Once he had been led to his rooms as the king ordered, Maleek dismissed the others guards. And despite their questionable looks, Maleek is Captain of the Guard. They have to listen to him.

And when they were alone, Maleek didn't remove Roxas' chains just yet, instead he turned to the blond and says. "Before you bite my head off, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry." Almost instantly his eyes welled with tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

His voice had cracked and his lip trembles, and Roxas almost wanted to strangle him with the chains, but he knew why. Roxas licks his dry lips, only to feel the poking of his fanged canines. Roxas didn't even realize he shifted. And he had felt his ears flatten back in sadness.

"Please know, that I don't expect you to forgive me so easily, but also understand that I had good reasons." Maleek continues.

Roxas looks up to the former Faceless assassin and immediately noticed the difference. His features were sharper, his eyes more angled. And his ears –

Maleek tucks his hair behind one of his pierced ears, revealing his small black gage earring, and peeking up from his wheat blonde hair are the markers of his Elven heritage.

That's right; Roxas remembers how Maleek had been tracing strange marks on the inside of his Faceless cloak and he was the one who had begged Roxas to get up when he was at the hands of death. That means he can shift like Roxas? Between his Elven and human form? Had he been the one to summon Lilian, the first Elven Queen to aid Roxas in battle?

It was while Maleek had been racing those markings did the Elven Queen come flying into battle, adorned in that gorgeous armor and exposing her heritage.

Still, the shock travels through Roxas, sinking into his skin.

Maleek was Elven.

Roxas breathes a sigh of astonishment. And Maleek looks to him, his face drooping to sorrow as he removes his hand from his ear, his curtain of hair falling back over his ear.

Roxas doesn't say anything as Maleek steps closer to Roxas, still chained and astonished. Roxas doesn't flinch as Maleek reaches out his hand and brings forward Roxas braid of his now long hair over his shoulder. Roxas shoulders droop. Gods, he wants a haircut.

He hates long hair, at least on him. And now with the year in the mine, his hair has grown out to where the braid ends between his shoulder blades. Perhaps if he's allowed to get his hands on a pair of scissors, or even a knife, he can cut his hair himself. He's been doing it for himself for years.

Compared to when they last saw each other, Roxas was near unconsciousness from exhaustion and Maleek was nearly dead at his mother's hands.

And now . . . now alone Maleek has the full view of what Gollund Mine has done to Roxas. Still, despite the fact that he knew that the guards were still right outside the door, Roxas takes the one step it takes bring him chest to chest with Maleek and reaches his chained hands up over the captain's head. Maleek stiffens, but relaxes when Roxas rests his head against his chest and sighs. Twining his arms around Maleek, Roxas allows himself to nuzzle in deeper. Maleek's arm are around him heartbeats later, but they are lighter, stiffer as if he is afraid he will crush Roxas.

He probably could. Gollund Mine has withered Roxas away into nothing. And even with so many questions that flood his mind, Roxas has to pull away as he hears the knob turn.

He's already a safe distance from Maleek by the time the guard opens the door to inform Maleek that he is needed. Roxas acted like nothing had happened, and shifted back into his human form.

When Roxas finally collapses onto a bed after his meeting in the throne room, he can't fall asleep, despite the exhaustion in every inch of his body. After being roughly bathed by brutish servants, the wounds on his back throb and his face feels like it has been scrubbed to the bone. Shifting to lie on his side to ease the pain in his dressed and bound back, he runs his hand down the mattress, and blinks at the freeness of movement. Before he had gotten into the bath, Maleek had removed his shackles. He felt everything – the reverberations of the key turning in the lock of his irons, then again as they loosen and fell to the floor. He can still feel the ghost chains hovering just above his skin. Looking up at the ceiling, he rotates his raw burning joints and gives a sigh of contentment.

But it is too strange to lie on a mattress, to have silk cares his skin and a pillow cradle his cheek. He had forgotten what food other than soggy oats and hard bread tastes like, what a clean body and clothes can do to a person. Now it is utterly foreign.

Though his dinner hadn't been that wonderful. Not only was the roast chicken unimpressive, but after a few forkfuls, he dashed into the bathroom to deposit the contents of his stomach. He wants to eat, to put a hand on a swollen belly, to wish that he'll never eat a morsel and swear that he will never eat again. He will eat well in Valendia, won't he? And, more importantly, his stomach will adjust.

