3

Gratia gratiam parit

I

Gladio saw Hartwood again almost two months after their first meeting, just at the beginning of the new year; they were in the main road of the East District. She had said she was on a temporary leave, but now she was obviously on duty, as she was almost fully dressed in the Kingsglaives' uniform – without helmet and gloves. The purple cloak of her attire fluttered behind her as she walked sternly – almost martially – next to a City Guard who, on the contrary, appeared much more at ease and relaxed. Her right leg was still stiff, but she was not limping anymore.

Once again, Gladio noticed her because of her small figure, and struggled to recognize her in those formal robes. He stopped to watch her down the street, and he wasn't the only one: he could not help noticing the watchful glances that passersby and shopkeepers had for her. At some point she was due to pass in front of him, and he wondered if he should stop and say hello, but then he remembered how they had parted the last time and the feeling passed.

Suddenly in a nearby street, less than a hundred yards from where he had stopped, an explosion blew the air, leaving him deaf for a moment.

Konstantin's restaurant, he immediately imagined, darting in the direction of the building and dodging the people who were running in the opposite direction. Old Kost had been an Imperial soldier, originally from Gralea, who had deserted at least thirty-five years ago, and he was more Lucian in his heart than many of those he knew. It was not the first time that someone played a dirty trick to his restaurant, but never anything so serious. Or perhaps it was a gas leak. Without thinking about the consequences, Gladio ran to the burning edifice.

"Old Kost!" he cried. It was too early for customers to be there, but the man lived on the first floor of the building and he'd never go anywhere.

"Get out of the way!" a female voice ordered. A blistering jet of water threatened to hit him fully. Gladio turned around, already certain of who it was: Hartwood had casted a hydro and was aiming it at the fire. He had never seen a real spell from so close a distance. "Crux! Call for reinforcements and a fire truck while I keep the flames at bay!"

There's no time, Gladio thought, and rushed to the door of the restaurant, but Hartwood interposed between him and the entrance. She kept on aiming the magic jet to the fire.

"What are you doing?" she shouted in his face. "It could all come crashing down at any moment!"

"I don't care!" He snapped to get around her. "I think the owner's inside!"

"Damn it!" she cursed, and without giving him a chance to react, stopped the spell and rushed into the building.

Gladio followed her inside. It was a real hell – the wall covering of the restaurant, it seemed, was not fireproof – and he just had time to glimpse the woman when a section of the ceiling, engulfed in flames collapsed, threatening to overwhelm them both. Gladio jumped on Hartwood, pushing her to the ground and shielding her with his body, but no weight crushed his back. He raised his head cautiously: they were surrounded by a magic wall. He kept forgetting who he was dealing with.

"For Odin's cock" Hartwood cursed beneath him, as thanks, nudging him in the ribs. "Care to tell me why you followed me?"

"Told you." Coughing for the smoke, he stood up. "Old Kost must be inside."

"Get back out there" she lashed at him, standing up in turn. "And let me do my job."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She opened her mouth to say something else – probably to insult him – but another section of the ceiling, falling down interrupted her. "I don't have time enough to fight or to force you out" she said sourly, "If you really want to come, stay inside the magic wall. If you get yourself killed I'll be in trouble."

As nice as a snake in one's pants. He followed her.

They found old Kost upstairs. He was semi-conscious and his legs were blocked by a load-bearing wall that had collapsed on him. They lowered to examine his condition: he was bruised and burned, but not gravely.

"Don't worry" Hartwood reassured Konstantin, in a very different tone from the one she had used with him. "You'll make it. Just listen to me." She patted twice on his cheeks to make him recover. "Please. Just listen to me for a moment. I need to know if there's anyone else in the building."

"I'm alone" he heard him whisper.

"You'll be fine" Hartwood reiterated.

Gladio had already bent over to lift the debris. "Wait until you touch anything, Amicitia, or we risk being buried alive." Hartwood expanded her magic wall, and that was a good idea, because as soon as he had freed the old Niflheimian's legs, the rest of the ceiling crashed down. An avalanche of concrete, plaster and burning wood slid around them, repelled by the energy of the protect, without even scratching them.

