Archer and Zephyrus had conversed through glances and body language as Lethe told the congregation of their supposed duties:
[i]“What are we to make of this?”[/i], Zephyrus’ eyes had asked.
[i]“You mean [b]you[/b] don’t know?”[/i] A jerky head movement of Archer’s had responded.
[i]“Calm down, Brother,”[/i] A thin, ill-practised smile had entreated. 
“Screw [i]that[/i],” Archer had said very much aloud. 
And it seemed he wasn’t the only one to share this sentiment, either: Soon enough, some boisterous women at the pack’s front had made it fairly clear that she, too, thought that this scenario was pretty ridiculous, and made a scene of her exit. 
“And there goes the group’s collective common sense,” Archer murmured.
“I can understand her hesitance. We are, after all, about to trespass upon accursed soil.”
“… what.”
“The Shadow Temple.”
“… byyye!”

Archer turned to pursue her, only to find himself impeded by his brother’s hand, weighing heavily on his shoulder.
Zephyrus seemed always to serve as his conscience… and more often than not, that was a burden.
“What?” he threw an irritable glance over his shoulder, “That woman has the right idea, this is [i]crazy![/i]”
“Perhaps that is the case, but does that make it any less important?” 
“It makes it a hell of a lot less appealing!”
“Nothing worth doing was ever easy, brother.” 
“You kidding? Picking pockets is easy! Fixing card games is easy!”
“And was it worth doing?”
“It brought in the rupees!”
“But were you happy?”
“I was [i]alive.[/i]”
“And was it a good life?”
“…”

Archer lapsed into silence, and exhaled pensively. Zephyrus squeezed his shoulder, supportively.
“Brother, there comes a time when we must do things for the benefit of people other than ourselves.”
“That’s… not in my nature, Zeph.”
“It’s in all men’s natures.”
“That’s all nice to say, but when push comes to shove… I’m a crook.”
“You [i]were[/i] a crook. You changed your shape… you adapted.”
“Like water.”
“If you must think of it like that.”
“Sorry, Zeph, I just… I don’t buy into that stuff. I trust what I know, what I know has kept me alive for the last half a decade. And what I know is that this is a bad, bad idea.”
“You must learn to adapt-”
“Fire doesn’t [i]adapt[/i], Zeph. It burns, no matter where you put it.”
Zephyrus frowned, and both brothers shared a few moments of solemn eye contact.

“I’m going to do this, Archer. I won’t ask you to follow me, if you feel as though your interests lie elsewhere.”
“Bro, I…”
“It’s okay,” Zephyrus assured him, with another unrefined smile, “I won’t force you to do this.”
“But you’re going anyway?”
He nodded, “My loyalty is to the royal family, and to the people of this kingdom. It is my duty to protect them, if I can.”
“Can I talk you out of this?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Archer contemplated this, and his shoulders promptly dropped.
“… then I guess I’m coming with.”
“Oh?”
“You’re a killjoy on your own. I’ve gotta come to balance you out, otherwise you’ll bore these people to death.”
Zephyrus chuckled, although it was some hollow, cold sound that seemed unfamiliar to him, “I’m sure they appreciate your concern.”
“They better… we’re all a bunch of dumbasses, you realise that, right?”
“I’m sure they appreciate that, too.”
“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

“Oh dear, are you going to sulk through the entire journey?”
“I’ve earned a good sulk by virtue of being your brother, Zeph.”
“If you’re in so foul a mood, why not go and stand with Griz?”
“Didn’t you say Griz was a guy?”
“I said it was possible. It’s also possible Griz is a woman, although there is nothing to sug-“
Archer was long gone, having manoeuvred his way through the bevy of graveyard occupants. He took his spot at Griz’s side, and cleared his throat.
He swept his hair out of his eyes, and puffed out his chest as he straightened out his leather jacket, before turning to speak to them.
“…” nothing came out.
“… h-hey,” he mustered, before looking hurriedly away.
[i]”Good job, Archer. A+ flirting. Your finest work.”[/i]

Zephyrus looked on towards them amusedly, fortunately blessed with a stature that permitted him the ability to gaze over the crowd.
However, whilst watching he caught sight of another face, seemingly frozen through consternation. 
He approached- slowly- Felicia’s side, and spoke in a tone that was soft and as warm as a man like Zephyrus could muster.
He smiled, too, but through the gesture his history of introversion became clear: It seemed an unfamiliar act, punctuated by attenuated lips. Still, in his eyes it was clear enough that he meant well.
“You seem troubled,” he observed, “Are you quite alright?”