He has wasted away to nothing. Beneath her nightgown, his ribs reach out from inside of him, showing bones where flesh and meat should have been. And his arms! What once were thick with muscle are now thin as twigs. A lump clogs his throat, which he promptly swallows down. The softness of the mattress smothers him, and he shifts again, lying on his back, despite the pain it gives him.

His face hasn't been much better when he glimpsed it in the washroom mirror. It is haggard: his cheekbones are sharp, his jaw pronounced, and his eyes slightly, but ever so disturbingly, sunken in. Roxas takes steadying breaths, savoring the hope. He'll eat. A lot. And exercise. He can be healthy again. Imagining outrageous feasts and regaining his former glory, he finally falls asleep.

When Maleek comes to fetch him the next morning, he finds Roxas sleeping on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. "Roxas," he says. Roxas makes a mumbling noise, burying his face farther into the pillow. "Why are you sleeping on the ground?" Roxas opens an eye. Of course, the captain doesn't mention how different Roxas looks now that he is clean.

Roxas doesn't bother concealing himself with the blanket as he stands. The yards of fabric they call a nightgown covers him enough. "The bed was uncomfortable," he says simply, but quickly forgets the captain as he beholds the sunlight.

Pire, fresh, warm sunlight. Sunlight that he can bask in day after day if he gets his freedom, sunlight to drown out the endless dark of the mines. It leaks in through the heavy drapes, smearing itself across the room in thick lines. Gingerly, Roxas stretches out a hand.

His hand is pale, almost skeletal, but there is something about it, something beyond the bruises and cuts and scars, that seem beautiful and new in the morning light.

Roxas runs to the window and nearly rips the curtains from their hanging as he opens them to the gray mountains and bleakness of Gollund. The guard positioned beneath the window doesn't glance upward, and Roxas gapes at the bluish-grey sky, at the clouds slipping on their shoes and shuffling towards the horizon.

I will not be afraid. For the first time in a while, the words fall true.

His lips peel into a smile. The captain raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Roxas is cheerful – jubilant, really – and his mood improves when the servants coil beneath his braided hair onto the back of his head and dresses him in a surprisingly fine riding habit that conceal his miserably thin form. He loves clothes – loves the feeling of silk, of velvet, of satin, of suede and chiffon – and is fascinated by the grace of seams, the intricate perfection of an embossed surface. And when he becomes the leader of The Thirteen, when he is free . . . he can buy all the clothes he wants.

He laughs when Maleek, irked at how Roxas stands in front of the mirror for five minutes, admiring himself, half-dragged him out of the room. The budding sky makes Roxas want to dance and skip down the halls before they enter the main yard. However, he falters as he beholds the mounds of bone-colored rock at the far end of the compound, and the small figures going in and out of the many mouthlike holes cut into the mountains.

Work has already begun for the day, work that will continue without him when he leaves them all to this miserable fate. His stomach clenching, Roxas averts his eyes from the prisoners, keeping up with the captain as they head to a caravan of horses near the towering wall.

Yapping fills the air, and three black dogs sprint from the center of the caravan to greet them. They are each sleek as arrows – undoubtedly from the King's kennels. Roxas kneels on one knee, his bound wounds protesting as he cups their heads and strokes their smooth hair. They lick his fingers and face, their tails slashing the ground like whips.

Their blackness is such a contrast compared to Artemis's golden sheen of fur. Oh, Artemis. That gorgeous dog that had loved him unconditionally. A gift he had gotten from Vanitas –

Vanitas.

Naturally a growl vibrates in the back of Roxas' throat. He won't give the dog away, gods no, he would never. But when he gets his freedom, and when he has the King at his back to make guards look the other way . . .

A pair of ebony boots stop before Roxas, and the dogs immediately clam and sit. Roxas lifts his gaze to find the crystal eyes of the King Sephiroth Gainsborough studying his face. He smiles slightly. "You seem to have a natural liking to animals as they do to you." He says, scratching one of the dogs behind the ears. "Do you own your pet?"

Roxas nods his head as Maleek steps behind him, so close that his knees graze the folds of Roxas' forest-green velvet cape. It will take all of two movements to disarm him.

"Is it a dog?" asks the king. Roxas nods. Why is it already so hot? "Am I going to hearing your voice, or have you resolved to be silent for the duration of our journey?"

