#especially towards Minfilia who he had something of a hand in raising her

[impossible-rat-babies]

Thinking about thancred at 5am I guess

[firagadyne]

(also posted here on ao3)

Thancred’s still on enforced light duty, that nasty business with Ramuh and Leviathan notwithstanding, when the young master Alphinaud formally inducts his new military order — but there’s nothing particularly restful about how, in the days immediately following the ceremony, the Rising Stones is awash with a frantic buzz of activity, the Scions’ new home quickly overrun by too many soldiers clad in blue.

The others will have his head of he doesn’t retire to bed soon, but Tataru will be especially aggrieved if he doesn’t finish this report by tonight — and so he finds himself sitting at one of the tables with a mess of documents splayed before him. It’s normal, even if the location is unfamiliar — even if it’s difficult to quash the nagging sense that he should be doing something more.

Across from him, Rhea sits with her chin resting in the palm of her hand — and without warning, she lets out a deep, weary sigh.

“Gil for your thoughts?” he prompts.

She doesn’t meet his gaze — opting instead to look behind him, at the small cluster of soldiers clad in blue. “The Crystal Braves...” she says, her voice oddly heavy in a way that it hadn’t been all those months ago, when she’d first keeled over by the Sultantree and, upon waking moments later, started babbling about hallucinations of sentient, conversational rocks. “What do you make of them?”

Oh, where to even begin? He wouldn’t dare tell Minfilia this to her face, but there’s no doubt they’re all thinking it to a certain extent: that the whole endeavor is a frivolous waste of time and resources, more a hindrance than the help that Alphinaud promises it will be — especially when it will inevitably be Rhea who will be expected to do the heavy lifting of getting this budding young organization to its feet.

(That’s not even getting into the greater potential for a security breach — when Minfilia speaks of Ascians coming and going from the Waking Sands without warning — when there are still large gaps in Thancred’s own memory that bring him no closer to the truth of what had ultimately laid the Waking Sands to waste.)

“Why do you ask?” he replies.

Rhea sighs again, just as heavily. “Well... I don’t have a problem with all of them, necessarily. It’s just that some of them seem... I don’t know. Opportunistic? As if the appeal of joining such an organization is primarily to take part in some political scheme or another.”

“Which, if I’m understanding the young master’s intentions correctly,” says Thancred, “is at least part of the point of such an organization existing in the first place — a neutral force that does not answer to any one nation, any one Grand Company, and yet plays a decisive hand in their politics all the same.” He eyes his documents, takes note of the way the words have already started to blur together in his mind — and then leans back in his seat, abandoning them altogether. “But I can’t imagine it’s any worse than what you’ve already been dealing with.”

“It’s not, but...” she says. “I don’t know. I just have a weird feeling, is all.”

He raises his brow. Then, as he casts a glance towards the Crystal Braves congregated closer to the reading corner, he leans in close to whisper: “A normal weird feeling, or an Echoey weird feeling? No headaches or anything?”

“Nothing so far,” she replies. “It just all seems very convenient, don’t you think? The man Alphinaud’s chosen to be his second in command... Sir Ilberd. He seems awfully convinced that there is some deep-rooted corruption in Ul’dah that falls to him — sorry, the Crystal Braves — to weed out.”

“Really,” he says, flatly. “Corruption in Ul’dah? I never would have guessed.”

This, at last, earns him a tiny smile — the first genuine one he’s seen from her in more than a week now. “He claims to be old friends with General Raubahn,” she continues. “And yet... I can’t help but wonder if... oh, how should I put this...”

“If, perhaps, he is the corruption?” he tries.

“Yes, that,” she replies, nodding.

Oh, how far she’s come since those earliest days, when she’d charge straight into Lolorito’s most obvious schemes without a second thought and with all the strength and fervor of a raging bull. He could practically weep.

“Well, you have to remember that General Raubahn has built something of a reputation for himself, among the Sultanate’s most loyal,” he says. “He can take care of himself. Something like this, an old friend simply lying in wait to betray him... he encounters such situations on a daily basis.”

She presses her lips tightly together, and fiddles a bit with the ribbon at the front of her white cloak. “Perhaps it’s not just General Raubahn that I’m worried for.”

... ah. Of course. That Alphinaud’s managed to stay afloat for this long amidst Eorzea’s politics is quite a feat in itself, but there will come a time, eventually, when his good fortune will run out. It happens to everyone. “I’m not sure there’s much you can do on that front.”

She crinkles her nose, something like amusement gleaming in her eyes. “But that didn’t stop you before, now did it?”

“Well, perhaps it should have.”

Rhea, standing alone amidst the smouldering embers — covered in soot and ash as the scepter she liked to carry those days slipped out of her grasp, umbral ice flickering away into nonexistence — tears immediately spilling from her eyes as he reached her, and whether it was due to fear or shock is irrelevant when she should have never been forced into that fight to begin with.

It had been hard, in the days immediately following it, to get that image out of his head long enough to focus on anything else; in hindsight, it’s even harder to discern just how much Lahabrea had latched onto that image, forcing it to the forefront of his mind when it should have been far easier for Thancred to push it aside.

There’s a resounding creak as her chair scrapes across the floor, closer to his own. Her hand is warm, when it comes to rest against his forearm. “Nobody blames you for what happened.” she says, quietly.

He knows this. That’s precisely the problem.

He’s not... used to this — having someone like Rhea around, ready to take on the whole world’s burdens, including his own. Not since Louisoix.

It hadn’t even hurt, when that so-called blade of light had pierced his chest. That he’s still here, that they’re all still willing to have him, despite everything — there’s not enough gil in the world to repay that debt.

/

(In his dreams, he finds himself back in the Waking Sands. One of the stabbers he keeps strapped to his belt — and that his first instinct is to refer to them as stabbers rather than knives or daggers is alarming in itself, because if he’s sure about anything that had happened in those dark, dark months, it’s that stabbers is a word from Thancred’s childhood that Lahabrea had latched onto, in particular.

The Solar’s doors are barred to him — but he will pass, sooner rather than later. For the time being, it’s irrelevant when he sits atop one of the older recruits — A’aba Tia, if he’s remembering correctly.

A’aba pleads for his life. Why wouldn’t he? It’s the most logical thing to do, when someone you think is your comrade has a blade raised high above his head, and there is nobody coming to help you. As Thancred — Lahabrea, actually, but what difference does it make at this point? — plunges the blade downward, it meets little resistance. It makes it easy to yank it out of the wound, and then plunge it down again — and again — and again.

Hydaelyn’s chosen will be too late to change the outcome of this day. That she will try, regardless, creates a well of grim satisfaction — for Thancred, because of the assurance that Rhea is far safer than anybody else here; for Lahabrea, because whatever her attempts to right this may be, she will struggle.

A’aba Tia is long dead, by the time Thancred — Lahabrea, actually, but what difference does it make at this point? — rises to his feet. Next, the Solar, where Hydaelyn’s other chosen waits.)

—and Thancred doesn’t quite startle awake — but he’s fairly certain that he’s been drooling on Minfilia’s shoulder for quite some time now. Embarrassing, but not the worst place he’s fallen asleep; with any luck, there will only be mild teasing, for spending the better part of an hour with his face smushed into Minfilia’s collarbone.

“Wait, did he say he was General Raubahn’s old friend?” Yda’s voice comes from somewhere vaguely to the left. “Oh no, no, no, but that could mean anything!”

“Poppycock,” says Papalymo, bluntly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Yda retorts. “He’s Ala Mhigan. ‘Old friends’ can mean literally anything from actual friends, to: ‘our grandfathers were very close and now we’re expected to get along even though we don’t particularly like each other,’ to: ‘you betrayed me long ago and one day I will have my revenge,’ to: ‘we were lovers once but we’re not allowed to actually say that and I may now be betrothed to someone else entirely.’”

“Must we speculate on the Flame General’s amorous encounters?” asks Y’shtola, dryly.

“Just ask Minfilia!” says Yda. “She was there more recently than I was!”

“Fifteen years ago is hardly recent,” says Minfilia, “but yes. Yda is correct.”

Thancred takes that as his cue to pry himself off of her. “Why are we discussing General Raubahn’s romantic exploits, again?” he asks.

“Not General Raubahn,” says Yda, with one finger pointed towards the ceiling. “Captain Ilberd!”

“And you think that is any better?” Papalymo retorts, frowning up at her with his hands braced against his hips.

Next to Thancred, Minfilia smiles gently. “Good morning,” she says — though judging by the light streaming through the window, it’s probably closer to mid-afternoon. “Did you sleep well?”

He shrugs. “Well enough. What did I miss?”

“Just a bit of idle gossip, my boy,” says Papalymo.

Thancred leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Well don’t stop on my account.” And he does not mention that: with a gap in his memory spanning at least a few months, every little bit of gossip would go a long way in helping him regain his footing in Ul’dah’s suddenly tumultuous political scene.

“Speaking of which...” says Minfilia, slowly. “Has anybody heard from Rhea recently? She was supposed to be back yesterday.”

“Nothing from Urianger,” says Y’shtola. “She went to help him with something, no?”

“Then perhaps she’s merely delayed,” says Minfilia, nodding. “Nevertheless...”

With a grunt, Thancred rises to his feet — and resolutely ignores the way his knees immediately creak in protest. “I can pay a visit to the Waking Sands, to see if aught is amiss.”

Minfilia smiles. “That would be most helpful. Thank you.”

“Does anybody have an aetheryte ticket?” asks Thancred.

“I do!” says Yda, springing to her feet. Sure enough, after a moment of rummaging through her pouch, she produces a sealed envelope — a bit wrinkled, no doubt from having been shoved in there, but good enough to work.

“Oho!” Papalymo interjects. “The last time we went, you said you were fresh out! We had to walk all the way from Horizon!”

“I forgot!” Yda replies. “But it was a lovely walk, wasn’t it? The weather was so nice!”

With a quiet chuckle, Thancred leaves them to their bickering and heads straight for the larder; it’s not like the Waking Sands is completely devoid of sustenance, but Higiri had made some awfully nice pastries the other day. He packs enough for the Scions that remain there, and extra for Urianger, Alisaie — and for Rhea, on the chance that he does run into her after all.

He waves goodbye to Tataru and F’lhaminn before he extinguishes the aetheryte ticket — and in the mid-afternoon sun and sea breeze, Vesper Bay is pleasantly cool in a way that he hadn’t missed until he walks through the gates once more. It’s still a bit awkward to descend the stairs to the Waking Sands — it’s hard to shake the instinct that something is wrong, that he’ll return to ruin and rust and not the well-preserved remnants of the home he left behind.

—but everything seems to be in order, regardless. He walks into the supply room, and Arenvald is laughing at something Slafswys had just said, and Urianger is quietly burrowed in a nook by the bookshelves, and everything is fine.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Thancred greets them. “I come bearing Doman pastries.”

“Thanks, friend,” says Arenvald, clapping him so hard on the back that it makes Thancred cough.

The pastries go quickly, which is enough of a cue for Thancred to make his way over to the bookshelves and, without warning, slip his hands under Urianger’s arms to hoist him up. “Come on, up.”

“Unhand me,” says Urianger, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

Thancred does not. “Not until you have a pastry.”

“Thou wouldst interrupt a moment of—“

“Yes, yes, I hear you, but look.” Thancred gestures toward the box of pastries — shoots a warning look to Arenvald, who stands with his arm outstretched mere ilms before another serving. “Higiri made them fresh. You can put aside your work for a few moments.”

Urianger shoots him a withering look — or at least, as withering as he can get amidst goggles that take up half his face and a hood pulled so far over his head that it’s a miracle he can see anything at all — but he stops protesting for the time being.

Thancred’s just plied Urianger with a second pastry when the front door swings open. “Hellooooo, we’re back!” comes Rhea’s voice, loud and half-singing.

As she turns the corner into the supply room, there’s a bounce to her step that hadn’t been there when she left the Rising Stones some days ago. Her white robes are covered in dust and soot, and there’s a veritable halo of frizz where her hair refuses to settle neatly — but as she smiles at them all, there’s no more weariness to it, beyond the physical exhaustion of having to trek here from whatever ruin she’d crawled out of.

“Thancred!” she greets him. “What brings you here?”

“Ah...” he starts. “Looking for you, actually. And Higiri made some wonderful pastries, so I thought everyone here might appreciate them.”

“Really?” she replies. “What—oh, no, am I late?”

—but then, just a few paces behind her, Alisaie turns the corner. “Did somebody mention pastries?” she asks.

Thancred chuckles. “Indeed. Help yourself.”

To watch Rhea and Alisaie make a bee-line for the pastries in unison — to watch Arenvald and Slafswys join in on the efforts to ply Urianger with yet more pastries — it’s not quite the same as it had been, before, but there’s a certain roaring at the back of Thancred’s mind that goes quiet, amidst it all.

/

They decide to wash down their pastries with glasses of Doman orange juice from the nearby tavern. It’s nearing sundown, which always brings a sort of chill to Vesper Bay that feels almost uncharacteristic for Thanalan — but that makes it the perfect time of day to sit outside by the sea, and Rhea wastes no time launching into an all too detailed chronicle of Allagan ruins and... monstrous dragons wearing strange collars?

“Oh!” she interjects. “Speaking of which, I found something you might like. I promise they did not come from the dragon’s innards.” She reaches into one of her pouches, and produces a pair of strangely shaped daggers that glow blue.

“Allagan in make, I presume?” he asks, twirling one of them before holding it up to the sunlight.

“Maybe?” she replies. “You’re the scholar, not I.”

“Be that as it may, you’re the intrepid adventurer who makes living on diving into sprawling ruins that would perhaps obliterate a Sharlayan peasant if they were to lay eyes on them outside the confines of a textbook.”

She laughs. “Certainly a far better use of my time than just sitting there and looking intimidating while Alphinaud talks down a bunch of stuffy merchants.”

It’s no secret that she doesn’t particularly care for politics. The last time Minfilia tried to rope her into a conversation with the leaders of the Grand Companies, they practically had to tie Rhea down so that she would stay for the entire conversation. It’s not that she’s bad at it, necessarily — it’s just that Thancred can’t remember a time where she had the patience for it.

“Did you have to do that very often?” asks Thancred. “While we were all... you know.”

