. As of now, I have no reason to be here in Thanalan. Persuade me," he challenged her again.

 

Roen inhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing. "I do not need to persuade you. The fact that you are listening, that you know there is a possibility that it can work is enough. Which means you do not have to do what you do not want to do." Her voice became firm. "You want that chance. You want that hope. I know it." The certainty was clear in her affirmation.

 

Did he? He wasn't sure anymore. When they had first met, Nero had made the claim that he would not begrudge it if justice prevailed in the end, but now he was not so sure. Daegsatz was still in the gaol. Nero himself had sacrificed so much, far more than he would ever tell anyone about, for this. To simply let it be, to abandon those plans, those arrangements...would he be able to do that?

 

The smuggler felt his advantage in the conversation begin to slip, and that was something he never liked. Instinctively he went to his backup plan.

 

Nero caressed the paladin's face with his hand. "Miss Deneith, have you ever considered the possibility that it is not hope I desire, but you?" His tone was audacious yet sultry, as if he were attempting to seduce a dragon.

 

He saw the heat rise in her cheeks and her throat contract in a swallow. Her unpreparedness was obvious in her stiffened stance and wide eyes. "Mister...Lazarov..I.." she stammered. "I do not think you do. I think you are trying to catch me off guard." She lifted her chin defiantly, though she did not pull away from his hand. "You do that...quite well, I am afraid. But I see what you are doing."

 

"Yet, even when I told you I would not be convinced, I am still here, conversing with you. I'd be long gone if it were anyone else." Nero smirked. "Perhaps I am easier to persuade than you think. The reason you sought me out...is because you don't believe anyone else believes as you do, is that not right?" Nero switched hands, dropping his right only to place his left on the side of her face.

 

"And the reason I am entertaining this idea is because...I would not do this alone, if I could help it. Change Ul'dah."

 

Did he really believe in her methods? This tactic was just that: a tactic. It was a way to shift the paladin off balance. Yet now he was claiming to court her--her ideas, to be precise. His plan was flexible to a degree, but did not have room for many allowances.

 

Roen searched his eyes, seeming conflicted. Her breaths became more shallow but she did not flinch. "No," she replied quietly. "You need not...do this alone. Like...like I said, it is difficult to walk..by yourself."

 

Nero's gaze softened, the edge in his tone growing more gentle. "And you, Miss Deneith...have you been walking by yourself all this time?"

 

The paladin blinked, averting her gaze to the wooden planks, a frown creasing her face. She nodded, barely, before turning her attention back to him, narrowing her eyes. "But that is neither here nor there. I have been perfectly fine and capable of...of taking care of myself. Doing what I needed to do."

 

Nero raised an eyebrow. "I am not suggesting that you are incapable, Roen." It felt odd, using her first name so suddenly. He removed his hand off her face but brought his own face closer. "But..that does not mean you need to be alone in this...nor I."

 

"That was...what I meant was..." she stammered in response, unable to find the words.

 

"Persuade me," was all Nero said. His face was now close enough that he could feel her breath, and presumably she could feel his.

 

Roen exhaled, looking distraught. "Are you just...toying with me, Mister Lazarov...? Because...that is no way to build trust or..." 

 

Her discomfort grew apparent enough that Nero merely grinned, and pulled away from her face. "You are right. If I want your trust...then perhaps I shall explain my plan to you. Rest assured that it is not nearly as grim and bloody as I made it out to be." 

 

What exactly was his intention in that little episode? He had been toying with her...to an extent, but Nero recognised a part of him that had wanted to push further. The reasonable side of him had pulled back his flirtations, but the fact that some fragment of his mind was even considering something like that was...disconcerting.

 

The paladin frowned as he pulled away, pressing her lips tightly together. "Fine," she said, her tone flat. "I am glad to hear it." A passing glance was sent towards some nearby barrels as Roen averted her gaze.

 

Now Nero wondered about her. Where exactly did he stand with her? It was evident that Roen was not used to receiving affection, even if it was facetious, but from her reaction, the smuggler would have called her disappointed. Was he merely projecting? His own emotions were under control, but confused.

 

He folded his arms, glancing past Roen's head. "Well, as I said, my plan was to hit the Monetarists directly in their power base. Their influence is centralised around the value of gil." There were some awkward pauses between his words, as if he struggled to recall them. "To make a long story short, I was going to strangle Ul'dah through its dependency in imports."