"Let's go out" she ordered, lifting Kost by his arm and shifting his inert body onto her back.

He wanted to help, but she was already going away, risking to leaving him uncovered.

When they were out of the building, Gladio found that a patrol of City Guards and a crowd of onlookers had gathered. A fire engine was already in operation, and the Guards were taming the fire with powerful jets of water, raising an infernal smoke. Two of them rushed in their direction as soon as they saw them emerge from the cloud.

"Hartwood, are you okay?" her partner asked, taking Kost's body from her shoulders. The other Guard, reached by a paramedic, carried him to the ambulance.

"I'm fine, Crux" she coughed. "The old man too. He fainted, he has burns, and probably his legs are fractured, but we acted quickly and he shouldn't have inhaled too much smoke. There's nobody else inside."

The Guard – Crux – clicked his tongue in with annoyance. "Hartwood, never do it again. That's not the protocol for fires."

"There was no time."

The man looked at her with irritation, but did not reply again. He turned to him. "What about you?" he asked. "Are you injured?"

Gladio opened his mouth to answer, but Hartwood did it for him. "He's fine, and I almost want to denounce him for hindrance. He tried to enter the building on fire, then he followed me inside, and he refused to leave when I told him to get away."

Gladio rubbed his throat. It was burning from the smoke, and his patience completely exhausted. "I wanted to help, and I have every right. I'm a Crownsguard, I'm allowed to intervene if and when I want to. If you have any problem with that, Hartwood, come on, you can write it in your fucking report" he challenged her.

"My partner and I have been assigned to this area" she retorted, approaching him in a way that would have been menacing if Hartwood had not been shorter than him about a feet and thirty. "The City Guard has the priority to intervene."

He was fucking through with her arrogance. "The protection of the city also concerns the Crownsguard. Plus, old Kost is an acquaintance of mine. Hartwood, I've already told you, if this doesn't suit you, go to the Citadel reception and fill out a fucking complaint form."

"Hartwood" Crux said conciliatory. "Take a pass on this one. His father is General Clarus Amicitia, a member of the King's Council. Moreover, no one got hurt."

"I don't give a shit about who his father is."

At another time, Gladio would have replied that he didn't care about who his father was too, but he didn't want to agree with her. They kept on staring each other, surly.

Finally, after a long time, Hartwood surrendered. "To hell with it" she said, rubbing her forehead with her arm, and in doing so she left a gray mustache of sweat and ashes on her skin. "Crux, please, could you deal with going to the hospital and see if the old man has recovered and can answer some questions? Amicitia, did you say that you know the victim?"

Gladio sighed, trying to push back his irritation, and nodded. "Konstantin Erdem is from Niflheim. Everyone knows it in the city. He's a good man, but they targeted him. So it would not be so strange if it wasn't a gas leak."

Hartwood blinked. "Let's go to the headquarters, Amicitia. I need further information from you to report. It won't take long."

II

Gladio had silenced three calls from Noct as he talked to Hartwood sitting at a desk in the central station of the City Guard, hoping to end that story as soon as possible.

Hartwood had been warmest to him – if an interrogation, whose only deviation from the theme had been her offer of a bottle of water, since they both kept on coughing, could be defined as 'warm'.

She had no experience as a City Guard, it was obvious, so she had tried to pull herself together with a barrage of questions as dry and peremptory as useless. Instead of recording, as everyone used to do, she had written everything down by hand Gladio had noted with amusement – the only one he could get on that day.

"Listen" he said, when she finally dismissed him "it's none of my business, but if I can help..."

"That's right" she answered him back. "It's none of your business. Good afternoon, Amicitia" she discharged him.

Still swearing in a low voice, Gladio left the station. He needed a shower, he decided. Since he was at the Citadel, instead of returning home, he resolved to go to the Crownsguard's headquarters to have it at the Training Hall. Only once he had passed his magnetic card to enter, he remembered Noctis' calls. He hurried to pick up his phone, but at that moment he saw Noct himself sitting in the waiting room.