"I'm afraid your questions didn't merit a verbal response."

Sephiroth bows low. "Then I apologize, my good sir! How terrible it must be to condescend to answer! Next time, I'll try to think of something more stimulating to say." With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, his dogs trailing after him.

Roxas scowls as he stands. His frown deepens when he discovers Maleek smirking as they walk into the fray of the readying company. However, the unreadable urge to splatter someone across a wall lessens when they bring Roxas a piebald mare to ride.

He mounts. The sky comes closer, and is stretches forever above him, away and away to distant lands he's heard of. Roxas grips the saddle horn. He is truly leaving Gollund. All those hopeless months, those freezing nights . . . gone now. Roxas breathes in deeply. He knew – he just knew – that if he tries hard enough, he can fly from his saddle. That is, until he feels iron clamp around his arms.

It is Maleek, fastening Roxas bandaged wrists into shackles. A long chain leads to his horse, where it disappears beneath the saddlebags. Maleek mounts his black stallion, and Roxas considers leaping from his horse and using the chain to hang the captain from the nearest tree.

It is a rather large company, twenty all together. Behind two Imperial flag-bearing guards rides the king and Duke Perrington. Then comes a band of six royal guards, dull and bland as porridge. But still trained to protect him – from Roxas. Roxas clanks his chains against his saddle and flicks his eyes to Maleek. He doesn't react.

The sun rises higher. After one last inspection of their supplies, they leave. With most of the slaves working the mines, and only a few toiling inside the ramshackle refining sheds, the giant yard is almost deserted. The wall suddenly looms, and his blood throbs in his veins. The last time he had been this close to the wall . . .

The crack of the whip sounds, followed by a scream. Roxas looks over his shoulder, past the guards and the supplies wagon, to the near-empty yard. None of these slaves will ever leave here – even when they die. Each week, they dig new mass graves behind the refining shed. And each week, those graves fill up.

Roxas becomes all too aware of the three long scars down his back. Even if he wins his freedom . . . even if lives in peace in the countryside . . . those scars will always remind him of what he has endured. And that even if he is free, others are not.

Roxas faces forward, pushing those thoughts from her mind as they enter the passage through the wall. The interior is thick, almost smoky, and damp. The sounds of the horses echo like rolling thunder. The iron gates open, and he glimpses the wicked name of the mine before it splits in two and swing wide. Within a few heartbeats, the gates groan shut behind them. He is out.

He shifts his hands in their shackles, watching the chains sway and clank between him and the Maleek, Captain of the Guard. It is attached to Maleek's saddle, which is cinched around his horse, which, when they stop, can be subtly unbridled, just enough so that with a fierce tug from Roxas' end, the chain will rip the saddle off the beast, the captain will tumble to the ground, and Roxas would –

He senses Captain Maleek's attention. He stares at Roxas beneath lowered brows, his lips tightly pursed, and Roxas shrugs as he drops the chain.

As the morning wears on, the sky becomes a crisp blue with hardly a cloud. Taking the forest road, they swiftly pass from the mountainous wasteland of Gollund Mine and into the fairer country.

By midmorning they are within Araguay Forest, the wood that surrounds Zeltenia and serves as a continental divide between the countries of the east and the uncharted lands of the West. Legends are still told of the strange and deadly people who dwell there – the cruel and bloodthirsty descendants of the fallen Gallione Kingdom. Roxas had once met a young woman from that cursed land, and though she had turned out to be both cruel and bloodthirsty, she is was still a human. And had still bled like one.

After hours of silence, Roxas turns to Maleek. "Rumor has it that once the King of Kerwon is finished with his war against Valendia, he'll begin colonizing the West." Roxas says is casually, but hopes he'll confirm or deny. The more he knew of the King of Kerwon's current position and maneuverings, the better. Maleek surveys Roxas up and down, frowns, and then looks way. "I agree." Roxas says, sighing loudly. "The fate of those empty, wide plains and those miserable mountain regions seems dull to me as well."

Of course Maleek wouldn't show any relation with Roxas while in front of the guards or the king. Of course he has to act professional. Since his behavior in front of the guards has declared them not to be related to whatsoever, he will act snotty and stuck up just as any other noble.

The captain's jaw tightens as he clamps his teeth.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

"Do you intend to ignore me forever?"

Maleek's brows rise. "I didn't know I was ignoring you."