She gives him a long, lingering look that he can’t quite place — something that’s not quite pity, but still far too close to understanding for comfort. “Only a little bit,” she answers. “Mostly, I was the one running all the errands to make sure that Alphinaud’s plans came to fruition. And Cid was always so nice about making sure I had enough time to rest, when necessary.”

—another thing Thancred hasn’t quite thanked Cid enough for.

“I know that most of the fighting has stopped for now,” she says, “and I know that means that what’s expected of me now is different than what it once was.” She sighs, long and weary. “It’s just that... well, the errands haven’t stopped, and for all that Alphinaud claims that my presence is necessary, it’s not like I’m doing anything in those meetings.”

Well, he has an idea of why that might be the case. So does everyone else among the Scions. For all of Alphinaud’s pomp and confidence, he’s always appreciated a tempering presence at his side — someone bull-headed and stubborn, ready to cut down a path for him to walk. It’s just that Rhea’s far nicer about it than Alisaie ever was — or perhaps more accurately: less able and willing to deny what Alphinaud asks of her.

“And this business with the Crystal Braves...” says Thancred.

“It’s not that I don’t trust him to do a good job with this,” says Rhea, her voice breaking a little. “But… when the fighting first broke out in Ul’dah, and he was injured… Sometimes I worry that, perhaps, he might not be entirely aware of what he’s interfering with.” Then, with a deep breath, she slams her fist into the palm of her hand. “So it’s all the more important that the man he’s chosen as his second in command can be trusted.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asks.

“Well, if I’m going to trust Captain Ilberd to watch Alphinaud’s back, then I’ll need to trust him to watch my own, at the very least.”

“A decent place to start, at any rate.”

“Brother E-Sumi asked me to investigate a ruin in the Black Shroud earlier. Typically, when adventurers do this sort of thing, they go in groups, so it wouldn’t look entirely strange for someone to accompany me.”

“Ah...” Thancred starts. “That could be a conflict of interest. Did you agree as a representative of the Scions, or is it a personal favor?”

“I’d be going purely as a member of Stillglade Fane, actually,” says Rhea, “but given what I understand of the situation, it’s an old ruin where a darkness that has been long sealed has reawakened, now that the wards entombing it have faded.”

“And by ‘darkness,’ you mean...?”

“I’m willing to bet it’s a great and powerful Voidsent, long sealed and recently awakened from slumber and retaliating against its would-be captors.” There’s that gleam in her eyes again. It’s the same gleam that had taken root there when they sent her off to face Leviathan by herself — a far cry from when she felled her first Primal, and something he’s not entirely sure he should be thankful for. “It would be quite exciting to fight something like that, wouldn’t you say?”

“’Exciting’ is certainly one way to put it,” he says, carefully — because he’s not encouraging this, he’s not, but to crush her excitement would make him just about the worst monster in the world. “Though the more you speak of this... are you sure you want only one person accompanying you on this endeavor? And one that you do not trust, at that?”

“It doesn’t have to be just him,” she says. “I mean, there’s the small matter of getting Brother E-Sumi’s permission for it, but...” She clasps her hands tightly together in her lap, turning to look at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you offering?”

“I am,” he answers — perhaps too quickly, though he does his best not to dwell on it. “If you’re willing to have me.”

With a gentle smile, Rhea tips to the side, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate it.”

/

Papalymo will likely have his head for even considering voicing this aloud — but for all of Rhea’s stories about the elderly Padjal, Thancred didn’t consider that E-Sumi-Yan would be such a nag.

“And you’re sure you have everything you need?” E-Sumi asks, something sharp and on the verge of scolding in his voice — as if Rhea is a small child, rather than a woman nearing thirty years.

“For the twelfth time,” Rhea says through gritted teeth, “yes. And before you ask, I saw a mender to ensure that my equipment is in good condition.”

“And potions,” E-Sumi continues. “Did you remember to pack those as well?”

“What—potions?” She doesn’t quite screech it, but her tail shoots straight upward all the same. “Just how little faith do you have in your own teachings, old man?”

“It has nothing to do with faith,” , says E-Sumi, sternly. “Merely that you are being sent into known danger, accompanied by someone whom you do not trust.” Then he takes his cane and lightly taps it into the top of Rhea’s head. “It would be the height of idiocy to presume that your skills alone will be enough, in such circumstances. Take the potions.”

Then, somewhere from under his robes, E-Sumi pulls out upwards of twenty bottles — all of which he shoves into her hands. She matches it with an icy glare of her own, as she shoves the bottles haphazardly into one of her pouches. “I’ll be fine,” she snaps. “Thancred’s going with me — and you like Yda, right? She’ll be there, too.”

“Even so,” says E-Sumi, sagely, “I would advise you to exercise the utmost caution, with this endeavor.”

“Them coming along is me exercising caution,” she grumbles.

He taps her on the head with his cane again. “Go. Be careful, and come home safe.”

Camp Tranquil is a miserable, swampy mess all on its own; the walk from there to the ruins is even worse, when they’re accosted by stropers and vultures seemingly the entire way.

Of course, it all pales in comparison to the sight of Captain Ilberd, clad in that same obnoxious shade of blue, happily conversing with the Twin Adder guard out front, while Yda stretches just a few paces away from him.

“You’re familiar with the story?” says the Twin Adder guard. “A civilization laid to ruin, and by white mages at that — all of it culminating in—”

“We were informed!” Yda practically chirps. “A great and unspeakable darkness sealed inside, left to fester with the poisonous spores that overran the place... until now, apparently.”

“I was told there would still be spores,” says Thancred. It been an entire ordeal, too — a whole morning spent in Stillglade Fane, surrounded by conjurers who would not let him budge until they cast some sort of combined spell on him that all but ensured that the pollen wouldn’t send him into sneezing fits — and all the while, Rhea had smiled at him with an all too amused glint in her eyes. The phrase a veritable babe in the woods comes to mind — and he immediately crushes it, when thinking on it for longer than a moment makes something swirl unpleasantly in his gut.

“And now that that darkness has awakened, it falls to us to put it to rest once more,” says Ilberd, sagely.

“That’s correct,” says the Twin Adder guard.

“So!” says Yda, cracking her knuckles. “What shall our strategy be?”

Rhea smiles. “The same as it would be for any old ruin like this,” she answers. “Captain Ilberd, you would cut a path for us to follow — and should we run into anything that wishes us harm, you would serve as a beacon to draw their attention.”

Ilberd nods. “Understood.”

“Thancred, Yda, I would ask the both of you to focus on cutting down anything that seeks to attack us,” she continues. “With their attention focused on Captain Ilberd, you should be able to do so without interruption.”

“Sounds simple enough,” says Thancred, nodding.

“As for me,” she says, “I’ll bring up the rear, providing whatever support I can while I work to keep the you all alive and conscious.” She takes a deep breath, and punches her fist into the palm of her hand. “Let’s go.”

/

Well... it’s a ruin, all right.

The place is completely deserted, aside from the various beasts that accost them as they traverse it — understandably so, when it’s a place guarded by the Order of the Twin Adder. There’s rubble everywhere, and there’s a cloying, sickeningly sweet scent that clogs the air. For all Thancred knows, this might not even be the worst that the Black Shroud has to offer; how Yda and Papalymo can put up with this and more on a regular basis, he will never understand.

Yda, to her credit, does a fantastic job of keeping Ilberd occupied. Rhea will protest if anyone in the group strays too far, but Yda remains practically attached to Ilberd’s side a little ways to the front. “Oh!” she says. “I’ve only been there once, when I was very little, but my sister used to talk about that village all the time!”

Ilberd chuckles. “It’s quite lovely, in the summer,” he says. “Even with the Imperial occupation, the people there can put on quite a show.”

“Really!” Yda gasps. “Well then I must make a trip, one of these days.”

“I would certainly recommend it,” says Ilberd, smiling warmly at her.

Yda occupying Ilberd’s attention frees up Thancred to remain closer to the rear, where Rhea positions herself — and there is a reason for him lingering there, sure, but Yda doesn’t have to know that he finds Rhea’s explanation on Gridanian history and the unspoken horrors of white magic endlessly fascinating.

(—nor does Yda have to know that, perhaps, the reason Thancred finds the topic so fascinating is because Rhea is the one discussing it.)

Ilberd... plays his part perfectly. He stands firm as the beasts swarm him, and does not complain about the speed at which Thancred, Yda, and Rhea take them down, or the speed at which Rhea heals him. He moves slowly, always taking care not to attract the attention of too many beasts at once — and there’s nothing in his expression to denote a lack of patience with them all.

Naturally, it all goes to pieces when they go through a pair of doors, and suddenly, the ruin vanishes in place of a darkened corridor illuminated by glowing patterns on the floor, somehow restored into some semblance of the glory this civilization must have once held. Instead of swamp beasts, there are Voidsent here — so many of them that it’s impossible to keep watch of Ilberd, even though he plays his part as perfectly as he had before.

“I cannot believe you were actually looking forward to this,” Thancred grumbles, as he cuts one of them down. “I’m starting to think that you adventurers are certifiably insane.”

“Oh, please!” Rhea retorts. “I’ll have you know that Alisaie had a wonderful time, when we went on an expedition together.”

—and then, at the very end of the corridor, there’s a truly monstrous, massive Voidsent, humanoid with large, bat-like wings and a long, pointed tail — surrounded by a series of doors arranged in a circle.

That gleam that had taken root in Rhea’s eyes when she had first predicted this turn of events is absent now — but with any luck, the outcome of this battle with put that gleam right back there, by the time they return to the Rising Stones.

Ilberd charges it first, Yda right behind him. Rhea keeps her distance — and it wouls be useless to linger too close to her, when Ilberd’s focused the Voidsent’s attention a little ways a way, but Thancred makes sure she remains within sight regardless.

Then, there’s a flash of red light, and—

(—and he finds himself back in the Waking Sands. One of the stabbers he keeps strapped to his belt — and that his first instinct is to refer to them as stabbers rather than knives or daggers is alarming in itself, because if he’s sure about anything that had happened in those dark, dark months, it’s that stabbers is a word from Thancred’s childhood that Lahabrea had latched onto, in particular.

The Solar’s doors are barred to him — but he will pass, sooner rather than later. For the time being, it’s irrelevant when he sits atop Hydaelyn’s chosen.

Rhea does not plead for her life. Why would she? Despite it being the most logical thing to do, when someone you think is your comrade has a blade raised high above his head and there is nobody coming to help, she frowns resolutely up at him with a stubborn sort of clarity — as if she can see everything that he is, all of it stripped bare with very little effort on her part.

So Thancred — Lahabrea, actually, but what difference does it make at this point? — plunges the blade downward, it meets surprisingly little resistance. It makes it easy to yank it out of the wound, and then plunge it down again — and again — and again.

Next, the Solar, where Hydaelyn’s other chosen will—)

—Thancred’s back meets the ground, hard. A heavy weight presses down on his chest, making a bit difficult to catch his breath — but then, the weight shifts, revealing a blue sleeve.

Ilberd stares down at him, his expression contorted into something akin to alarm. “You all right, boy?” he all but shouts over the roar of battle.

Before Thancred can answer, Yda’s voice calls out, from a little ways away: “If he’s all right, then I would really appreciate your help here, Captain Ilberd!” There’s the telltale chime of healing magic — repeatedly so, almost in a rhythmical fashion, when the Voidsent focuses all of its anger singularly on Yda.

With a quiet huff, Thancred takes Ilberd’s arm, leaning on him to lever himself upright. “I’m all right,” he answers, belatedly.

Ilberd pats him roughly on the back before rejoining the fray — and as Thancred staggers to his feet, he finds Rhea staring at him, her brow knotted in obvious concern.

She’s alive, for now. It’s fine if he has to remind himself of that. If anything, the worst that’s come out of this is the realization that the Voidsent can somehow put any one of them to sleep, trapping them in a nightmare.

That’s all it can be, at this point — a nightmare. One that Rhea had ended for him, personally. One that it would be pointless to dwell on, regardless of the magnitude of his failure.

/

While Minfilia had originally agreed to the plan to observe Ilberd fighting at Rhea’s side, the report Thancred delivers her makes her frown. “And you had to fight off this Voidsent?” she asks.

“It wasn’t quite as dramatic as you’re thinking,” Thancred replies. “We managed just fine. Or... as well as we could, given the circumstances.”

“Papalymo will not be happy, to learn that Yda put herself in such danger for this...” says Minfilia.

“Does he really have to know?” asks Thancred. “It couldn’t hurt to... oh, embellish a little.”

Rhea had certainly embellished it to Alphinaud — and that proud, excited gleam had taken root in her eyes once more, as she spared him no detail.

Minfilia smiles at him, gently. “You look tired, Thancred,” she says. “Why don’t you rest for a while?”

“Resting’s all I’ve been doing, as of late,” he retorts — and if he fails to mask the bitterness there entirely, Minfilia won’t hold it against him.

“Regardless, it seems you had fun,” she says, chuckling. “I’m glad you got to live an adventurer’s life, if only temporarily. You should consider going again, when you can.”

To traverse a ruin at Rhea’s side, with no great threat or mission looming over their heads... it sounds daunting, given the ruin they’d just crawled out of, but would it be so terrible to go again, one of these days?

“You know,” he says, “I think I just might.”

[potassium-pilot]

Bonus Prompt, Yeehaw!

Prompt 31: Suspicion

“Wait!” Haurchefant called out and ran for Dia as she and Alphinaud began their return to Revenant’s Toll, eager to report the day’s events to Minfilia, and figure out strategy surrounding the possibility of Iceheart summoning a primal.

“Is something wrong, Haurchefant?” Dia asked concernedly.

“Nay, merely…might I convince you to stay in Camp Dragonhead for a while?”

She raised her eyebrows at the proposition. “What for? Did something else happen?”

“Thankfully, no. Rather, I…I had hoped I might, er, interest you in dinner.”

“Dinner?” she repeated in disbelief.

“Indeed. The culinarians would most likely start preparations in but a moment, and we always have leftovers. What say you?”

“Well, that sounds lovely”, piped in Alphinaud, “But I’m afraid the Antecedent would need word on the happenings of the heretics sooner rather than later.”

“I see”, Haurchefant hung his head. His intention was not to invite both Alphinaud and Dia, but the two seemed to be a package deal.

