Moved by instant reflex, Allan caught her in a secure embrace as she collapsed. Crouching to one knee, he lowered her gently to the ground, sitting her down on the rough stone with her back resting against his leg. Allan held her tentatively, as if suddenly she were no less dangerous than a time bomb. A perfect description, though nearly impossible to accept. It was so hard to imagine Riley as a threat of any kind. Partly because her eyes were still so gentle when they were closed. Her head rested across his leg and tilted back towards the sky, curly hair falling like a flaming waterfall. Still just as red as ever. It was the only thing she'd kept, it seemed. This was the first time he'd seen it so clean. It shone even brighter, like silk on fire.

This was his sister.

"Black powder, Al…" Jonathan's voice was about as close to surprised as it ever got. The rope dangled from his hand, but he didn't move.

Danica passed in front of him, snatching the rope with a grumbling sigh. Jon's stare at his brother was interrupted while he glared at Danica.

"I didn't—" Al cut himself off in a jolt of shock. He'd caught sight of her ears. His teeth ground together. He thought he'd been sure not to hit her that hard. Allan mumbled through his teeth, "Didn't know what you'd do."

Boots crunched against the stone beside him, helping him to tear his eyes away. Danica knelt unexpectedly with him and reached for Riley's hands. She still held the rope.

A sharp, vicious growl resonated from somewhere right beside him. Danica's stern-edged eyes snapped up to meet his. It took Allan quite a long few seconds to realize that the snarl came from his own throat. He stopped immediately, blinking his eyes. It had been quite some time since he'd felt that.

female reached out again, met with no protest from Allan. Danica scowled as she bound the girl's wrists, cursing the Empire for sticking her with these idiots. They really couldn't do anything at all by themselves. Jonathan was a blockhead, and now Allan was just useless. What a life, that she could be stuck in places like this at a Judge's whim.

What a life to be your sister's captor.

She tied the kid's hands tightly, even winding the rope around her fingers to render her claws useless. She tied her feet up to her shins. When she tied the cloth gag on, she made sure to do it gently; Al was watching her like a hawk. Finished, Danica moved as if to pick her up.

"It's fine," Allan interrupted, stopping her. He managed a glancing expression of gratitude. Sliding his arm under her shoulders, he lifted his sister bridal-style and carried her to the others. He laid her gently beside the other young girl, ignoring the blonde's tearful glare. As he moved away, Penelo moved closer to Riley and gently brushed back her hair to look at where she'd been hit.

Allan turned, eyes pointed towards the edge of the cliff. The teenage boy on the plain below was still yelling every so often, but now it was mainly just curses. Part of him curious, Al started towards the edge of the cliff, but he passed Jon on the way. He gave a jolt at the weight of a hand placed on his shoulder. Turning, he met his brother's stare.

In Danica's eyes, the gaze was far too cold and hard for Jon to be giving his weary brother. Her own eyes hardened in anger. She even opened her mouth, ready to yell at Jonathan—to hate and rebel against Jonathan, until anger granted weariness and her breaking point was left far behind. It was only a fleeting glimpse of a thought, quickly defeated by the better question of: why would she care?

But Allan's eyes softened, leaving behind pain for sadness, as he cast his gaze to the stone.

"She looks older."

The deep affection in his voice defeated her anger. Immediately Danica's eyes shifted to Jon. It had only been a question in his eyes. Not a challenge or a glare.

Jonathan's eyes locked on his brother's tortured face, his jaw clenching steadily, until he could finally answer. "Yeah," he replied curtly, because that's the closest he could get to what he was supposed to say. What Danica thought he should say.

He stopped at the edge of the cliff and his gaze traveled into the valley. Suddenly, a low chuckle found its way past his lips. "Black powder. This kid." Jon stopped to look for a second, then the laughter came even louder. The thrashing kid at the bottom of the cliff, flailing about on his paralyzed legs, conjured an image of a beached Yensa fish. Trembling with breathy laughter, he draped a hand over his eyes. Jon couldn't for his life's sake get the picture out of his mind.

Danica glared ferociously at his shaking shoulders, while Allan's eyes remained veiled in shadow as he stared at the ground.

His fit tapering off, Jonathan chuckled, "Well. Guess we better go play fetch. 'fore the spells wear off."

