When Hope woke again, he found himself in a mess of blankets and pillows and the dim light of early morning.

Blankets. Pillows. Plural. And he slept through the entire night.

He bolted into a sitting position, hands gripping the plush surface of a plump mattress while he took in the red- and gold-colored drapes and paint and cherry furniture that greeted him. It looked like the kind of place a king would sleep in.

A dull pain burst to life in his ankle. When did he sprain his ankle? And when did he dress in such flimsy robes?

Never mind that – he learned to deal with spotty memories a long time ago.

The voice rattled, "What hath our impatience wrought."

"It wasn't impatience," Hope muttered, looking around the room again. It smelled like flowers and incense.

Climbing out from the luxuriously fluffy blankets and pillows, Hope ambled over to his bag, noting that he still had his old clothes. His knife was missing, but that was to be expected. What he didn't expect was that his coins were not only still there, but they had somehow doubled in number. Was this a dream? Had he actually died? He assumed that, if there was an afterlife, he wouldn't be able to feel pain in it. This had to be real.

Hope slung the bag over his shoulder through force of habit, but he hesitated in leaving the room. It was the middle of the day, there would probably be a hundred witnesses to see him leave if he walked through the door.

A rap at the door startled him from his reverie.

"You wished to be woken?" asked a male servant upon entering the room.

"Yes?"

"Very good. His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, will be down shortly to speak with you. I suggest you dress and remember your manners."

The servant left again, and Hope found himself alone with the darkness of the early morning. Through the windows, he could make out the lightest hints of blue in the horizon, which gave him sufficient time to get up and try to sort out his unruly hair.

Larsa, the servant had said. Not Lamont. Larsa Ferrinas Solidor.

"Where did my life go so wrong?"

The voice rasped, "We already established this."

He dropped his bag and found a stack of clothes on the table, folded neatly and accompanied by some accessories like belts and pins. Hope wasn't sure how all that was supposed to go on, but he figured it would be better to wear it wrong than to speak with the emperor in sleeping clothes.

After what felt like ages of struggling with the strange outfit, a knock sounded at the door and Lamont promptly strode in with the judge Gabranth at his side and wearing a flowing, purple robe embedded with ornate trim and layers of finery. He carried with him a large staff bearing the sigil of the Solidor house.

Hope had only gotten the shirt, overtunic, and trousers on, but he hoped it was suitable enough without all the additives.

"I apologize," Lamont – no, Larsa said. "Gabranth wouldn't allow me to see you quietly."

Hope fidgeted under the judge's invisible gaze. "Am I a threat?"

"Not yet."

"I will escort you," Gabranth droned, "to your new training facility."

Larsa offered Hope a warm smile. "It's inside the palace, not far from here, though I have been told it's easy to lose track in such a large place. Thus I've provided a guide."

"You've taken in others before?"

"More often than Gabranth would like. Were I able, I would give homes to all those struggling to make their way in the city. But our resources don't allow for that, I'm afraid, and I won't take the money of hardworking citizens for my own charities."

Gabranth remained stoic at the mention and Hope found himself agreeing with his discomfort.

"Regrettably," Larsa said, "I have matters to attend to. But Gabranth will provide you with sufficient guidance to make correct your uniform, introduce you to our healers, and to continue from there. I shall take to my office as well, perchance you wish to see me."

"Thanks," Hope managed to say before Larsa nodded to Gabranth and left the room.

He cringed at the idea of being left alone with the large frame of a man, covered in dark armor and still as death.

"So," Hope said, trying to cover his haphazard covering with his two arms. "How's this going to go?"

Gabranth looked him up and down. "Put on your jacket over the belt. That will suffice."

Hope nodded and did as told before following Gabranth out the door, though not without a glance to those bookshelves he didn't get a chance to look at.

The clothes they gave him were mostly white in color and composed of a tunic, undershirt, and some trousers with matching, golden trim. Hope wondered why they would have him wear white if he would only work around injuries and blood all day.

When he put it on, the uniform felt constrictive around his chest and throat, and there was so much fabric to it that he could swear he would overheat within moments. They'd offered no boots, either, so his tattered sandals were all he had to work in throughout the day despite standing out atrociously against the pristine nature of the uniform.