“But…she need not have both of us reporting to her. If you’d like, Dia, I can go on ahead while you stay behind.”

“Sounds good to me. I like the sound of someone treating me to free food, especially you, Haurchefant.”

His eyes lit up, and he enthusiastically replied, “Wonderful! Please, step inside. You will want for nothing.”

“We’ll see about that”, she teased as she stepped towards the camp entrance. She recently provided a feast for the Sultana and Chefsbane himself, Lolorito. Her expectations of Camp Dragonhead’s culinarians’ abilities were quite low, but she thoroughly enjoyed food as a concept. She’d happily eat whatever they made.

**********

“So…it’s hot yak’s milk, then?” Dia stared down her Ishgardian tea inquisitively.

“Nay, it’s tea.”

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the milk can’t possibly absorb the tea leaves as well as water. It’s about liquid properties.”

“Water doesn’t provide the same richness, the same warmth as yak’s milk in a tea. Not to mention, water highlights the bitter taste of the leaves more.”

“…that’s the point.”

He sighed and told her, “I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree on this point.”

“All right, I’ll drop it”, Dia conceded and merely sipped on it. When she requested tea, she didn’t expect yak’s milk at all, but she was never one to shy away from food. Despite her protestations as to the validity of the tea, it was still quite good, though as she predicted, the yak’s milk overpowered the tea leaves.

“Now, then, how are you feeling?” asked Haurchefant.

“Pretty good. The…tea…is lovely.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I meant in a broader sense.”

She hummed a curious tone.

“Dia, I’ve heard many a tale from many a source about your deeds. You took down four different gods-and you may very well be on your way to a fifth-, the Black Wolf himself, and an ancient Allagan weapon called Ultima that contained the power of three different primals. That you would sustain yourself after such feats beggars belief, and I simply want to ensure that you are, in fact, all right.”

She smiled. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’m perfectly all right.”

“You’re sure? I want to do anything I can to aid you further, particularly if you are on your way to killing yet another primal for the sake of my countrymen.”

“Ah, there’s our misunderstanding. I’m not doing this for Ishgard.”

“Well, I figured as much. The Scions are an organization separated from the interests of the different nations. Regardless of your intentions, however, this still serves my fellow Ishgardians. Yet, I am curious why you would wish to take on this burden.”

Dia shrugged her shoulders. “Such is my fate. Hydaelyn chose me to be her Warrior for whatever reason, and it would be remiss of me not to act as such.”

Haurchefant sipped on his wine, then returned to the discussion. “Well, ‘tis noble of you to fight in her stead, but does being a Warrior of Light strip you of your free will?”

“What?”

“Surely, you must have had other goals, other dreams. Children don’t necessarily grow up thinking they’ll be god-slayers when they’re older.”

She sipped her tea as well. “I wanted adventure. I spent a lot of time cooped up in one small part of Gridania, and I wanted more. I’ll be damned if I didn’t get it.”

Haurchefant chuckled to himself. “Of course. To question the adventurous nature of an adventurer, how foolish of me.”

Dia chuckled lightly as well. “At any rate, I consider my reasons not too different from yours or Ser Aymeric’s. As you fight for Ishgard, I fight for Hydaelyn.”

Haurchefant closed his eyes and let out a small breath. “About that…”

“About what?”

“Dia, know that I say this out of concern for you and your wellbeing. You seemed rather…tense, to say the least, in both meetings with the Lord Commander.”

She wanted to kick herself. Was it that obvious?

“Was everything all right?”

“Pshh, of course it was, it’s allll good.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

She sighed loudly. “Look, I just- it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Dia, I promise you, if you tell me what the matter is, it shall be kept in the strictest of confidence. On my honor as a knight, I shall not break your trust.”

She stared down at the table. “You won’t report this to anyone? You’re not gonna run off to Ishgard and go wherever people go to talk to whoever’s in charge?”

“I swear to you, whatever you tell me will not leave this room.”

She hesitated for a few seconds.

“I don’t trust Ser Aymeric as far as I can throw him.”

Her confession took Haurchefant aback.

“See? I didn’t want you to tell him that.”

“I would never. But…might I know what cause he has given to earn your apprehension?”

She grunted in frustration, “He’s-he’s hiding something, and I can’t tell what, and that bothers me.”

“What could he possibly have to hide?” Haurchefant questioned in disbelief.

“I don’t know. It’s a gut feeling, I admit, but there’s more. When he came in, he told me outright that he was watching me. What did he say? With ‘an interest bordering on fascination?’”

“And what’s the problem with that?”

“You know who tells me that they’re watching my activities? Garleans.”

“They told you that?”

“Aye, they did. Livia, Nero, and Gaius himself, they all told me that they followed my activities. At any rate, your Lord Commander is keeping tabs on me, and I want to know why. What purpose does it serve Ishgard’s government to keep an eye on my movements?”

He took a moment to process her accusation. “I do not wish to make it seem as if I’m invalidating your feelings on the matter, but…might it be possible that he simply found your adventures intriguing? That mayhap it was a personal interest in your deeds?”

“But then why bring it up like that in an official setting? And why say it like that? ‘I’ve enjoyed hearing tales of your deeds’ is one thing, but ‘I’ve been watching your activities’? Quite another.”

“Perhaps the phrasing was more formal than you’re used to hearing from people who simply enjoy your tales.”

“Too formal, if you ask me.” She took another sip of her tea. “I hope you’re right, but at the moment, it seems like he’s following my moves, and there’s a reason, and I’m bothered by the fact that I don’t know his motives other than for the Holy See.”

“I see.”

“Why did he specifically request me there, anyways? Keeping an eye on the Keeper of the Lake seemed more of a request for the Crystal Braves than I. If they think I’m fighting that thing, they can think again.”

“The Scions and the Crystal Braves are near interchangeable in the eyes of many, considering how entangled the two organizations have become.”

“Maybe so, but it still could have just been Alphinaud. Why was I needed? Really, it wasn’t until the caravan was hijacked that anything requiring my attention happened.”

Haurchefant couldn’t answer that one.

“It didn’t help that he and that other knight of his kept a near-constant eye on me during both of those meetings. Only time he looked away was when Alphinaud started in on talks of rejoining the Alliance.”

He shook his head as he remembered how the boy nearly exploded at the Lord Commander.

“Regardless of my own feelings, I could scarce believe that Alphinaud would treat someone he’s trying to convince to join us like that. He’s not a master of persuasion, that’s for sure”, Dia admitted her own second-hand embarrassment for the boy. “He kept us all there for way longer than needed and he barely let Ser Aymeric have a word in edgewise, even though he was the one who called the damn thing in the first place.”

Haurchefant laughed to himself, “I must confess, ‘twas mildly entertaining to watch the boy lose his patience. He usually keeps on a rather cool demeanor in a normal setting.”

She smiled and let out a laugh, “Alphinaud’s still a teenager, no matter what titles you throw at him.”

“Indeed, he is. Anyways, I do apologize for whatever concerns the Lord Commander may have given you. He’s proven rather popular with quite a number of the Temple Knights.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll know why.”

**********

Shiva was defeated, Midgardsormr stripped her of the Blessing of Light, Moenbryda died because of Dia’s lack of strength without it, and it was a sunny day in Coerthas. Dia had tried to take her mind off of the events of the last few weeks by collecting materials for both weaving and selling to her fellow adventurers. After all, she didn’t feel much like a Warrior of Light. A weaver, perhaps. A botanist, sure. But Warrior of Light seemed all but gone. That damn dragon wouldn’t stop following her either. He seemed to pop in whenever he liked.

With her materials in hand, she stepped away, and headed for Revenant’s Toll, climbing down several malms-high hills and passing through rocky terrain. At one point, Dia looked around, taking a moment to see just where she was, instead of glancing at her surroundings in her usual tunnel vision focus on gathering components. Did I just climb this mountain for cheap weaving, she thought. She shook her head and continued her descent when she spied some figure kneeling on the edge of a cliff.

I should just walk away right now.

But she didn’t. She kept walking to see just what that figure was doing, making sure the person didn’t have an agenda that could land them in the craggy aether surrounding Ishgard. As she grew closer, the figure became clearer and clearer. It was a man, and he looked familiar from behind, but it wasn’t obvious who she was thinking of that so resembled him until he finally turned around.

There stood the Lord Commander out of his usual regalia and into a wine red alpine coat, a white tunic underneath, and black thigh-high boots with black hose underneath. He looked utterly flabbergasted to see the Warrior of Light stand behind him.

“Oh! Ser Aymeric! I didn’t-uh-you-“ she stumbled, and immediately saw just what he was doing there- there was a gravestone at the end of that cliff. “Oh, I’m-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize that you were, uh, visiting someone. I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you be.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Dia” Aymeric said calmly after she turned around and tried to leave.

Godsdammit, Dia.

She stopped and turned back around to face him. “You interrupted nothing. I was visiting my father, and my visit was at it’s conclusion.”

She stared down the gravestone. The first name was unclear, but “Borel” stood out. “I see. I’m sorry for your loss”, she offered her condolences after giving herself a chance to calm down.

“He passed not long after the Calamity. He and my mother were rather…how should I put this…elderly by the time it came about.” He turned back around and looked down to the gravestone.

“I don’t always understand why the men I command fight their battles- plenty do it for prestige, some do it to rise above their station in life, some do it because it’s the only thing they know how to do. My father did it for an undying devotion to protect his country. He may not have always agreed with the Church, but he fought so Ishgard might come to see peace for the first time in a millenium. I think he did everything he could to instill these beliefs in his only son, and I hope that I can come close to doing right by his hopes for me. I owe him that much, at least.”

Dia just stood there and listened. This was the most clarifying moment she had in a long time.

What do you know? He’s mortal.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to place all that on you, Dia. What I really wanted to do was thank you personally.”

“For what?”

He scoffed. “For taking down the Father of Dragons himself, Midgardsormr.”

She swore she could hear the little bastard snickering behind her.

“Oh, think nothing of it. It’s pretty much all the gift of Hydaelyn at this point”, Dia brushed off.

Aymeric hummed and crossed his arms. “Forgive me if this broaches on heresy, but somehow, I disagree.” She raised her eyebrows at the thought. “How so?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, it was my duty to bestow a mighty sword unto a champion.” Before he could continue his example, a nearby tree dropped a decently thick branch. Aymeric walked over and picked it up, using the branch to help give a visual to his metaphor. “This sword”, he said, aiming it at her as though it were real, “is the mightiest sword in all the land. It can defeat any enemy you wield it against in combat, and has the potential for the betterment of all mankind.”

He lowered his stick sword and placed it horizontally into both of his hands. “If I were to create criteria for choosing my champion, I would want more than merely the physical strength required to wield it. Nay, I would needs trust my champion to use it properly, in the name of all people, and only use it against those who would bring great danger unto us all. I would needs know if this champion has the fortitude to fight and keep fighting for all the realm. I would needs know if this champion has the heart to love the realm even when it seems the realm has forsaken her. Most of all, I would needs know if she truly needed the sword to be the champion of the land.”

Aymeric kneeled down and presented the stick sword. “To that end, I would entrust it unto you, Dia Sito.”

Dia didn’t know what to make of the display, but played along and took it from him, holding it like a real sword. He stood back up and looked her in the eye.

“I won’t pretend to understand Hydaelyn. If it were me, however, I would consider any blessing as little more than a formality. I’ve seen you face down danger and march into it personally. I simply refuse to believe that your bravery and determination only come from her gift. Mayhap there was something your soul did in another body some time ago, but she knew who to select as her blessed, and personally, I don’t think she would give such a gift lightly. She chose you for a reason. If her reasoning is anything like mine, she knows you won’t entirely need it to be the Warrior of Light.”

She blinked. Yes, he was being presumptuous about the nature of the Echo, but still, Dia found his faith in her rather endearing.

“I…thank you, Ser Aymeric.”

“For what?”

She swished the stick sword around for a moment and answered, “For your sentiment. It’s…been hard goings, you know?” she admitted, trying to avoid mentioning how her blessing was stripped of her.

“I doubt not the difficulty of your tasks. I know I’m not always available, but know that you have support from behind Ishgard’s walls, and people who believe in you.”

She smiled. It did help to know that. She didn’t immediately trust him wholeheartedly, but she was glad to understand him a bit better.

“‘Twould be remiss of me not to thank you for one more thing, Ser Aymeric.”

“What would that be?”

Dia thrusted the stick to lightly touch it against his heart. “For this all-mighty sword.”

Did she just…make a joke, he thought. Aymeric laughed aloud for a few seconds, “But of course. ‘Twas my sacred duty to bestow it upon you”, he returned with his own joke. She grinned and laughed herself.

What started as a rather solemn visit for him ended in laughter. Perhaps this was her real gift, he thought.

“Might I ask you to accompany me back to the Gates of Judgment? I would be delighted to hear your tales of derring-do from the lips of the hero herself.”

She supposed if he was indeed working for Garleans, she could probably take him. “Very well”, she responded. Aymeric’s eyes lit up like a child at the sight of his Starlight presents, and stepped beside her and requested, “Please, tell me of the primal, Ifrit. That was one of the first that I had heard.”

Dia couldn’t help but be a bit amused. She debated telling Alphinaud of their discussion and how this rather cold and calculating man they met before became an entirely different person in nothing more than a few minutes with a story. Perhaps Haurchefant was right, and he merely had a vested interest in her adventures not as an agent of the Ishgardian government, but as someone who fully enjoyed these stories on his own time.

Maybe he’s not working for Garleans, after all.

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 22 - The Echo

You stare at Elidibus, confused, yet intrigued as his query strikes a chord within you. “The Echo?” you parrot back at him, your rush to eat breakfast before your usual spar with Zenos forgotten. “I’m afraid I haven’t. What is it?”

Elidibus maintains his easy smile, ruby eyes twinkling with the unknown. “You’ve been thinking about what I had said last time, have you not? About your paranormal abilities?”