"…We can take the paths now," Allan answered quietly.

"Yup." Jonathan ran a hand down his grinning face. He turned away from the hilarious scene below them and stalked along the right edge of the cliff, where far along the line a thin and rocky path had been cut to lead down. "One of you stay with the rats." For a passing glance, Jon turned his sharp black eyes towards the halfbreed girl, his brother's sister, laid out gently on the rough stone.

Allan squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with a shaking hand.

….

He descended the crooked path with little heed for his surroundings. Alone, finally alone in the shadow of the cliffs, he stared at his barbed and armored boots on the stone. His eyes were seething again.

Was he the only sane lunatic around these days? Not one of them saw what he did. For all her puffy ego and bratty superior attitude, that woman was no smarter or better than he was. And Allan. That moron. Why did his brother have to be such a weak idiot? If he only saw what Jon did...

Curse the day that girl was ever brought into the world. Curse the day Allan's sinewy childhood arms had first reached out and taken the bundle of cloth from his mother's arms. Jon had watched the day when Allan first held the bundled-up wad of disease that was his baby sister. He could never know what a parasite it was, wrapped up so lovingly in her mother's coat, that his bright emerald eyes gazed at and in boyish wonder found beauty. She would never let go. As they grew older, so did her hold on him.

Older. Yeah. An older coward. An older traitor. He didn't see why his eyes were supposed to soften when he looked at her, or his voice was supposed to carry tender regret, or sorrow, or stupid crap like that. She wasn't his sister.

…No. She wasn't.

The one small part of him in her was strength. She was stronger with age. She'd willingly given herself up out of loyalty, and as she stared him full in the face, her eyes had shown defiant anger—no pathetic pleading or tears. But it wouldn't last. Her strength had crumbled the minute she set eyes on Al.

Older, wilder. But as selfish and stupid a traitor as ever. She was still a coward, and no sister of his.

Jonathan paused once to glance back toward the path. Neither of them had come down yet. Jon resumed pounding down the mountainside. One would have to come. It would be Allan, or no one at all.

….

Danica stood immediately to follow. She welcomed the chance to give him an earful. Maybe for Allan's sake she would be able to hold back enough not to bash his head in. He was infuriating. She could care less about the kid sister… But this thick-skulled idiot who called himself halfbreed had no right to be in his warped family. She didn't give a crap if she was wrong! Yelling at him wouldn't matter and she'd only make herself look like a fool—but better a fool relieved than a self-tormented wisewoman!

A quiet voice cut her off mid-stride. "Wait."

Danica stopped, surprised to see Allan looking her way. His green eyes were empty and sunken again.

"Will you stay?"

Indignant, Danica's face twisted up with insult.

"Please," he insisted, and his soft voice cracked, forcing him to stop. He swallowed hard. "So I don't have to."

The voice and the sight of his eyes dragged her anger far down in her chest, to the cold parts inside her, where her heart was. Where motivation became useless and fell apart like wet paper. "No" was the obvious answer. "No," it was selfish of him, at her expense. But then, he knew that. It was in his knowing stare and in his smile of sorrow and resignation. They all lived selfish, didn't they? Every one of them. Even Alika. Especially Alika.

It was unfair. One brother aroused her anger to the heat of sunfire, while the other was always close by to douse it with cool water.

"Yeah fine," Danica muttered curtly.

His selfishness was the nobler one here.

Allan's smile was soft and grateful. Danica flipped her hair and looked away so that she wouldn't glare at him. He followed his brother and soon disappeared down the cliff face.

Danica glanced at the "rats," all thrown together off to the side. Her eyes met those of young blonde girl, who held Riley's head in her lap. She glared through tears. Danica's face twitched into disgust, nose up as she turned away. She dropped cross-legged to the stone, her chin in her palm. The other hand was planted on her knee, nails loudly tapping against her armored boots. She glared at the distant sand dunes and rocky hills.

Men. She hated stupid men and prissy little girls. Why must she be surrounded by both?

…In the desert?

...

Jonathan's ears twitched at the sound of footsteps behind him, scuffling on the treacherous staircase of stone. Boots. Heavy, leather boots. Jon paused for only a moment. His rough-hewn face smoothed gently. He kept walking, listening to Allan's boots scuffling down the rocks behind him.