 

He began to choose his words carefully; explain the goals, not the methods. Explain the effects, but not the cause. 

 

Nero's tone became business-like. "Thanalan does not grow a sustainable number of crops or have land for enough ranching animals to feed its population. Much of Ul'dah's essentials come from other city states. I was not planning to starve out the city, per se...but I would force the Monetarists to focus their funds elsewhere. The pirates will choke Ul'dah's sea trade and allow certain companies from Limsa Lominsa to muscle into Thanalan. In addition, I have some plans to force some..pressure onto the luxury goods. Force the nobles to draw so much of their fortune onto themselves and their wealth, enough to take out the knees of their companies, so to speak. Subsequently, conditions will deteriorate to the point where the public will rally against them."

 

"Thus, the Monetarists will be stuck between a rock and a hard place. The people will demand reform due to shortages and the economic imbalance, and the Monetarists will not be able to buy their way out of the situation if their gil does not reach any of the prospective clients. If it does, the prices given--the prices we give--will be exorbitant enough to drain them dry."

 

"That would allow myself and my compatriots in turn to arrive under the auspices of the Sultana. We will resupply the city. Discredit the Monetarists, and place the people in firm support of Nanamo ul Namo. Demonstrate that it was not the Monetarist's coin that saved the city, but the Sultana's sovereignty." He noted the paladin's absentminded nod.

 

Nero waved his hands idly. "We will spout some meaningless nonsense about how the Sultana paid us not with coin but pleaded on behalf of the people, blah blah. She is not the strongest politician, but she will make an excellent figurehead. With the Monetarists sufficiently weakened, Raubahn and the Sultana will have ample grounds to depose the Syndicate, for they will no longer be dependent on the Syndicate's gil. Ul'dah's economy will suffer, undoubtedly, but with time, it can be rebuilt. With time, connections, and many, many favours, Ul'dah can be rebuilt."

 

The smuggler frowned. "It will not be a peaceful transition. The Sworns will have to take command in the city. This is where your friend Broken Nose comes in. With the Brass Blades no longer having the Syndicate's backing, their authority will crumble. It is my hope that Broken Nose will begin to reform, while the Sworns and the Flames keep order in the city. Once the Blades have been re-organized--hopefully under your friend's authority--then they can be employed as a proper peacekeeping force."

 

"There will be violence. The bandit gangs are used to dirty gil flowing into their pockets. They will resist...and will need to be taken care of." Nero flexed his fist in the air. "But with the Sworns and the Flames and certain other..cooperative elements, that will be the easiest part. Any damage Ul'dah suffers will serve our cause."

 

Nero now placed a hand at his hip, the other dangling at his side. "Using funds appropriated from the Monetarist, the Sultana--with some financial advice--can begin to employ the refugees in public works projects and reconstruction. This will grant some reprieve to the people and stabilise the crime rate as these poor souls finally have a source of income. In addition, such funds can be used for things like education. Deposing all of the Monetarist's cronies necessitates having replacements--accountants, merchants, foremen, Brass Blades, and so on. From there, we can say that Ul'dah has a reasonably brighter future."

 

"There are many details I have left out, but that is a brief scope of the plan," he concluded.

 

Nowhere did he mention his intentions for Scythe or the Lominsan weapons, but hopefully this would appease her for now.

[Roen]

The relief that Roen found in his explanation was profound, in more ways than one.

 

The fact that Nero had thought of so many possibilities, the consequences that would follow, and the expansive scope of his plan...it astounded her. But even more so, the fact that he did try to avoid unnecessary deaths and the killing of innocents, it allowed her to breath again; it granted her some respite from the grim and despondent future that he was painting before.

 

Listening to him, also made her focus on something else other than the daring and flirtatious words he had thrown at her before; they were there to fluster her, of this she was certain. She should have been better prepared for it. But much to her chagrin, Roen found herself stammering, agitated, and grasping for words. His breath was warm on her lips, his voice smooth like honey, and his touch against her cheek made the skin burn crimson. The smuggler knew how to use his roguish ways to set a woman’s heart aflutter, and Roen hated the fact that she too was so easily affected by it as well. And she was annoyed with herself that she actually felt a pang of disappointment when he withdrew.

