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astraphone · 2 years

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the sword and the sea; ilias

i am VERY excited to finally share my @wayfarer-exchange gift for @phantasmagoriatime and their wayfarer, Ilias Fiora!!! i had such a wonderful time getting to know ilias for this fic and i really hope i did him justice <3 THANK YOU to all the wayfarer exchange mods for all their work organizing this, and all the lovely discord folks for being absolute delights and sources of encouragement throughout the process!

The first time Ilias holds a sword, he is still a child and barely tall enough to hold it.

After years of being left behind to his own devices, his family has finally allowed him to join them on a trade voyage. Ilias is no stranger to the beauty of the sea; he’s lived his entire life in Tol Covere, after all. He knows the rise and fall of the tides, the calls of working sailors, the harsh glint of sunlight on the water as well as he’s ever known anything. But it’s another thing entirely to stand aboard a ship that rocks back and forth as it sails over the waves, nothing but sea and sky in sight.

If he closes his eyes, Ilias can imagine the rest of his family away. He can picture himself at the helm, the greatest captain the world has ever seen. He has weathered many storms and braved many battles. He is an adventurer, a warrior, a hero known across the seas, and everyone who ever doubted his worth will know just how wrong they were.

Perhaps Ilias imagines this a bit too hard, because during his second week at sea the ship is attacked by pirates.

His family is well-prepared for this possibility, of course. House Fiora could not have achieved such success without being willing and able to handle a few skirmishes. Their mercenaries are quickly called to arms and the children are shepherded below deck, much to Ilias’ disappointment.

Once they are safely tucked away, Ilias’ siblings and cousins huddle up together, apparently finding safety in numbers. Ilias is not included in the huddle, and he knows better than to try to join in. Instead, he chooses his own corner of the room they’re hiding in and tries to imagine what might be happening on the deck above.

His imagination is not quite powerful enough to drown out the whispers of the other children. He knows their voices are lowered for fear of the pirates, not in the hopes that he won’t hear; everyone has always been happy enough to talk about him like he’s not there. “Everyone says it’s bad luck, bringing one of them along.”

“We should’ve left him at home like always, this is so stupid.”

“When I’m in charge,” the oldest and often meanest of the group whispers haughtily, “I won’t allow a single magiani on my fleet.”

Ilias doesn’t yet have words for how their whispers make him feel. All he knows is that they’re dumb, and wrong, and even if he can’t prove them wrong yet he can at the very least annoy them.

“You’re all scared,” he says, in as mocking a tone as he can manage. Several sets of disdainful eyes turn towards him, which is exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Someone scoffs. “There’s pirates up there, stupid. You’re weird if you’re not scared.”

“Well, I’m not,” Ilias says defiantly. “I wish they didn’t stick us down here. I’d like to fight a pirate.”

“Shut up, Ilias.”

“I’d teach them not to mess with us,” he continues, swinging his arm around like he imagines someone might swing a sword.

“Prove it.” The hushed, mocking whispers go silent as his meanest cousin speaks up again. He glares at Ilias for a moment before grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him across the room. Ilias makes a sound of protest, trying to shrug him off, but he holds tight, depositing Ilias in front of the door. “You want to fight a pirate? Go do it.”

“Wait, Mother told us to wait here,” one of his other cousins begins nervously, but he just shrugs.

“We’ll be safe in here. You think anyone cares what he does?”

Nobody can argue that point, and Ilias begins to realize that he may, possibly, have miscalculated. “Are you kicking me out?” He tries not to let the fear show in his voice.

“No,” His cousin shrugs again. “Stay in here with us, if you want to. Prove that you’re just full of shit.”

Ilias should stand down. His family hardly remembers he exists unless he goes out of his way to upset him, but they’re safe. He should stay here and let them laugh and then go back to ignoring him like they always do. But there’s an instinct rooted deep within him that has always refused to let him take the easy way out. He hasn’t named it yet--others will later identify it as bravery, or recklessness, or maybe just a burning need to prove himself--but he knows he will not give in here.

