"Free Paladins."
Ironwrought had always been a man of stubborn conviction. I had fought alongside him during our ascent through the ranks of the arena, I had known him as a brother even before we bent knee and swore to the Sultanate. There was a singular pride in earning a place among those few elite, a swagger that came easy when the armor was donned. It wasn't so terribly long ago that men such as we were openly admired in the streets.
"They still pledge themselves to the Sultanate, Denral. You are acting as if we are handing out secrets on a whim." Where Denral Ironwrought served to stoke the flame we shared, I had always found an ease in containing that fire. Passion met logic in a partnership that only worked with the other, a symbiotic wager that had kept us alive when the dirt of the arena was underfoot.
"Who watches them? Hm?" He pressed, coming to a halt abruptly. I settled a step behind, rocking back on my heels to give the man room to turn. "Jenlyns? Now, I'm not one to question th-.."
"Then don't, Denral." I was quick to interject, holding a hand up to halt whatever line of thought Ironwrought was entertaining.
"No, it must be said. The city has turned against us, Dom. You must see it in how they look at anyone in the armor, the traitor took more than some blade, Dommoth, he took the honor of every man that has ever sworn themselves to the Sultanate." The agitation of Ironwrought was not something easily quelled, even as the seconds ticked away and word after word fell from his lips, I had grown used to the antsy gestures that were only growing more and more frantic.
"We have need of these Paladins, Denral, do not act blind to that. At every front awaits only the enemy, we are beset on all sides by enemies small and large. We are being bled out, we send out adventurers by the drove and no longer question why they aren't returning. How many graves do we owe Eorzea, Denral? How many corpses have been left as carrion? If we expect these people to help defend us, should we not also expect to train them?"
"No." Denral spat back. "Feed them to the arena, let them practice their trade as we did!"
"To what end, Denral?! To collect payment from a city that may be besieged in a month's time? To work towards becoming as we are? Are they to wait and hope that we will sort ourselves out so that they even have the chance to swear?"
"You place too much stock in ideals, brother." What really put me ill at ease, I suppose, was how his tone weathered such a shift. He moved from animated to grim in only a breath, the way he spoke lingered with me for weeks after the conversation. "Jenlyns is blind to what we suffer on our own streets, his focus is so honed on the traitor and that damned blade that it seems he's forgotten he still must lead us. Careful you do not choose a Captain over your Oath should we ever have to show our loyalty."
"Tst. You are ornery, old man." Levity was never a strong suit of mine, but when dealing with an insufferable bleeding heart dead set on his views, I've found talent not to be totally required. "Seeing phantoms in every word. You've been out here too long, eh? Too much green, too much water, it's left that small mind to wander too far."
"You joke, Dommoth Inrith, but you must heed me well here. If nothing changes, we are on an unavoidable collision with reality, and we'll all be knocked down a peg. Shining armor and fancy spinning swords will not deter an unruly mass. The people we pride ourselves on serving may prove capable and willing to bite the hand that feeds them."