Not many sounds were yet sweet to Jonathan's numb ears. This one was.

.~**~.

"And all she wants is just a little piece of their strength.
Is that too much to ask?
If I could be like that…I would give anything
Just to live one day in those shoes.
If I could be like that, what would I do?"

The tapping of her boots along the polished wood floor sounded, to her ears, small and unimpressive. From the shuffling her sensitive ears also picked up among the perfect line of soldiers, she knew that the same went for them. They were used to hearing Danica's low-heeled boots clacking, quick and sure, along every outskirt of their ranks. As she paced along the front row of strong, sturdy men, with their bored stares and long restless legs, she wished once more that she were taller. Maybe she should get herself some heeled boots.

Ugh, no. That's Danni's. Milk would work just fine.

She stopped abruptly, not facing her men. Her men, she reminded herself. They listened to her. She was responsible for them.

Alika turned on her heel, her long sleeves floating out around her. In all, it was not an imposing appearance. The shirt she wore was something of an Archadian design. It was more of a buckled leather torso with silken sleeves that ran from her shoulders to metal bracers on her wrists. The color of these was somewhere between a deep red and rich orange. Alika wore little armor, just bracers on her wrists and shins, as well as the leather. Her hair was in a coronet today, wrapped once around her head with rest of the the braid falling freely at the back. Light brown ears poked from between the hairstyle.

She knew that her chosen wardrobe did nothing to make her slender, short frame any more impressive or commanding. It also did nothing to slow her down. The men—her men didn't see that. They knew little of subtlety.

The clarity and strength of her voice would always be imperative. Alika tried not to let nervousness waver it. In a high, clear tone, she repeated the orders which Danica had taught her, going through the routine they had been accustomed to under her authority. First was sword sparring, since they were supposed to have warmed up with individual exercises before they even came to the training gym.

The ranks broke unevenly, with traces of organization. Soon they were all paired off with their neighbor, each pair standing (more or less) seven feet apart from another pair. Alika didn't really remember how far apart they were supposed to stand.

"Go," she barked. The gym echoed with the sound of two hundred swords being drawn. Alika flattened her ears as the stinging song of metal erupted. Dang, that just got louder every time.

She paced among the ranks and went, for the most part, ignored. Bark some orders and walk around like a ghost. That's all she'd done over the last few days. Not so hard, eh? But she was beginning to think that it was more than coincidence that, when she passed close by certain soldiers, she would have to narrowly dodge a "stray" lunge of a sword. More than once.

As she passed by a fighting couple of soldiers, she noticed something about the fight was becoming a bit more than sparring. It was one huge guy just pounding away at his smaller opponent, never even giving the poor guy a chance to blink. The second solider had a gentle voice and an unkempt crop of sandy-brown hair. Couldn't be over twenty. His body frame, built more for speed than the bulky strength of his opponent, struggled to withstand each blow. The high school bully and the intellectual geek.

Alika was content to ignore it. Surely he wouldn't kill him, and that's all that mattered to her bosses. But then, as she passed, the brown-headed soldier let out a cry. Alika's ear twitched. With a growl under her breath, she glared forward emptily, ears dropped back.

Alika spun on her heel to see the brown-headed soldier flat on his back, sword spinning across the floor. She imagined little yellow and stars dancing around his head. And no matter how funny that was, the sight of him, helpless in his tyrant's shadow, could conjure nothing but anger. Whether she could handle this giant in a fight didn't matter anymore. The larger soldier wasn't stopping. He might actually kill this man. Her man. What was she supposed to do? Was it even that serious? Was she supposed to yell, or would it make her look stupid?

But then, the soldier raised his sword, cocking back his arm. Alika's eyes widened. Without a thought, she launched forward.

In the next instant, the frozen scene found her standing between the two soldiers. Both hands around the large man's wrist, she held his sword arm in place. The blade of his sword rested on her shoulder, leaking small red rivulets into her fine Archadian shirtsleeve. But she held his gaze, never once allowing pain or fear to infect her anger. Only shock read in his eyes, and it was the only thing keeping him from overpowering her with sheer strength.

It wore off quickly. The man's eyes filled with rage and a growl rose in his throat. Alika felt his muscle flex under her hands, and then, the fiery pressure of pain erupting in her shoulder.

