It was the day of our leaving, but it was merely morning so we weren't leaving just yet. Everyone was preparing for the journey across the sands to Gihram. Nobody was sure of what to expect. Was it a lone temple in the midst of a never ending dessert? Or was it an entire city devote to the gods and Occuria? It was anyone's guess.

Al-Cid set about to forming a guard team, just in case we met resistance on our way there and inside the temple. These sands were full of monster and fiend alike. The guard was of about fifty men, not too many by his standards, but far more than any of us had wanted or expected. Amongst them was Rosaria's soon to be queen, Jibrel. I thought it was odd that Al-Cid would bring his fianc along, but apparently she was a good shot and had skill with a blade to boot. In other words, she was a necessity.

I stood in the great hall, silently muttering a prayer to any god who would listen to get us through this journey in one piece. I had a horrible feeling for some reason, as though something terrible just might happen somewhere down the road. Whether it was this road or another one, I didn't know.

Larsa's state hadn't progressed at all. In the days after the disastrous ball, Larsa had become seemingly crazy, waking from the blackness of his mind in loud screams of terror. Only when he fainted again from pain did the cries subside. Fever and infection, far worse than my own, racked his body. I had not seen the young king since he was taken from the courtyard, but people who had seen him could only shake their heads and lapse into silence. Nobody believed he would live.

My heart was oddly heavy for the young king who I had not talked much with. I barely knew the boy, and yet I felt so moved and disturbed by all of this it was as though I had known him for years. As I slept at night, sometimes I thought I could hear his thoughts in my head, but I could never make his words out. They were muffled by the beating of a drum.

"Excuse me, Fidel? Do you have a moment?" Phathe interrupted my thoughts. I looked up, startled and saw him standing a little ways in front of me. I nod with a soft sigh.

"Yeah, sure. What's up?" Phathe looks a little nervous, but determined, puffing his chest out a little. It made me laugh, silent though. I don't want to be rude.

"Please," he says kneeling before me and taking my good hand, "let me be your knight."

"Come again?" I say, not understanding his meaning in the slightest. What did he mean by knight? Phathe takes a deep breath and stares me directly in the eyes.

"This journey is going to be difficult. You've not traveled these sands. I have. I know what to expect, and you dont. What's more, that hand of yours can't hold a blade. If something were to happen to you-I mean to say, I don't think it would be wise for you to travel unprotected."

"Thanks for our worry, but I can handle myself. I can't hide behind someone for all of my life. I need to learn to fight one handed and I can't do that if your standing there."

"But until you learn I will watch over you. You can't learn if you're dead." He stands up from his kneeling position. "I will teach you to fight one handed as well. A sparring partner. I won't baby sit you, I promise, but please, all princesses need a faithful knight, don't they?" His words moved me. Nobody ever spoke to me that way, and my resolve was breaking.

"Truthfully," Comes a voice from the stairs. We look over and see Balthier walking down towards us. "I think a gun would be a better fit. At least until you've mastered those daggers."

"A gun? I can barely shoot. You've seen me." I say. Phathe tightens his grip on my hand as Balthier walks over to us. I can tell Phathe is nervous and not to mention jealous in the presence of Balthier.

"I'll show you the ropes while he shows you how to fight with one hand. Let's face it," Balthier folds his arms, "if you want to hold your own, you can't go around without some sort of a plan." Phathe's face twitched a little. Balthier was stealing his thunder. "And accept his offer." He says nodding to Phathe. "You're going to need all the protection you can get."

"Am I?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yes you are." Phathe says forcefully, hinting to Balthier that he should back the hell off.

"Meanwhile, I'll find you a suitable gun," Balthier ignores Phathe's tone,

"Think I can get a handle on a gun in time?" I take away my hand from Phathe to fold it across my stomach. Balthier didn't seem angry at me anymore. It was as if nothing had happened that night, but I had noticed he seemed to be avoiding me now and again. Did he know?

"You're looking at the best shot around. You'll be pulling a trigger with ease in no time."