During most of the tedium that turned out to palace hospital work – it mostly consisted of treating minor cuts and bruises for those that slipped in the halls or cut their fingers on files – he felt a little out of place for his awkward footwear and small stature.

But left alone to a room full of medics wearing the same uniform, Hope may as well have everything on wrong from the way the others all looked at him with skepticism.

In such conditions, they must have had something terrible planned. They were trying to wear down Hope's defenses, make him feel comfortable so he wouldn't expect whatever actual, terrible fate they had in store for him.

One time, he couldn't help fidgeting with the bandages in his hands before he put them in their proper shelf.

"You know how to set a broken bone?" asked one girl that looked to be a couple of years older than him and with his same rank of insignia.

He licked his lips and answered, "With a splint. Use magic after the body is ready for it."

Some snickered. "That's elementary," said one older man. "What are you going to when a victim comes before you with lacerations near the brain? Or a sword near the heart?"

"White magic," Hope said. "Earthly items threaten to make it worse, whereas pure magic diverts the energy where necessary. The body knows better than the medic where to put its resources to use, in most cases. Bones simply need too much to efficiently healed without help."

"And if it's threatening infection?"

Hope pulled the bandage tight. "Clean surface areas. I wasn't a surgeon, so I can't go near the heart. If I'm near a facility, I take them in. Otherwise, I have to hope a curaga will be enough."

One of the women blinked. "You can cast curaga?"

He couldn't remember the instance when he did. "It's not an efficient cost of Mist most of the time, but in an emergency like infection near the heart, it would be enough to reject most foreign contaminants and hope for a path to recovery."

Some of the derision faded. "You weren't a surgeon?" asked the older man. "You've been doing this for a while?"

"Yes," Hope said at the same time as the voice. "I did volunteer work and odd jobs in the streets. Minor stuff."

"How?" asked the girl. "Crime in Archades is minimal."

"Yes," Hope said, "but accidents still happen and not everyone wants to pay hospital rates. I didn't need certification because I wasn't healing major injuries. Small cuts and abrasions, that kind of stuff."

"That doesn't answer the question of where you learned all that," said an authoritative woman. "Minor cuts and abrasions won't teach you to deal with potentially fatal injuries."

"No." Hope rolled another bandage up and placed it back on the supply shelf, "but I don't need your background, either."

"That doesn't make you competent in the face of it," said the girl. "Knowledge and experience are two completely different things."

"That's what I'm here for – I'd rather not sit in the library for my whole stay."

"You won't be doing that," grumbled a younger man, "one way or the other. Apparently, our emperor's favor goes much farther than one might expect."

Some stood and left at that, their long uniforms rustling elegantly as they filed out. Hope watched them go with some trepidation, wondering what this meant for him. The rest of the group clearly wasn't friendly to the idea of him staying.

"People don't like to be shown up," rasped the voice, though Hope couldn't see how he was showing them up – he'd never even stepped into the operation rooms.

"You're not better yet," said the voice, "but you're further ahead than any of them were at your age. Only, they don't realize how much older you are than you look."

Hope chalked that up to the voice's nonsense. His shift was about to end, so he finished organizing and refreshing the supplies before heading out the main room. He almost forgot the discomfort of his outfit in the moment, but its oppressive nature served to make him further uncomfortable.

They wouldn't get him kicked out for the sake of spite, would they?

"It's not unlikely, but keep your eye out."

Hope swallowed and hurried on to his room.

All this time, he thought that he simply needed a place to work and he would fit in. He just needed to show how good he was at this and he would have a home with people he could call friends.

But he couldn't keep pretending that he slipped right in here like a fitted shoe. He couldn't keep pretending that he moved straight from the streets to the esteemed palace staff.

"There's been a disturbance on the border between us and Dalmasca's territory," Larsa told Balthier while the latter sat in a couch in Larsa's office. "Pirates raid the villages there and the people lose supplies every week. With winter coming, they need help to make it through the coming months."

"Why not send your own men?"

