Soren slept for a long, long time, and when he finally woke he felt as though the inside of his head was stuffed with wool. "Ohh..." he moaned softly, clenching his eyes shut against the sudden and intensely painful onslaught of sunlight.

"Good morning," Volke said gruffly from somewhere to his side. For a moment, Soren was very confused to hear the assassin's voice, until he tried to sit up and found himself rather efficiently bound in place. He cracked his eyes open and saw that he was lying on a planked wooden deck. A sudden nauseating lurch to one side and the sound of rushing water told him that he probably wasn't in Crimea anymore.

Light footsteps approached, and a hand on the ropes around his arms tugged him into a sitting position. His head throbbed, but his stomach settled a bit and he opened his eyes fully to glare at his captor. Volke ignored him and held out a canteen. "Open up," he ordered.

"Like hell," Soren rasped. The ship lurched again and he winced.

Volke sighed. "Look," he said, waving the canteen. "It's just water. If I wanted you dead, do you think we'd be having this conversation right now?"

"Then perhaps I should die just to spite you."

The assassin said nothing, simply held out the canteen until Soren growled and opened his mouth hungrily. Volke held the nozzle to his lips and let him suck the whole bottle dry. It was indeed just water, and very few things had ever tasted sweeter.

Volke stood and tossed the empty canteen to one side. He hopped up a short set of stairs and settled onto the railing, the sea breeze ruffling his hair and tossing one end of his scarf up into the air as he looked out over the ocean. Soren craned his neck and tried to catch a glimpse of the coast in the distance.

"Can I ask what this is all about?" he finally asked, after determining that they were probably traveling south. They appeared to be several days' sail beyond the Gallian border, which didn't make sense to him - there was no way he had been unconscious for that long.

Volke produced a long-stemmed pipe from somewhere in his coat. He struck a match against the bowl and his eyes shone momentarily as the flame flared to life. After a long draw and a thoughtful pause, he turned to look at Soren, almost as if he had forgotten the man was there.

"I don't ask questions like that," he said plainly. "I just ask who and how much."

Soren gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said. "Then who hired you? You must know that. And why aren't I dead?"

Volke shrugged. "They're a special client, and they want you alive. Kidnapping isn't usually my area of expertise, but if the price is right..."

"And it was?"

"Evidently."

Soren smirked grimly. "I'm sure you'll understand if I'm less than enthusiastic about the situation."

Volke chuckled and said nothing. Soren gave him a probing look, but he had turned away and was focused intently on the horizon again. He chewed the end of his pipe thoughtfully and Soren doubted he would get any more information out of him.

He took a deep breath and resumed his study of their surroundings. They were definitely following the coast south, and the ship they were on was a good one - it moved almost unnaturally swiftly through the water, and it occured to him for the first time that they were alone on it. No crew, no captain, just Volke and the captive sage. So who was sailing the ship? His mind mulled over this for a while before he thought of something he had read a long time ago.

"I have another question," he spoke up, breaking the long silence between them.

"Mmm?" Volke murmured, not taking his eyes off the ocean.

"What does Goldoa want with me?"

The assassin jerked his head around, his eyes narrowing to slits. "How do you know I'm taking you to Goldoa?"

"Deduction," Soren said. He squirmed uncomfortably against his bonds. "I'll tell you how I figured it out if you untie my hands."

"Not going to happen."

"Where's my spellbook?"

"At the bottom of the ocean."

Soren smirked. "Then I'm not much of a threat to you, am I?"

Volke had to concede this fact, and he grumbled as much while he freed the sage of his restraints. "Fine. Happy?"

"Not really," Soren said, rubbing his sore wrists. He stood and stretched out his limbs. Above them, the sun was beginning to sink in the sky, and he estimated they only had a few more hours of light before dark. "You know, I'm amazed you managed to get access to one of these ships. I thought there were none of them left."

"Ahh, so that's how you figured it out. I should have known." Volke took a draw from his pipe and let it out slowly, long tendrils of smoke curling out over the water. "Impressive, isn't it?"

Soren had to admit that it was. There was only one type of ship he knew of that could sail itself; a Goldoan caravel, and they had not been seen since the nation closed its borders. Wonders of magic and engineering, the lightweight ships were once used for regular trade routes. Take one anywhere and it would always find its way back to Goldoa, and swifter than anything else on the ocean. "I assume even you would never be able to obtain such a thing for your own personal use," he commented.

Volke smirked. "It's on loan."

Soren turned and leaned over the railing, his long hair trailing behind him in the wind. He looked down the length of the ship at the many arcane symbols and decorations carved into the side. It was really quite beautiful, and he nearly forgot his predicament in the excitment of seeing it in action. Who in Goldoa would even know of his existence, much less go to this much trouble to bring him there - and what possible purpose could they have? He was beginning to feel more like a reluctant ambassador than a kidnapping victim.