Furrowing your brow, you stare at him, concerned. “How do you know--”

“In Gyr Abania, you had given thought to what I had said, and actively tried to use your powers.” He cuts you off, gaze boring into you as your distress grows. “Until that point you had unknowingly triggered it, reaching deep within to call forth a power you didn’t even know lay inside you.” Releasing your arm, his hand falls limply at his side. “It is amazing you have remained out of his sight this long...though I suppose for how your abilities have manifested, it would be easy to keep a low profile…”

Your face breaks up, not understanding what he’s saying. You feel as if you should cry, but you do not know if it is from sadness or fear or anger. He keeps speaking in riddles as if he knows who you are, but won’t say a word about it. “What do you know about me?” You ask, practically begging with the desperation in your tone, reaching to clasp his hand between yours. “Do you know something about me? What is the Echo?”

Elidibus glances down at his hand clutched between your own, flexing his fingers slightly. A look of pity pulls at his features as his free hand comes up and rubs against the back of your own, his skin soft to the touch and smooth like porcelain. “I suppose there is no harm…” he trails off, eyes looking off to the side for a moment before they glide back to you. “Very well. You are free to do as you wish in the evenings, correct?” He asks, to which you nod in affirmation. “Excellent. Meet me out in the gardens this evening, after you’ve eaten your supper. Then, I will explain what I can.”

Giving you a final, reassuring pat on your hand, he pries his from your hold, crossing his arms behind his back. “If you worry about either Lord Varis or young Zenos, do not worry, I have way ways.” He finishes with a small smile. Nodding, he makes a little shooing motion. “Go on, I’m sure I’ve delayed you enough. Surely your breakfast is getting colder by the second and I know Lyngsath detests microwaves.”

Nodding, you purse your lips together turning around, heading straight for the kitchens. When you take a quick glance behind you, Elidibus is still there, eyebrow raised as you shake your mind free of thoughts and head straight for your destination.

When you greet Lyngsath it is absentmindedly, giving him a silent wave as he deposits your still warm breakfast on a plate before you. Thankfully Lyngsath is understanding and doesn’t take your sudden silence personally, merely setting a warming cup of tea with two cubes of sugar next to your breakfast and going on his way, leaving you to your thoughts.

Your mind was going malms a minute trying to think of what The Echo could possibly mean; and what it meant for you. Elidibus had always seemed strangely cryptic, but now more so with his recent actions as if he was using you to prove a theory of his. Would he shine light on why you felt a strange sense of ease, a weird sense of familiarity around him? Did he know you as a child?

Did he know what happened to Minfilia?

Your silence as you stewed in your thoughts of course did not go unnoticed by Zenos, though he refrained from commenting on the matter. You could tell he desperately wanted to ask, but for reasons unknown he kept to himself. You wonder what he must think of you, his bodyguard, once so confident and sure, now looking as if they might break from the strain of their job.

If only he had known you had never signed up for any of this.

Somedays you wanted to bawl and tell him everything, especially that night he had held you as you cried. You wanted to tell him how you were just a girl looking for answers on her missing friend, joining the police in hopes of climbing the ranks to find clues. And instead, you had gotten yourself involved with possibly one of the largest crime lords in history, with no way out to tell any kind of news station or authorities without putting everyone at risk.

To top it off, your only comfort was in the arms of the son of said crime lord, who you may or may not like more than you had originally planned.

“You’ve been quiet all morning,” Zenos begins, drawing your attention from the reflective ceiling above. He had been scribbling away at some documents or whatever for a while, and it looked like he had finally had enough of the quiet. However, his phrasing put the ball in your court, said as an observation and not an outright question.

“Yeah.” You respond, sparing him a glance. He hasn’t looked away from his desk yet, and you sigh, wondering what you should say. “Just...a lot on my mind.”

“It’s unlike you to not speak it.” He responds swiftly, his pen moving with ease across the paper. “I will not pester you, but I will also not allow you to drown in your grief.” He flips the paper over into his pile of finished documents, beginning to work on the next. “You always become this way around death. You have been blessed with an innate talent for combat, but lack the heart to truly revel in battle.”

Frowning, you glare at him from your space on the couch. “I enjoy fighting.”

“Enjoying the battle is the same as truly reveling in it.” Zenos responds, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. To him, perhaps it is, for you’ve already gathered that he experiences things so much differently than you. Tempering your anger, you take a calming breath and keep a cool head.

“What do you mean by reveling in the battle? Do I seem upset when we fight?” You ask, genuinely trying to figure out what on earth he could mean.

Zenos pauses his writing to gaze at you from beneath his lashes, almost stealing your breath away. “I must answer your question with another: What do you feel when we fight?”

He gives you a moment to think on it, to analyze your feelings about your previous duels. Most mornings you’re just focused on the warm up and the comfort of routine, even back when you hated him with every fiber of your being. Deep down you couldn’t deny you looked forward to your sparring each morning, having never found anyone near your level of skill. Whether it be grappling each other until someone was flat on their back or Zenos’ practice blade at your throat, you always found yourself having fun and enjoying the match.

“I feel...happy.” You admit, the words sounding strange but no less truthful. Really, there was no other word better to describe it. Looking at him he seems almost surprised by your response, but he quickly schools his face back to one of indifference.

“But you do not feel the rush of blood? The time between the seconds?” He questions, staring at you fiercely now. There is a passion in his eyes you have only seen a few times, capturing your attention entirely. “To revel in battle, Honey, is to give yourself over completely to your desire to fight. Even in our tamest of duels, I experience a bliss that I cannot attain anywhere else. Whether it is the feel of your fist connecting with my face, the sound of my own breath as I push my body to keep up with your own, there is no greater joy than giving myself to battle.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad--”

“I wasn’t done.” He cuts off, eyes pinning you in place. He gains a far away look, as if lost in a fantasy. “I confess, I often think about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of your rage; to experience firsthand the flame of your fury as your hands wrap themselves around my throat and snap my neck. To feel my blade slice through your flesh and bone, to know the grueling pain of your hand breaking my arm--”

He releases a shuddering sigh, one that almost bordered on lewd. “Oftentimes in the early days of when I had started as my father’s hitman, I would give myself impossible odds. I had entire swathes of gang members at my disposal, but nothing could stop me from entering hideouts with nothing but myself, and my sword.” He smiles as he loses himself in his memories, eyes twinkling. “I would return home covered in blood, always scaring the house staff, but happy. Each brush with death, each time I barely escaped with my life, I felt such bliss.” His smile falls. “And then one day, nothing. I felt nothing.”

While listening intently, your concern mounted with each word, but especially at how defeated he had sounded at the end.

“Perhaps I had desensitized myself to the thrill. It was not until I had met you that I had met that same feeling once more.” He gives you a surprisingly warm smile, a feeling of affection so strong that you could not mistake it for anything else.

"It is a wonder you're still alive given how you placed yourself in danger." you comment, unsure how to really respond. What did it say about him mentally that the only way he could feel was when his life was in jeopardy? That his father cared so little for him that it didn’t matter to him that his son returned home drenched in the blood of his kills?

"I am a warrior without equal," he responds, as if it was a force of habit. However, his eyes turn ravenous upon you, the flame of desire burning within them. "Or, so I had thought."

Feeling warm beneath his gaze, you decide the ceiling is suddenly interesting again. "Well, I'm glad that at least I can calm you down from doing anything stupid." You tease, trying to turn the conversation back toward lighter spirits.

"Would that I could say the same for you, my beast."

The severity of his tone is enough to catch your attention immediately, watching as he slowly stands from his desk. He slowly strolls around it, prowling toward you with measured steps as he doesn’t let you break eye contact for even a second.

As he nears your place on the couch, you move to sit up but he’s already keeping you in place with one hand as he braces himself to hover just above your prone form on the couch. One hand rests upon the back of it, while the other rests upon the arm where your head is. Like this, his hair slips from its resting place upon his shoulders, wisps of the golden strands tickling you even through your clothes. You're painfully aware of just how large he is, his broad shoulders leading toned biceps. A muscled back leading the way to shapely glutes.

Your legs part without you realizing it but there is no hint of smugness in his gaze, only a need to possess, to claim. "Zenos?" you murmur, tongue swiping across your lips in an unconscious show of nerves, eyes gazing up at the Garlean as he crowds even closer.

"Do not go and do something stupid." He hums, eyes searching yours as if daring you to speak against him. "Your behavior as of late has been concerning. You have become driven, but dangerously so." His beautiful eyes narrow on you scrutinously. "Are you planning something?"

Swallowing thickly, you once again find it hard to lie to him. You weren't a huge liar in the first place, but his constant honesty made you feel nothing but guilty for even the whitest of lies. "What would I even have to plan?" you whisper, taking your hands to reach for his wrists, gently rubbing along them.

"Ever since I had told you my father could be responsible, you have acted strangely." He comments, shifting his hands to where they now rest on either side of your head and his legs trap your own between his. "You cannot afford to do anything to him. Not from your position."

Something in the way he emphasizes you specifically hints that he knows something you do not, a feeling you're getting quite tired of. However, he's right; there's no way you can take down Varis solely from Zenos' side. His own father has seen fit to not keep him apprised of his own machinations as of late, leaving both of you in the dark. His campaign trail would be starting soon, and you couldn't afford to waste any time looking for scraps of info while he prepared to get into a position of power.

"Even now I can see the gears in your head turning." Zenos huffs, grabbing you by the chin and fixing your focus to him. "You are planning something. Something stupid."

Face crumpling with indignation, you huff back at him. "Planning is a bit too advanced for a savage isn't it?" you sneer, knowing he can feel your pulse pounding beneath his fingers.

"Your savagery doesnt make you stupid," he chuckles, rubbing his thumb along your chin. "But your inability to quash your feelings and think rationally does."

Offended, you shove his hand from your face. "Have you ever thought your inability to feel has alienated you?"

"It's cute, the way you try and strike back at me, my beast." He laughs, the hand you swatted away reaching down for your left thigh and hitching it on his hip. "I believe I've shown myself quite capable of having feelings. The only difference between us is I am in control of mine." He shifts his right arm to brace his weight upon his forearm instead of his hand, bringing him steadily closer. "I have no need of shame, or fear." The more he speaks the more you are enraptured by him, mesmerized by his voice even as he lays your heart bare before you.

"How do you see right through me?" you ask, breath ghosting across his lips as you hitch your other leg around his hip, pulling him to you.

Unable to resist temptation, he kisses you, lips hungry yet moving slowly across your own. Your legs tighten around his hips even as he pulls away."I see only what you allow me to." He grins, flipping his hair from his face. "You've convinced yourself for so long I am some unfeeling monster," he growls as his left hand begins to untuck your blouse from your pants, "buy I have always made my feelings clear. You have been ignorant to them."

"That's not true," you insist, despite arching your back to allow him to free the fabric from your backside as well.

"Oh? Then what would you call me saving your life in that dump the night we met? Did I not feel interested?" He questions, voice like a balm over your senses, pulling you deeper and deeper into his spell. "When I had learned of your first kill, did I not feel pride?" Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he leans closer, burrowing his nose against your neck and breathing you in. "Do I not feel something too strong for words when you are in my arms?"

His tongue licks a sensual stripe on your skin and you moan despite him barely touching you. "You...I want to hate you. So badly." You whimper as he roughly shoves your pants down a sudden burst of impatience.

"Don't." He responds, as if it is that simple. "Merely stay by my side, and belong to me." He demands, but it comes out as a whisper, a secret that only the two of you share. Trapped beneath him you are arrested by the earnest look in his eyes, a determination that mixes with traces of desperation as if he is convinced you will abandon him. "Promise me."

Reaching up to caress his face, your heart twinges in pain, finding it hard to deny him. “I promise.” You breathe, trapped in his eyes as he once again presses his lips to your own, the kiss passionate, but charged with so much feeling it is overwhelming in its intensity. It should frighten you how far you have fallen for this man, your heart already knowing the words your lips will not speak.

So you touch him instead, letting your hands rove across his body as clothes are shed and you’re pressed face first into the leather of the couch, your skin sticking to it uncomfortably, but not so much so that you would even think about pushing him off you as he fucks you into it. The door is locked but employees are still in the building, and even the possibility of someone getting close enough to the door to hear how you wail for your boss to fuck you harder does nothing to deter this need to show him you won’t be going anywhere.

At least, not while he’s watching.

The hour is late; all of the housekeepers and maids have gone home, tending to their own families while you creep out your room and try to sneak to the backdoor. Moonlight pours in from the windows by the grand staircase, the halls eerily quiet to the point it is slightly unnerving. Hazarding a cautious glance at the winding stairwell, all seems well, praying to whatever gods will listen that both Varis and his son are asleep.

Creeping through one last hallway, you flash your badge at the backdoor, allowing you to slip out into the backyard without the security alarm giving you away. The grass is lush even beneath your slippered feet, the winter chill biting into your skin, making you huddle further into your puffy coat. Glancing over the garden, all that remains are a few choice evergreens, but the majority of plants lie dormant, waiting to bloom in the Spring. Given that the majority of plants are currently without leaves, you find that you cannot spot Elidibus immediately.

The garden is still well lit, but you find you cannot find the Emissary anywhere. Biting down on your lip, you trudge further into the garden, the sprawling grounds somehow seeming larger in the cover of night. You are drawn to the fountain in the middle, eyes gazing at the turbulent waters, losing yourself in the memory of Zenos’ arms bringing you close and pulling you from its murky waters.

“Deep in thought?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Elidibus’ voice, losing your footing as you slip on the smooth stone that makes up the fountain, bracing yourself for a chilly bath that does not come. Unclenching your eyes, you find ruby ones staring back, realizing Elidbus’ arm is looped behind your back as he saved you the trouble of having to explain why you had hypothermia in the morning.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question. I thought you would have sensed my presence.” He hums, setting you to stand up straight, his touch gentle and sure. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with him, at least physically, and the fact that it feels familiar somehow unsettles you. Visibly so.

“Careful, Honey. Eorzeans have a saying that if you make a face, it’ll get stuck that way.” He laughs to himself, ruby eyes twinkling with mirth. Staring at him, he is still dressed in one of his trademark, white suits, as if it is not nearly midnight. He looks as clean and coiffed as he does any other time, making you feel a little ridiculous for being out in the cold in your puff coat and pajamas.

“What do you mean...sense your presence? Don’t you mean ‘heard you coming?’” You frown, brushing yourself off, trying to fix your hair so you don’t feel nearly as crazy in comparison.

