Thanks for reviewing, bluebearsg! Oh, and sorry this is a tad late... New Year's and all that got in the way. Speaking of which, Happy 2010 everyone!

Not a lot to say about this one. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Resistance

706 OV, 1 week since the events aboard the SHIVA

"News, everyone!"

A dozen heads turned to the door, twelve pairs of eyes seeking the source of the sudden noise. This sorry group of men and women was all that remained of the Rabanastre cell. They had once been proud, numbering well over a hundred, but most had been lost during the disaster of the palace assault. Yet more had disappeared as the weeks wore on, leaving only empty mats behind. Those still sitting in the Lowtown stronghold were the most dedicated to their cause, but even their resolve had begun to waver.

It had been weeks since they'd last heard of their leader. Vossler had departed quietly in the middle of the night some time ago, not saying a word to any of his men. There had been much speculation over whether he was the traitor in their midst, and indeed, the rumour had never disappeared completely. Balzac had revealed to them 'Amalia's' true identity, but few believed it. As the Ring Wyrm continued to rage in their training grounds and the soldiers began to stagnate, the theories had only grew more outlandish.

Some still held hope for Vossler's return, though their optimism had begun to waver somewhat over the last few days. To others, he had already betrayed them to the Empire, who were marching towards their base at this very moment. Yet not one of them could begun to fathom the truth of it.

In her anger, Ashe had not thought to return to her old comrades. Had she done so, the remnants of the Resistance would not be pondering the fate of their leader. Or perhaps they would – Vossler had always seemed invincible to them, and there were those among them who would refuse to believe that he was gone. Even more would refuse to believe that he had done what he had done. Whilst they occasionally had reason to doubt his decisions, not a single one among them could doubt his loyalty to Dalmasca.

In the doorway, Balzac looked over the haggard assembly of people before him. He knew not how they would react to his news, and had no desire to lose the few that had remained.

"The Ring Wyrm has fallen to a hunter's blade."

A half-hearted cheer rang through the crowd. Training was tough, but it was far preferable to sitting around doing nothing. Most of those still left were hardy people, determined to go out with a fight. It did not suit them, this hiding in the shadows. Better to die a hero on the battlefield than a terrified rabbit in a hole.

Some began to shuffle to their feet, rough and callused hands reaching for forgotten weapons. Balzac held up his hand to stop them. They had not yet heard the entirety of his piece.

"We go not to train. Marquis Ondore has summoned the Resistance to Bhujerba: there we form a fleet and prepare for battle against the Empire."

Fierce fighters they may be, but few of the Resistance members were particularly enthused about their stand-in commander's proposal. Every one of them wanted to fight, this was true, but the Imperial Fleets were renowned across all of Ivalice. It didn't matter how big the Resistance was. If they went up against the ALEXANDER or the IFRIT, they stood little choice of coming out alive.

But they were already committed to their fate. After spending the last few weeks debating Vossler's desertion as an act of cowardice, the dirty, battle-scarred troops were in no mind to do the same. They had lived for Dalmasca, fought for Dalmasca... Now they would die for Dalmasca.

"The GARLAND waits in the aerodrome, for those who would join the Marquis." As he spoke, Balzac knew that they would follow him. He could see the determined resignation in their eyes. "We depart at sunset. If you wish to remain here, I will not hold it against you."

He knew full well that not one of them would bear such a shame. It was a remarkable transformation, really. Only two years ago these people were little more than sell-swords, with little coin and fewer morals. Now, they were equivalent to the Knights of the Order themselves. They would do Vossler's memory proud.

As the party of freedom fighters made their own ways to the airship that would see them to Ondore's forces, one of the younger members quickened his step to match Balzac.

"Balzac, sir, what become of Captain Vossler?"

Balzac stopped suddenly, causing a seeq behind him to plough into him. The porcine fellow grumbled irritably at him, before continuing on his way. After ensuring that no one was watching, Balzac turned to the man who had addressed him. He could not help but note how young he was. Barely older than the boy who had brought down the Ring Wyrm.

"Captain Vossler is dead." There was no use in sugar-coating the facts for the lad. It was better he become accustomed to death, for Balzac feared the Resistance would be facing a lot of it in the months to come.

The young soldier was stunned, his eyes widening as he replied. "Dead? But Captain Vossler..."

"Was a hume man, just like any one of us. He died a good death, or so Basch tells me. He died for the sake of the one thing he loved most."

"Dalmasca..."

Balzac nodded as the boy went on his way, watching him disappear into the crowd. Yes, Vossler did die for Dalmasca. But he did not die solely for the country.