“Fine,” he says, pushing the door open. “When I kill a pirate, you’ll all be jealous.”

The door closes and locks behind him, and then Ilias is standing in a deserted corridor, suddenly remembering that he is completely unprepared to actually kill a pirate. But it’s too late to back down now, so he begins slinking towards the hatch that leads towards the deck as quietly as he’s able. Maybe he can steal a knife from the galley, or climb up the mast and drop something from above, or--

“Ilias?” His plans are interrupted by the sight of his aunt approaching. Her nose wrinkles in vague distaste, as it always does when she’s forced to interact with him. “What are you doing?”

“I was--” He hasn’t even decided if he’s going to lie or not when she interrupts.

“Where are the others?”

Ilias gestures back towards where he came from. “Where you left us.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” She pushes past Ilias down the hallway, not bothering to question him further.

“What happened to the pirates?” He calls to her retreating form.

She spares him the briefest of glances over her shoulder. “They’ve been taken care of,” she says dismissively, and then Ilias is once again alone.

The timing is perfect; the other children can’t say that Ilias wasn’t brave enough to leave safety, but he’s been spared from, in all likelihood, getting killed by pirates. Still, Ilias can’t help but be left with a bitter sense of disappointment. He was ready for a challenge, for an adventure, and now all he’s left with is the vague comfort that at least his pride is safe.

He can still see the aftermath, maybe. Determined to come out of this with some story worth telling, Ilias clambers up the ladder to the deck.

It’s immediately obvious that he missed the action, and that the Fioras have once again eliminated a threat with the ruthless efficiency they are famous for. His family’s mercenaries are making quick work of tossing enemy bodies overboard, the blood on the deck is being scrubbed, and nearly all that remains as evidence of the fight is a stray sword left lying abandoned near the hatch, apparently unnoticed by anyone but Ilias.

Ilias isn’t stupid. He knows he’s not supposed to touch it. That’s probably why he does rush to pick the weapon up before anyone can tell him otherwise. It’s heavier than he expected--he can’t tell whether or not it’s meant for two hands, but he needs both to hold it up--but he manages to keep it aloft as he gives it an experimental swing through the air.

It’s clumsy at best. Ilias has never handled a weapon in his life. But that doesn’t prevent the rush of exhilaration he feels at the realization that he’s holding a real pirate sword. A grin spreads across his face as he stands atop the rolling waves, sword in his hands.

Ilias still has to learn how to play the hero. But he is determined, in this moment, that someday he will have his chance.

I could learn to use this, he promises himself. I will learn.

Ilias gets his chance and then some, in the decades that follow. There are many reasons why Ilias accepts Cenric’s offer; to get away from his family, to find others like him, to be treated like a person and not an unfortunate mistake. But perhaps most of all, he joins the Wayfarers for the chance to make a name for himself. This world may not be built for him, but he will carve out his place in it. What better way than by taking this thing that’s been called a curse his entire life and turning it into a weapon?

To his immense disappointment, Varyn doesn’t begin his training with a sword. They start with staffs, then move to wooden swords when she’s confident he’s learned enough to wield one. It takes years of training before he’s allowed to carry a real, proper sword around with him.

But the wait is worth it for the satisfaction that comes with having a weapon at his side that he truly feels he’s earned the right to hold. Training is exhausting, but with every success, he recalls standing aboard his family’s ship, unfamiliar weapon in hand, making one of the few promises that he’s actually bothered to keep.

The sword Ilias trains with is practical, sturdy and reliable but nothing especially noteworthy, and he does not expect this to change after graduation. Alassar weapons are increasingly rare these days, and he knows plenty of older Wayfarers who do just fine without them. Relying on Alassar steel would mean accepting he’s not strong enough to survive on his own merits, and Ilias certainly cannot allow that. As he gets closer to graduation, he puts the thought out of his mind entirely.

So it comes as a surprise when, on the eve of Ilias’ graduation ceremony, Master Varyn summons him and announces her intention to bequeath him an Alassar sword of his own.