His eyebrows raise up into his hairline, before his lips twitch as if to grin. “Perceptive.” He finally does smile, except it feels so familiar and warm and...as if he admires you. “I’m glad to see that has not changed about you.”

Frustrated, you shove past him and march toward a nearby bench, deciding to sit down. “You keep saying that-- that you know me or something. But I’ve never met you until you came here.” Staring him down, you put on your bravest face, trying your best to be mad at him. “I want answers. Why did you call me here?”

Shrugging, Elidibus turns to face you, grin leaving his face. “Very well. I will answer you to the best of my abilities.” He begins, sliding his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed and at ease. “The Echo. I asked what you knew of it, correct?”

You nod, and he continues. “Judging by your silence, you were unable to find anything out about it, which is good. In truth, it is a wonder you have lived this long without finding trouble…” he murmurs, seeming to think on something for a moment before returning his focus to you. “But I digress. Let me present you with another question then; do you believe in magic?”

Pursing your lips, you think about your experiences as a child. Like any country, Hingashi had its share of magicians, from cheap parlor tricks to professionals who had their own shows. You knew it wasn’t really magic, that something within you said you would know magic if you really saw it.

Having your answer, you shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve always felt ‘magic’ isn’t real magic.”

Chuckling, Elidibus nears you, pulling his hands from his pockets. “An interesting answer...which will make explaining this tale, much easier.”

Waving his fingers, you watch as motes of light shine from his very hands, small and glowing like fireflies in the dark. They swirl into a galaxy, a beautiful, blue-green star appearing at the center of it all. “In a time before time, did mortals live for an age. Society was nothing the way it was now. Technology had reached a point of advancement unheard of on this star. The very sky was littered with creatures of all shapes and sizes. But most importantly...the people had the power to create.”

The lights change into spiring towers, much like the skyscrapers of Kugane, but the architecture was unlike anything you had ever seen. Robed figures walked their streets, clutching crystal-like shards to their chests, conversing, living.

“The Ancients, they were called, such terribly magnificent beings they would seem to the mortals of this age. Able to create concepts on a whim, breathe life into creatures and inventions unheard of. This was not an ability given to a select few you see, but a gift bestowed upon all in that world. Surely such power would cause strife would it not?” He pauses for a moment, his voice sounding strangely fond. “No, it was not so. The Ancients took their power to create and used it to further their society. All were equal in this world, even those on the Convocation.”

“The Convocation?” You ask, watching the lights change to match his story.

“The Convocation was a group of fourteen people, chosen to head academia for the entire star.” Elidibus explains, his voice taking on a note of sadness. A group of fourteen figures in robes stand in a circle, all of their robes black save for one in the purest white. The city shimmers brightly behind them, creating a dazzling image. “The best and brightest minds the star had to offer, gathered together to push the star into a new age.” The lights change, the hues of blues and greens changing to oranges and reds. “The best and brightest, gathered together to save the star from certain doom.”

You watch mystified at the panic; the ash and fire as the Convocation scrambles about, their faces looking lost and full of despair. “The laws of life itself were being unwritten, the Convocation at a loss of what to do. It was then that the idea of summoning a god to save them from their peril had been given, but only at the cost of civilian lives.” Elidibus’ voice is hardly above a whisper, his eyes seeming almost as transfixed on his story as you are.

“Yet there were those who stood against such an idea, calling the others cowards for placing themselves above their friends, their colleagues. Were they not all created equal? For what reason were those on the Convocation exempt from sacrifice? Could no one else ascend to their seat?” The robed figures visibly split apart, the divide in how to proceed clear. “It was with this contention that the Convocation had split in two, each summoning their own god. One, from the lifeforce of civilians, the other, with the lives of those who abhorred the very idea.”

Figures of light twinkle into existence, one tinged with a deep, dark purple, the other shining a striking white light. “The gods had warred and fought, both doing their best to fulfill the outcry of their people. But it would be the ones who sacrificed themselves who would win in the end. To save the star, the god had severed the star into bits, saving it the only way they knew how.” The blue-green planet returns, visibly fracturing, breaking to glistening shards of dust adrift in a sea of stars. “It is for this reason that most mortals do not live for more than a century, that the art of magic is lost to time…” The image vanishes, your eyes snapping up to Elidibus’. “Or so, the legends say.”

Confused, but intrigued, you hang on his every word. “What does that story have to do with the Echo?”

“The Echo is what remains of the Convocation.” He answers, coming to take a seat next to you. “Legend says that over history, that across the many shards, the spirits of the Convocation persist. They manifest in different ways...Othardian legends such as Azim and Nhaama were rumored to have the Echo, for they were of the sun and moon, gaining spectacular powers based on the respective time of day.” Shrugging, he brushes a stray hair from his face. “Or perhaps you have heard of Krile Baldesion, a scholar a few centuries ago said to have the power of clairvoyance.”

Giving you a small smile, one you could almost call boyish, he gives you with a knowing look. “Or even someone named Honey, gifted with supernatural combat skills and strength.”

Standing to your feet, you stare down at him wide eyed, shock dancing through your veins. “A-Are you saying,”

“I’m not saying anything, Honey.” He murmurs, voice carrying to you on the night wind. He stands with you, taking a solitary step toward you that has you taking one back. “It is merely a legend after all; whether you believe it or not is up to you.”

The wind blows but you do not feel its icy sting, too focused on trying to make sense of what the Emissary has told you. He wouldn’t make you come out here just to mess with you, he doesn’t seem the type, but it makes no sense. Those images; he had created those, he had used magic. The Echo, did he really think you had it? What did it mean for you?

Wanting to scream, you opt instead to let tears silently roll down your cheeks, as you feel that once again, you are way in over your head. Something bad is going on, something bad, and you landed yourself right in the middle of it. “Why did you tell me all this?”

Elidibus stands there in silence, his eyes giving off that strange glow that you know isn’t a result from the lamps that keep the grounds lit even at night. He regards you with a sudden seriousness you had never felt from him before, gaze unflinching as his lips part for his next words: “I believe even you can feel a certain...attraction between the two of us Honey.” He crosses his hands behind his back, eyes taking on a darker note. “Not in the way you feel for Zenos, oh no, but a magnetism that despite us never having met each other, it is as if we have known each other our whole lives.” Tilting his head back, his gaze could only be described as intrigued. “Perhaps, we knew each other in a past life.”

The lights on the grounds flicker, wind howling loud in your ear, the breeze numbing your legs and killing any feeling in your face. As the lights get darker, the wind louder, you finally bring your arms up to block the abrupt gales, the last thing you see being ruby eyes in the dark before the lights go out entirely. The wind stops as fast as it came, rays of light shining through your arms as you finally lower them to find yourself alone.

Looking around, Elidibus really is gone, leaving you with more questions than answers. Frustrated and sleepy, you stumble your way back into the estate, unaware of ice blue eyes watching you from on high.

“We’re here, ma’am.”

Looking up from your phone, you lock the screen as Yuyusho pulls into the driveway of the Garlond estate. Much like home, the flowers and shrubs all lie dormant, biding their time until Spring. You’re not surprised to find that Cid is not outside waiting for you, dressed in some khaki shorts and a tacky, tropical shirt. Stepping from the car, you bid Yuyusho your goodbyes and a promise to be ready for him to pick you up in no more than two bells.

The door opens as soon as you press down upon the lever, making you silently pray that Cid doesn’t carelessly leave his doors unlocked as you step inside. Toeing your shoes off, you switch to your designated slippers, trying to not let your eyes dwell too long on a familiar large pair that sits in the cubby that has begun to collect dust. Taking a deep breath, you place your shoes in the cubby alongside them, making sure the door locks behind you and heading deeper into the house.

With as big as his house is, there’s no telling where Cid could be within it. As many times as you had been over here, you actually hadn’t had the chance to explore the sprawling grounds, usually chatting with Cid for a while in the kitchen before Estinien would surface from his hermit cave and fetch you to go train. “Cid?” you call, knowing that if he was on the other side of the estate there was no way he was hearing you. “Cid?” you call again, ambling down a random hall, hoping that you might just happen across him.

The house is quiet much like Varis’, except it doesn’t have the white noise of maids and such shuffling about, ensuring not a speck of dust lands upon his prized possessions. As you make your way deeper into the house, the rooms become less for leisure and more for business, beginning to house robots and magitek instead of plush lounge chairs and expensive cigars. One door catches your attention, clearly shut, but it doesn’t stop you from seeing if it will open.

With a simple touch of the button on the wall, the door slides open, cool air brushing over your face as the sounds of beeps and whirrs assault your ears. Before you stands a large piece of magitek of some sort, covered in a glossy, black paint, standing taller than it is wide. It looks as if it made more for battle than for peace, seeming out of place amongst the other things you’ve seen Cid create. Surely enough, it does belong to him, for the Ironworks logo is emblazoned on the side, though instead of neatly printed, it looks as if it was messily spray painted on.

“I see you’ve found Maggie.”

Spinning around, Cid stands behind you, leaning one broad shoulder on the doorframe as he gazes at the tall robot before you. “A real joy that one. Bet you wonder what I’m doing with an old war machine, huh?” He asks, pushing himself off the frame and stepping into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him. Dressed in some comfortable cotton pants and a matching t-shirt, you realize that this is the most casually dressed you have seen him. His usually brushed hair is now unkempt, his keen eyes watered down by obvious fatigue.

“She was my first piece of rebellion, that one. Wanted to prove to my father that there was more than just conquering and war and the glory of Garlemald.” He sighs, stepping past you, his eyes having never left the polished metal. “She’s made for battle. Made to withstand firing enough ammunition to bring multiple platoons to their knees.” He gently runs a hand along its leg, staring intently at the logo embellished on the side. “I had made her better, instead turning her from a war machine, into one capable of rescue.”

Pointing toward its center, you follow his line of sight to where a metal claw protrudes from the front. “With the amount of power she had, it was easy work to make her capable of moving entire tonnes of rubble to free trapped civilians. I was only twelve at the time.” Arm falling to hang limply at his side, he stares up at his trophy, a mix of bitterness and grief in his eyes. “My father hated it. Told me it would never find favor with the emperor.”

Frowning, you stand there unsure what to say, or how to comfort him. “I’m sorry.” An apology is all you can offer, wringing your hands together as he finally turns to face you.

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” He smiles, though it does not reach his eyes. “Come. Let’s go get us some wine to drink, hm?”

Deciding it best not to argue, you follow him out the room, silent the entire way as he makes his way to a sitting room furnished with two chairs and a fireplace he lights with nothing but a spoken command. Immediately, the room is further warmed by its crackling fire, but Cid goes the extra mile to offer you a downy blanket to help fight off the chill as the entire back wall is made of glass allowing you to see the rest of the grounds.

“I was surprised to hear you had wanted to visit.” Cid begins, grabbing two glasses from the counter and reaching for a bottle of wine. “Or rather, that you specifically had requested to visit. I had expected Varis to do something as underhanded to send you over to try and squeeze some info out of me when I am at my lowest.”

Heaving out a dry laugh, you graciously accept the glass of wine offered to you, burrowing further into cushy chair as you stare blankly into the fire. “I wouldn’t put it past him either, if it’s any consolation.” You joke, watching as he comes to take a seat in his own seat. Taking a sip of the wine, you let the flavors wash over your tongue, doing your best to seem sophisticated, but sure enough it tastes like...wine.

“In that case, I must ask, what is the reason for your visit, Honey?” He asks, taking a quick glance at your neck. “I see you are missing a certain piece of jewelry. Wearing something a bit less...conspicuous, perhaps?”

Shaking your head, you giggle, unable to mope for too long around him. “No, and if anything that really lets you know I came for myself and no one but myself. He is too busy on his campaign trail to pay me any mind.” You take a long sip, hoping it makes what you’re about to say a little bit easier. “I can’t lie that I did come over with ulterior motives but...really I also just wanted to ask how you were holding up.”

You don’t break eye contact with him, knowing the pain of loss in his eyes is reflected just as strongly in your own. Cid is the first to cave, a hand roughly dabbing away a tear that had managed to escape as he takes a long chug of his wine. “I would’ve gotten something stronger if I had known you were going to ask that.”

Genuinely worried, you watch as he finishes the rest of his glass in one go. “Cid? Are you...have you been drinking?”

Giving you a haggard glance, he has the sense to at least look guilty and ashamed before standing to his feet to lumber over to the counter, tilting the bottle lazily to allow more wine to pour forth. He nearly drains the bottle to where his glass is completely full, taking a sip to ensure none will spill over the edge as he makes his way back to his seat. Gingerly sitting, he keeps his glass upraised as he allows the chair to catch his weight, sighing deeply as he does so.

He takes another long swig, nearly draining a third of the glass before finally setting the glass on the small coffee table between you. “Maybe I should have grabbed a cigar…”

“Cid.”

He still looks ashamed, but you only display your concern, unable to judge him given how poorly you’ve been coping. “I’m...I’m hurting too.” Your voice cracks as you say it, vision warbling as tears catch on your eyelashes. Your face scrunches tight as you sniffle, a sob breaking free from your chest. “I miss him too.”

It hasn’t been long, barely even a month, and yet the pain has shown no signs of ebbing. The loss of Estinien still feels as fresh as it had when you both saw him be killed before your very eyes, your hearts struggling to accept that he really is gone.

Cid begins to tear up as well, spiraling into a sob much faster than you, hand coming up to cover his eyes as he sinks into the chair and lets it all go. The two of you cry and cry, able to share your pain with the only other person who could. With no next of kin, no friends, no coworkers, the only ones who would remember him were the two who at least ensured he didn’t die alone.

Quiet sweeps over the house as you dry your eyes, dabbing at them with your sleeve. You feel better, if only a little bit, unable to sob so openly at home without feeling like Zenos would break down your door and demand to know what's wrong. Cid dries his own eyes with a handkerchief, his breaths shaky and rough. “Gods...I think you needed that as badly as I did, huh?”

Nodding, you find while you can’t give voice to your feelings, you agree all the same.

“Thank you for that, Honey.” Cid reaches for his glass again, but decides against it, settling to thread his fingers together and get comfortable. “I loved him, you know. Like a little brother.” He mumbles, losing himself in the dancing flames. “I knew he could be more than just a thug. He had the skills to be more. And he was.” Shaking his head, he finally drags his gaze to you. “He loved you too.”