"Excuse me," Phathe harshly interjected, unable to take Balthier anymore, "this wasn't any of your business was it? I didn't ask for you to come marching down those stairs and-" I interrupt his tirade.

"I'll let you be my knight." I say over him. He stops and looks at me.

"You-you will?" He immediately forgets Balthier. It was like quelling a troublesome child.

"Yes, I will. I will leave it up to you to teach me how to use a dagger and to protect me." I really didn't want his protection or his guidance, but if it would keep him off of Balthier's back, than I had too. I hated how Phathe seemed to be trying to get in the way of me getting Balthier. I already didn't know how much he valued me, considering all of my screw ups, and Phathe's meddling wasn't making it any easier.

"Thank you." Phathe's eyes sparkled. He lightly kissed my forehead. "I will go pick out a few suitable daggers for you milady. I swear to you t teach you all I know." He leaves at that, increasingly happy with himself.

"Well that settles that." Balthier comments lightly, scratching his nose.

"Settles what?" I say, turning to look at him. Balthier looks a little pleased with himself too.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, "he'll make a good knight for you. You should be thankful to have such a loyal friend."

"Should I be?" I can't help but grimace a little.

"I take it you find him a nuisance by the look on your face." I shrug, feeling a little guilty.

"He's sweet, but his sweetness would be better spent on somebody else. I often feel like I'm just toying with him." I fold my arms and sigh a bit.

"So you don't share his feelings?" I shake my head. "He'd be perfect for you though." I laugh.

"Seriously? You're joking." Balthier shakes his head.

"You know me, I don't joke about this sort of thing. Just give the boy a chance. He mustn't be stupid to pick a girl like you." I blush. A girl like me? Ha. That was a load of bull. All I did was hurt him. I hated myself for that. But Balthier continued on. "You'd be surprised at how much you really care about him. Just give him a chance." I wanted so bad to tell Balthier that I wanted no one. No one but him. I hated him thinking that Phathe and I would make a good couple. I hated Balthier not understanding that my heart was solely his. But all I did was nod, play along, accept his advice. That wasn't what he was saying a few nights ago though. A few nights ago Balthier was totally against Phathe. Would Balthier disapprove of him if I told him about the river and my swim? Would he grow angry with the boy for watching me swim, naked? Would he be the one to protect me then? I open my mouth to say something, but my voice is lost as someone from above shouts down at us.

" Miss Fidel! You are there right? Where is that girl!" Balthier and I look up to see one of the nurses tending Larsa, running about like a hen who lost her head.

"She's here, with me." Balthier calls to the nurse.

"Enough courting for now! Balthier, send her up here! The lord Larsa cries for her." Larsa wants me? I didn't think he knew me well enough for needing me at any point, nor did I think him sane enough to request anyone. Balthier pushes me a little. I almost don't want to go. I don't want to see him lying there, like I had been not so long ago.

"Hurry," Balthier whispers to me. I sprint up the stairs.


The nurse hurries me into Larsa's room, pushing me inside rather brusquely.

"Sorry, dear." She says, patting my shoulder a little sympathetically. "But this is the most we've gotten out of him so far." I shake my head like it's nothing and whisper my understanding to her. She bustles out, softly shutting the door to Larsa's room behind her.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, not sure if he's still awake or well enough to know it's me. He's only seen me once or twice before after all. I decide to walk to his bedside and wait a few moments to see if he notices I'm there. Chances are, if he didn't notice the rude entrance, he won't notice me now.

I cross the well sized, bright white, and very clean room. A large window sits left of my, drapes pulled tightly shut over it. The floor is crisp, clean, and tiled. My feet echo as I step one foot after the other. Larsa's bed is on the other side of the room, across from me. It was a large four-poster bed in which he lay, clean white sheets neatly tucked ing along his sides. One hand sat atop his blankets, a thin IV line going from wrist to bag of fluid. The young king was heavily bandaged. I had to stop a moment. If I hadn't seen Larsa lying there that night, I would never have guessed it was him. Apparently the creature in him had continued to tear away even after they had began to take it out. Even still, I heard they weren't even able to get all of it out. He would have died if they had continued the surgery. Besieged by fever, scarring, and a broken and half paralyzed body, lord Larsa was seemingly on death's door. His face, where bandage was not, was swollen and red. Thick cloth wound around his head, so tight I thought it must be holding his brain in. His body would twitch every now and then as the creature moved, but Larsa didn't seem to notice, nor feel the creature writhing. And then, one solitary eye opened, the left, the only one not hidden behind a bandage.