 

Curse that pirate, Roen thought darkly. But really she was silently chiding herself for anticipating something more in the first place. And that was not a road she should be traveling on--or sparing a glance toward--or even pondering, for that matter!

 

“It…will not be a peaceful transition. But it is the smoothest one with the highest chance of succeeding." Nero’s voice filtered into her consciousness again, and it made the paladin blink. She looked at him, reminding herself to focus on the plan.

 

He did not seem to notice her distracted mien. "Trust me when I say that I have calculated as many factors as possible. I have accounted every variable. Sacrifices will have to be made...but if this works, then they will be minimal."

 

"That is well thought out.” Roen nodded quickly, bending her brows with forced concentration. “Complex, difficult, so many things have to go right but..." Roen nodded, encouraged. "I can see how it can work."

 

Nero nodded confidently. "It will take time. And rebuilding will be rocky. But so long as the Monetarists' power is broken, it can definitely work."

 

Roen exhaled and shook her head, almost in disbelief. "If it works...it would change everything."

 

"But there are risks," Nero warned. "Some more enterprising people among Limsa Lominsa will seek to expand. And if the Flames are not adequate to quell the city…the Maelstrom may become involved. The politics are volatile. I hope it will not come to that, but we must prepare for every eventuality." The smuggler’s pondered, his expression turning intent. "Ul'dah may, without the Monetarists, be forced into client state status. We risk its independence for this plan.”

 

Nero turned to her, new fire lit in his eyes. “But politics be damned. So long as the people are provided for in the end, with a new system, then that will be enough."

 

Roen found herself straightening, "Ul'dah still has the largest military force on land. I do not think we would need to look to Maelstorm or anyone else to restore order."

 

"That's not what I meant.” The smuggler shook his head. “If the Flames grow out of control…if Raubahn cannot seize the reins, then the Storm will step in. I meant every contingency. And that includes the ability of the Sultana and Raubahn to lead. If they fail, Ul'dah loses its sovereignty. Not the worst thing to happen, but...it will cause much chaos."

 

Nero gave her an odd, rather ironic look. "As much as I hate those bastards, the Monetarists keep the other city-states in check with their economic power. Gridania cares for naught but their forests, but Limsa Lominsa is another story."

 

"I trust that Nanamo and Raubaun will know how to take the lead. The Monetarists's power comes from gil, that is why the Sultana deals with them as she does. The Brass Blades are but a fraction of the manpower of Ul'dah." Roen reflected out loud, then paused. She gave Nero an odd look. “So all that you spoke of before..." Her eyes narrowed. "That grim tale of blood and violence. That was to test me?"

 

The smuggler folded his arms, raising a thoughtful eyebrow. "Yes and no. There will be blood and violence. The bandits will not back down easily; many of them are on the Monetarist's payroll as well. They would hate to see their corrupt income vanish." He shrugged, his expression turning somewhat sheepish. "I did…exaggerate some parts of it, to push you. You needed the push. You, not I, needed to know where the line was drawn. You truly will not kill, even knowing how it would save people's lives." The smuggler shook his head. "I still find that…foolish."

 

And then softer, "But hopeful as well."

 

His ice-blue gaze turned to her, looking at her intently. "You and I will become a sword and shield. I will slay those who encroach upon us. You shall defend justice and the innocent. An apt analogy, no?" Nero held out his hand.

 

A slow smile broke through her wary countenance, lofted by relief and the promise of hope. Roen knew a part of her should be angry that he had tested her so. But she did not care. She did not have to run him through with a sword. She did not have to think him an enemy of Ul'dah. She did not have to stop him.

 

Roen took his hand firmly. "It is."

 

In that moment’s stillness when their hands met, Roen felt no uneasiness between them. Her eyes lingered on him as did her grasp. “Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were? That had you been some...bandit leader, boasting of his plan and waving a blade of his own, the results would have been different. But it was you."

 

Nero cocked his head, seemingly both amused and curious at once. "And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me. Not that that is your fault," He quickly corrected himself, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with his other hand. "I have been…evasive. To a fault. But still."

 

Roen smiled just a little at that confession. She let her hold on his hand linger a moment longer, her eyes drifting to their joined grip."I know what you will say. That I am seeing what I want to see. But I do not believe you are the man you want to become. This dark avenging evil incarnate that you sometimes seem so determined to be."