She heard a small squeak escape her throat, and would have cursed herself for it, except she was preoccupied with the pain. She was wrong...what the heck was she thinking anyway? She may as well be trying to stop an airship as this guy's arm.

Alika dug in her heels and squeezed her eyes shut, a low whine streaming from behind her teeth. Her throat closed up with pain and unshed tears.

From behind her, she heard laughter. Her ears twitched, popping up from her head. It was his voice. The brown-headed soldier. He was laughing

Alika's eyes snapped wide open.

Grinding her teeth, she turned her whine into a growl. She was the only one who could save herself.

Alika snapped her gaze up, meeting the soldier's. Her eyes held a smile of hatred. The second of confusion was all she needed from him.

Alika dropped her shoulder, letting the sword slide off her arm, tearing open her long sleeve. At the same time, she was moving her feet. Spinning deftly, she pivoted on her left leg, hooking her right foot around his left.

"You've gotta be meaner."

She pulled his foot right out from under him, and as he fell forward, his face met with her swinging elbow, snapping back his head and sending blood flying from his nose.

"Stronger."

Releasing a strong shout, clear and sharp, Alika linked her fists together for leverage and twisted to ram her other elbow into his gut. Right beneath his ribcage, it was the one spot she could hit to damage him most with her little amount of power.

As the soldier doubled over, Alika was suddenly repositioned three feet in front of him. Gasping for air, the soldier looked up...just in time to catch her boot in the face.

Alika replaced her foot lightly on the ground, not so much as tapping her boot on the ground. The soldier was on one knee, spitting blood, muttering awestruck curses. The red-smeared sword clutched in his fist had been completely useless. From his ragged breathing, she guessed it was pretty hard for him to breathe. His nose was broken.

Panting, clutching her bleeding shoulder, she stared down at him. And then...a beautiful, fox-like, dazzling smile spread over her face. "Killing while training is counter-productive. Please don't do it anymore," she cooed in her sweetest, prettiest little voice.

Alika turned away, intending to leave then, before the shock wore off and they all realized that she was wounded far worse than her soldier. But as she turned, she met face-to-face with the brown-haired man. She stared into his shocked expression, the grin wiped clean off her face.

"There is nothing a Lieutenant Commander's ears don't hear." Her eyes narrowed hatefully, fists shaking at her sides. "You probably deserved it."

Alika turned and stalked away. Just for her own comfort, she kicked the man's dropped sword as she passed it.

The crowd she attracted stared her down as she crossed the endless training hall, trying to keep her footing steady. She knew leaving would look like weakness...cause it was. But the blood loss was making her dizzy. It'd be even worse if she collapsed in the middle of training.

As she struggled to reach the infirmary, thoughts jumbling up hazily, she tried to focus on the satisfying feel of the soldier's nose crunching under her boot. But the implications of her cheap fight and her torn shoulder were clear.

These were Danica's men. Not hers.

They would tear her apart.

.~**~.

"It's 3 am, it's cold outside,
And you can't sleep.
Is it from your conscience talking
To the skeletons you keep?

And she can't turn the other cheek."

Her dreams were haunted by every memory of Allan that she'd ever suppressed. His skinny arms around her bony shoulders, the smell of his body, the infallible strength of his malnourished muscles. His heartbeat reverberated in her ears, echoing, throbbing. Scenes flashed one on top of the other. Allan limping towards her corner, clutching hunks of meat from the dinner pile. She saw his back arch as the cattle-prods twisted his small frame with agony. Brilliant against the darkness, electricity jumped between his body and the mesh iron walls. The screams that she'd forgotten returned to assault her bloody ears.

It was far too long before she she did, it was hard to open her eyes. She realized it was because of tears. Riley blinked until she could see. Next to her, several shapes were strewn across the dark rocks. None of them appeared to be awake. It was dark, so she couldn't tell who they were. When she tried to rub her eyes, she discovered her hands were practically cocooned by rope.

Not daring to sit up, she strained her neck to look around. They had moved. Still on the cliffs, from what she could tell, they had taken shelter in a wide crag-like depression in between the rocky hills. She smelled fire.