It stings just as much to hear it from Cid as it did from Estinien’s lips. “I know.” You whisper under your breath, unable to look at him, the two of you knowing just who you had chosen instead. “It’s why I want to avenge him. I...he didn’t deserve to die.”

Cid shrugs defeatedly, reaching for his glass absentmindedly and taking a small sip. “He was my bodyguard. I willingly put him in the position to put my life above his own. Was part of the job description.” He huffs out a weary laugh. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

Shaking your head, you nearly crush your glass in your hand. “No. It wasn’t you.” Lips pursed together, you debate on whether or not you should say anything. You weren’t going to get anywhere by hesitating, and hesitating is exactly what got Estinien killed in the first place. “It was...it was Varis.”

Cid’s expression turns to be deathly serious. “Honey. That’s a severe accusation.”

“Do I sound like I’m not being serious?” You snap back, placing your wine glass down. “Varis was responsible, I know he was. Who else could it be? What other enemies do you have that would be so vile as to try and have you killed?”

Cid remains quiet, as if he wants to say something but is holding himself back. “Still,”

“Like that stuff they shot me with. I was still conscious. I could still feel the cold floor, could still hear, could still see. I just couldn’t fucking move--” your mind threatens to take you back into that moment: the regret, the pain, the trauma, but you press it down, “--I couldn’t move. It felt like my very being was being restrained.”

Cid only shakes his head, groaning as he begins to slouch. “I had hoped it would never come to this…” he mumbles, staring into nothing. “That wasn’t a tranquilizer they shot you or Estinien with.” He regards you wearily, blue eyes tired and not just from lack of sleep. “It was a destabilizer.”

“Destabilizer?”

“Does exactly what it says on the tin.” Resting his head on the back of the chair, he stares blankly at the ceiling. “The point of it is to render you helpless by causing your aether, essentially your life force to become unstable; it specifically targets you at level far past molecular. It targets your very existence and Varis is a fool and a coward for using it on you just to ensure his cronies didn’t kill you off before you could kill them.”

“Wait,” you sit up fully, truly grasping what he’s saying. “You knew it was Varis who had done this?”

“Who else could it be?” he slaps his hand over his face, dragging it down roughly over his beard. “And not for the reasons you think mind you. You see Varis and I have a long history, Honey. We are connected through my father.”

If there was ever a time to back out, it would be now.

Cid continues, ignorant to your inner turmoil. “Remember how I told you my father did research for the Empire? Well, it was a half truth.” You watch as he sits up straight again and reaches for his glass, clearly needing more liquor to get through this. “For a time, he did work for the crown directly. Until Garlemald finally threw in the towel that its days of colonizing and glory had long passed, and to take on a more...approachable image. This meant that my father’s more interesting projects could not be allowed to continue.”

“He was formally let go by the Emperor, but still had one of the best gold stars on his resume that you could get as a pureblooded Garlean. He found fault in the then Emissary’s decision, and continued to do his research in private.” It’s a wonder Cid hasn’t started to slow down at all given how much wine he’s downed, already you’re starting to feel the warm buzz of it beneath your skin. “It was when Varis had gotten into his late teens he had heard of my father’s studies, and used the crown’s money to secretly fund my father’s research. As you know I had already rebelled against my father’s ideologies, beginning to forge my own path. Had I taken but a moment to try and talk some sense into my father…”

Standing to your feet, you cross over to Cid, placing a comforting hand on his own. The look he gives you is appreciative, flipping his hand over to clutch yours in his own. “You don’t have to talk about such painful memories.” You tell him, unable to deal with the regret in his voice. He had made it seem like he had made peace with his father’s death, but in truth, it seemed like it tore him apart like nothing else.

“While I appreciate your concern, I don’t mind talking about it.” He urges, giving your hand a firm squeeze. “It’s therapeutic to tell someone else; for so long I had no one else to tell. Save Estinien.” He gives you a reassuring smile, coaxing you to return to your chair. “He’d want me to keep going.”

Nodding, you return to your seat, but not before grabbing the blanket he had offered you earlier, getting snuggled up. Cid takes a deep breath, preparing himself to continue. “Varis and my father had entered a parasitic, yet mutual business relationship. Varis would show up with a check, and my father would show his latest findings.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I must ask…” Taking a deep breath of your own, you let the question fly past your lips. “...how do you know about aether?”

Frowning, Cid looks plagued by too many sins for one to bear. “Aether is what my father researched. It is what he provided to Varis.” Groaning he leans forward, cradling his face in both hands. “My hands are as dirty as Varis’, Honey. Not from supporting the acts themselves, but for my own cowardice.” He sounds on the verge of tears, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold himself back.

“My father...he had found in his research that a certain demographic of people were immune to his studies on aether. The test subjects he had subjected to his experiments, they had all rejected anything involving aether. It would imbalance their very makeup, most times killing them.” Bitterly laughing, he runs a hand through his hair. “They were just a few gang members, right? Misfits and rejects. Unwanted children. Who would miss them?”

“But it was this way he had stumbled across the Echo.”

On the edge of your seat, you hang on his every word. “The Echo?”

“A myth made reality.” Cid explains, as if it’s nothing. “There are strange forces at work in this world, Honey. Forces that give people extraordinary, dare I say, supernatural abilities. I am a man of science, as was my father, but there was no refuting the hard evidence that a select few were birthed with something special about them.”

“It is merely a legend after all; whether you believe it or not is up to you.”

“There are people with...the Echo?” You urge Cid, desperate for him to keep going.

“There are. Well. If there are any left.”

That statement alone chills your blood to the bone.

“What...what do you,”

Cid pins you in place with a grave stare. “What I am about to tell you...promise me you will never tell another soul. Promise me, Honey.”

Nodding, you feel the weight of your own promises pile high. “Not a word.”

Satisfied, Cid clasps his hands in front of him, resting his elbows upon his thighs. He hasn’t looked away, hardly even blinked. “I’m not ignorant to Varis’ more underhanded dealings. I am sure of the things he has you do.” He pauses, having to breathe a calming breath before continuing. “Those who have the Echo are said to be descendants of some of the very first beings from a time before time. A world so far away and long ago that is beyond our comprehension. Mere shells of their former selves according to the stories, but no less amazing and awe inspiring to the average man.”

“And it is for this reason Varis had hunted them down and experimented on them.”

Your hands slowly reach up to cover your mouth as it hangs agape, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you realize Cid is completely serious.

“I am not a good...I’m not a good man, Honey. Would that I even had an iota of your courage...the people I could have saved…” Cid does cry then, too overwhelmed by his own shame. “I was still mostly a child when I had left home, crossing over to Kugane when I was only nineteen. I had sworn off all that my father had done, not just because I despised his methods, but because I was afraid.”

Tears stream down his face in a river, catching in his beard. “When I had finally resolved to try and bring to light the atrocities my father had committed, Varis had already risen to great power with his own business...and my father…” He chokes out a sob, “--he had been killed. Murdered in cold blood by one of his own experiments, and when I had returned home to Garlemald to give him a proper burial, I thought to make things right by at least turning Varis in. But I was too late. All of his research, his labs, everything, had been reduced to ash.”

"I had nothing, nothing to prove my father or Varis' crimes. It’s haunted me for years, and will continue to do so to think of all the innocents I let disappear due to my own cowardice…" He buries his head in hands, running his hands through his hair like a madman. "I fear I am beyond saving."

Staring into the fire, the sound of screams fill your ears. "You said...Varis has been abducting people...for years?"

"Yes." Cid’s voice sounds further away. "Anyone suspected of having the Echo, stolen from their beds under the cover of night…"

"You must hide."

Minfilia's panicked voice wakes you from your sleep, her arms wrapping around you urgently as she pulls you from the bed. But a child of eleven years you have grown too big to carry, but she does as best as she is able. "Minfilia?"

Your head is pounding, the memory fading in and out of your mind.

"I can't explain, my dear." Tears stream down her youthful face, Minfilia, who has always looked so mature to your childish view but is still a child herself. "But I need you to hide. Hide and don't make a sound. Not one peep, do you understand?"

"But why, "

"Promise me!" She shrieks before quieting her voice, quickly urging you into the bathroom. Grunting she grabs the small vanity and pulls, revealing a small crawl space within the wall. "Get in."

Darkness seems to close in around you, your breath caught in your throat.

There's a chorus of male laughter, the sound of several feet shuffling into the apartment. "We heard you had a gifted kid here...figured we'd take em off your hands."

"You're looking for me?" Minfilia asks immediately, her own footfalls soft and delicate compared to what must be huge men.

"You're a bit old to be a kid, huh?" The masculine voice asks, seeming to pause. "You ain't hiding anything from us, are you girly?"

"Search the apartment you'll find I'm alone," Minfilia takes a deep breath, "I had no way of knowing you were coming."

Your head won’t stop pounding and your lungs are struggling to breathe.

"Looks like your apartment is clean, but unfortunately for you...I can't go back empty handed."

"W-Wait,"

You hear a struggle, your tears starting anew as you press yourself against the vanity.

"Let go of me!"

"Let’s go boys. Maybe the boss will be happy to have some fresh meat to test on."

With small, grubby hands you do your best to push against the small vanity, weeping silently as you continue to hear Minfilia’s struggle. She’s crying, you can hear her, you have to help--

“Honey!”

Cid has you by the shoulders, grasping you fiercely, looking nearly distraught. As he realizes he’s pulled you back to the world of the living, he hardly even relaxes. “Honey. By the Twelve, are you alright?”

Reaching up, you feel dried tears on your cheeks, the skin sticky and taut. Hands shaking, you try to let the memory continue to play, but it won’t. Trembling, as soon as you try to force it past your hands trying to free yourself from your hiding place, your head throbs, causing you too much pain to continue further. Your lungs seize up, forcing you to stop trying.

“Honey, please, tell me what’s wrong.” Cid begs, shaking you desperately.

Deciding to stop causing yourself pain, wipe away fresh tears, shoving Cid’s arms off you. He looks noticeably hurt by the gesture, clenching his jaw as he stands straight. Your lungs struggle to breathe correctly as you try to calm yourself down, running a hand through your hair as more pieces fall into place.

The Echo was real.

Minfilia..she was protecting you.

The men who had searched your apartment...she had sacrificed herself to keep you safe.

Varis had to have kidnapped her. Which means...which means…

Standing to your feet, you bring Cid into a bone crushing hug, burrowing your face into his shoulder. He stands stock still for a moment, until his arms slowly wrap around your back and he returns your hug in full force.

“Cid...thank you.”

He knows not what you thank him for, but continues to accept the hug, the two of you needing the comfort more than words can explain. You urge him to do what you cannot: to get help. He might be unable to expose Varis’ crimes, but he could at least talk to a professional about working through his grief over Estinien.

Yuyusho awaits you outside, not at all bothered by you staying thirty minutes more than originally planned. Flashing him a thankful smile, you step into the car and allow him to drive you back home.

Home, where you begin to make a plan about how you were going to expose Varis for the horrors he’s committed.

Locking yourself in your room you immediately sit at your desk, yanking open the top drawer. Lifting the false bottom you find a small SD card, the same card Zenos had nearly crushed with his foot after he destroyed your original phone. Twirling it in your hands, you pull out a burner phone you had managed to swipe from an unsuspecting lackey, popping the card inside. The phone chirps as you turn it on, flipping through the apps until you pull up one of the many pictures on the device.

If you had to guess you must be maybe five or six years old in the picture, Minfilia’s petite frame still supporting you easily. Your face is covered in what must’ve been finger paint, the biggest grin on your face as you reach your grimy hands out toward the camera. Minfilia is all smiles as well, eyes crinkled with joy on her youthful face. She looks as if she maybe in her late teens, every bit a child as you were at the time.

A child who was taken away, never to be heard from again.

Looking back on your memories as a child through the eyes of an adult, you had always found it strange that such a teenage girl was tasked with the care of a child. Your memory is too damaged to recall Minfilia mentioning her parents, if she had them at all. Your own heritage was a mystery, Minfilia being the only thing you knew of having any sort of guardian, and even if she was far too young to take care of you herself, she was the closest thing you had to a mother.

Vision blurring as you start to cry, you continue to flip through the pictures, remembering a time that feels so far away. Those tendrils of warmth you had felt as a child being in her care, remembering her kindness and guidance as she raised you to the best of her ability. During your early teens you had resented her for a while, hating her for forcing you into a life of being a foster child, bouncing from home to home just so some couple could collect their check from the government. It wasn’t until you were nearly out of high school did you vow to find the reason for her disappearance, immediately signing up to join the police force.

You sailed through your training at the top of your class, surpassing men and women alike, your combat skills making you a force to be reckoned with. With the knowledge you have now, you realize it is only due to the Echo that you climbed as quickly as you did. With supernatural reflexes, no one stood a chance.

Resentment tried once more to find its way into your heart, thinking back on Elidibus’ words that in the past those blessed with the Echo had far more extraordinary powers, making you wonder why you were saddled with something so lame in comparison. It was only thanks to the more covert nature of your talents that you had been able to fly under the radar for as long as you had, at the cost of Minfilia’s life.

The next few days are spent pouring over every database you know you can find, unable to ask Zenos for help in trying to solve this mystery. If anyone knew where old records and things were kept, it would be him, but you couldn’t afford to tip him off to the fact you were a cop.

Or worse, the Echo.

What would he think, knowing the only reason you curb stomped him in a fight was due to some quirky ability? Zenos didn’t seem the type to believe in such tales, and would probably laugh about it to his father, who would then drag you to the closest testing facility where you’d never see the light of day again.

Groaning, you slam your laptop shut, throwing yourself onto your bed face first as you scream into a pillow. You were running yourself raw, hardly getting any sleep, often searching databases and old news sites until the sun came up. No matter what you tried, all you hit were dead ends. Varis had already committed enough crimes for several lifetimes, and he obviously wouldn’t suffer for any of them to come to light, especially as he starts his campaign trail.

Flipping over, you stare at the painting brushed onto the canopy of your bed, dragging your hand down your face. Loathe as you were to say it, you had no other choice.

You had succeeded in part of your mission. It was time for a change of paths.

Every foot step seemed final as you strode down the hall, head held high, not out of confidence, but knowing that if you allowed even a moment of hesitation to slip through the cracks in your armor, you would back down and you could not afford that.