"Noct?" he asked, surprised, closing the call. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see my father. I tried to call you three times to know if you were hanging around the Citadel. Since you didn't answer me, I thought I'd drop by. What the hell happened to you?" He twisted his nose slightly. "Have you been to a barbecue?"

"Very funny" he lashed to him. Actually he smelled like smoke and his clothes were screwed. At least, he consoled himself, he wasn't wearing the uniform of the Crownsguard; since it was tailor-made, it would have taken a lifetime for him to get another one. "Have you heard about the explosion?"

Noctis opened his eyes wide. "What explosion? I don't know anything."

Gladio sighed. Noct was a little too often out of touch for someone who would have reigned. "Look at the news, every now and then. There was an explosion in a restaurant. You know that old man from Niflheim? I guess I even brought you there a couple of times. I was in the area by chance, and I lent a hand. Then I also had to respond to some sort of interrogation of the City Guard, since I knew the victim."

"Are you okay?"

Gladio ran a hand through his hair. "I'm fine. I'm just pissed off. Miss Nice of the City Guard made me lose a bunch of time."

"Miss Nice?"

"Forget about it. What did you want to tell me, Noct?"

Noctis shrugged. "Nothing important. Prompto wants to go and see that adventure movie on hunters tonight at the Odeon. Are you up for it?"

"And you called me three times in an hour for this bullshit?" Gladio got irritated. He was already irritated. He took a deep breath: it was Hartwood who had pissed him off, and Noctis had nothing to do with it. Perhaps a movie night would do him good. "I'm sorry" he said, but Noctis had already frowned. "Let's go with the cinema. What time?"

"Seven o' clock" he replied irritably. "If Your Majesty is in the right mood."

"Listen, I'm sorry if I stole your drama queen role for a moment. Just an hour ago I came out of a burning house. Let me be nervous. Seven will be okay. Till then we can train a couple of hours at the Training Hall."

Noctis snorted. "If I really have to..."

"You have to. You have not worked out for three days."

"All right, all right, just calm down. What about having something together before?"

"Ramen."

"Ramen. How boring. Just because you're so bitchy today."

Gladio smiled, more relaxed. "Let me have a shower, first. I should have a change of clothes here at the HQ."

III

Hartwood was occupying the same table as the previous time, and as the previous time she was reading. The book was no longer History of Accordo, but The Astral War: History and Myth.

Throughout the afternoon, even during his training session with Noct, Gladio had been distracted and unfocused. The thought of the fire bothered him like a woodworm. It was absurd, with a war that had been going on for decades, that someone was going to wage war even inside Insomnia, so he kept on clinging to the faint hope that it was an accidental explosion. If this had not been the case, however, he wanted to see the responsible party in jail for a while. After his second shower that had washed away smoke, sweat and a bit of weariness, he had decided that even if he didn't want to see her again, especially so soon, he would drop by the tavern where he had met Hartwood the first time to get news on the preliminary investigations before reaching the others at the cinema. And there he found her, in effect. This time she was wearing civilian clothes.

As he approached the table, Hartwood looked up from her book. The progressive contraction of her eyebrows testified surprise, then annoyance, and finally resignation. She pulled back a chair as if she were doing him a favor.

"I didn't think I'd see you here" she greeted him.

"And, indeed, here I am." He sat down, just to spite her. "I was curious to hear about what happened to old Kost's place, and who better than you?"

"Anyone else, it seems" Hartwood sighed tiredly. A plate with leftovers of chicken and potato was in front of her. She pushed it aside with her elbow. He didn't think she would deign to answer him, but instead she did. "The restaurant is gone. Fortunately, the old man is insured. The inspection confirmed that it was a malicious explosion. A craft bomb."

"Bastards" he let slip, but he was prepared for the news. "Any word about it?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "We started questioning the alleged witnesses, but..."

Gladio's gaze fell on Hartwood's beer mug, still full, and she noticed it. With unexpected and rough kindness, she pushed it forward. "Take it, it's the third for me. After all the smoke I breathed today, I'm terribly thirsty."