She craned her neck around, scraping her chin on the sandstone. About teen feet away, the three of them were clustered around a small campfire. A jolt of terror shot through her when she saw Allan. Not that anything particularly shocking was going on. It was just the sight of him. He was asleep, his back turned to the others as he lay with a pack under his head as a pillow. There were blankets laying around, but he wasn't using them.

Then Riley's eyes shifted, and immediately she caught sight of a firelit scowl, splayed with deep shadows. Jonathan's eyes were locked on her.

Riley resisted the urge to look away. It took all that she had, but she absolutely could not allow herself to submit to that stare. She matched the glare with one of her own, wishing looks could burn.

"What?" a rich female voice asked, sounding less than interested. Riley glanced over to see the halfbreed woman. She was half-laying on the other side of the fire, propped comfortably on her elbow. The orange light and shadows brushed against her smooth, tan skin.

She kept staring at the darkness even when Jon turned back to the fire, poking it with the spit they'd cooked that night's meal on. The fire flared briefly. From the wall of shadow, a pair of amber eyes flashed, like when a beam of light passes over the eyes of some nocturnal predator. Danica bolted to a half-crouch, immediately reaching for the dagger mounted on her upper arm. Jon's eyes flicked lazily towards her.

Danica recollected herself quickly. The feral look left her eyes and she settled back down, growling quietly to herself. A quiet chortling sound caught her ears. She laid them flat against her head.

"I'm not used to having company," she snapped.

"Ay I didn't say nothin."

Danica snorted, tossing her hair. Her dark brown curls were lustrous in firelight.

She wished Allan would wake up. Well, no; the moron needed his sleep. But she wished she didn't have to be alone with his brother, at least. Staring at his sleeping form, his back turned, she couldn't help thinking about things that were none of her business. How this whole mission must mess with him. It messed with her and she had nothing to do with these guys. But how would she react if it were Alika who was the heretic?

Didn't matter. Her kid sister wasn't that brave.

Danica's eyes reflected the firelight for a quiet moment. "It's freezing. Why does he sleep like that?" she mumbled, breaking the silence once more.

Jonathan grunted softly, and she had to resign to silence. But then, a shuffle of boots on stone caught her attention, as Jon rose to his feet. He scooped up one of the discarded blankets and threw it over Allan's shoulders, not bothering to straighten it out. His brother didn't so much as stir.

Danica's eyes were trained on him as Jonathan retook his spot, sitting cross-legged as he poked the fire lazily. Then, her gaze shifted over his shoulder, towards the darkness where Riley's eyes flashed in the firelight. Danica felt a sudden urge of spite. A thought jumped through her mind and leapt away before she could grasp it: 'I hope she stays awake. I hope she sees it all.'

Then, a small measure of her wished she didn't have to see it all. To see her brother like this. To cause it. A passing moment in Danica's mind wished that he and the kid could run off in the night like a pair of thieves and leave her alone to complete her mission. Her and Jon, they'd complete the mission. They wouldn't leave.

...Allan could. If he really tried.

As the epiphany struck, Danica could think of nothing else. It was true. Allan could steal his sister and leave tonight if he wanted. Just run across the plains and sand dunes and hide, and live, forever in freedom. The Empire would have far bigger fish to fry. Because she and Jon would still be here, handing over the princess, carrying out the orders. But Allan? Why did he do what they wanted? The worst part was...she wasn't in favor of him running. Not really. Not that she opposed it. Rather she couldn't bring herself to support it.

Danica wouldn't run. She knew the answer now: If it was Alika instead of Riley, and her instead of Allan, she wouldn't run away. She would bring her own sister back to the clutches of her masters.

'Why do we do it?' It wouldn't leave her alone. Never had the lives, the slavery of others—of herself—affected her like this. Life was unfair and you got over it. Anyone who couldn't was an idiot. That's what she believed. She shouldn't care. She didn't care.

...But he could leave. 'Why won't he?'

'...Why can't I?'

Danica suddenly gave a frustrated growl, shoving herself off the stone to sit upright. Then, crazily, she laughed. "It's all so stupid!" she marveled, as across the fire Jon's lazy eyes flicked toward her again.

Jonathan blinked at her in surprise.

"Everything! Everything we do," she answered his stare. "Why do we do anything?"

