#but also. i'm so happy i finally figured nera out a bit

[redwayfarers]

Howlers and minstrels in the night

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Ianera Characters: Nika Perseis (OC), Ianera Maliriq (OC) Words: 772 Rating: Gen Summary: It's Nika's first night in Camp Dragonhead and he feels very out of sorts. Ianera is there to take care of him. Author's note: Once more, I am very baby into this game and this is all prone to change if I see fit in the future. That being said, I like how this came out, so I'm posting it!

The wind howls. The night they seem to have chosen to arrive at Camp Dragonhead is particularly sharp and particularly cold and Nika can’t help but feel grateful at Lord Haurchefant’s offer of hearth, dinner and tea. Ianera agrees, nodding along to whatever he says, and sometimes, he wishes she’d speak up in his place. However nice Haurchefant may be, one nice Ishgardian can’t rub away all of the soreness of his nerves left by his countrymen. 

Well, Ishgardians and so many other things. It all almost makes him snap, but he restrains his anger. Yet he can’t guarantee that the smiles he threw their way were anything pleasant.

One thing at the time, though. They met the guy, they were led to their lodging for the night at the very least, they fell fast asleep from exhaustion on the road. At least, until Nika’s own head decided to torment him, thus promptly cutting his rest short. 

No, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Just like he doesn’t want to talk about the bodies in Vesper Bay. Just how he doesn’t want to talk about how he saw the Perseis surname in Adama Landama graveyard and he didn’t want to look at the name, for fear it's his father’s grave and that his father now saw him break like a child’s toy and that he’d laugh, even if he knows full well his father’s not buried in ass end of nowhere. 

Nope, he has no fucking desire to talk about things at all. 

And now he’s waiting for the sun to rise, lute in hand, while the wind howls around him like a mad wolf. He sees a guard shift at the gates. He holds the lute tighter, in lieu of squeezing it to his chest. His head and feet hurt, and he wants to cry. It will make his headache worse. He wants to cry anyway. His body feels like a prison and like something wants to claw out, but he blinks the tears away anyway. 

He holds the lute tighter. His nails, long overdue for a cut, press against the wood. Wind plays a horrible tune, plucking strings at will. It’s a cacophony and he almost regrets bringing it out with him, but it’s the only thing of comfort he can think of. It’s the only thing keeping him from breaking down again. 

Nika closes his eyes and wills all this shit away. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” A somber, gentle voice rings against the racket of noise, and Nika audibly breathes out. With a sharp turn, he sees Nera wrap herself in a woolen coat Lord Haurchefant provided them with, oversized on her small body. 

“I.. I’m tired,” he says softly. There’s no reply for a long time; part of him thinks the wind swallowed it. It’s funny, how he was just about ready to scream at Ishgard lords only hours ago, but now his voice is drowned in the night. 

“It haunts me too,” Nera says as she steps out. Her words are small and shaky, yet Nika feels them like a blow. From afar, the night swallows her, but her eyes, silver and gold, breach the picture she presents. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he bites out. It’s harsh, it’s rough, but he can’t look her in the eye otherwise. 

“Go back to sleep, then,” she asks, makes a few steps forward. Blue, blue, all the blues of her hair and skin, like the waters of Lominsa, where his moms sleep. 

“Let me be, Nera,” he huffs, “I’m–” He takes a deep breath in. His eyes prickle and burn. “I’m just–” 

“It haunts me too,” she repeats. He feels the pressure of her forehead against his arm and the warm touch of her fingers on his hand. “Go back inside, Nika. Your fingers are cold.” 

“I’m tired, but I don’t want to fall asleep,” he admits and lowers his eyes to his feet. Shame burns like poison. 

“You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to,” he can hear the frown in her voice, “but just come inside.” 

“It is freezing outside,” he agrees. Her fingers play with his, and he could just rest his head on hers if he leaned down far enough– “I– Alright. It’s cold and lonely outside.” 

Nera simply smiles against his arm. 

He does sleep that morning, against all earlier claims to not wanting to. He can blame it on his tired body, or the comfort of her embrace that he knows she needed too, but when he wakes up again, the wind doesn’t howl quite so loudly anymore.