Chapter Text
“This is your duty now. Make sure he isn’t left alone and that he gets there safely. Report back when you’re there.”
Martyn stared at the stolas perched on the windowsill of Gerard’s inn room. The stolas stared back with those weird glowy eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. They creeped him out so he looked away. It hadn’t been good news anyway, in fact the message from Cyril had provided less comfort than the floor he’d slept on. To start with, it wasn’t a very clean floor, nor was there a lot of it. There was dust under the bed. As far as floors went, this was a negative floorness experience when it came to overall comfort. Ground would have been comfier, not to mention softer to sleep on. Gerard had tried to insist they could both fit on the bed - as narrow as it was - but Martyn had pulled out his bedroll and spread it on the floor, effectively shutting off the conversation. If only it were so easy to shut the man up when it came to other topics. There was a crick in his neck now that no stretching and massaging was helping, so his mood had been sour even before he’d spotted the stolas. At least he had gotten some sleep, and Gerard hadn’t snored. Martyn had had worse roommates during his training.
He looked around the room. If he were to be honest, calling the space they had slept in a ‘room’ was an exaggeration. He would have to have words with the tavern keeper, because it had probably been a broom closet until the inn had been forced to get creative with finding enough space for all the travelers. He better not have overcharged Gerard for this. He didn’t know the going rate for broom closets, and he certainly wasn’t worried about Gerard’s finances, it was simply the principle of the thing. For all he knew dragoons were better paid than he was. Not that he cared, he was doing very well with the Undying, thank you very much.
The stolas made a hooting sound and Martyn shooed it off. He was not going to send a reply or give Cyril a piece of his state of mind with the message. The missive the bird had delivered had been curt but not the least bit apologetic. Cyril didn’t mince words even on the best of days. Leonid had been sent off to Iron Kingdom to investigate something and he was already well on his way there, so Martyn now had the honor of being assigned to guard the Phoenix all the way back to the Hideaway.
It might be an honor but it also created a problem. One Martyn didn’t need. His eyes latched on Gerard who was drowsily sitting up on the bed, scratching his bare chest as he yawned widely. The pink tint on his face from the past couple of days under the sun had started turning into a tan, and his cheeks were covered in freckles. Martyn had to begrudgingly admit it looked great on him and brought out the blue of his eyes very nicely.
He hadn’t really spared a thought to what Gerard would look like without all those layers he’d worn on the first day, or the flowy Dhalmekian clothes he’d found for the second day. He had been too busy following the Phoenix, and last night he had just bundled up on his bedroll and gone to sleep, pointedly turning his back to Gerard as a sign not to be disturbed. Today was a new day and he found himself having way too many thoughts on the topic. Conceptually Martyn had known the dragoons had to be pretty built. The spears were quite heavy to wield, and the combat style required a lot of force. It made sense they would have some muscle to back it all up. Now all that muscle was on display in front of him in glorious practicality. And there was a lot of it to look at.
Martyn made a strangled noise, grabbed his pack and escaped the room, leaving Gerard behind looking puzzled and groggy. They both would not have been able to fit on that bed, that much was certain. Not without utter lack of boundaries and Martyn conceding the big spoon status to Gerard.
The morning sun peeking over the horizon found Martyn sitting on the rooftop of the inn, picking on his breakfast. A leftover stale and crumbling Drake’s Barm from the day before, and a slightly squashed apple he’d found on the bottom of his bag. Just as pathetic as his situation. He dropped the apple and watched it roll away until it went over the edge of the roof. Same as this mission, rolling out of his control. He buried his face in his hands with a groan.
He had to get rid of Gerard somehow. And it was starting to look like he might have to kill the man to achieve that. The thought shouldn’t have felt unsettling, but it did. He wasn’t supposed to care about the enemy, or find the enemy attractive. While Gerard himself had never done anything hostile on Martyn’s watch, he was still with the Empire. After the Phoenix Gate incident, the Empire of Sanbreque was public enemy number one for the Undying. Cyril would praise him for taking out a threat, and he might even get a raise. The Phoenix’s safety came before everything else for Cyril. Martyn wondered if the man ever did something for fun or if he just lived for his duty to the Undying.