 

She lightly laid her other hand on top of his, embracing it with her own. "I believe you are the man you hope to be," she said, her voice low. "I know not much more than that, but...it is enough. For now." She peered back up at him, even as her hands fell away.

 

Nero searched her eyes with a puzzled expression on his face. "Why is it that you seem to care so much?" His voice wavered for just a fraction, and Roen thought his mask of composure flickered away for just an instant. "No one…unless they wanted something from me. Unless I had something to give in return. What must I give in return for your compassion?"

 

Roen regarded him for a long moment, a gentle smile emerging. "Only that you continue to hope to be a better man." She shrugged. "I wish for nothing else from you."

 

"There…has to be more than that." The smuggler was hesitant to accept her answer. "It cannot be as simple as all that. Surely you want something in return."

 

“Actually,” Roen canted her head. An odd expression came over her. “There is one thing.”

 

His eyes flickered to attention, though she thought she saw a hint of disappointment. "And that is?"

 

Roen stepped once toward him, and lightly knocked on his chest with a fist. “Stop. Testing me.” Her voice was firm, but it held a playful challenge. She looked to him with a small furrow of her brows. “Trying to get me flustered. Or challenge who I am. I think you know enough now. What I am willing and not willing to do."

 

Her words seemed to stun him before his face broke out into a smile. "If that is what you wish, Miss Deneith…I'm afraid I will have to refuse just this once. Forgive me."

 

In one swift motion, Nero moved his head towards her as he took her arm and pulled her body towards him. Without hesitation or warning, his lips met hers for several long seconds before he moved away. When he did, a small, satisfied grin marked his face.

 

She could only stare, mouth agape.

 

That seemed to amuse him even more; his next words came jovially. "We have only known each other for some suns…but I will accept your challenge.” He smiled oddly earnestly. His eyes were narrowed on her, but not in their usual way. He finally said, “I will. I will try…to be better."

 

Roen barely heard those words. She stood there stunned. The kiss was…over before she knew it even begun, but she did not recall pulling back. Or if she had even breathed. She stood there, dumbfounded, at an utter loss for words. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes unfocused. She blinked several times before she looked back at him again.

 

"I...um." The paladin started then stopped. Her tongue felt leaden. Her thoughts moved as if they were caught in a mire. “Right. You. You...you do that." She cleared her throat, holding up a finger and gesturing his way vaguely. She felt like an actor on stage with no lines given to her--completely lost. Roen thumbed to no place in particular behind her. "I should um. Go."

 

His eyebrow arched. "Should you?"

 

She couldn't even reply to that.

 

Nero’s expression shifted as he studied her reaction. It was apparently not precisely what he had expected. He nodded quickly and glanced at the empty sea behind him. "Right. And I...well, anyway..." He turned away from her and pressed a hand against his right ear. "Garalt. Status, please. Now."

 

As soon as his back turned to her, Roen let out a stuttered breath. She no longer felt like a paladin who swore the Sultana’s Oath; she was no longer the gladiator who trained in the Blood Sands. No, Roen felt like a flustered young schoolgirl caught unawares by a boy, with no idea what to do.

 

She hated it. So she hastily made her retreat.

 

"Yes. There are things to do, get done." She spun on a heel, calling over her shoulder. "And you have things to done. To...do. And get...done..." Roen's words and feet seemed to be somehow stumbling over each other. She hurried off the pier, her strides long and quick.

 

It was only when she reached the top of the walkway, and her feet crossed from wooden planks onto the Western Thalanan sands, that she paused. She did not turn back to look where she had left Nero; her cheeks were still burning too hot for her to dare a peek.

 

She felt foolish, confused, and humiliated, and for a change it was not because of something he had done or said.

 

It was her. She had practically ran away from him after a kiss. Roen rubbed her eyes with a frown.

 

It was too late now. She ducked her head low and walked away quickly, to what destination she knew not.

[Nero]

"Several bells to port," came the gruff response over the linkpearl. "Everything alright, Captain?"

 

No, everything was not alright. Well, in a manner of speaking, it was. Or was it not? Nero didn't know anymore. The dock creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He hadn't even noticed that Roen had run off while still in possession of his sword, so distracted was the smuggler. The chainmail beneath his tabard rustled as he forced himself to sit down cross-legged in an attempt to calm his nerves.