Roxas purses his lips, checking his irritation. He won't give Maleek the satisfaction. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"So young!" Roxas bats his eyelashes, watching Maleek for some kind of response. "It only took a few years to climb the ranks?"

Maleek nods. "And how old are you?"

"Twenty, now. But I was nineteen when my reputation was at its highest." Roxas giggles femininely. But the captain says nothing. "I know." Roxas continues. "It is impressive that I accomplished so much at such an early age."

"Crime isn't an accomplishment, Roxas."

Says the man who was a Faceless Assassin! "Yes, but becoming the world's most famous assassin is!" The captain doesn't respond. "You might ask me how I did it."

"Did what?" the captain says tightly.

"Became so talented and famous so quickly."

"I already know how you did it." Maleek says softly.

Roxas can't help but give a slight grin as Maleek tugs on the chains to pull Roxas' horse closer to his, but still a safe distance to avoid suspicion. For a moment, he dares to be genuine. "So," he says, keeping his voice low. "were you apart of the king's guard the whole time?"

"Yes." Maleek nearly whispers. "And again, I'm sorry for everything that's happened."

Roxas' shoulders sag, clinking the chains. "It's not your fault."

"I'd ask what happened, but I can already tell that it will be a conversation for somewhere more private." He gives a small smile, careful not to look too much over his shoulder. Roxas returns the gesture. "So, it's nice to see that you've been training on your Elven skills."

Roxas blinks for a moment. "Oh, yes, well, it's a long story but, Axel's brother had helped me."

"He knew of your heritage? Let alone knew how to train you?"

"I know, surprised me too. And it wasn't bad, but we did see some things out there that maybe you've been investigating." Roxas says. "But, real quick, would they be alarmed if I shifted?" he asks carefully flicking his chin over his shoulder.

"Not really, but I'd save it until we get to the castle." Maleek says, the wind brushes his hair in waves of gold and Roxas can see Maleek's pointed ears.

"It certainly gives me an edge on my skills." Roxas smiles.

"I don't care about how talented you think you are." Maleek suddenly snaps. Roxas is surprised until he realizes that their horses are farther apart and one guard is coming up on Maleek's side, most likely to ask a question or because of suspicion.

"You're not very kind." Roxas says through his teeth. If he is going to get under Maleek's skin, he has to push a lot harder.

"You're a criminal. I'm Captain of the Royal Guard. I'm not obligated to bestow any kindness or conversation upon you. Be grateful we don't keep you locked up in a wagon."

"Yes, well, I'd wager that you're rather unpleasant to talk to even when you're bestowing kindness upon others." When Maleek fails to respond again, Roxas can't help but feel a bit foolish. A few minutes pass. "Are you and the king close friends?"

"My personal life is none of your concern."

Roxas clicks his tongue. "How wellborn are you?"

"Well enough." Maleek's chin lifts almost imperceptibly higher.

"Duke?"

"No."

"Lord?" The captain doesn't reply, and Roxas smiles slowly. "Lord Maleek." Roxas fans himself with a hand. "How the court women must fawn over you!"

"Don't call me that. I'm not given the title of lord." he says quietly.

"You have an older sibling?"

"No."

"Then why don't you bear the title?" Again, no response. Roxas knows he should stop prying, but he can't help it. "A scandal? A deprived birthright? In what sort of messy intrigue are you involved?"

Maleek's lips squeeze together so tightly they turn white.

Roxas leans towards him. "Do you find that –"

"Shall I gag you, or are you capable of being silent without my assistance?" he stares ahead at the king, his face blank again.

Roxas tries not to laugh when Maleek grimaces as he begins speaking again. "Are you married?"

"No."

Roxas picks at his nails. "I'm not married, either." Maleek's flick to the gold band on Roxas ring finger and raises an eyebrow. Suddenly Roxas feels that harsh creature made of grief and sorrow prowl its way towards him. He can't let it have him, or he will break down; fall apart with the emotions of Axel he's been forcing himself to keep inside. He needs to change the subject. "How old are you when you became Captain of the Guard?"

Maleek grips the reins of his horse. "Twenty."

The party halts in a clearing and the soldiers dismount. Roxas faces Maleek, who swings a leg over his horse. "Why have we stopped?"

Maleek unhooks the chain from his own saddle and gives a firm yank, motioning for Roxas to dismount. "Lunch." he says.

