Chapter Text
Sam is surrounded by Eorzeans from the instant he sets a foot onto the sandy soil outside Ul'dah. The little ship he flew here has hardly enough weapons to be worth the name and even less space, and he rolls his shoulders to loosen them after the long flight. He did not wear armor, expecting a less-than-friendly welcome on this end, and the leathers he chose in their place are far too warm for the desert heat.
There's a blade barring his way when he goes to fetch his trunk--he'd radioed on the way in, but the Castrum with which he'd spoken was one of a scant few that remained in Garlean hands, with no safe way to warn the Eorzeans of his approach.
"Keep your hands where we can see them," the soldier holding the blade says--a Roegadyn, as are most of them, the Eorzeans taking few chances when it comes to the Empire. The man's armor wouldn't pass a village muster in the provinces, let alone serve for a post in the capital, yet Sam feels like a child beside him all the same.
As was, undoubtedly, their intent.
As Sam moves to comply with their orders, another soldier--this one a woman, and not substantially smaller than her superior--grabs his wrist and quickly shackles them behind him. He had expected some hostility, but so much from the outset...and yet he is too outnumbered to fight.
So, he complies, though not without a questioning look at their leader.
"Don't worry, as much as we'd like to put a blade through your neck right off, we've orders to take you straight to the Flame General. Rest assured he'll tolerate none of your nonsense."
"Nor would I expect him to," Sam responds, and his words earn him a slight shove for the perceived cheek. "March!" the woman orders him, and that's an order with which he has long familiarity. Their legs are longer, but he's more used to traversing hostile territory than they expect and keeps pace with only a small amount of difficulty.
At least he's not headed to a cell.
********
The upper section of Ul'dah is dimmer at least, a balm to Sam's sensitive eyes after the bright sun; he'd had nothing to shield them with on the first part of the walk, though his guards had at least been merciful enough to slow the pace a bit as they entered into the city proper. It had been a small help, even if he thinks it hadn't been done as much for his benefit but so people could stare. Tall as he may be, their enemy is not larger than life, his eyes are not filled with fire, his teeth are not sharp, he does not have claws for hands. He is a man in the body of a man, and men can be beaten.
Or, at least, that is what the Eorzeans see. Sam himself knows better: he sees the aether flowing through the city and its residents as clearly as he sees the wares for sale at the merchants' stalls, and it's easier still to touch. But he dares not show his hand in that regard just yet, nor hopefully ever. There are some things the people of Eorzea are better off not knowing.
The carpet under his feet is familiar and a balm; every day for five years did he tread across its twin as he traversed the palace in Garlemald, and the constancy of this small thing being the same here sets his mind at ease. He was not sent here as a diplomat, but it gives him hope that common ground might be found between them, even if the sole basis for his dreaming is...well, a common ground. The doors through which he's led are smaller than those he's used to, but equally grand.
There are more guards here, though fewer Roegadyn; they seem mostly an afterthought compared to the man resting one arm on the back of a chair as he leans over the table before him. He's faced away from the new arrivals, and one of the guards clears her throat. "Sir, the prisoner."
Ul'dah's Flame General turns with a motion that Sam would not have found out of place coming from the High Legatus, and he finds himself face to face with the Bull of Ala Mhigo. He bows his head slightly, but does not lower his eyes: this is a gesture to acknowledge that Raubahn Aldynn holds the power here, not of obeisance nor of trust. He can hardly do more without unbalancing himself anyways, now that his guards have stepped back.
"General," he offers, voice as steady as he can make it; Aldynn's eyes seem cast of the same material as his spine, hot-forged steel made stronger still by the coldness to which it has been subjected after its shaping.
"Spare us both the pleasantries," comes the response, halfway between spoken and spat. "What business has the Empire with Ul'dah, to send a lone man so deep into our territory so openly?"
A direct question; Sam has faced many of these, one more point of familiarity. A question he can answer, if his tongue doesn't trip over the formal structures of his answer. "By the grace of His Radiance, Solus zos Galvus, Emperor of Garlemald, I was sent by His Highness, Varis yae Galvus, the High Legatus thereof, as whose aide I serve, in order to serve as a neutral observer in the trial of His Excellency, Gaius van Baelsar, Legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion, which Eorzea does plan to hold. It is not my intent to interfere in any way, merely to watch, to ensure justice prevails, and to report as much to my superiors."
The snort he receives in response sounds like the choking-up of a Vanguard, a voiced spluttering. "Hah--justice, from a Garlean. You've spoken every name but your own. Give it."
"Sammael tol Exemplarius, sir. As I said, aide and Tribunus Laticlavius to the High Legatus. My duties are by and large administrative in nature, and prior to my present post I was a logistics officer. I have no training as a spy, if that is what concerns you." Well, that's not entirely correct, but he doubts the long hours he's spent poring over the petty dramas of Garlemald's major families for blackmail material are of any relevance here. "In my classes at the Academy, I ranked in the 78th percentile for combat, the 93d percentile for mathematics, and the 100th percentile for history. In strategy, I managed only the 14th percentile, and His Highness has long considered me to be a 'lost cause' in that regard. To quote him directly, he said that 'a side of beef served rare would offer me more challenge at the game table.'"
His words draw another snort from Raubahn, but this one sounds more like amusement, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards if only slightly. "I doubt you're as harmless as you sell yourself to be, but if you agree to leave your weapons and your armor in our hands, I'll allow it, if only so that we might learn more of each other. The gods know we understand little enough of the Empire's heart."
Sam nods again, now in acquiescence to the General's terms. "Accepted. And I should hope we share the same desire to ensure Lord van Baelsar does not bleed out in his cell from the work of some assassin's blade."
His final words are an out and Raubahn knows it, but he takes it regardless. "Aye, the death of any high-profile prisoner would be cause for concern, and Ul'dah is a fractious place at the best of times. I'm sure you're aware of the deepening rifts the Calamity has caused. No doubt the same is occurring within the Empire." He waves the guard with the key back over. "He's agreed to terms. Unbind him."
Sam tilts his head forward to give her easier access to his bonds; she snags his braided hair in the chain regardless, and part of him wonders if it wasn't deliberate. But as insults go it's a minor one, a momentary sting, and he brings his hands forward to rub gently at his wrists. "As a result of the Calamity, no. But His Radiance is not young, and he staunchly refuses to name an heir. Nature may abhor a vacuum, but it does so far less than do Garlemald's upper classes, and every minor lordling is prepared to shout his claim to the throne to any who will stop and listen. I can only hope that this affair is settled before it, too, becomes a rallying point."
"By which you mean van Baelsar is held in high regard, and his death would distract people from their political infighting to galvanize them against Eorzea once more." The Flame General crosses his arms over his chest. "And you aim to prevent that, for reasons I can hardly begin to guess at. I'll write to the other leaders of the Alliance with your proposal--you'll have a room, and a guard, while I wait to hear back. If either of them doesn't agree, you head back where you came from. I'll warn you; Gridania is closest to the Empire's borders and likely won't be hard to sway, but the Admiral holds little closer to her heart than her hatred for Garlemald. It'll be a hard task convincing her to see things your way."
"I would hardly feel safe here were the decision not unanimous," Sam responds. "And if it was going to be easy, they would have sent a Prince to do it." The cheek in his voice this time is not at all imagined, and the guard waves him toward the door, toward a room, toward a faint hope of détente between the two warring powers.