To make the situation feel a little worse, Martyn had never had a friend, not really. The other kids he had occasionally played with as a child had been left behind when his family had moved, and he hadn’t thought of them much since. He had always appreciated his personal space, and the peace and quiet it brought for him. The Undying were coworkers, except maybe for Cal who he supposed was somewhat friend-adjacent with her insistent ribbing every time she found time to leave her workshop. He was used to working alone, and he liked it that way. While he had only known Gerard for two days, somewhere along the line Martyn had started - not on purpose, mind you - thinking of him as a sort of a friend. Gerard was a pain in his backside, but he was genuinely friendly with Martyn, even if Martyn was prickly about it. Having someone who wanted to spend time with him was nice. So nice he’d gotten distracted from the actual mission.
And then there was the flirting. He was going to file that under later examination, but that had been nice too. Unnecessary and confusing, but admittedly very nice.
Martyn forced his mind back to the issue at hand and the fact that what he should have been doing was thinking ahead. He was a professional, he had trained for this for almost half of his life. This mission was his responsibility, but in his mind he had assigned Gerard as ‘someone else’s problem’ when his guard shift would end. He had foolishly assumed Leonid would deal with the situation, and he wouldn’t have had to worry about it. Now, however, Gerard had been upgraded to ‘Martyn’s personal problem’ and he didn’t have a solution ready. The man had dispatched three bandits like it was nothing, at least according to his own words. Martyn didn’t have a reason to doubt him, he had seen the bodies himself. And they had been very much dead. If Martyn was being honest to himself, taking out three armed opponents would have taken more effort from him even with the element of surprise on his side.
Yesterday he could have taken advantage of the perfectly adequate and readily available, possibly bottomless pit they had been at. Martyn wanted to kick himself for missing the chance. It would have been a perfect way to hide a body. If he had timed it right, nobody would have noticed. And even if they had noticed, well, accidents happened. It wouldn’t have been anyone’s fault. The pit had no guardrails. Actually the security was really bad at Drake’s Fang in general. An unlucky tourist might end up dead one of these days, if not from falling into the pit, a loose rock could cave in someone’s head. Or that crumbling statue by the tents could topple over and squash a whole group of people. And don’t let him get started on those ramps. A death trap, right there! They should hire someone to sort that stuff out before travelers started dropping like flies and the business would dry up.
The more Martyn thought of taking Gerard out of the equation, the more reluctant he felt. He wasn’t going to miss that oaf and his muscles, he really wasn’t . It just didn’t feel right to kill someone who wasn’t actually a bad person. Gerard didn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body, and so far he hadn’t looked down on Martyn like he was incapable of doing his duty because of his stature. Like so many others, he didn’t underestimate Martyn.
Martyn ate the last piece of his bread and wiped the crumbs off his lap for the birds to enjoy later. Mulling over things on the rooftop wouldn’t get him anywhere. The Phoenix would probably be waking up soon. He should go get his chocobo ready and saddled up. Maybe bring a blunt instrument and club Gerard over the head once he was on chocoboback. He could at least reach his noggin that way. Would he have time to teach his chocobo to kick Gerard so hard he wouldn’t be able to ride? If he was unconscious then he would be unable to follow them and Martyn could go finish this mission without a worry…
“I knew I would find you here!”
Martyn snapped out of drafting his master plan, and glanced over his shoulder to find Gerard there. “Good morning to you too,” he grumbled.
“Easy now, I brought you breakfast,” Gerard said, shoving a bag of something that smelled like freshly baked pastries at Martyn’s face. “Let’s eat and go get ready, do you happen to know what the plan is for today?”
“All right, fine,” Martyn said with a sigh and accepted a pastry. It was a sweet one with fruit compote inside. He could feel his teeth hurting from the sugar just from the first bite. “No plans to share, yet,” he continued.
“This was all they had this early, the first batch of Barms had been already packed away to be taken to Drake’s Fang, and the next one was still in the oven,” Gerard said with a happy sigh, munching on his own pastry. “These are really good, what fruit do you think this is?”
“Pretty sure it’s peaches,” Martyn said and took another bite. Too bad he didn’t have any poison on him. He could have slipped some into a pastry and fed it to Gerard. At the speed he was demolishing the sweet treats he wouldn’t even notice anything was off before it was too late.