“You’re messing with me,” Ilias blurts before he thinks better of it.

Varyn raises an eyebrow at him. “Am I?”

“I just mean--” he backtracks, “There’s so few, and not everyone has one, and--what about Aeran?”

Ilias knows, in theory, that sooner or later he is going to need to retrain himself to not think of Aeran on instinct. They’ve been inseparable for ten years, but when they graduate tomorrow their paths will inevitably diverge as they set out into the world. Ilias has been dreaming of his initiation for years, but he can’t help the nagging sense of anxiety that looms when he considers life without his best friend constantly by his side.

“Aeran is receiving a weapon of his own,” Varyn says, either not noticing Ilias’ internal turmoil or--more likely--choosing not to comment on it right now.

That makes more sense. At least until tomorrow, Ilias and Aeran are still a pair, and it’s much less of a shock to hear that they’re both being gifted something of a similar caliber. Still, a bit of unwelcome doubt creeps into his mind, that perhaps this is an act of pity, and he’s quick to correct it aloud. “I hardly need one.”

Varyn gives him a long look. It’s one he’s very familiar with, like he’s given a wrong answer in training and she’s patiently waiting for him to correct himself. “If I thought you needed an Alassar weapon to succeed, I would have failed you as a teacher. Do you believe I’ve failed you as a teacher?”

“No!” Ilias says incredulously, catching his voice rising and forcing himself to steady it. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve been the best teacher I could have possibly asked for.” He means it. Although Ilias is determined to be recognized for his own merits, he’ll give credit where it’s due, and he knows exactly how much he owes to Varyn, Aeran, and the rest of the Wayfarers. He doesn’t like to think of where he’d be without them. He’s relieved beyond measure that he’ll never have to know.

“I know you don’t need it, Ilias,” Varyn says, her voice gentler now, “But I would like to give it to you nonetheless. Such is often the nature of gift-giving.”

Ilias still forgets, even after all these years away from his former family, that sometimes people are simply kind with no strings attached. “Thank you,” he manages after a moment, keeping his voice steady with some effort as the magnitude of what is being given begins to sink in.

“You can, of course, say no,” Varyn continues. “You’re correct that there are many other Wayfarers who would gladly wield an Alassar sword.”

“No,” Ilias cuts in quickly. “No, I--” He stops when he catches a glint of amusement behind his mentor’s eyes. “Okay, now you’re messing with me.”

“Perhaps,” she says lightly, “But the question does stand. Will you accept the sword?”

Accept the sword, and all that comes with it, is what Varyn leaves unspoken. To accept this sword, Ilias understands, is to accept the life of a Wayfarer, which is often short and always hard.

Ilias knows what he will choose, because in many ways he’s already answered the question. He chose the Wayfarers long ago, when Cenric came for him on the best day of his life. He has chosen them again and again in the years since, and he will continue to choose them for as long as he draws breath.

“Thank you, Master Varyn,” he says, and this time it takes no effort to keep his voice steady. “I would be honored to.”

A decade later--a lifetime, it seems--Ilias stands aboard a ship bound for Velantis, his best friend by his side.

It has been well over twenty years since Ilias first picked up a weapon. He is a far cry from the boy who first clutched an oversized sword all those years ago, and from the young man about to enter the world as a Wayfarer. Most days, if he stops to think about the man he has become, he’s not entirely satisfied, loathe as he is to admit it. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted the world to know his name. He caught glimpses of that when his order still stood, but these days he’s an exhausted mercenary just trying to make it through each day.

But when the Dareia is attacked mid-voyage, and when Ilias and Aeran dispatch the privateers like the practiced, competent warriors they are, he feels a flicker of that old satisfaction. As the Dareia sails safely onwards, the wreck that was once an enemy ship growing smaller in the distance, he knows there is no question that he is, at least, a fighter.

