That is not what Roland wanted to hear. He frowns at Firo, looking worried, looking dismayed, and the voice he hears then is his father's. What will happen if you try to keep this one man safe? To your lover? Your friends? To the rest of those fighting the fight you're too frightened to take up? Don't spend time whining and puling about it; you haven't got any of it to waste.

Still, he stares at Firo a moment longer, frowning, watching him. Then he pulls back.

"This way," he says, voice curt as he turns away and heads toward a group of peacekeepers gathered near some hovercrafts a little ways off. He waits in front of them a second, staring ahead with the unfocused look of a soldier waiting to be commanded and hoping Firo has the sense to do the same.

"What is it?" The one who asks it sounds impatient, but not suspicious. Good so far.

"We've been sent to help guard," Roland answers, very aware that he's spent little time actually observing these peacekeepers, isn't sure how well that gets across the message he wants it to: that is, that they've been sent because they're disposable, there to do the boring job while the good Capitol men get on with the important work. If this one doesn't believe him, well. He hasn't thought that far ahead. He'll deal with that if it comes.