Roxas brushes a stray wisp of hair from his face and allows himself to be led into the clearing. If he wants to break free, he'll have to go through Maleek first. Had they been alone, he might have attempted it, though the chains will make it difficult; but with an entourage of royal guards trained to kill without hesitation . . .

Maleek remains close beside Roxas while a fire is kindled and food prepared from the boxes and sacks of supplies. The soldiers roll logs to make small circles, where they sit while their companions stir and fry. King Sephiroth's dogs, who have dutifully trotted alongside their master, approach the assassin with wagging tails and lie at his feet. At least someone is glad for his company.

Hungry by the time a plate is finally laid in his lap, Roxas becomes a bit more than irritated when Maleek does not immediately remove his irons. After giving Roxas a long warning look, Maleek unlocks the chains and clamps them onto Roxas' ankles. Roxas only rolls his eyes as he raises a small portion of meat to his lips. He chews slowly. The last thing he needs is to be sick in front of them. While the soldiers talk amongst themselves, Roxas takes in their surroundings. He and Maleek sit with five soldiers. The king, of course, sits with Remington on their own two logs, far from him. While Sephiroth has been all arrogance an amusement the previous night, his features are grave as he speaks to the duke. His entire body seems tense, and Roxas doesn't fail to notice the way he clenches his jaw when Remington speaks. Whatever their relationship is, it isn't cordial.

Midbite, Roxas tears his focus from the king to study the trees. The forest has gone silent. The ebony hounds' ears are erect, though they don't seem to be bothered by the stillness. Even the soldiers quieted. Roxas' heart skips a beat. The forest is different here.

The leaves dangle like jewels – tiny droplets of ruby, pearl, topaz, amethyst, emerald, and garnet; and a carpet of such riches coat the forest floor around them. Despite the ravages of conquest, this part of Araguay Forest remains untouched. It still echoes with the remnants of the power that it had once given these trees such unnatural beauty.

Roxas was only four when Cloud Skyes, his father and mentor and the King of the Assassins, had come here in the dead of winter for training. He barely remembers what had happened, his father found Roxas half-submerged on the banks of a frozen river and brought him back to the Keep they had on the border between Lionel and Zeltenia. While Cloud trained Roxas to be the finest and most loyal assassin, he has never allowed Roxas to return to Ivalice due to the war. But Roxas still remembers the beauty of the world before the Dark Lord Xehanort had ordered so much of it burned. Now there is little for him there, nor will there ever be. Cloud has never said it aloud, but if Roxas had refused his father's offer to train him, then his death would've befallen onto those who would have killed him. Or worse. Even at eight, Roxas knew that a life with his father, with a name that no one would recognize but someday everyone would fear, is a chance to start over.

To escape the fate that led them to leap into the icy river that night almost twelve years ago.

A strange humming vibrates in the back of Roxas' head, like the tickling of a bee's wings. Roxas can almost see the memory trying to push its way through a translucent grey curtain, but something is preventing it from ripping through . . .

"Damned forest." says an olive-skinned soldier in their circle. Roxas jerks his head towards the group. A soldier beside him chuckles. "The sooner it's burned, the better, I say." The other soldiers nod, and Roxas stiffens. "It's full of hate," says another.

"Did you expect anything else?" Roxas interrupts. Maleek's hand darts to his sword as the soldiers turn to Roxas, some of them sneering. "This isn't just any forest." Roxas beckons with his fork to the woods. "It's Kanaela's forest."

"My father used to tell me stories about it being full of faeries." A soldier says. "They're all gone now. One takes a bite from an apple, and says. "Along with those damned wretched elves." Another says: "We got rid of them, didn't we?"

"I'd watch your tongues." Roxas snaps. "Kanaela was Fae; and Araguay is still hers. I wouldn't be surprised if some of trees remember him."

The soldiers laugh. "They'd have to be two thousand years old, them trees!" says one.

"Fae and Elves can be immortal." Roxas says.

"Trees ain't."

Bristling, Roxas shakes his head and takes another small forkful of food.

"What do you know about this forest?" Maleek quietly asks Roxas. Is he mocking Roxas? The soldiers sit forward, poised to laugh. But the captain's sapphire-blue eyes hold mere curiosity.

Roxas swallows his meat. "Before Kerwon began its civil war, this forest was cloaked in magic." he says softly, but not meekly.

Maleek waits for him to continue, but he has said enough. "And?" Maleek prods.