“I have a feeling this will be a great day, can’t go wrong with having something this delicious for breakfast,” Gerard said, grinning at Martyn as he licked his fingers clean.
Martyn didn’t stare. He didn’t.
Just as the morning before, the Phoenix was late to arrive to fetch his chocobo from the caravan stables. And same as the morning before, the prince was there with him. Martyn didn’t even bother to be disappointed anymore, he had started accepting the state of things. The Phoenix was leaning against the prince’s shoulder, his hair mussed under his travel cloak giving the impression he hadn’t looked into a mirror this morning, and his eyes were half lidded as if he hadn’t actually woken up at all yet. Everything about him screamed ‘I want to go back to bed and sleep until noon’. The prince seemed to be aware of his state, and he was gently manhandling the Phoenix to help him mount the chocobo. The Phoenix leaned over to kiss the prince’s forehead once he’d gotten settled on the bird’s back, and the prince rubbed his thigh affectionately. Gerard had been right, they really were sweet together. And Prince Dion clearly cared for the Phoenix.
Martyn looked away and focused on saddling his own chocobo. It was always a bit of a hassle because the bird was taller than him. It was called Bitty, which the Undying’s stable keeper had found hilarious when he’d introduced the bird to Martyn. It was a good breed so he hadn’t complained, and in general he got along with the chocobo quite well. It was a level headed one, obedient and not easily startled. But as if to make his morning worse, someone had nicked the footstool he usually used when saddling his chocobo in Dalimil. He didn’t have the time to go rifling through the stables trying to find it, so he sighed and heaved the saddle upwards on his tiptoes, trying not to smack the bird in the process. Suddenly, instead of hitting the chocobo’s flank, the saddle was lifted from his hands and placed on its back.
“There you go,” Gerard grinned at him.
“Thanks,” Martyn grumbled in response, his cheeks heating up. “I would have been fine.”
“Don’t worry about it. We have work to do,” Gerard tilted his head toward the prince who was now mounting his own chocobo.
“We need to give them a head start,” Martyn said, pointedly not looking their way. He buckled the saddle in place and hoisted himself on the chocobo’s back before Gerard got any ideas of him needing more help. He didn’t need someone boosting him to saddle, he could climb sheer walls, Flames damn it! He could climb Gerard too if he wanted to! The thought nearly made Martyn bite his own tongue. He should have just slept out on the roof last night, maybe his brain wouldn’t be betraying him like that now.
Unfortunately he’d forgotten to grab anything he could have used as a blunt weapon to hit Gerard over the head. Maybe it was for the better. Knocking someone senseless in the middle of a stable yard would probably have drawn the attention of the guards, and fleeing the town in a chocobo chase wasn’t on the plan for today. Getting rid of the Fresh Rookie of Sanbreque was, but he would have to get back to the drawing board on that.
The day before, following the caravan and by extension the Phoenix and Prince Dion had been easy. There was no luxury of a caravan to act as a buffer today. They would have to keep a respectful distance without appearing as if planning to rob the pair, or drawing attention to the fact they were being followed. As for Cyril’s request for not leaving the Phoenix alone, that was technically a non issue. He was never alone, practically attached at the hip to Prince Dion as he was. The real issue was that Martyn was supposed to be alone on this job, but now he had somehow acquired his own hip attachment and he needed a plan to uncouple himself from Gerard. And he still didn’t have one.
The route across the Velkroy Desert started northwards from Dalimil until it reached another Fallen ruin known as The Watcher. From there the road turned west towards the Rosarian border. Martyn had planned on concocting a plan for dealing with his problem by the time they reached The Watcher, but he hadn’t taken into account how hard it would be to concentrate on any planning when he was actually accompanied by the man who was the target of all the plans.
By the Flames, Gerard liked to talk. And his favourite subject seemed to be food. All the food he had tried since he arrived in Dhalmekia (a lot of it was really spicy but also really tasty!), all the food back home (by the sound of it Sanbreque wasn’t big on spices except for salt and pepper, but the cheese and the wine were excellent), and all the food he wanted to try in Rosaria (he had heard carrots were popular in the local cuisine and he was looking forward to trying those dishes). From the way he talked, his actual dream job seemed to be a chef. Martyn glanced up and down Gerard’s frame. He would get fat if he kept eating like that after retiring from the dragoons. Then he shook his head, chasing away the mental image of Gerard with a bit of a paunch on his belly and looking pretty soft and huggable. Where were these accursed thoughts coming from? If he had a type, Gerard wasn’t it, he was way too tall. Besides, the plan he was currently failing to make did not include retirement for the man.