Too many people were counting on you.

Those who have been lost. Those who can be yet saved.

Cid’s sins would become your own.

Estinien’s gift of life would drive you forward.

And maybe, just maybe, you could free Zenos from his father’s clutches and live a life of normalcy.

Funnily enough, the thought seems to be the most unrealistic, but it doesn’t stop you as you lightly knock upon the grand, mahogany door, waiting for an answer.

“Enter.”

Pushing down on the handle, Varis sits at his desk, papers neatly strewn across its surface. Dressed in a sleek turtleneck with reading glasses resting upon his nose, he looks surprisingly studious. Arching a strong brow, he regards you neutrally. “An unexpected visit. What do you want?”

Taking a deep breath, you relax your stance and lower your gaze. Erecting a balance of firm, yet demure, you gaze at your boss from beneath your lashes.

“I want to become your bodyguard.”

[raelly-writing]

Prompt 19: Where the heart lies - FFXIV Write 2020

Ahah, uh, yeah, this idea made me sort of feel the pain of having a Thancred/WoL ship that’s ‘can’t spit it out and stubbornly pines for each other until late Shadowbringers’, so I wanted to try and keep the time sort of vague like it’s been a while since then. But then what felt like the natural way to end it tied it pretty hard to 5.3. I dunno, I liked the mood and flow so maybe I’ll revisit when I have a few more patches’ distance.

Hints towards NSFW themes, but nothing explicitly stated.

---

The sound of his shower was a lulling drone in the background as Thancred dozed, content and relaxed after eagerly welcoming her back from her latest adventures. Sweat was cooling on his skin, the covers merely haphazardly gathered around his waist, though he did not feel all too bothered by the slight nip of the evening air.

They were precious to him, these private reunions of theirs. Especially after they had been apart for a long time - the reassurance of seeing each other alive, even if there were always that twinge of guilt when he saw the traces of one injury or another on her skin, accompanied by the wish that he could have been with her. It was a look he often saw reflected in her own expression when it was his skin that had been marked and bruised by a foe.

For all of their agreement that their duties came first, it never made parting any easier.

It took him a moment to realise that the sound of water had ceased and that a comfortable silence had instead settled over the room. Absently, he listened for the sound of her bare feet against the stone floor, his cue to stir from his comfortable spot and take his own turn in the shower.

Instead, the silence stretched on. Stirring a bit more from his doze, he felt a tickle at the back of his neck, a familiar, well-honed instinct telling him he was being watched.

Thancred cracked his eyes open and found Viana leaning against the doorframe to his washroom, her arms loosely crossed and a small smile on her lips as she watched him. The thoughtful look in her eyes was tinged with affection, so soft and unguarded despite all the hardship she’d been through. His breath caught, and for a few brief seconds he was able to soak in the sight of her, before she realised that he’d noticed her.

A flicker of embarrassment instantly passed over her features as she straightened back up while clearing her throat. “Sorry, my thoughts wandered,” she said softly, as if not wanting to speak too loudly into the silence of the room.

He gave her a charming smile. “It’s alright, I know these handsome features can be cause for distraction.”

As expected, Viana laughed and gave him a familiar, mock flat look that he, despite all these many years, still remembered so well from the time before the Monetarists’ coup in Ul’dah, when their suggestive banter had been a mere facet of the friendship they’d struck up. “It truly is a mystery how you do not leave a trail of distracted, injured people in your wake.”

She shifted her weight to one foot, and his gaze momentarily dropped to the hemline of the shirt she wore - his, he realised with a familiar sense of delight - that barely reached the top of her thighs. “I know,” he drawled as he looked up at her once more. “It’s a testament to people’s strength of will.”

Viana snorted, a fond smile on her lips as she crossed the short distance back to his bed. Thancred caught one of her hands in his, a small tug and light touch to her hip enough to guide her to straddle him.

“Jokes aside,” he hummed before brushing a kiss to her knuckles, “what were you thinking about? Not the next errand you need to run, I hope?”

With a small shake of her head, she caressed his cheek. “I just thought about… this. How we got here.”

Thancred slowly slid his fingers down over her arm, eyes still on her. “Quite the long and winded road we took,” he replied as he gently took hold of her other hand too and laced their fingers together.

She made a quiet sound of agreement, then tilted her head to the side. “I don’t think I ever have asked you… when did you feel like things changed between us? When did you realise you felt something for me?”

The questions took him by surprise. Raising an eyebrow, he found no ready answer on the tip of his tongue. He would never deny that he had found her attractive from the moment she’d stepped into the Solar in the Waking Sands. Even as far back as then, he would gladly have taken her to his bed and helped her unwind after they had her chase primals all over the realm - something undefined, without strings or expectations, like all his physical relationships had been back then. But when had the physical attraction shifted into something more?

Viana remained quiet, patiently waiting for him to sort through his thoughts while one of her thumbs slowly rubbed over his.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to her fingers. “I’m not sure,” he finally responded. “You were there with me after Minfilia…” He paused, the words catching in his throat even after all these years.

After she had given up her life for Hydaelyn, and it’d felt like his heart had been shattered. And then she had departed their world entirely to save another, taking with her the piece of his heart that he’d left with her so long ago, when she’d been just a girl bearing another name, crying over her father’s unmoving body. The old, dull sorrow made his chest tighten. 

It was hard to think back on those years after they’d found him in Dravania, how dark his mindset had been through the war until he had, under a foreign Light filled sky, finally been able to let go of his old guilt and grief, and move on for the sake of another young girl’s future. To this day, he was not sure when one of those jagged little shards of his heart had found its way into Viana’s hand and been safely tucked away beneath her breastbone.

He felt her weight shift atop him and then the warm press of her lips against his, the damp fringes of her hair a tickle against his cheek and forehead, while her hands squeezed his in reassurance.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to dig up painful memories,” Viana said softly.

Thancred opened his eyes to see the same sense of loss and pain in hers. Smiling faintly, he let go of her hands to cup her jaw. “It’s alright,” he replied while brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. Her expression softened as she rested her hands on his wrists, still watching him.

“I’m not sure when I began to love you,” he continued. “But I think I realised it when you first returned from Othard, and I felt it in my bones how much I had missed you.” He paused, eyes roaming over her face. “It felt like a piece of my heart had returned to me at last.”

A bashful smile spread on her lips as she laughed under her breath, her cheeks suddenly stained with a blush. “How poetic.”

“Can’t let those bardic skills rust completely,” he hummed with a sly grin. “How else am I supposed to make you laugh and blush so prettily?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Perhaps.” He pulled her down again, slipping an arm around her waist as they met in a slow, lingering kiss that made his body feel warm and fuzzy. Despite that it melted into a series of kisses, it seemed far too soon that they finally parted. “How about you?”

Viana peered at him from beneath her lashes as she rested her weight on her elbows. “Remember when you packed my gunblade and gear, and sent it to me before I left for Othard?”

Thancred nodded, giving her a curious look. “Couldn’t have been that, surely.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No, but you packed one of my books as well, and slipped a note into it.” His brow furrowed and it took him a moment, but he could vaguely recall doing such a thing. It’d seemed like such a small, random thing to him. Her expression softened, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I didn’t see it until I unpacked it all on the ship. It was a short note, just you wishing me to stay safe. But that’s when I realised what I felt for you.”

He was unsure what to say in response, hadn’t thought that it’d been a simple gesture that had been the cause. Grabbing her, he rolled them both over, smothering her surprised laugh with a firm kiss, as if it would somehow make up for what he felt had been lost time. His hand wandered over her, pushing up the shirt she wore to feel her skin beneath his palm and tracing the waistline of her smalls.

“Thancred, I just showered,” she laughed against his lips, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Guess you can shower again with me then,” he replied, his voice low and raspy. “Later.”

Though time and space may separate them, part of his heart would forever remain across the Rift, below a crystal wall in a desert region in another world where Minfilia, who he’d loved so dearly like the younger sibling he had never known, had saved one world from entire annihilation and spoken her final words to him. Another with Ryne, who he had watched grow and come into her own, stirring a paternal pride and love in him, as she walked under the night sky they had fought so hard for side-by-side, striving as she did to heal that world’s wounds. Other pieces lay tucked into the pockets and hands of the rest of his found family, smaller, but no less potent.

Another, no longer sharp and jagged with sorrow and despair as when he first may have inadvertently given her it, lay nestled next to the heart of the woman in his arms.

Just like he knew, he carried a piece of hers with him.

A home, with each other.

[syngigeim]

Day 19 - Radiance

With Syngigeim and Q’hara fending off any stray beasts that would dare attack them, the Scions, and Emet-Selch, made their way to Fort Gohn. Where one might have expected any sort of construction within the past two years, the Fort looked relatively untouched, with burnt beams and torn walls. And this was after Urianger reassured the group that Y’sthola, or Master Matoya, as she evidently now went by, was helping to rebuild it.

Q’hara heard the Elezen mutter quizzically at this. “Mayhap Y’sthola sought shelter elsewhere. Come, let us quit this place.”

It was just then that Q’hara barely heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards them. “Now! Surround them!” A voice cried out. And then a flurry of footsteps, and the sounds of bowstrings being pulled as people...a mix of Elf, (Duskwights even, though maybe the First didn’t have such distinctions as in the Source) Darhn, and Ronso appeared. The majority seemed to be wielding bows and some had staffs. Mages and archers.  But above all, there were far, far too many for them to contend with, if they were even going to fight. The group raised their hands in surrender.

Even still, their leader, a white furred with black stripped Ronso, seemed confused. “These sin-eaters! They’re not like the others!”

“There’s a reason for that. Lower your weapons, please. We mean you no harm,” Thancred said.

It was then that a Mystal woman strode up beside Ronso. A Mystal woman with purple hair and light blue eyes and an astrolobe in her hands.

“Kaen! Kaen! Thank the Twelve!” Q’hara said. “Please can you clear this up? We’re your friends right?”

A mutter came across the assailing crowd and suddenly Q’hara realized he probably just called Kaen by her “true” name if she had any time with the Night’s Blessed. Which he was guessing this might be. Hopefully. Bugger.

“Is this your beloved?” the Ronso asked her.

Kaen seemed to shudder at the mere thought of that. “No, but I do know him. Of course it would be you making the faux pas, Q’hara.”

“W-what of the others?” A nervous-looking Elf asked up. “Master Matoya was certain about a sin-eater.”

“Compatriots and allies of mine and Master Matoya. Except...” Her eyes fell on Emet-Selch. “You I do not know. Who is he?”

Q’hara heard Syngigeim mutter “oh boy” under her breath and seemed to be ready to start saying something. Unfortunately, Emet-Selch spoke up first. “Oh, trust me when I say I will not be sticking around much longer.” He then directed his words to Syngigeim. “I had hope we would have come to an understanding but it seems you seem to have more of a knack for infuriating the natives.” Syngigeim’s expression twitched in anger but he continued undeterred. “You have committed the sin of boring me. And so I retire to the shade.” He then gave her a smirk and said, “Good luck,” before promptly vanishing as an Ascian does.

“There! Did you see that one disappear?” The nervous Elf spoke up again.

Both Thancred and Syngigeim gave identical grunts of exasperation and frustration. “I think I preferred Lahabrea,” Thancred muttered.

Q’hara heard the sound of some sort of heels hitting on stone and a familiar, sharp voice shouted out, “Enough. Runar, Serah, report.”

Of course, Kaen would have taken her mother’s name. Q’hara should have figured that one out. She and the Ronso, evidently named Runar, turned around and addressed the approaching figure, calling her “Master Matoya.” Q’hara knew better as Y’sthola, now dressed in a flowing black dress. She...well, she looked good. Not that Q’hara would say that right at the moment, he did enough damage already. “We apprehended them as ordered but...they don’t look like Sin-Eaters and Serah seems to know them.”

“It is our friends and allies. Syngigeim, Q’hara, Thancred, Urianger and the new Minfilia I assume,” Kaen said, nodding to each of them in turn. Y’sthola seemed surprised and aghast at that. “I do not doubt what you said, I could tell something was troubling you about the aether,” Kaen continued. “Is something the matter? Can you still sense the disturbance?”

“I can. Only one sort of creature is sufficed with such light.” Her eyes, purest white and blind to normal sight, were still on Syngigeim, “Which makes it passing strange that something like that is in the company of people who’s aether I recognize.”

“Mine apologies Master Matoya, but thou art mistaken. Before thee standeth our dearest comrade, the truest hero among us,” Urianger spoke up and said. “Though Syngigeim hath but recently arrived in the First, her and thine compatriots have slain not one but two Lightwardens by their puissant hands.”

At that, Y’sthola was taken aback and looked genuinely shocked. “It- it can not be!”

Q’hara spotted Syngigeim seemingly flex her fingers and look down at the ground a bit. Was she genuinely upset that Y’sthola did not recognize her? They didn’t seem that particularly close, Syngigeim preferring other company in the Scions than the sometimes too harsh Y’sthola. But then she looked back up, and gave a little smile as she said “It’s been too long…clearly.”

“Oh, Syngi! That one was a bad pun. A horrid one! Too soon!” Q’hara exclaimed, not helping but to crack a grin at that.

“Oh bugger, that was a pun. Augh. Trust me when I say that wasn’t mine intent.” Syngigeim said, looking a bit flustered.

Meanwhile, Y’sthola was rapping her fist up against her cheek, seemingly ignoring the banter as she was thinking about something. “Master Matoya?” Runar asked after her.

“Lower your weapons.” She then finally said, her voice seemingly filled with some distress. Thankfully, the members of the Night’s Blessed complied. “Forgive us this hostile welcome. Come, I would give you a proper introduction to Rak’tika and its people.” The remaining members of the Blessed walked off, leaving Y’sthola to guide the Scions to her new home.

–

The Scions began their business within Rak’tika, seeking the way into the ancient ruins of Ronka. In between doing odds and ends for the members of the tribe, Q’hara, Syngigeim and Kaen assisted Y’sthola on her efforts on deciphering the tablet the Exarch gave her. Though now they were to rest a bit and partake of Runar’s stew.

“I’m a bit of a cook myself, so I am highly curious as to your skill,” Syngigeim said to Runar with actual enthusiasm. Much of Syngigeim’s behavior had been a bit distant, from everyone, so he was happy to see some sort of actual joy.