"They say I can never walk again," his voice whispers to me, "nor fight. But I can tell they lie. Walking and fighting will not be the only things I cannot do." I finish my walk to his bedside and sit down, unable to think of anything to say. I watch the sides of his mouth twitch, almost as if he was smiling, but it was more convulsive and uncontrolled looking. I shuddered slightly, remembering the pain and fever. The blackness. "You wonder why I called you." He states, voice strained with effort. I could tell this hard for him, not so much emotionally, but physically. I nod in answer. "So you have not surmised my intentions?" I pause, thinking, and then shake my head.

"I know why." I say. Larsa nods softly and goes quiet, gathering strength, breathing heavily, air filling his lungs in great shuddering rasps, the tubes going down into his lungs doing next to nothing to ease his breathing.

"I've prayed," he begins again, "to find an escape from all of this. The pain, the suffering, and the black void. Sleep is no friend." Again he musters strength. More twitching starts in his legs, a little stronger, but they die fast. "Sometimes," he rasps at me, "I think I can still hear her. I mean her . It's as though she's part of me now, watching me." I shiver, knowing what he means. "But I also hear the faint beating of a heart, not mine though. It's heart. This things heart. I fear I will never be rid of the sound, of the muffled thoughts." He lapses into silence, sweat brewing on his forehead. His left eyes closes, face contacting with pain.

"Don't push yourself." I say, coaxing him to stop speaking. He shakes his head a little and opens an eye, this time determined.

"I did not call you hear so I could faint and be lost again. I called you so I had reassurance. Reassurance that I was not alone."

"Don't worry, your not." I smile, weakly. I watch his face tense up again, but he doesn't close his eye.

"Although I cannot feel from the waist down, I can still feel it in my arms and neck, running the length of my spine. It's half dead, thank the gods, so I pray it does not move to my brain. I did not drag myself here to be a lost cause." He breathes a few times, out of breath. "It's control is weakening, but I fear that is because my own body is weakening. She said that they are parasites and cannot live without a host, correct?" I watch as a small bittersweet smile crosses his swollen lips. "But if I die, I shall not be sorry, but relieved. I fear death, yes, but do I shun it, no. When I am lost to the darkness of my mind, sometimes I get so frightened I want to die. I beg for death. I want to will myself to die sometimes. People can do that. Just believe in death and then they no longer are. I wanted to disappear, just like them." A few tears shine in his eyes, his voice breaks. The fear and horror on his face makes me want to cry as well. I knew what that was like, the blackness, the voices, and most of all, how alone I was. I too had pleaded for death. "But I take heart and hold on. Sometimes, I can hear your drum, and that makes me feel less alone."

"My drum?" I say, a little perplexed. "I no longer dream and walk in that void. How can you still hear me?"

"You and I are connected. Although you remain hume in your mind, you will never be hume again. Your blood bleeds hybrid, as does mine."

"It's gone though! My burden left my body a while ago. See," I hold up my limp arm in my good one, "it's dead, just like your legs." Larsa's eyes sparkle, but he doesn't say anything, not for a long while. I feel like child begging at an adult for answers, answers that aren't true.

"I am sorry, Fidel." He says after minutes have passed. "I truly am. But neither of us is alone. Give me that, that comfort to take into the darkness. Give that to me, and maybe I will not beg for death, so long as I hear your drum." Larsa's voice faded so softly I almost didn't hear the last words he whispered. His eye closed, face relaxed, and he slipped away, away to a place I never want to go again.

"I promise." I whisper to his sleeping state, afraid of what exactly I was swearing an oath to.