The incessant chatting did make them seem like a pair of friends traveling together, which at least made the situation seem less suspicious should the couple riding ahead of them take a glance behind. Still, by the time they reached the upwards slope that led to the ridge where The Watcher loomed in the middle of Velkroy, Martyn thought his ear was going to fall off. Unfortunately he had accidentally let it slip that he enjoyed fishing - for the peace and quiet - and now Gerard couldn’t stop asking about the best fishing spots in Dhalmekia and Rosaria and what fish were the best for cooking. Those were questions Martyn didn’t know answers for because he picked his fishing spots based on how isolated they were, and catching any fish wasn't even his goal. Part of Martyn kind of wanted to escape to a fishing trip now. It would be peaceful at least, even this chatterbox would be quiet if he wanted to catch anything. And no he didn’t just mentally go on a fishing date with Gerard. He fished alone, that was the whole point.
They reached The Watcher after about a bell and a half of riding, which was a surprisingly good pace considering the Phoenix had started the trek still half asleep. The ruin offered less protection from the elements than The Fallen’s Rest east of Dalimil, but there was shade. The Phoenix and Prince Dion were steering the chocobos inside of the ruin. Martyn cursed under his breath, they would be spotted if they stopped there too. And they couldn’t ride past and leave the Phoenix behind, either.
“Slow down, let them enter first,” Martyn said, pulling on his chocobo’s reins.
“We can’t stop here,” Gerard said, scanning the dunes around them. There was no one on the road behind them, but someone could be heading this way from the other side of The Watcher. Standing in the middle of the road would look suspicious.
“Let’s scout around to the other side and wait in the shade. Quietly,” Martyn hissed.
There had been a settlement around The Watcher once. Martyn didn’t know what had happened to it or when, but the crumbling tops of stone walls that jutted out of the sand were the only thing that remained of it now. They left their chocobos behind one such wall and sneaked closer to The Watcher, using the ruins as cover. Martyn gestured to Gerard to go first to the next stack of old bricks when an idea struck him. A plan, an actual plan, not just a concept of one. It wasn’t what he had had in mind, but it had to be done, and now was the time to do it. He needed to do it.
Martyn slipped behind Gerard, just like the first time he’d seen him. Shit, that was only two days ago, wasn’t it? Felt like longer. Well, it was now or never. Maybe he shouldn’t have spent so much time worrying about coming up with a plan when improvisation was one of his stronger suits. This was risky, so close to the Phoenix and Prince Dion, but he knew where to aim to make it quiet. He steeled his jaw, swallowing down the feeling of regret already roiling in his stomach, and flicked his wrist, expecting the dagger to slide into his palm.
Nothing happened.
He shook his arm and repeated the motion. Still nothing. The dagger stayed firmly in the sheath, strapped snugly against his arm. Fuck. The fucking sand that was everywhere. He should have cleaned the mechanism last night after they got to the inn but he had been too tired and too annoyed about the room situation. What in the Flames had possessed him to not stab Gerard when he’d had the chance that first time? He jostled his sleeve with more force, trying to get the blade to dislodge.
Gerard glanced over his shoulder and down at Martyn. “Everything okay?” he whispered.
“Fine,” Martyn grunted through gritted teeth. The unmoving latch in his sleeve felt like it was mocking him. The next chance he got, he’d go for the other dagger in his leg holster. He stamped down the voice in his head saying that he could have done it right now. For whatever reason, Gerard trusted him and he could still catch him by surprise. Patience was better, he reminded himself. Play it safe. No more fuck ups, he couldn’t afford them.
Even Gerard managed to stay quiet as they reached the shade of The Watcher. They crouched down outside of the ruin of the airship. It wasn’t much reprieve from the heat of the desert, but still a welcome break. The Phoenix and Prince Dion were inside, enjoying the cooler air. Something about the material the Fallen had used to build their contraptions made them repel direct heat rather than absorb it, but that also made them very nice in the winter if you got a fire going inside. They were close enough that Martyn could hear the conversation between the Phoenix and Prince Dion.