Larsa stood before the window and watched the dancing light of the sun as affected by a passing cloud. "The senate is less than lenient. I sent a squadron, but I doubt it should be enough."

"You'll enlist a brigand to do your dirty work? Not so different from your family, I see."

"It isn't my place to determine the traffic of sky pirates, but I can't help the border attacks without doing such. Not all are as reasonable as you."

"You miss the reason for one to become a pirate in the first place – we value our freedom and lack of authority."

"So I've seen." Larsa turned to face him, though Balthier lounged in the perfect image of comfort. "You don't worry for the people who would lose their livelihood?"

"Let's say that I worry more for my own livelihood."

Larsa paused. "I've overstepped my bounds. If I've offended you, I offer my sincerest apologies."

Balthier leaned forward and placed his arms over his knees. "I worry more for your own sensitivities, Majesty. You don't want an incident like this leading back to you."

Larsa picked up his scepter from where it leaned against the wall and took his seat at his desk. Let his eyes linger on some of the paperwork there. "I've made arrangements to prevent such."

"Really."

"I know how to protect myself."

"Do you?" Balthier stood and made his way over with that typical swagger of his. Leaned down to inspect and Larsa could make out the smallest nicks and scars in that otherwise-too-groomed face. The smell of old wood and sun-blasted sand greeted him. "Is that fatigue I see about your eyes?"

Larsa knew how to feign calm and assuredness in the face of scrutiny. "It's tiresome work I perform every day."

"Mm, no." Balthier leaned away again and Larsa remembered the aroma of the office's silver-lined flowers. "How long ago?"

Larsa felt a twitch in his lip and he knew he was exposed. "Not two days."

"How did you survive such a wound as would remain so obvious two days after?" Balthier shook his head. "Desperate as you must be for my help, I'm afraid I can't provide. But perhaps I can make other arrangements on account of your busy schedule. Some that are a touch less overt, you know."

"Thank you, Balthier. I know it is no small favor I ask."

He put his hands in the air and stepped away. "What choice do I have when the emperor himself requests it? The leading man is bound to do what's honorable, after all."

"I expect no less."

"Yes, your house has certainly demonstrated its expectations."

"Fran is well, then? I never imagined you two apart."

Balthier turned his head to the side. "She's looking into a delicate matter. If it turns out as it should, we might leave for a small while."

A knock sounded at the door and Larsa responded, "Enter."

Hope. And he wore the new, non-working clothes they'd lent him. It was a simple number, with green overtones and orange accents.

"How was the work?" Larsa asked. "Sufficient?"

"Yes," Hope said a little too quickly and with a wary glance toward Balthier, who raised his eyebrows at the sight. "It, uh, kept me busy."

"And the other medics?"

"They're fine, I guess."

"Is your room sufficient?"

"More than that." Hope shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't… take it from anyone, did I?"

Larsa paused, a ghost of pain echoing at the reminder. "My brother," he said at length. "One of them. It hasn't been used in years and I thought it should see such by this point."

Hope blinked at that. Larsa reminded himself that one of the streets wouldn't know what happened. Vaan and Penelo didn't.

"Bit of a sore spot, that one," Balthier said. "Best not to dwell on it, you know."

Hope nodded, but narrowed his eyes and pursed his lip in what Larsa took as confusion.

Another knock came, but required no response before Seven entered and drew up short at the sight of Hope.

"Your timing is well." Larsa drew himself to his full height and circled around the desk. "Some introductions are in order."

Hope moved to the side, stepping awkwardly in his new boots to make way. Larsa made himself to hope he would get used to them – otherwise it would prove difficult to find matching footwear.

"I'm Seven." The woman offered a hand to Hope. "We've met, but not formally."

"Hope." He accepted the gesture. "Do I know you?"

"I've been told I look a lot like your friend, Lightning."

Hope threw himself back, finger flying to point at her while one hand gripped his head. "You're-!" He stumbled and slammed against Larsa's desk, back-first. "No! Lightning!"

Larsa started and rushed to Hope's side only to get swatted away. "No!" Hope shrieked. "NO!"

"What is this?" Larsa demanded of Seven, who had the decency to look alarmed.