 

The memory of her soft lips meeting his still lingered uncomfortably in his mind. There was a purpose to that, yes...but the rash action seemed to backfire. The kiss was meant to confuse her, and it seemed to have succeeded, but so too did it put Nero at odd with his own emotions.

 

He considered himself the definition of a manipulative bastard. He'd easily done something like this before; Vail, in his infinite wisdom, had imparted the importance of being able to make an enemy a friend, or to at least confuse them enough that they would not interfere. Flirtations and seduction were hardly beneath him. Yet, why did this particular instance seem to instill such wary anxiety in him?

 

It was his initial intention to have invoked the possibility of an emotional attachment in Roen. The exasperating woman, naive as she was, had accepted his plan without questioning. When the bloodier stages of his scheming came to fruition, she would likely be shocked or feel lied to or some other irritating notion. Romantic affections were more trouble than they were typically worth, but Nero didn't feel that he was above using them to his advantage.

 

"Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were?"

 

Nero shook his head. He knew her well enough at this point to know that she was serious...or a very, very good liar. To the smuggler's cynical mind, she was an anomaly. The pure-hearted souls of goodness typically considered him a necessary evil, a role he was more than happy to fill. Yet here was this enigma of a paladin who desired nothing from him--no favours, no payment, no self-interest--but for him to...be better. There was nothing but infuriating, aggravating selflessness from her.

 

Or was that it? Suspicion flared around the edges of Nero's mind. It was possible...unlikely, but still possible that this was her way of using him. Had he been beaten at his own game? The very best liars were those who had managed to convince others that they could not lie. Was this Roen's way of turning him to her purposes? Was he simply overestimating her?

 

The questions opened the way for more questions. Why did he care in the first place? Supposed he found out that Roen was dead tomorrow. Nero searched his mind for what his reaction would be. Pity, perhaps. Some manner of sorrow, absolutely. Would he grieve? They had only known each other for a few suns, and those suns had been fraught with disagreements, arguments, heated clashes in ideology. What was she? What was Roen Deneith to him?

 

Nero took a moment to place the linkpearl in a pocket before leaning over the edge of the dock and dunking his burning face into the cool seawater. He hadn't even noticed the growing ruddiness in his cheeks, and Llymlaen's bounty was a welcome to relief. Pulling his head out of the water, he shook like a dog, the fiery orange forelocks dripping with moisture. "A means to an end," he muttered beneath his breath. The very last thing the smuggler would do is let his emotions get in the way. Whatever he felt didn't matter. If it interfered, he would have to quell them by any means.

 

He placed the linkpearl back in his ear, using the collar of his tabard to dry his face. "Everything's fine, Garalt. How is the Forte?"

 

"Minor damage, nothing that a bell of repairs can't fix."

 

"Store the cargo in the usual location, and tell Arturieaux as soon as possible." Nero sighed, wiping the seawater from his neck and face as best as he could. A long silence from the other end of the linkpearl preceded a suspicious question.

 

"Who was that woman, Captain?"

 

"No one you need to worry about. She's going to help me free Satz," Nero said evasively. Garalt's silence was all the smuggler needed to know about his opinion as he stood up. With the Second Forte out at sea, returning to Limsa Lominsa at this juncture wasn't an option for at least a few suns. Commanding the ship would have been a wonderful distraction, but he sighed again as he began to make his way back to Ul'dah.

 

His plans may need some changes.

[Roen]

I ran away.

 

Roen fell back onto the bed, the pillow and blankets bouncing with the landing. She covered her eyes with both hands, as if that would hide the grimace that twisted her face.

 

I practically sprinted out of there.

 

She wrinkled her nose, recalling her hasty retreat. She could not even clearly remember what words she mumbled as she did so, so eager was she for an escape.

 

Why had she run away like a frightened doe? What was it about a him that made her heart race, tossed her thoughts into a chaotic mess, and turned her will and focus into mush?

 

The paladin folded her hands above her head, letting her arms fall limp onto the blankets. She stared at the ceiling helplessly, as if the flighty shadows cast by the dancing candlelight would lend her an epiphany as to why she had been suddenly robbed of all strength and courage.