Wait, why was he calling that man by his name? He was still an imperial and nothing good had come out of the Empire. Martyn glanced to his side and frowned. Gerard looked back at him and raised his eyebrow quizzically. And no, Gerard didn’t count, he was a pain in the backside. Martyn made a shushing gesture and leaned his head so he could hear better.
“What do you think the Fallen looked like?” Prince Dion asked.
“It is odd, is it not? They have not found any pictures of the Fallen themselves,” the Phoenix said. “Or maybe they have, but they were people just like us so we have not connected those pictures to the Fallen.”
The Prince made a thoughtful sound at this. Martyn could hear someone walking around inside The Watcher, but he wasn’t sure if it was the Phoenix or his companion. Next to him, Gerard was opening his mouth, but Martyn jabbed his side with his elbow, shutting him up. Gerard let out a quiet oof and scrunched his face like a kicked puppy, but Martyn shook his head. If Martyn could hear them talking, they would be able to hear Gerard.
“Come sit, we should eat something before we continue on,” Prince Dion said. “I think you were still asleep when we stopped at the market, but I bought some fresh bread for us. It has cooled down now so you will not burn your mouth.”
“I was awake! And you know I can handle the heat,” the Phoenix protested.
“Yes you can, my Firebird,” Prince Dion said with an amused huff. The Phoenix grumbled something, and Martyn could hear rustling as someone sat down.
“We should go inspect that ruin my brother mentioned,” the Phoenix said. “It is somewhere up north I believe.”
“Let us do that when we get the chance. Do you think there will be more clues for your research?” Prince Dion said.
“Only one way to find out, my dear,” the Phoenix said, followed by a muffled sound that could have been someone smacking a loud kiss on the cheek.
Martyn rolled his eyes and nudged Gerard’s arm, gesturing towards where they had left their chocobos. There was still a long way ahead until they reached the edge of the desert, so the pair wouldn’t stay here long after they had eaten. Best get ready to follow them again. And Martyn was starting to feel kind of peckish too. Must have been all that food talk by Gerard.
“I wonder what happened to them,” Gerard said once they were on the road again and following the pair at a distance. He had been oddly quiet ever since they had gotten back to their chocobos.
Martyn made an inquisitive sound and chewed on the piece of jerky he’d fished from his bag for a snack. “What do you mean?”
“The Fallen. Like, one day, did all these airships just fall out of the sky? And whatever happened was so awful that no one save for the Eikons ever flew again,” Gerard said pensively. He was looking up at the sky. There were some clouds on the horizon in the west but otherwise it was clear and sunny.
“Don’t think about it too hard, it’s ancient history,” Martyn said, pursing his lips. He didn’t have time to think about the past when the present had enough problems as it were. He still needed a new plan. Preferably something that didn’t include the possibility of a failure.
“Maybe it was divine retribution,” Gerard said. “Hey, how long do you think we have left before we’re in Rosaria?”
“Well we’re not there yet,” Martyn snapped.
If there was any divine retribution being doled around, it should have struck Gerard and solved Martyn’s problems. Maybe he hadn’t been reverent enough in his duty to the Phoenix. They had a few more bells left to go before the road would start winding through the hills and the greenery of Rosaria would take over. The west side of the Velkroy had some of the most boring scenery in Dhalmekia in Martyn’s opinion. Just sand, endless sand, with a few rocks placed as signposts to show the direction of the caravan road so people wouldn’t get lost even when the weather was overcast and you couldn’t tell the direction by the sun or stars.
“It’s not so hot in Rosaria, is it? Should I switch back to my other clothes when we get there?” Gerard continued, shifting in his saddle. He was wearing the Dhalmekian garb again today and yes, his face was definitely getting a tan now.
“If you want to,” Martyn sighed in response. He wasn’t interested in whatever striptease show Gerard had in mind. He wasn’t. This morning had been plenty. Just because he found the man attractive didn’t mean he was attracted to him. Those were two different things. And Gerard really wasn’t his type. He certainly didn’t need more of that dragoon musculature on show, not when he still had to come up with a plan to get rid of the man sporting it. He ignored Gerard rifling precariously through his saddlebags as he looked for his Sanbrequois issue hood. If he dropped anything, Martyn was not going to stop to wait for him to pick it up. Or wait… Hold on, maybe he would.