"I-…"

"It seems," Balthier said, coming over to stand by Hope, "that you've distressed our friend here. A trigger, perhaps? The result of some conditioning?"

Hope thrashed about and fell to his knees. Larsa readied a sleeping spell. "Did you mean for this?" Larsa demanded.

A flash of light erupted, causing them all to cover their eyes. Larsa stumbled away with a cry and lost his spell. Balthier and Seven both cursed in different dialects and Balthier danced away.

"No," Seven managed, her voice muffled. Larsa risked opening his eyes to find she had her face covered. "No one told me that would happen!"

Larsa readied another sleep spell and hurried to Hope's side before he let another one of those flashes loose.

"Sleep!" Larsa commanded, forcing the spell on Hope, who didn't react at first.

"Marvelous," Balthier groaned. "Can't see a wicked thing."

"The night is long," Larsa tried a little more gently, "the sun's rise is short and brilliant, but your day is over."

Hope cried out and curled in on himself. Larsa sucked in a breath before trying again. "The stars watch you," he whispered, casting another spell. "May they sing you to sleep and guide your dreams."

That finally elicited a reaction and Hope quieted down, body stilled. Larsa reached out to carry him before realizing that would be too heavy.

"Let me," Seven said.

"How am I to trust you?"

Balthier waved a hand. "Not to rush anyone…"

"I didn't mean to trigger him." Seven lifted Hope in her arms with a surprising gentleness. "I jogged his memory. There's a chance he's repressing, in which case it'll be harder to wake him than I expected."

"Repressing?" Larsa repeated.

Seven nodded as he followed her out the door. He heard Balthier mumbling something under his breath behind them. "Not everyone we collect is quick to come back, I guess."

"You won't force him into it, will you?"

She stopped just outside her room. "I can't answer that. Maybe. Depends on Queen's orders."

"He doesn't have to live in that place."

"Yeah." Seven set Hope on her bed and they left the room together. "But that's a kind of luxury that none of us can afford."

"I'm not unfamiliar with mad men, but I believe they can be saved."

"He isn't mad."

"It would be good to help all the same."

"Depends on how you do it."

Larsa looked toward the door. "Shall I post a guard?"

"Sure." Seven started back off down the hall. "Call me when he wakes up, will you?"

He hesitated. "Of course."

After she disappeared, Larsa looked back to the room before calling a guard through the system. Then he gently pulled the door open and reentered. Hope hadn't moved an inch in the time he'd left him, though his eyes darted to and from under the lid and his expression flickered uneasily.

Larsa closed the door behind him and found a chair in which he could sit until the guard came.

"Beg your pardon."

Larsa snapped his eyes up to find Balthier in the doorway. "My apologies. I allowed myself to be distracted."

"Yes." Balthier rested a hand on his waist while the other rubbed at his temples. "I could tell. Now, I don't wish to raise any fuss, but I still can barely see despite my magicks."

Larsa felt a spike of alarm. "You're blind?"

"A bit." Balthier gestured about them, motions sluggish. "But I've run out of mist."

"Of course." Larsa jumped to his feet and channeled a blindna to his palm. "My apologies. You must have been closer to him when it happened."

"I was." Balthier lifted his head when Larsa released the spell and Balthier sucked in the light. "No luck, I'm afraid. Shows what I get for agreeing to help royalty, I suppose."

Larsa frowned. "It's an unfortunate coincidence. But Hope is an exceptionally talented white mage for his age and might have a better chance at curing this."

Balthier rolled his head on his shoulders. "I'd prefer to avoid this boy from here on."

"I've known him for some days now and he's not done anything of this sort."

"A few days isn't enough to know someone. Does Basch know of your habit of picking up strays?"

Larsa bit his tongue at the mention.

Balthier blinked rapidly and looked around him. "Uh huh. It's a touch better now. I'll take another round once I've recharged and hope that makes the difference."

"If you would come by again, I'll have medics ready for you."

"Tempting, but I'm afraid a sky pirate's life isn't one for idle chatter and I can't say how else I would spend my time waiting."

Larsa sighed as the man walked off, his shoes echoing down the long corridors. He blinked spots out of his own vision and prepared another blindna just in case.