 

Her lips still tingled at the memory. Roen lightly traced them with a finger, letting out a long sigh.

 

"And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me.”

 

His words echoed in her ears even now. Roen harbored no doubts then, as she took his hand and agreed to an alliance once more. She believed him to be a good man. She remembered the wash of relief that had filled her then--the fact that he was not set on some wonton destructive path, that she did not have to consider him an enemy. Was she simply relieved that he was considering a conscientious path rather than condemning himself? Or was there something more that stirred her then?

 

Roen glimpsed the goodness in him early on; it was what had brought on those moments of despair in the man, those fleeting moments he worked so hard to then bury. She could not deny she was drawn to that man. But she also had to acknowledge that that was not all who Nero Lazarov was. He had layers of masks made of bitterness, cunning ruthlessness, and arrogance. And it made him unpredictable, infuriating, and manipulative. His derisive words had found ways to cut through her resolve before, and now he found another way to throw her thoughts into a turmoil of confusion and uncertainty.

 

The question was…what was genuine, and what was not?

 

The paladin turned to her side, her eyes going to the ornate longsword that stood against the table on the other side of the room. She had left the docks in such a hurry that she walked away with his sword in hand--the one that he had thrust into the wooden boards between them. She had no doubt that he was challenging her to end his life, that he was willing to die at her hands.

 

And yet that was another test.

 

I would be foolish to think that this kiss was anything other than yet more misdirection on his part, Roen told herself. But even as she struggled to accept that truth, she wondered why it affected her so. Why there was this distant melancholy that nipped at her thoughts. Did she want it to be something more?

 

Perhaps that was what she needed to resolve for herself. How she felt about him, regardless of how he felt. But even if she held some hidden feelings for him, what good would that do in light of the fact that he would likely then use that against her? A part of her hoped that he would not. And another part of her chided her own self in believing that that would be the case.

 

What did she expect of him?

 

"Only that you continue to hope to be a better man. I wish for nothing else from you." Her own words. She had meant every word of it.

 

Roen sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes, as if to clear her vision, fixing her gaze onto the sword again. Mind to purpose, Roen, she told herself. There was a greater cause to serve: changing Ul’dah, lessening the suffering of the poor, and perhaps even saving Nero Lazarov from himself. Her own feelings on the matter had to be set aside.

 

“I will try…to be better.” The smuggler’s quiet words echoed in her memory. It stirred her even now.

 

The paladin groaned out loud at her own indecisiveness and shook her head quickly as if to dismiss the quagmire of emotions there. “Mind to purpose,” she told herself again. Emotional impulses and romantic whims would only jeopardize this alliance between them that already had been tested in just the few suns since its inception.

 

I am certain we can work together without letting this complicate things. Roen reassured herself. I just need to be better prepared. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if that was possible.

 

I just need to…not think about it.

 

The paladin sat there, staring at the sword, while consciously trying to scrub the swirl of doubts and conflicting emotions into a blank slate.

 

Roen let out another loud groan and fell back onto her bed.

[Roen]

Roen stared at the empty room.

 

Nothing remained. No boxes nor supplies, no bottle of rum, nothing that would hint that this used to be a safehouse. Everything had been cleared out. Even the windows were boarded up.

 

Did he leave…?

 

It had been suns since she’d seen Nero last, since she ran away from him on the docks of Crescent Cove after he kissed her. Surely that had nothing to do with this, Roen told herself, dismissing the thought as soon as it rose. But then…what?

 

Roen ran her finger over a dresser, and glanced at it. It had not been too long since this place was abandoned. Perhaps just a sun at most.

 

I should have looked for him sooner, came the unbidden thought. But she had been purposefully avoiding doing so, making excuses that they no longer had a private linkpearl, and the fact that she did not know what she would say to him even if she did find him. It was somewhat childish, she knew. But now that she had finally worked up the courage to clear the air...

 

He was nowhere to be found. This safehouse on Pearl Lane was the one place she knew she may be able to find him--or at the very least leave him a message. But all signs of habitation had disappeared from the place.

 

What if he ran into other troubles?