"And that's all I know." Roxas says, meeting the captain's gaze. Disappointed at the lack of anything to mock, the soldiers return to their meals.

Roxas has lied, and Maleek knew it. Roxas knew plenty about this forest, knew that the denizens of this place have once been faeries: gnomes, sprites, nymphs, goblins, more names than anyone can count or remember. All ruled by their larger, human-like cousins, the immortal Elves – the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in Ivalice.

With the growing corruption of the Dark Lord's campaign to hunt them down and execute them, the faeries and the Elves fled, seeking shelter in the wild, untouched places of the old. It is unknown how many other Elves can be found in Ivalice but it should be known that in some tomes it states that many fled the land, meaning they could be in other parts of Ivalice or on different continents.

The Elves were once a proud and prosperous race that made their home in portions of Ivalice, before their war with the Kerwoneans and slaughter by its armies. The Dark Lord Xehanort had outlawed it all – magic, Elves, faeries – and sought to remove any trace so thoroughly that even those who had magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Roxas himself being one of them. The Dark Lord had claimed that magic is an affront to the Goddess and her gods – that to wield it is to impertinently imitate their power. But the though the dark king had banned magic, most knew the truth: within a month of his proclamation, magic had completely and utterly disappeared of its own accord. Perhaps it had realized what horrors were coming.

The Elves were broken and scattered. Roxas can still smell the fires that had raged throughout her fourth and fifth years – the smoke of burning books chock-full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge, the screams of gifted seers and healers as they'd been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history. Many of the magic-users who hadn't been burned wound up prisoners in Gollund – and most didn't survive long there. It has been a while since Roxas had contemplated the gifts he'd lost, though the memory of her abilities haunts his dreams. Despite the carnage, perhaps it was good that magic had vanished. It is far too dangerous for any sane person to wield; his gifts might have destroyed him by this point.

The smoking fire burns his eyes as Roxas takes another bite. He'll never forget the stories about Araguay Forest, legends of dark, terrible glens and deep, still pools, and caves full of light and heavenly singing. But they are now only stories and nothing more. To speak of them is to invite trouble.

Roxas looks at the sunlight filtering through the canopy, how the trees sway in the wind with their long, bony arms around each other. She suppresses a shiver.

Lunch, thankfully, is over quickly. His chains are transferred to his wrists again, and the horses are refreshed and reloaded. Roxas' legs have become so stiff that Maleek is forced to help him onto his horse. It is painful to ride, and his nose also suffers a blow as the continual stench of horse swat and excrement floats to the back of the entourage.

The travel for the remainder of the day, and the assassin sits in silence as he watches the forest pass, the tightness in his chest not easing until they have left that shimmering glen far behind. His body aches by the time they stop for the night. He doesn't bother to speak at dinner, nor to care when his small tent is erected, guards posted outside, and he is allowed to sleep, still shackled to one of them. He doesn't dream, but when he awakens, he can't believe his eyes.

Small white flowers lie at the foot of his cot, and many infant-sized footprints lead in and out of the tent. Before someone can enter and notice, Roxas sweeps a foot over the tracks, destroying any trace, and stuffs the flowers into a nearby satchel.

Though no one mentions another word about faeries, as they travel onward, Roxas continually scans the soldier's faces for any indication that they had seen something strange. He spends a good portion of the following day with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, and keeps one eye fixed on the passing woods.

For the rest of their travels to Valendia, the nights become colder, the days shorter. Hail the size of a coin keeps them company for a week, during which time Roxas is so miserably cold that he contemplates throwing himself into a ravine, hopefully dragging Maleek with him.

Everything is wet and half-frozen, and while he can bear sodden hair, he can't withstand the agony of wet shoes. He has little sensation in his toes. Each night, he wraps them in whatever spare, dry clothing he can find. He feels as if he is a wet rag and the cold will make him solid and even frailer than the starvation. But, as it is autumn weather, the rain suddenly disappears, and cloudless, brilliant skies once more stretch over them.

Roxas is half-asleep on his horse when the King of Valendia pulls out of line and comes trotting towards them, his silver hair swaying. His red cape rise and falls in a crimson wave. Above his unadorned white shirt is a fine cobalt-blue jerkin trimmed with gold. Roxas would have snorted, but he did look rather good in his knee-high brown boots. And his leather belt did go nicely – even though the hunting knife seems a bit too bejeweled. He pulls alongside Maleek. "Come," he says to the captain, and jerks his head at the steep, grassy hill that the company is starting to ascend.