He gladly accepted it. Hartwood looked down at her book, then, after a few seconds, closed it with a dry gesture. "Look, Amicitia, I wanted to apologize for this morning. I've been an asshole. But I'm not used to..." She made a vague and repeated gesture with her hand. "...such things." The ballet of her hand stopped on the pack of cigarettes she kept on the table. She took one out and put it between her lips.

Gladio shrugged, without understanding whether she was referring to the city, the fires or whatever. He decided to let it go and changed the subject. "I saw you no longer limp, Hartwood. Is your leg better?"

She nodded, lighting her cigarette. Gladio wondered where she found the desire to inhale other smoke. "More or less. I don't need a crutch now."

"You're a daring one, Hartwood. Or a crazy. That building could have collapsed at any moment."

"You too have gone inside without thinking twice, am I wrong?"

"I'm a little crazy too. The important thing, however, is that old Kost is fine."

"I thought you had only Prince Noctis and the royal family at heart."

Gladio had relaxed a bit, after that brief moment of complicity, but he got defensive again at that gratuitous zinger. "Mostly. But this is not a reason for leaving a man burning alive, if I can do something. I would have done it even if I hadn't been a Crownsguard."

Hartwood smiled, her head reclining on the palm of her hand. "That's honorable, Amicitia. And thank you for what you did for me. Trying to shield me from the beam, I mean. It wasn't necessary for you to get involved, like the previous time, but thank you."

"You're welcome" he replied, unable to decide whether he should be pleased by that semblance of thanks, or even more irritated. Hartwood didn't like him too much, it was clear, and he couldn't understand why. The front, he thought sourly, must have gone to her head. "However, if you can, keep me informed about the status of the investigations. I'll stop by some other time."

"Would you like another beer, Amicitia?" she offered, pointing to her empty mug.

"Never mind" Gladio said. "I don't have much time tonight. I only came to ask for news." He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, and decided to pester her one more time before leaving. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the Kinsglaives' uniform really suits you, Hartwood. Take care. See you around."

IV

"Hartwood, listen to me. I really have to tell you something."

Silia took a last puff of smoke and then dropped the butt from the window of the squad car. "What?"

Still keeping an eye on the road, Crux turned to look at her. "Don't take it badly. I'm aware that even if you're half my age you've seen things I can't even imagine, and that, if I'm lucky, I'll never have to see, but I've been doing this job for almost forty years. I was born in Insomnia, I've always lived here, and I'll probably die here."

Silia drummed her fingers on the window, waiting for him to cut to the chase. Crux was not exactly the smartest person she'd ever known, but he seemed a good fellow, and he had managed to find a good middle ground solution between addressing her as if she was a frightful jabberwock and flaunting an ill-concealed contempt.

"Many citizens don't like Kingsglaives."

"Oh, really?" she sneered, mockingly. "I've already figured it out."

"I had no doubts" Crux answered, ignoring her little zinger. "I've nothing against you, that's why Commander Lars has assigned you to me as my partner. But you're not a City Guard. You don't know anything about Insomnia, you don't know the crown citizens, you don't know the protocols and the procedures. Look at few days ago, that fire. You cannot launch spells in the midst of the city, heck, I don't even know if there's a law that regulates the use of magic. Magic flasks are strictly forbidden, for example, if not upon regular request for permission that usually is released in..."

"Yeah, yeah, I've understood" she interrupted him. It was useless to explain to him that on the front she wasn't used to procedures and protocols, because when facing an unexpected emergency they had a few seconds to evaluate and react, and those few seconds made the difference between life and death. "It's just a temporary solution, Crux. As Commander Lars explained to you, the Kingdom wants me to earn my salary as I get back on track before returning to war."

"It seems to me that you're more than on track" he said, and Silia got irritated.

"I can assure you" she said cautiously "that I want to go back to the front more than you don't want me in your way. My right leg doesn't move properly. If it were for me I'd leave tomorrow, but the military doctors don't agree."