Of course, maybe he was, and this whole fiasco was just a really, really botched attempt at diplomacy. He sighed and wondered for a moment why nothing in his life could ever be simple.

"Soren," Volke said, his voice startling the sage out of his self-pity. He had gone to the upper deck and was leaning over the railing.

"Wind magic is good against bird-tribe laguz, right?"

"Yes," Soren replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because we're going to be dealing with a whole flock of them shortly," he said, and leapt down to the lower deck. He tore open a crate and dug through it with one hand. "Here," he called, tossing Soren's Elwind tome to him.

"I thought you said you threw it in the ocean!"

Volke pulled out a few swords and inspected them before tossing them to the side. "I lied. Get ready to fight, will you?" He made a noise of triumph as he produced a pair of gleaming stilettos from the box. "These'll do," he said, and pulled his scarf up over his face. He suddenly looked a lot a more deadly.

Soren fumbled to ready his book while he scanned the sky overhead. Volke's eyes were much keener than his, but he did manage to pick out a few black smudges moving against the wind. Pirates, most likely, but he was surprised to see them this far north. Unless he had been wrong about their location and they had traveled even further than he orginally thought. Which, given the circumstances, was entirely possible.

"I don't understand," Soren said, backing up until he was side-by-side with the assassin. "Why would pirates attack a Goldoan ship?"

"We must not look like Goldoans to them," Volke responded. His eyes were locked onto the approaching cloud of ravens. "I count seven. Maybe more. Can we handle them?"

"We? So I'm expected to help you now?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Volke, you kill people for money."

The assassin smirked. "So do you."

"You would have killed Ike!"

"You would have wanted me to."

"Listen, you -"

"Less talk. They're coming. You have a weapon, so use it on whoever you feel poses the most threat to you."

Soren couldn't really argue with that logic. As soon as the first raven descended on them, its giant wings spread to full length, Volke brandished his knives and lunged forward. The laguz screamed and flapped desperately in an attempt to dodge, but even its superior mobility couldn't keep it out of range of the man's quick attack. An angry gash appeared across its breast, then another, and it gave a final keening cry before crumpling to the deck in a lifeless heap. Soren wasted no time in stepping to the side and conjuring a violent gust of magical wind. It spun up over his head with a deafening rush and intercepted the next two attackers mid-dive. They squawked and slammed into one another, the impact snapping both of their necks before the wind flung them out to sea with a trail of black feathers in their wake.

Soren dropped his hands and turned to look at Volke, who was darting back and forth in a desperate attempt to evade the attacks of three birds who had clustered around him. He managed to stay out of reach of their claws until they backed him up against a railing, and Soren could tell that he was going to be in some trouble if he didn't do something soon.

The sage readied his book to cast another spell, but before the words could even leave his mouth a shadow much larger than any raven appeared on the deck. Soren spun and looked up, blinking in surprise as a giant creature dove out of the sky and caught one, then two of the corsairs in its talons. It crushed them easily and tossed their carcasses into the sea as it opened its jaws and let out a blood-curdling war cry. The remaining pair of ravens swooped back and up into the high air before turning and fleeing as fast as their wings could carry them. Volke just froze, his weapons still readied but forgotten in his hands, and stared up at his rescuer.

"...Wyvern?" he finally managed to say.

"Close," the creature growled. Its voice ground and scraped like stone over stone and the flapping of its heavy wings threatened to throw them both overboard.

"Volke, wyverns can't talk," Soren stated simply, a cold feeling creeping up from the pit of his stomach. "This is a dragon." He looked over the mysterious flying creature. It was magnificent - larger than any he had ever seen, and covered in ruby scales that shined and rippled like the sea. Its wingspan was easily the length of the caravel and it sported an impressive set of claws on well-muscled limbs. "In fact, I would imagine it is probably the one that hired you, checking up on his investment. Am I right?"

The dragon bared its fangs in a gesture that might have been a smile. "You are wrong, little one. I am merely..." he paused, as if trying to remember the word. "A retainer. I would not... do business with such humans." Volke looked as though he wanted to respond to that comment, but ultimately decided against risking his neck for the sake of a snarky comeback. "Hmm," the dragon continued, licking the talons of one forearm idly. "How strange for the ravenfolk to attack a ship bearing the crest of Goldoa. That was most unwise of them."

"Well, thanks for the help," Volke said. He sheathed his stilettos in one swift movement, his composure returned, at least for the time being. "Which one are you? You know I can't tell you apart in that form."