"Where?" the captain asks, jangling Roxas' chain for Sephiroth to notice. Wherever he went, so did Roxas.

"Come see the view." Sephiroth clarifies. "Bring that one, I suppose." Roxas bristles. "That one"! As if he is a piece of baggage!

Maleek moves them out of line, giving Roxas' chain a fierce tug. Roxas grasps the reins as they advance into a gallop, the tangy smell of horsehair creeping into his nostrils. They ride quickly up the steep hill, the horse jerking and surging beneath him. Roxas tries not to wince as he slides backwards in the saddle. If he fell, she'd die of humiliation.

He smells smoke before he sees the lights. Not campfires, but lights from a building rising up out of the trees, hugging the spine of the mountain slope. But the setting sun emerges from the trees behind them, and his breath catches in his throat as a megalith, then three, then six more appear, piercing the sky.

Atop the hill, Roxas stares at the crowning achievement of Valendia. Wards – magic wards. The stones are dark and ancient – hewn from something other than abundant granite. His eyes strain, but he doesn't fail to note the ring of the rocks woven between the trees, surrounding the entirety of the kingdom.

"One more stone and the whole ground will sink into the earth." The King of Valendia says from his spot on the other side of Maleek. The sounds of their approaching party fills the air. "We've still got a few miles left, and I'd rather navigate these foothills in the daylight we'll camp here tonight."

"I wonder what The Thirteen will think of him" Maleek says.

"Oh, I'm sure they won't be too keen on having Kingdom Heart's Assassin in their group. And when he opens his mouth, then the bellowing and blustering will begin; and I'll regret wasting the past two months tracking him down. But – well, I have more important things to worry over." With that, the king moves off.

Roxas can't keep his eyes from the castle. He feels so small, even from far away. He didn't know how dwarfing the building is.

The soldiers scurry about, lighting fires and raising tents. "You look as if you're facing the gallows, not your freedom." The captain says beside him.

Roxas wraps and unwraps a strap of leather rein around a finger. "It's odd to see it."

"The city?"

"Everything. I can't remember the last time I was here." Within the kingdom, Roxas can still see his face, how when he had closed the door, he had taken what was left of Roxas hope and sanity. "I still don't entirely know how it happened."

"How you were captured?"

Roxas nods. "Despite you visions of a perfect world under an empire, your rulers and politicians are quick to destroy each other. So are assassins, I suppose."

"You believe one of your kind betrayed you?"

"I know he had betrayed me. I'm just ashamed my skill wasn't good enough to prevent it. Though I question if he was under some influence, somehow. Everyone in my father's Guild knew I received the best hires and could demand any payment." Roxas scans the twisting city streets and the winding glimmer of the river. "Were I gone, a vacancy would arise from which they could profit. It might have been one; I might have been many."

"You shouldn't expect to find honor amongst such company."

"I didn't say I did. I never trusted most of them, and I knew they hated me." he had his suspicions, of course. And though the answer is obvious, it was a truth he wasn't yet ready to face – not now, not ever.

"Gollund Mine must've been terrible." Maleek says. Nothing malicious or mocking lies beneath his words. Did Roxas dare call it sympathy?

"Yes." Roxas says slowly. "It was." Roxas doesn't want to go any further. Besides his suspicion that Maleek wouldn't really care about it, that is an old repertoire that he has long since closed off in his mind, along with that boy of whom had broken out the night that he was a finger's touch away from the wall. But Maleek gives him a look that asks for more. Well, what did Roxas care if he told him? "When I arrived, they took my weapons, gave me rags, and put a pickax in my hand as if I knew what to do with it. They chained me to the others, and I endured my whippings with the rest of them. But the overseers had been instructed to treat me with extra care, and took the liberty of rubbing salt into my wounds – salt I mined – and whipped me often enough so that some of the gashes never really closed. It was through the kindness of a few prisoners from Galtea that my wounds didn't become infected. Every night, one of them stayed up the hours it took to clean my back."

When Maleek understands that Roxas is done speaking, he doesn't reply nor meddle any further. He only glances at Roxas before dismounting. Had Roxas been a fool to tell him something so personal? Maleek doesn't speak to him again that day, except to bark commands.