It’s clear that the fight leaves an impression on his employer and her entourage. Ilias resents every part of this journey—once again the pawn in someone else’s game, en route to do the dirty work of mages who can afford to force his hand—but he has to admit that the respect of the others aboard the Dareia does come with certain conveniences. He no longer has to put up with the captain’s complaints about his weapons, for one, which allows Aeran and him the luxury of cleaning their weapons on deck in the sunlight, rather than shutting themselves away in their tiny cabin to avoid pointed comments from crew members.

As they finish cleaning their weapons, leaning against the railing of the ship and watching the sea go by, Ilias can’t help but feel a spark of optimism. He may be bound to mages, but he’s out of Rona, at the very least, and above all, he still has Aeran.

“I was half-worried Captain Xanael was going to convince Zenaida to confiscate these,” he says lightly as he returns Fluke to its rightful place, attaching the scabbard to his belt with a satisfied smile. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I guess,” Aeran says distantly, and Ilias hides a flinch. Aeran has been moody about nearly everything since they boarded the ship, and Ilias understands, but he’d hoped for a bit of levity after a successful day. Aeran used to smile after fights, full of jokes and the giddy relief of success. Instead, Aeran has spent the entire time they’ve been cleaning up glowering at their weapons like they’ve wronged him personally.

Ilias doesn’t intend to push Aeran, settling back into a now slightly awkward silence, so it surprises him when Aeran speaks again, nodding towards where Fluke is sheathed. “Does it ever bother you that Varyn gave you that one?”

Ilias tries not to show his surprise at the turn in the conversation; unexpected questions are better than silent glowering, at least. “Why would it?” He taps the hilt of the sword absentmindedly, finding comfort in the weight of the familiar weapon at his side. “It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”

Aeran’s expression softens a bit at that, although something unreadable lingers behind his eyes.

“You really don’t find anything ominous about a sword whose previous wielders have all died horribly?”

Ilias can’t help but glance towards Aeran’s own weapon. They’ve had this conversation once already with Aegineta back in Rona. Aeran had looked about ready to kill the mage back then, and Ilias wonders how much it’s been weighing on his mind since.

Taraniel is a terrible legacy to hold, Ilias knows, and Aeran recoils at any reminder of what it has done. Fluke’s history is hardly pleasant either, but Ilias has never shared Aeran’s aversion to his weapon’s past. Ilias loves his sword, both despite and because of its history. He meant what he told Varyn a decade ago—he doesn’t need it. But it’s been a rare constant in this tumultuous life, and he’s survived far too much to believe that it can bring only bad luck.

I have carried this sword across the continent, Ilias wants to say. It has seen me through war. It has been with me when all else has been lost. And I’ve held it as I fought my way across a desert, towards a sandwraith, and back to you.

He knows better than to actually say that out loud. Ilias has never dared voice the extent of his feelings to Aeran, although he doesn’t imagine he’s particularly good at hiding them. But to tell Aeran everything, to explain that he is Ilias’ only anchor in the stormy sea that is life after the Wayfarers and to chance being cast off, is a risk he cannot abide.

So instead, he just grins. “You know me. I like a challenge.”

Aeran is quiet for a long moment, before he finally smiles back. “That you do. I’m sorry. I know I’m being morbid.”

Ilias shrugs. “It’s alright. I’m just saying, Fluke will have to try a little harder if it really has it out for me. Did you see how I knocked someone overboard with the hilt back there? Fate doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I did. It was damn impressive, Lia.”

Ilias attempts a reenactment of the scene, which is significantly less impressive when he’s jabbing at empty air, and Aeran bursts into laughter. For a moment, he almost looks like the boy Ilias remembers from the Spire, before everything went so horribly wrong, before he was saddled with a weight Ilias knows he will never understand. When Aeran smiles at him like this, Ilias almost believes that he will be allowed to keep him.

#wayfarer exchange #wayfarer fic #wayfarer #cleo writes #god i LOVE ilias. this was so much fun #me getting assigned a child of the seas mc who idolizes varyn and tries to mask how much the Aeran Situation is getting to them:#IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER!#anyway i loved doing this #and i really hope you enjoy

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