"I am Gareth." The dragon flew a little closer to Soren and eyed him carefully. "Hmph. Whatever he says, you still look human to me," he growled, giving him a scornful look before swooping up into the air with a rush of beating wings. "I'll be watching you, human. See that the half-breed is delivered safely," he called out before disappearing into the clouds.

Soren froze. He turned slowly to look at Volke, who was busy hauling a dead raven off the deck. "...Half-breed?" he murmured, hardly daring to breathe.

"Relax," said Volke, tossing the bird overboard with a grunt. "I have nothing against the Branded. The Goldoans told me about it when they hired me." He straightened and rubbed his bloodied hands on his pants. "You sure did a good job of hiding it, though. Even I didn't know."

Soren's eye narrowed and his fingers tightened around his book. He could handle being tricked, drugged, and taken forcibly away from his home; he could even handle attacks by pirates, insults from dragons, and having to spend time with Volke. But he couldn't deal with his past being dragged into the open by someone he had never even met, and quite frankly he was getting a bit fed up with the whole situation. He decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He palmed the book and raised one hand to begin the incantation. To his surprise, Volke didn't try to intercept him, nor did he even seem particularly phased by this new development. He simply crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side as if to say "Yes yes, get on with it already."

A familiar gust gathered at the sage's feet and rushed over his body, whipping his long hair up into the air. He channeled it forward towards the assassin, where it just... stopped. Not even a gentle breeze stirred the man's long scarf as he stood there calmly. Soren dropped his hands and looked on in surprise, the magical wind dying down before finally fizzling out.

"How...?" He looked down at the book in his hands. "There are more than enough charges here..."

Volke shook his head and produced a crystal bottle from one of his many pockets. "Another gift from the Goldoans, in case you decided to resist." He shook it and Soren could hear the thin sound of liquid splashing inside. "Concentrated pure water. As strong as it gets. Very useful."

Soren sighed and tossed his book to the side. "Ike is going to kill you, you know," he said sullenly, settling into a sitting position on the deck. He rested his chin on his hands and looked out over the ocean to the setting sun. It didn't matter anyway. Even if he could commandeer the ship from Volke, he certainly didn't know how to turn it around. He was going to Goldoa whether he liked it or not, so there was nothing to do but place his faith in Ike and their mercenary band to track him down. He only hoped they reached him before he found himself on the wrong end of a dragon's claws.

Volke shrugged and sat down next to Soren. "Maybe so," he responded, leaning back against a nearby barrel. He tugged his scarf up and over his eyes. "I'm going to get some sleep. You're welcome to stay out here or in the hold if you can find a place to get comfortable."

Soren just sighed and let his eyes follow the back and forth movement of the water. The sun was almost completely gone and it was starting to get very cold. He shivered and hugged his cloak around himself, listening to Volke's gentle snoring and counting the stars as they appeared in the sky. Somehow, he didn't think he was going to get very much sleep at all.

It was high noon the next day when they entered Goldoan waters. Soren jogged to the edge of the deck and peered out at the lush coastline, amazed that a journey that should have taken three weeks had been accomplished in barely more than a day. They couldn't have made it faster on the backs of the swiftest pegasi in Crimea. He wondered how they were going to make landfall - the Goldoans were notoriously isolationist, and their coast was both treacherous and well-guarded.

Volke had spent the morning perched on the railing, watching the passing landscape and chewing on the end of his long-stemmed pipe. One end of his scarf kicked up and danced in the wind, which was surprisingly warm and pleasant. Soren had abandoned his winter cloak earlier that morning when the southern sun rose and burned the chill from the air. He smoothed back a piece of hair that had come loose from its ties and shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.

"Stop fretting," Volke finally said, not looking up. "The ship will find its own way home."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Soren snapped. "I'm more worried about what is going to happen to me afterwards."

"You'll be handed over to my client. Then I'll collect my fee and go home."

"So why did they want me alive? So they could do the job themselves?" His expression hardened and turned sour. "Kill the dirty Branded? Damn it, I thought I could hide from them. I should have known they'd smell me even in the hold of the ship." He paced from one end of the deck to the other in quick, agitated strides. This was all because he had dared to stay with Ike. The mercenary leader had become a hero, too high-profile, but Soren stubbornly refused to leave. Despite Stefan's admonitions.

Volke looked over at the sage for the first time all morning. "Relax," he ordered.

Soren shot him a scathing look. "Go to hell."

"I wouldn't have taken the job if I thought they were going to kill you."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Yes."

"Because generosity is just in your nature, is that it?"

"Because it would hurt Ike."

Soren stopped pacing and stared at Volke. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened in cold rage. "Don't you dare talk about Ike like you care about him," he hissed, advancing on the assassin.

Volke just regarded him calmly. "I did care about him. Just like I cared about Greil before him."