His demeanor sank. Back into aggravation. Like he'd thought he found a diamond, then realized it was just the same shiny stone. Jon's eyes went back to the fire."Please stop talking."

"You can't tell me that. That's about all we can do is talk. I'm not about to stop."

His eyes flickered toward her, lips pulled back. "Shut up," he growled.

Danica stared at him, indignant, squaring up her shoulders. This would draw him out. This would bring back the voice he'd abandoned. "No!" she spat, sassing him. The effect was just what she'd expected, but the results were something she wasn't prepared for.

Jon's sudden snarl was accompanied by a bout of sparks from the fire as he stabbed the stick into its heart. His eyes snapped towards her. She was caught off guard by the severity in his gaze. It wasn't that she didn't know he'd be furious. That was the only way to him: through anger. It was the authority that took her by surprise. Under those eyes, her sassy defiance looked so much like a child's thinking that she even began to believe the ruse was true.

"I hate nothing more than weak hypocrites and lies," Jon spat venomously.

Danica's mouth dropped open. "As do I!" she protested.

Disgust filled his face as he watched her jaw set in defiance. Something, some door in his outer shell, was giving way, and she wasn't sure anymore that she wanted to see inside.

"When was the last time," his deep voice challenged, "that you talked back?"

She could only stare, jaw dropping incredulously. He was crazy, to talk like that. And arrogant talking to her like that! So why did all her arguments falter before they left her mouth?

"When have you ever used that pretty voice of yours to question an order? Those royal shoulders fall just as low as everyone else under the whip. Ain't that right, Duchess?"

Stumbling for words, Danica finally was able to shoot back, "You know what they'd do. To any of us."

"Yeah. So why do we do anything?"

Jonathan held her astonished gaze as silence reigned, caught in the dark, in the firelight. She was frozen and breathless, trapped in those dark, sharp, wondrous eyes. He turned back to the fire. The spell was broken...he released her. Danica had to beat back a sudden feeling of loss and longing. It left her floundering. She struggled to grasp anger, indignation. It wasn't...fair...

"Why do we talk at all, if we can't when it matters?" His rough voice was empty; it carried no more anger, nor passion.

Danica's almond eyes narrowed painfully as she turned to stare into the dancing tongues of flame. She thought, strangely enough, of the halfbreed girl. Is this what Jon felt, when he thought of his traitorous sister? It wasn't fair. She had been free of all this...she didn't even know about it. She knew where the disgust in his eyes came from. She felt it herself.

'I hope you see...everything.'

Allan had to know, didn't he? Couldn't he understand at all? Danica looked up, away from the fire, to his sleeping form. Like the Sandsea's tide on the rocky shore, his shoulders rose and fell gently under the blanket. He was so silent. It couldn't be ignorance that kept him so devoid of frustration. That stole his will to resent. If Danica had ever been stupid enough to hope, it was now. She hoped he had a reason...that he chose to endure such pain. That he wasn't just a guileless victim.

He had to have a reason.

Jonathan allowed his eyes to shift towards her turned face for a moment. Suddenly, like nothing he'd ever expect of himself, a surge of curiosity rose up to demand that he know what she was thinking. Feeling. No, he knew what she was feeling. But...was it about him?

After a struggle against thought, Jon looked back into the fire, and stoked it again with the stick. Because he couldn't talk when it mattered, either.

He couldn't even follow her gaze.

.~**~.

Even before he opened his eyes, he knew the day was just going to be glorious. Every muscle ached. Light stung his eyes through the lids so that he saw red. There was a buzzing noise plugging up his ears that refused to leave. His head was killing him.

Dear gods, let it be a hangover...

Not so. He wasn't so lucky. Balthier's eyes opened unto the stinging light of morning. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, but his wrists were tied together. Instantly he was aware of the absence of his gun.

Balthier sighed, eyelids dropping in a dull glare. The Strahl's weight in gold wasn't worth so much.

He was hardly surprised to be jerked from the stone by rough hands. That vest of his sure made it easy to manhandle him. True to character, the first thing he did was not to look for his companions, but for his captors. All three of them were present. All...three. Bugger it all. In conversations with Fran, when the moments came up in which they talked about avoiding entrapment, Balthier had boasted often that it would take an army or two to catch him. What would she say now?