 

It was possible. Since his arrival into Ul’dah, Nero had set up a prominent Monetarist noble to get arrested, and now was also responsible for the death of a Brass Blade, not to mention a veritable plethora of bandits. But after the talk with Sergeant Melkire a few suns ago, Roen thought that both she and Nero were in the clear of the Nanawa Mines investigation, at the very least. For that, she was relieved. In the midst trying to figure out the exact nature of her alliance with the smuggler, the paladin had woefully neglected to follow up on the Mines investigation.

 

"Dead Blade, dead bandits, brought low by someone dangerous. Skilled... and invested. Heavily. Emotionally. I know that y'must've gone up there for something, though I can't fathom what. I know you took your friend.... your thaumaturge friend... with you. I know you left with a wagon full o' somethin' or another, since y'went and humiliated two men t'do so."

 

By the time the Flame Sergeant spoke to her, he had already most of the facts. But he had approached her discreetly, and sought out a private corner at Scorpion Landing to exchange words. Roen had not been alarmed; she still remembered all he had done for her and Gharen, and because of it she trusted the man implicitly. But he gave her a stern warning when she tried to explain what had happened at the Mines.

 

"Witnesses, documents, physical presence....these things constitute proof. And right now, Roen? There's a bloody trail leadin' right back t'you, and the only reason no one but me's followed up on it is because the damned Blades are too lazy and too corrupt t'bother with anythin' but a cover-up."

 

The Sergeant was right. Roen knew she had left bodies behind, and two Brass Blades could put her at the scene. It would be yet another towering pile of evidence that Taeros could use against her if he found out.

 

"... don't hand him evidence he can use against you." Osric warned her.

 

The Sergent had been surprisingly accepting of her actions. He did not condone them, but he was not there to arrest her either. He even offered to help to avoid such an outcome the next time, should she but ask.

 

"Like a scalpel. Not like the dagger your friend is. Ask any chirurgeon which carries the greater risk, and which leaves behind a worse scar."

 

He understood her goal to try and reform the Blades, to try and bring change to Ul’dah.

 

"Do you think me foolish? Do you think this can be done without needless bloodshed?" Roen had asked him in earnest. She needed to know that she was not the only one who thought this way.

 

"To be honest with you? No, I don't think so." Osric paused. “But I hope so.”

 

"It does not mean we cannot try." Even a sliver of optimism from the Flame still bolstered her own.

 

"No, it doesn't." He had answered her with a smile.

 

The Sergeant had promised to help her, if she asked, on the condition that he also met ‘her friend.’ Roen had not given him Nero’s name, but her mind had already been made up--that perhaps both she and Nero could use an ally like Osric Melkire. The Flame Sergeant was always known to do things unconventionally, and as far as she was concerned, his heart was always in the right place.

 

Now all she needed to do was to find Nero.

 

Roen ducked out of the safehouse, her eyes quickly scanning the area to make certain she was not spotted. She left Pearl Lane quickly enough, making her way back toward the gaols. Perhaps Daegsatz would know where she would be able to find his captain.

 

Now that she could not locate the smuggler, the paladin suddenly felt more urgency in needing to find the man, having forgotten why she had been avoiding him in the first place. It truly felt foolish now. Nero had promised to be better. They shook each other’s hand, for the second time, promising to be there to help each other in this impossible task.

 

She could not let her own uneasiness jeopardize that. Not when it seemed evident that they could be gathering allies to their cause.

 

Her stride lengthened as she entered the palace. She needed to find Nero and clear the air, so that they could truly start working together in earnest for Ul’dah.

[Nero]

"Arturieaux sent confirmation of the shipment. However, the kobolds have begun growing more aggressive and encroaching further into Lominsan territory. He said he may have to move his laboratory," Garalt murmured. "He'd be moving to the other side of the island, just to be safe." The Highlander's statement was punctuated by him sweeping a thick finger across a map of Vylbrand.

 

Nero nodded. "That'd be best. Kobolds will draw the attention of the Maelstrom...we will need to give him time. Let's keep the Forte in Limsa for now." The smuggler fingered another map, a nautical chart. "Our man in the 4th Squadron said the patrols would sweep the northeast of the Rhotano." The Hyur snorted. "Merlwyb's fast, I'll give her that. Someone must be pressuring her to tighten security in the Strait, so naturally, we'll go ahead and give the 4th Squadron a distraction." A finger moved and tapped on elsewhere on the map. "There's a few raiders based out of the Cieldalaes. Let's have them be fodder."