"Liar!" Soren couldn't contain himself and slapped Volke hard, right across the face. His scarf, temporarily dislodged, flapped back and forth in the wind. "You were a sickness that infected their lives! At any moment, a silent killer... how dare you claim to have felt anything for them!"

The assassin did not retaliate, just touched one hand to his cheek lightly. "You know why my services were necessary, Soren." He suddenly sounded very tired. "They needed me. To protect the people they loved. I made it my business to do so."

"You'll do anything for money! It's the one thing about you anyone can trust!"

"Believe that if it makes it easier."

Soren shook his head and clutched at his chest, his heart throbbing painfully. "Why couldn't they... have just needed me...?" He understood why it had upset him so much that Ike and Griel had hired Volke to shadow them. He said it was because he didn't want them to die, but he always knew in the back of his mind that such precautions were necessary. It was the affront that bothered him - that two men that Soren loved more than family would choose a stranger to carry out the deed instead of him. He wanted to be the one to deliver the killing blow. He wanted that honor.

Volke looked at him for a long moment. "Like I said," he finally responded. "They wanted to protect the people they loved."

Soren's shoulders dropped and he took a few steps backward. He turned and leaned on the railing, trying to calm the muddle of feelings swirling around in his chest. Volke was right. As much as he regretted ever advising Ike to take on the man, he was right. Ike and Greil did what they did out of love. In a way, he supposed Volke was the same way.

They spent the next several hours in silence. Soren periodically scanned the skies for any signs of rescue - pegasus knights, wyvern riders, anything - but there was nothing to see but clear blue skies and the occasional bird. He was less worried about his safety, however. He wouldn't have admitted it, but he was beginning to believe Volke's words. He probably wasn't in very much danger. Which just left the question of what exactly the point of all of this was. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to summon him to Goldoa.

He was examining the ship's sails out of boredom and curiosity when it suddenly lurched to one side. Volke nearly fell off of his perch on the rail, only avoiding going overboard by virtue of a deft leap to the deck. He crouched there at the ready, clearly somewhat alarmed by the ship's new course. Soren grabbed ahold of some nearby rigging and noted with interest that they were headed right for what appeared to be an impassable reef.

"Soren," Volke called from the lower deck. "Should we be abandoning ship?"

Soren smirked. "I highly doubt it. After all, you said the ship would find its way home, didn't you?" He was about to say something else when another sudden lurch cut him off. The slim caravel wound its way between the rocks, avoiding unseen obstacles as well as if a skilled mariner had been at the helm. Soren marveled at its construction - in several places it moved so swiftly that it seemed to defy nature itself.

After a long series of nauseating twists and turns, the ship slipped around a rock that from the sea appeared to blend seamlessly into the coastal wall. They squeezed through a narrow passage, the sides of the caravel shuddering before they finally emerged onto a perfectly still and astonishingly beautiful bay. It was sheltered on three sides by high rocky walls that were decorated with emerald cascades of moss and ivy. The ship glided through the water towards a pristine beach that hugged the bay with long white arms on either side and led up to the jungle's edge. Both Soren and Volke said nothing, almost afraid to disturb the perfect stillness of the scene. They jolted slightly when the ship ran aground.

Volke turned and looked at Soren, his expression showing that he was as unfamiliar with the situation as the young sage. "Well," he said, stepping out into the shallow water with a splash. "I guess we're here."

Soren stripped off his boots and followed the assassin, his footsteps leaving shallow depressions in the wet sand. They stepped onto the beach just as two figures emerged from a path into the jungle. Soren and Volke both stopped and watched the pair approach. When they were close enough to be recognizable, Volke nodded to the shorter of the two.

"Hello, Volke," the young man said in a lyrical voice. He smiled and his cropped aquamarine hair stirred slightly in the breeze. Soren stared at his face, sure that there was something familiar about him, but unable to place exactly what it was.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," Volke said with a deep bow. "I have brought the one you requested."

"I see that. You have done well. Gareth?" The man stepped forward obediently and placed a heavy-looking bag in Volke's waiting hands. The younger dragon turned his bright amber eyes on Soren and his expression softened. "I'm very glad to finally meet you. I am Kurthnaga, the prince of Goldoa."

Soren looked from Volke to the two dragons and back again several times before speaking. Somehow his brain just couldn't process everything that was going on, so he fell back on all the social niceties he had been practicing. "I-It's very nice to meet you," he said, with some effort. "My name is -"

"Soren," Kurthnaga interjected, then laughed apologetically. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've been looking for you for a long time." He gestured to the surrounding scenery with a wave of his hand. "We can talk later, but for now, let me be the first to welcome you home."

Soren swallowed. "...Home?"

The prince simply smiled and held out his hand. "Come. We have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

They certainly did.