"I'm not calling you a coward, Hartwood." Crux returned to look at the street. "If you really want to know, I meant that, in your conditions, you're stronger and faster than any City Guard I've ever known."

Silia bit her tongue. She forced herself to calm down, because if – as it seemed – she had to spend the following months in Insomnia, she couldn't wage war against everything and everyone. It was her who had to adapt to the city, not the contrary. "Listen, Crux" she interjected, clicking her tongue in. "I didn't want to be unpleasant. This situation wears me out. That's not what I grew up with. That's not what I'm used to."

Crux gestured vaguely. "Don't mention it, Hartwood. Everyone does what he's able to. As far as I'm concerned, you've performed miracles in these past years. Those bastards from Niflheim ate Eos, piece by piece, and even if you couldn't stop them, you slowed their advance. It's not a big deal for many citizens, but it seems a lot to me, and even the King and the Council are of the same opinion."

It was the first time, since she had returned to Insomnia, that someone expressed themselves about Kingsglaives in these terms. Silia was almost moved. She smiled. "Thank you, Crux" she said frankly.

The man smiled in return. "Since we're here, Hartwood, let me be honest with you. I'm afraid they assigned you this investigation for spite. The crown citizens will never open up to you, and I'll be damned if this suits me, the Guard doesn't care a jot about that man and his restaurant. I'm going to help you as much as I can, Hartwood, because it's my job, and I try to do it at my best, but they're using you as a fender. If we catch the culprits, it's fine. If we don't catch them, no harm done, and in any case they will attribute the failure to you."

Silia took a deep breath. She had just promised herself to calm down, and she would do it. Moreover, she couldn't say that this revelation came to her unexpectedly. Nevertheless, the idea of being shitted on by the City Guards after having spent ten years in the war was outrageous.

Be zen, she told herself. A few months. In a few months you'll think back to this shit after a day on the battlefield, you'll tell it to the others as you're passing a flask of whiskey to each other sitting in the firecamp, and you'll laugh together about it. "Thanks for being honest, Crux. I can't do much about it, I'm still a Glaive, but since I signed the documents from the Royal Chancery, I am under the jurisdiction of the City Guard. Not that I care a lot about having an extra reprimand on my record, but..." She shrugged. "I might as well grin and bear it. But if Hector Lars dares and pushes his luck with me, I'll make him pay for it. I am still a Kingsglaive."

Crux touched the back of his head. "I hope I never have you as an enemy, Hartwood. You're like a magic flask: you'd better not shake it."

V

Be zen, she had said to herself in the squad car with Crux, and she had tried hard, she could swear it on Shiva, but it had been damn hard in the previous days. She had been zen when, the day after the fire, she had opened the Insomnia newspaper and saw that the news had been relegated to a short article that commented on the increasing tax crime in the city, perhaps in response to the hopeless protracting of the war. She had been zen when all the witnesses they had questioned, no one excluded, had looked at her and Crux in their face, declaring that they knew nothing and had not seen anything. She had been zen when Commander Lars had summoned her and she had to tell him there was no news. She had been zen when a City Guard named Margaret, perhaps in a clumsy and absolutely not required attempt to cheer her up, had told her not to worry, because the case would have quickly deflated and no one would talk about it anymore. She had been zen when, on her weekly visit at the Military Prosthetics Center, Cornell had told her that there were no further improvements and that the electromyography had confirmed that the nerves of her artificial leg still didn't respond perfectly.

Silia got up from the desk she had occupied for the last hour copying the report on the computer – she knew how to fly a military aircraft, and yet a damned word processing system put her in trouble – and took her jacket from the coat rack. She had surrendered on everything, but not about the uniform: she would not wear the attire of the City Guard. She had grown up in the uniform of the Kingsglaives, she knew the pockets and the reinforcements inside out, and without it she'd felt like a snail without its shell. She distractedly waved at Crux and started down the corridor to get out of the station. She needed to vent her frustration by running and doing some physical activity in an open and secluded place.