 

The Highlander grunted, shaking his head. "I don't like this, Nero," Garalt said quietly. It was rare when the otherwise passive Highlander expressed an opinion; even rarer when he addressed Nero by anything other than "captain". "Sending other raiders as...distractions. The Forte can easily slip here, south through the Cieldalaes, to Thanalan. Even with the 4th Squadron."

 

"I don't want the Forte participating directly in runs for now. We lay low and give the hounds something to chew on," the smuggler said firmly. "We need to make repairs, get our bearings, and give Arturieaux some time. And I can guarantee you that Ul'dah won't sit still." Nero tapped an index finger against Limsa Lominsa. "They'll send agents after us, but Limsa's home territory...we can take care of them there, then we can get the Forte back into ops unmolested."

 

Garalt studied the Midlander's face, scrutinizing it with a hard gaze. "You intend to start an incident. Merlwyb won't suffer Ul'dahn interference in Limsa Lominsa."

 

"I intend to arrange it in such a way that we come out on top regardless of the outcome," Nero responded confidently, waving an idle hand. "Put the charts away. We'll reach port in a few bells."

 

The Second Forte bobbed gently as it cut through the waves. It wouldn't be long before it reached Limsa Lominsa; a gentle wind had brought the ship to a comfortable, if somewhat slow cruising speed. Nero sighed and rubbed the back of his forehead with a hand as he leaned against the railing on the stern of the ship. Watching the parting of waves pass behind the ship was calming to him, even as his mind was fraught with thoughts and introspection.

 

Roen was presumably still below decks. Nero couldn't help but roll his eyes at nobody in particular at her presence; as soon as the paladin had found out he'd cleaned himself out of Ul'dah, presumably she'd started looking for him for reasons the smuggler couldn't fathom. With impeccable timing, she'd manage to catch him before he left Vesper Bay, and the smuggler, being ever punctual, had insisted without thinking that she come aboard if she wanted to occupy his time with talks.

 

Natalie had made herself quite clear when she said she did not want Nero anywhere near Roen, to which Nero had responded that the latter would have to stay away from him first. Roen seemed to follow him like a lost puppy at times, and it was not as if the smuggler could simply beat her upside the head and abandon her...although the thought had crossed his mind during some of their more heated arguments.

 

His plan was moving, but slowly. Far slower than Nero liked. Ceruleum was beginning to become difficult for him to get his hands on, yet the smuggler had no presence anywhere near Bluefog. The pirate only had a smattering handful of agents in Ul'dah, and their allegiance was suspect at best. Nero did not mind conducting his operations from afar, but his plans in Ul'dah were delicate and he'd prefer to apply his direct intervention in them.

 

But that'd have to wait. Surely the Monetarists were going to send someone to Limsa. That Natalie woman was surely shrewd enough to have started looking for him; just because Nero had left Thanalan doesn't mean the raids against Monetarist ships would stop, not as long as there were pirates willing to accept the smuggler's coin. 

 

Take care of one thing at a time. Nero inhaled, letting his breath out through his nose.

 

It was a strange thing, this series of events. The original plan had been simple: supply the refugees, and continue on his merry way. Lay under the Monetarist's radar and gradually build his influence. Instead, Nero had shared many exasperating arguments with Roen, who may or may not be infatuated with him, ended up killing a Brass Blade and a few bandits, and now had the attention of the Monetarists, the Sultansworn, and the Immortal Flames, and the only thing it would take to start a major political incident was just the slightest mishap, which was bound to happen with such a bellicose and volatile group all converging together.

 

True, Nero's intention had always been to bring Scythe into his fold first and feed the poor and beleaguered second...but it seemed now that going to the trouble of securing those supplies had lit a fuse.

 

Attempting to provide for the refugees left Nero in an awkward partnership with a paladin, and the Sultansworn chasing him out of Ul'dah. He was now running back to Limsa, and undoubtedly there were Monetarist agents that were going to pursue him. The list was now useless because he'd been run out of Thanalan, and if the situation deteriorated enough...Limsa Lominsa and Ul'dah would be in a very bad spot indeed, and the only one who did not believe him to be the villain in all of this was Roen. All because of those damned refugee supplies.

 

Nero could not help but smirk bitterly as he heard the sound of steps approaching him from behind. 

 

No good deed goes unpunished.