Blast it. He'd gladly welcome anything that insufferable creature had to say—insults and superiority included.

As he was shoved forward, he caught a glimpse of Captain Ronsenberg. Like a bear on an iron leash. Because it didn't matter, Balthier chuckled drily.

Squirming against the iron grip of the black-headed halfbreed, Basch spared a glance towards his pirate companion. Balthier was restrained by the stone-faced redheaded soldier. But Basch's gaze returned immediately towards Ashelia. His liege was being tied to the other females, and Vossler, in a single line of many ropes. The woman soldier was in charge of this, and she put Ashe in the very front of the line. Basch fought without thinking, trying to throw off his captor's grip, but only received a knee to the small of his back. His legs unheeding, he was shoved to the end of the line and tied to the rope behind Balthier: three people away from Lady Ashe. They never would have gotten his ropes secured without help from the dizziness that assailed him.

As Balthier was tied into place behind him—something he was glad for, since Balthier was more than adept at escape—Basch glanced up and down the line. First Ashe, chin held high, and behind her Penelo fighting back fear, trying to stand as tall. Vossler, who looked haggard and half mindless with blood loss; the whole right side of his head was matted with dried red crust, reaching even down to his shoulder. Basch feared for him most. Behind Vossler, and directly in front of Basch, was Riley. Head down, her hair obscured her face entirely. Her shoulders shook with very breath, and an endless growl emanated from deep in her throat. Maybe it was the confinement. She did have a past with it; until now he hadn't thought of how it affected her mind.

But then, a commotion rose towards the front of the line, as the black-haired soldier lifted someone from the stone by the shaggy blonde hair. Basch's teeth ground together and he knew the source of Riley's tumult. For all her noble intentions, her actions yesterday had been rash, childish, and vain. It was Vaan.

Sputtering curses, he was dragged to the back of the line and tied behind Balthier, who stared at him the whole way. The pirate's expression was as close to astonishment as was possible for the composed, indifferent man. Because if Vaan was here, and Riley...then by simple logic, two plus two equals Fran.

His heart jumped with an electric current, a feeling which the pirate was unfortunately growing accustomed to. Because as Vaan and his captor passed, the red-haired soldier followed, holding the white-haired viera in his clutches.

Rage leapt like fire inside him, then died to the surprise it created. Now that, that was interesting. The sight of Fran in chains had not incited such feeling from him before, on the Leviathan. It wasn't under his control. Maybe this was what Basch felt when he looked at Ashelia. It was unsettling: a horrid feeling. What on earth had these people infected him with? He couldn't even respond to Fran's raised eyebrow, her superior, sarcastic stare that asked, "An army or two, correct?"

She was tied behind Vaan. One person away from him, but still too far behind to whisper to. He couldn't even see her now.

No. This wasn't alright anymore.

"Ideas?" he muttered to Basch. But before he could reply, the nearest halfbreed reacted. He struck out, quick as a cat's claw, and silenced the captain with a light (more or less) blow to the head. Balthier didn't try to speak again.

These were smarter by far than any Imperial grunt. A stupid soldier would have struck Balthier, but the fact that he went for Basch revealed a lot. These were the kind that moved to control a situation before it could escalate, rather than display power over an action that had already been put against them. Balthier's eyes narrowed. His stare locked with the soldier, the black-haired pillar that loomed darkly with intelligence. His own eyes met that sharp stare, equaling the challenge in mind, if not in+ body. In front of him, Basch backed him with a seething gaze of his own. As if sensing the contest, the other two halfbreeds slowly filtered in. The woman stood boldly at his side, while the red-haired one stood behind, staring only sidelong.

Balthier's gaze darkened, a stare hot and metallic. This was not acceptable.

.~*~.

A/N: Okay, I realize that for such a long wait, this is a disappointment. T_T I'm sorry! I just needed to post it since I've been slacking on writing so much and I need to re-inspire myself. School suddenly decided to throw a bunch of work at me and then, as I tend to do, I randomly lost interest in this fic. But it's back now! I just need a fresh start with a new chapter I think. Which bythe way I have a lot planned for! I'm sick of the Sandsea. I think it's high time they got the heck outta Dodge, don't you? XD

Lyric headings: "Be Like That" by Nickleback, "The Truth" by Staind