She put her pass on the reader and went through the automatic doors. She almost banged her nose against Gladio Amicitia's chest.

"Oh, thank Six!" he exclaimed. "I was looking for you, Hartwood."

"And I was going home" she lied, going around him. She had seen him only once since the night of the fire, and she didn't want to tell him again that there was no news. In truth, she didn't want to tell him anything, and she didn't like at all that he had come looking for her at the headquarters.

Amicitia was about to put his hand on her shoulder. Silia had an involuntary reflex, one of those she had learned in training without anyone having explained them and that saved her life lots of times – one of those that her artificial leg wasn't yet able to do – and violently grabbed his forearm.

Amicitia frowned irritably, but did not pull his arm to free it. "Hartwood, a little nervous, are we?"

"I don't like being touched by strangers" she wanted to point out, letting his arm go. "If you want to excuse me, Amicitia..."

"Five minutes" he said again, raising his hand with his fingers stretched out to emphasize the concept. His hands were huge. "But not here. Let's go for a walk."

"Why should I go for...?"

"Five" Amicitia repeated. "If you prefer so, we can make our way together while you're heading home, so I'll not waste your precious time."

Silia sighed, massaging between her eyes. Zen, she reminded herself. "Fine. Let's go."

She pressed the button for one of the elevators, waiting for him to start talking, but he did not. When they entered, Amicitia folded his lips into what seemed to be a rather mocking smile.

"Five minutes" she reminded him, irritated.

"Don't be technical" he retorted, but slipped his hand into his pocket and handed her a note.

The elevator was now on the tenth floor. Silia blinked, perplexed, taking the piece of paper. There were three names with their respective surnames, and she could recognize just one of them. "What does it mean? Who are they?"

"Those who played that nasty trick at old Kost's restaurant."

Silia froze, the note in her hand. She watched him. "How?"

"I didn't mean to offend you or go over your head, Hartwood, please believe me" he quickly said, scratching his hairline. "It's not your fault, and I'm sorry you found yourself in the midst of this, but people in Insomnia don't like Glaives and they will never talk to you."

Almost Crux's same words. "Amicitia" she said, feeling her lips hot. She felt humiliated and relieved together. She folded the note and tried to return it to him, calling upon her nerves. "You shouldn't do that."

"I just asked a few questions around. On my own behalf. I told you, I know old Kost. I certainly didn't do it for you. It's just that I thought we could help each other. You're in charge of the investigation, but you're in a dead end. I know who the culprits are, but I cannot involve the Crownsguard because it's a business of the City Guard."

"How did you find out? I cannot accuse and charge them just like this, Amicitia."

He made an ironic expression and produced a second note. "Of course not. Here are the names and addresses of four witnesses."

Silia opened her mouth, then closed it. She read the names on the paper. "Fucking bastards" she let slip. "We have already questioned them all and they said they didn't see anything."

"Summon them again. Now that I have spoken to them, they will suddenly remember." He checked his watch. The elevator had arrived on the ground floor, and the automatic doors opened. They were instantly swallowed up by the din of the hall. "I exceeded your five minutes, Hartwood. Will you forgive me?" He smiled again, a broad, sunny and boyish smile.

Silia had to remind herself that Gladio Amicitia was a Crownsguard who had interfered in her activities and that she must at least look irritated. But she was starting to like that young man. He could have run to the City Guard's headquarters with his names taking the merit. And she had been incapable, so she had little to do with it, especially over old Kostantin's head.

At once, Hector Lars' upset face, that she perfectly figured out, prevailed above any scruple. She had to bite her inner lip in order not to smile as she preceded Amicitia out of the elevator, raising a hand with her well-stretched fingers.

"I know, Hartwood, I'd said five minutes, but let me tell you that you really are a pain in..."

Silia shook her head, ignoring his last statement. "Five beers. It's what I owe you for this favor."

Amicitia came out of the elevator, looking away from her with an embarrassed air. "Only five? All together?"

"Not necessarily."

"Do you still want to go home or can I have the first one now?"

"Let's go for the first one."