Huh. Now that was a plan. One with a fairly high possibility of working. If Gerard dismounted to pick up whatever he might drop, Martyn could kick him in the head and knock him out. He would feel a little bit bad about leaving him in the sand, unconscious, but needs must. Martyn curled his toes, pressing his foot against the stirrup. He would need to kick pretty hard, his shoes were soft Dhalmekian ones. Great for the weather, not so great for committing grievous bodily harm. The wooden clogs the farmers in Rosaria wore in the summer would have been ideal. Or steelcapped Imperial boots. Besides, chances were Gerard had a thick skull. The amount of jumping dragoons seemed to do on the regular meant that he might already have fallen on his head a few times. He could maybe use the stirrup like a makeshift knuckle duster on his foot, but that would limit the force and the trajectory of the kick, unless he could cut it off the strap and tie it directly onto his foot… He needed to remember this for later, Cal could build some detachable stirrups for future use. How had no one else thought of this?
“Oh I know, we could play a game to pass the time,” Gerard suddenly said, giving up his search and closing the flap of his saddlebag. So much for that idea, at least for now. “Have you ever played ‘I spy’?”
Martyn stared at him with a blank expression, every shred of his latest master plan to get rid of Gerard dissipating from his mind. Where had he gone wrong? Had he offended some celestial entity and this was punishment for his mishap? Was this a test of his faith in the Phoenix’s divinity? If so, he was ready to embrace heresy at a moment’s notice. He had gone well past giving a damn about disappointing Cyril at this point anyway. Yay for blasphemy!
“Fine, let’s play,” he grunted.
The game was more fun with a partner. Having played it on his own the day before, Martyn felt like he had an advantage, or maybe it was just the scenery that was the same, malm after malm.
“I spy, with my little eye… something beginning with an S,” Gerard said, peering around dramatically.
“Really? We’ve already done sand, the sky, and the sun. What else is there with an S?” Martyn scoffed. He looked around anyway. Yup, sand everywhere. The sky was still there. And it was hot so the sun was out like it should be.
“You aren’t even trying,” Gerard protested with a pout, and then pointed to their left. “Look over there, it’s a sabotender!”
“That is a cactuar,” Martyn said. He gazed around until he spotted the ambulatory cactus that was wobbling precariously down the slope of a sand dune. Hey, letter S right there again!
“No, I’m certain it’s a sabotender,” Gerard argued.
Martyn narrowed his eyes. That thing was a cactuar and not just because he was currently winning the game. They spent the next half a bell bickering about the differences between a sabotender and a cactuar, how they were related to the stationary succulents and cacti, and whether or not they were edible. It was far more enjoyable than the word game.
When the road started climbing up through cliffs towards Rosarian hillside, Martyn breathed a sigh of relief. No more sand, or words beginning with S. The air felt cooler here too with the trees surrounding them. The Phoenix and his Prince were far ahead of them, concealed by the foliage every time the road took a turn. Martyn wasn’t worried about losing his target, he knew where the next crossroads was. Meanwhile, his other target Gerard was looking around, almost spinning in the saddle as he took in the new scenery. Martyn supposed it probably wasn’t that much different to Sanbreque. Maybe a bit lusher and more swampy in the lowlands if you went that far. Gerard’s excitement was still kind of cute. Not that Martyn found it endearing at all.
Martyn was no stranger to Rosaria. He had been born there, and spent the first summers of his life in Rosalith. He hadn’t understood what his parents did until after the Phoenix Gate was destroyed. His mother Helena had been a scribe in the court, with access to the Archduke’s archives so she could conduct research for the Undying. His father William had assisted in secrecy while working as one of the castle guards. He had been lucky to stay behind in Rosalith that day to stand in guard duty. After they had learned that the Phoenix had survived, they moved to Dhalmekia where he had been spirited away to safety. The Undying had become his new reality once they had settled there, and after the Phoenix woke up he had been selected to train as his guard.