“Tis nothing too especially special,” Runar said. “Though I am interested to see what an outsider will think of it. But...”

“Something wrong?” Syngigeim asked.

“The others on patrol should have returned by now. Our food will be overcooked if we wait any longer. We will just have to start without them. Would you call Master Matoya and the others?”

“I’ll do it! You two chefs look after the food okay.” Q’hara suddenly said, walking on over to Y’sthola’s study. What the hells was keeping Syngigeim down lately? Q’hara wondered. She had been anxious ever since Alphinaud left for Garlemald but now something else seemed weighing on her. Hells she even broke up with her wife an-

“I tire of these games, Urianger. Why do you pretend you cannot see it?!” Q’hara suddenly heard Y’sthola say just as he got to her door. “The blessing may spare her the fate of becoming a Lightwarden but you can not be blind to the nascent corruption! She is not as she was in the Source.”

What?! Q’hara leaned in close to the door, putting his left ear up against it. He heard no noises, save for the beating of his own heart, for a few terse painful moments before Y’sthola started back up again.

“Though I have no proof, I fear that the light which poured forth from the Wardens was not negated at all. I fear it has been absorbed – that she has been suffused with their light.”

That...would explain a lot about her behavior, if she was somehow aware of this. A stark terror gripped Q’hara’s heart. Wait, then her using Eos on Titania’s light and claiming that she was using that to release the aether back to the earth was a lie?! Why would she do-

“Though I have given thought to such possibility, I dare not speak until more is known,” Urianger said.

He heard Y’sthola scoff at that. “By the time you deign to enlighten us, it may be too late – if it is not already.”

Q’hara flexed his hand into a fist and glanced on back at Syngigeim as he over heard Y’sthola’s response. “Urianger – I know full well, after all these years, that you have only the best of intentions. But that does not make it any easier to put my faith in such a man so infatuated with secrecy. I have had my suspicions ever since the Exarch bade you speak that day, but now I must ask.” Q’hara turned to look at the door, taking care to hear. “The Eighth Umbral Calamity and all that followed; everything you have claimed to have seen – did you?”

The moments seemed agonizing as Q’hara heard nothing from Urianger and just as he tried to shuffle in closer, he heard a cry for help. “The Eulmorans have come for us! We’re under attack!”

Gods be good, why did this have to happen now? Because that be how the world works. Always another issue to distract. He would just have to table this for after they deal with Rak’tika and its Lightwarden.

[himeadventures]

The Wall (Prompt #17: Without a Trace)

With a satisfied grin, Arenvald held his hands close to the campfire as it roared to life. Between the dry brush of Thanalan and the bounty of the Wellwick Wood, fuel was easy to come by. It had been a long time since he started a campfire using only what he could find in the field. If anything, it was a relief that he could put off explaining that he misplaced the party’s flint for one more day day.

As the largest log in the hastily-dug firepit started to crackle, Teruko, the squadron’s archer, joined Arenvald after setting up the tent. Carefully placing her bow to the side, she sat down on a smooth boulder.

Removing the heavy rectangular shield from his back, Arenvald adjusted the ring of stones he had set. “Our jobs are done, then. You think Pascal’s caught our meal for the night already?”

Teruko shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll just be happy if we don’t have to go out looking for him again. Although, don’t salmon gather in this river? Perhaps I will consider forgiving him for that little incident if he brings us salmon.” She began to chuckle to herself, only to fall silent after a triumphant shout rang out from the direction of the Yugr’am River.

“Oi, ya’ll talkin’ about me? Stop blabbin’ and get the grill over the fire!”

The Limsan strode up, his eyes beaming with the look of a triumphant general. “We’re eatin’ good tonight!” He raised his hand, revealing what he had caught on his hooks: two large black eels, writhing with the last of their strength in an attempt to escape their inevitable fate.

As Arenvald fetched the grill rack, Teruko stared at the eels, her eye twitching. “Pascal. What in the name of Hydaelyn are those?”

Pascal almost seemed offended as he prepared his skinning kit. “Eh? They’re Black Eels, Teruko. You can find ‘em all over the place. ‘Ere, look, they’re just like any other fish!” He brought the writing wavekin close to Teruko, who almost fell out of her seat recoiling away.

Teruko wanted nothing to do with the slimy, still-living river snakes. “Too close! Far too close!” She waved Pascal back. “And wait, aren’t eels poisonous?”

Pascal sneered, as if he was asked the stupidest question in the world. “Yer joking, right? Never tasted a warm eel pie? Besides, eels are only bad for yer gut if ‘ya can’t cook for your life.”

Shaking her head, Teruko made no attempt to hide her disgust as the Limsan fisherman moved to cleave the long-suffering creatures’ heads off. Her vision of fresh salmon fillets had disappeared completely from her mind.

Pascal may have acted a fool sometimes, but few would question his skill working with the bounty of the seas and rivers. With great efficiency, he put the creatures down and stripped away each morsel of flesh. Arenvald’s mouth watered as the eel smoked on the grill. At the other side of the fire, Teruko was taking small bites out of a roll of bread, only a smidge larger than her fist.

“Hey, Teruko,” Arenvald called out. “Weren’t you complainin’ about that bread bein’ the last of what you could afford for the mission?”

She nodded as she finished the last of her bread. “Mhm.”

“That can’t be nearly enough to walk on. You’ll have some of the eel, then?”

The archer shook her head. “I think I will pass tonight.”

Pascal scoffed as he flipped the thinner pieces on the grill. “Sorry Princess,” he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. “But this ain’t the Bismarck ‘ere! It’s eel or starve!”

Teruko glared daggers at Pascal. Pouting, she turned her head away and began her nightly ritual of brushing her long hair. “I just don’t want to eat it, okay?”

Arenvald, partly out of concern, joined in. “You can’t eat that soap you were talkin’ about back at Drybone, y’know.”

The two young men laughed together, as Teruko silently shot a cold stare in their direction. This wasn’t the first time that they had poked fun at her picky dining habits, but normally she just brushed them off.

Pascal waved his tongs towards her. “Hey, you’re an adventurer, right? How the ‘ell have you survived this long?” He was joking, of course, knowing full well about his friend’s talent with the bow. “Did you have a little butler followin’ ya in the Shroud, fixin’ up your favorite meal?”

Arenvald laughed again, although this time unsure if he should goad Pascal on. Teruko paused her brushing for a second, and hissed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

For better or worse, the Limsan kept going. “Ey, don’t be like that! When this is all over you can always head on back home where you can choose whatever ‘ya stuff your face with, right?”

Teruko’s comb clattered against the stones underfoot as she stood up with a jolt. Unleashing all of her quiet frustration, she screamed down at the wide-eyed fisherman. “No! I CAN’T GO HOME!”

A dead silence fell between the three adventurers, broken only by the crackle of the fire and Teruko’s pained breathing. She was frozen with her hand instinctively covering her mouth.

“...nevermind it. I’ll be in the tent.”

The flames flared brightly, roaring as Pascal pressed down on one of the slabs of eel. Flailing wide with his free hand, he began shouting back. “Eh, now you’re mad? How the ‘ell were we supposed to know that?”

Halfway through gathering her things, the archer turned around and stomped closer, the light of the flames flickering against her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it? And if you ever used that head of yours, you would have understood that!”

Pascal stood up, waving his cooking tongs. “Hey, sorry, Princess, but I’m just sittin’ ere wonderin’ why you never tell your friends anythin’ about yourself. We are your friends, right?”

As the two Scions seemed ready to spit and claw at each other, strong hands gripped their shoulders, and pushed them apart. Arenvald was standing up now, in between the two older adventurers.

“That’s… that’s enough!” He turned first to Pascal, shaking head. “You can’t just… that was uncalled for, is all I’ll say. And Teruko,” he spoke softer, as he looked towards her. “Will you sit down for a bit? I’d like to say something.”

The archer sat back down silently, with her arms crossed. Pascal picked up his tongs, and began forcefully removing the eel.

Arenvald’s armor clanked as he settled back down. “So, I think you may have heard some of this before. But, uh..., Teruko… my name is Arenvald Lentinus.”

She blinked. “...I know that.”

He continued without a beat. “I was born in Ala Mhigo. My father… he was in the Garlean Army. I trust you know what I mean when I say that my Ala Mhigan mother did not welcome my arrival? In any case, she believed that a spot on my skin was an emerging third eye.” He placed his hand at the center of the cross-shaped war paint on his face. “It was not long after that she cast me out into the streets. I had to do things I wasn’t proud of to survive the streets.”

The two older scions were no longer staring wounds into each other’s eyes. Arenvald had their full attention.

“But eventually, I was able to join up with a group of refugees bound for the other side of the Wall. I took up adventuring, which led me to the Scions. And here, at this campfire.”

He turned to Teruko. “It’s always been hard for me to say any of that, so I can understand if you won’t do the same. But you are among friends.”

Silence ruled the camp again, until Teruko spoke with a shake in her voice.

“I… made the same journey. I lived in Ala Mhigo too. And before you ask, my family was relocated there from a different imperial province before I was born. Doma, if you know of it.”

Arenvald realized why Teruko’s strange accent had always seemed familiar. “...I can’t say I’ve heard more than the name.”

“There aren’t many similarities between us after that. My family cared for me, and we never wanted for food or coin. But in Ala Mhigo, all that means is that we were willing puppets of the Garleans.”

Pascal spoke up, his loud voice quelled into a more somber tone. “...so what got you to leave?”

“Minfilia told me that the Echo was a gift. But for five years, I thought it was a curse. It started after the Calamity… and my visions only showed me absolutely unspeakable things. Especially when I talked with the people I… wasn’t supposed to talk to. The poor Ala Mhigans, of course.”

She looked down, avoiding eye contact with the others. “And of course, when I told my parents, they called me insane. The only person who believed me was one of the Ala Mhigan maids, Astrid. And by my last years in the city, she was the only person I could call a friend.”

Her eyes began to well up. “One day, Astrid spilled tea on a Garlean guest. My grandfather… he.. he dragged her off and…” Teruko clenched one fist, and brought it down upon her open palm. “By the time I finally found my spine and cried for him to stop, her leg was broken. And when I tried to stop him, he beat me too.”

She rubbed a spot on her right arm. “I carried her back to her home in the Ala Mhigan quarter in the rain. It took me an hour. I remember losing my right shoe. When I reached her home, Astrid’s family treated me as one of their own. And they told me about her plan to flee the city. But because of us- er, my grandfather, Astrid would not be able to make the journey.”

Arenvald shook his head, Pascal was looking down now.

“And they told me how I could go under the wall myself. And now I’m here. As far as my family is concerned, I vanished into the wind. I’m never going back. I can’t, and I won’t.”

[fictisiousworld]

Fascinating

He watched with ever growing interest as she entered the room. It was normal for him to measure a new face, particularly those of the opposing gender. A quick measure of a person’s mannerisms could tell much more than a talk over drinks. Within seconds he could judge whether one was kind or selfish, a fighter or crafter; whether a woman would welcome his advances or flee to the nearest guard.

But her.

Her open-toed boots carried her assuredly as she strolled into the solar. They hugged tight against her calves, and the tops disappeared under the heavy fold of her loose pants. Loose, yet they hugged exceptionally well at her hips, likely a result of the belt she wore hidden underneath her shirt.

The open tunic she wore stole his attention for far shorter than it should have. He could not deny that the sight of her breasts peeking through the crossed threads that held the two sides closer together was not distracting. Especially with arms folded firmly close to her chest, pushing her them up further through the black garment.

But he was utterly enchanted when she turned to him. The lean muscles moving under the glowing, chestnut skin of her neck; the sweep of her blonde tipped locks falling over her shoulder, disappearing down her back and changing to black. She turned his way, and he felt his eyebrows rise all on their own. Luckily he had the sense to catch his falling jaw before his lips parted.

Gods, her eyes.

As simple and complex as the sea itself. He felt them dive into his core as he did into their color, the near uncaught squint as they searched for answers of who Thancred may be, what kind of man he was. TIt was jarring being on the receiving end of his own tactics.

Yet what felt as bells drowning in blue lasted mere seconds as her head turned and her eyes raised into a smile. From the corner of his eye he sees the silvery hair of his fellow Scion move in a nod, greeting their guest as an old friend. And then he sees the elegant curve of her jaw as she stands before the heavy wood table, lowering her arms to rest her hands comfortably in her pockets

“Well come, my friend,” Minfilia greets. “We have been highly anticipating your arrival.l Y’shtola has told us much and more about you and your deeds in Limsa Lominsa.”

“Don’t go and tell them all my secrets, ye?” She says with a laugh, cheeky grin directed towards the shorter Miqo’te next to him.

“Well, well,” the words escape his mouth before he can stop himself. And all eyes turn to look at him, including the deep turquoise of their guest.

“Pray forgive my outburst,” Thancred quickly smiles, the words flowing out of his mouth as if he had the lines prepared for days. “Your accent is one I have not heard during any of my travels in Eorzea. Might you entertain us with the knowledge of where you’re from?”

The glint in her eyes doesn’t escape his gaze. From Y’shtola’s reports she had become a member of the Dutiful Sisters, and a rather accomplished one at that. But for all the training they surely gave her, some habits were hard to break. And her apparent reflexive reactions was something she had not yet mastered hiding yet.

She crosses her arms and sneers at Thancred cockily, the deep scratch running along the rim of her nose rising in sync with the motion.

“Trying to get a woman’s secret before even telling your name?” She taunts, the humor of her tone well masking her intent to dodge the question. “Pretty bold of you, ye? You could buy me a drink first.”

“Ah, do forgive my forwardness, fair lady,” Thancred laughs. “For I felt myself drowning in the depths of your eyes, more vast and blue as the sea as they are. And before they pulled me in too deep, I merely grabbed at the rope which dangled before me, in the form of your enchanting voice.”

She sounds a hearty laugh, all smiles and teeth at Thancred’s poetry. The sound distracts him from the shaking heads and sighs and mumbles of his fellow Scions. And when she looks at him again, no longer searching for his intent or nature - just looking, he stops.

“Well I’ll be sure to shut up and wear a mask next time!”

My, was she utterly fascinating.