As they got closer to the Rosarian border, Martyn pondered how his life might have turned out if things had gone differently. Maybe he’d still be in Rosalith, none the wiser. He knew his letters and numbers and could read and write, but the thought of following in his mother’s footsteps didn’t suit him. Maybe he could have been a guard, it wasn’t that different from what he was doing now, just more standing in one place. All that aside, he certainly wouldn’t be stuck riding through the desert with an aspiring restaurant critic, playing word games. He gave Gerard a sideways glance.
There still was no plan. He had to stop playing Mister Nice Martyn and start focusing. He couldn’t let Gerard distract him again, or let him find the Hideaway.
Martyn halted his chocobo just in time to stay hidden by the trees when he saw that the Phoenix stopped at the crossroads where one fork led uphill to Hawk’s Cry Cliff. The other would eventually take them to the Deadlands, if they first got off the road after a few malms and took the secret route through some footpaths. He was saying something to Prince Dion, pointing southwest, to the direction of Port Isolde. Martyn hoped he wasn’t planning on going to see his uncle, Lord Byron Rosfield. That hadn’t been on the itinerary he had been provided at the start of this mess of an assignment, unless there was an updated version that was with Leonid somewhere in the Iron Kingdom.
Martyn had never personally met Byron Rosfield, but he suspected he would prove to be a handful just like the Phoenix. Causing problems for other people - at the moment mainly for Martyn - was most certainly a Rosfield trait. And he couldn’t even blame Lady Natalia for how they had all turned out. She had never married or had children (and Martyn had a pretty good hunch now on why that had been the case), instead her brother Archduke Richard had continued the family line. Which meant there had been more pain in the backside Rosfields even before Richard and Natalia’s time. What a family.
“What’s in that direction?” Gerard asked in almost a whisper, cocking his head southish where the Phoenix had been gesturing to.
They were out of earshot so the volume of his voice didn’t matter. One day he might learn the right times to be more quiet. Martyn shook his head at the thought. There weren’t going to be more days for Gerard, he needed to stop thinking like this.
“Port Isolde,” Martyn said. “It’s a pretty long ride there, we’d have to first go north and then follow the road southwest around some steep cliffs.”
Didn’t matter what he told Gerard, he was already a dead man walking. Should be, at least. If things went according to plan, he would be. He had to be if he couldn’t come up with a better plan. Not that there was a plan at the moment, other than ‘Get Rid Of Gerard’. Martyn chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Now that he considered it, Port Isolde might not be such a bad idea. The alleys were narrow and shady, with plenty of places for hiding. He could dispose of Gerard there. It would be past sunset by the time they’d reach Port Isolde, but that would just make everything easier for him.
He wouldn’t have to see Gerard’s face in the dark when he finished the job.
Martyn sighed as the Phoenix turned his chocobo towards the road to the Deadlands. Another plan, foiled. His options were running lower and lower by every malm they traveled. This was his last shot. No more hesitation. Quick stab in the back and then he could push the body into the lake. The caustic water was like an acid bath and it would do the rest. No corpse, no problems, and the Phoenix would be safely delivered to his destination. And Martyn could go on with his life, no Gerard to get in his way… His face scrunched into a frown. No, it had to be this way, he couldn’t let this plan get to him.
“And what is that way?” Gerard asked, his gaze following the riders far ahead of them on the road.
“Not a place you’re going to like,” Martyn said. “We are going to ride through the Blight.”
Gerard’s eyes widened and he leaned forward in the saddle. “Is it true everything grown there tastes terrible?”
Martyn gave him a deadpan stare. The man really thought of food first in any situation. “I can’t say I have ever tried.”
Gerard settled back with a sigh. Martyn urged his chocobo onwards before the Phoenix got too far ahead. “And I don’t think it’s going to be a good idea to stop and pick up whatever might be growing there for a taste!” he quipped over his shoulder and pretended he didn’t hear Gerard protesting with an “Awww!”
When they rounded the bend in the road to the Deadlands Martyn suddenly pulled on the reins of his chocobo, forcing the bird to an abrupt stop. Instead of seeing the Phoenix and Prince Dion far ahead of them, they had stopped in the middle of the road, facing Martyn and Gerard. The Phoenix was slouching in his saddle like it was the most comfortable seat in the world. He looked smug. Martyn felt himself bristle at the expression.
“Do you two gentlemen fancy joining us and finishing this journey together?” the Phoenix said, grinning widely. Prince Dion was trying to keep a neutral expression but his lips were twitching.
Martyn groaned and he heard Gerard let out a gasp. The jig was up. He dismounted his chocobo, sliding off the bird’s flank and landing on his feet with a thud. He didn’t wait to see if Gerard was following his example as he approached the Phoenix, leading the chocobo behind him by the reins. He had failed to get rid of Gerard, he had failed to stay unnoticed, and… actually the Phoenix was alive and well so that one he hadn’t failed. Ish. Mostly because no one had actually tried to attack him. Except maybe the bandits on the way to Dalimil, but that had been resolved without Martyn’s contribution. So in that sense, he had failed. Again.
“I am heartened to see the old practice of undercover guards is still there,” the Phoenix continued, nodding at Martyn. “It shall be my pleasure to let Cyril know you did an exceptional job, by not mentioning a word of this to him.”
“Your Grace, that is too kind of you,” Martyn bowed his head, partly in reverence, partly in defeat. “Martyn Barker of the Undying, at your service. When did you notice?”
He had to know, just so he could do better next time. If there was going to be a next time. Technically he was out of a job now that the Phoenix knew about him. Maybe he could become a security guard at Drake’s Fang?
“I suspected Jote had made arrangements, but I was not certain until we were riding to Dalimil,” the Phoenix said with a crooked smile. “You really excel at what you do, but I am also well aware of the history of your order and the effect Lady Natalia had on it.”
“She seems to have been a remarkable woman,” Martyn said flatly. Prince Dion made a sound that could only be described as a snort. He was definitely smiling now. Did everyone in Sanbreque know that damn poem, and more importantly, how had the Undying kept it a secret all these years?
“And your enthusiastic conversation on the nature of seedkin was hard to miss. By the way, what you saw was a sabotender,” the Phoenix said in a cheeky tone.
Martyn wanted to cover his face with his hands. How loud had they been with their taxonomy debate? Gerard was suddenly standing next to Martyn, and when he looked up at him, Martyn could see him mouthing “I told you so”. If he hadn't been standing in front of the Phoenix, Martyn might have kicked Gerard's shin as payback.
“And who might this be?” the Phoenix asked, turning his attention to Gerard.
“Lord Rosfield, I am Gerard Clairmont, of the Holy Knights Dragoon,” Gerard snapped into attention as he introduced himself, bowing to the Phoenix and striking a salute to Prince Dion.
“Sir Clairmont, a pleasure meeting you,” the Phoenix said, smiling at Gerard.
“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Rosfield,” Gerard said. He shifted on his feet like he was expecting a reprimanding from Prince Dion. Martyn hoped to see it. Petty, but maybe a bit deserved. He'd take it instead of personally delivered shin-kicking.
“I thought I saw you a few days ago,” Prince Dion said with amusement in his voice, giving Gerard an assessing stare. “Whose idea was this?”
“I cannot say if it was one single person, Your Highness,” Gerard said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He was blushing a bit under his newfound tan. “We were worried for your safety. I was chosen among the volunteers.”
Martyn whipped his head to stare at Gerard, his mouth hanging open. There had been more volunteers! And they still had sent the rookie. Unless… Gerard had been the most experienced of the volunteers. In that case the Holy Knights had bigger problems than wet behind the ears dragoons. Martyn pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“By the by, how is the betting pool going?” Prince Dion continued, raising an eyebrow at Gerard. He crossed his arms over his chest expectantly. Gerard just stared at him, opening and closing his mouth in reply, like a fish out of water.
“A betting pool?” The Phoenix turned to Prince Dion, his mouth forming a surprised O and his eyes wide. “You must tell me more about this, what are they betting on?”
Gerard looked like he wanted to sink below the ground. Martyn kind of wanted to see that, just so he would be the taller one for once.
“I shall tell you later,” Prince Dion said in an amused tone, smiling at the Phoenix.
“Oh, sounds like it could be something exciting. But now, let us continue together,” the Phoenix said cheerfully. “We are almost there now!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Martyn said. He didn’t even complain when Gerard offered him a leg up to get back in the saddle.