#like ryne clearly looked up to and cared for thancred deeply even when he was fucking up

[haunted-xander]

I guess old feelings don't disappear that easily

[efrmellifer]

Forged in Fury, Tempered in Ice

Since that night, Aymeric had been having a hard time brushing the thoughts from his mind—he’d asked Etien a little more about what she remembered of her relationship with Hades all that time ago, whether she could see through the haze of, what, millennia and the splitting of herself into reflections (apparently).

She had blinked when he’d asked, slowly and a few times, as if she were trying to render her vision capable of reaching back into memories she hadn’t accessed in an eternity.

“We were… close. Friends, nothing more on my end. I suppose people thought our closeness should have bred more between us, but I never… wanted that. I had my heart set on someone else. Though I remember little of that, just that they were beautiful, so beautiful it made me feel fit to burst.” She blinked again. “I remember liking Hythlodaeus better,” she admitted.

Aymeric had cocked his head at that, confusion coloring his voice as he asked, “But you were closer to Hades?”

Etien sighed. “It may well have been that our closeness was facilitated by necessity and then came the friendship, whereas I was always friendly with Hythlo. Or we just got along more easily. I don’t know.” She shrugged, looking disappointed that the facts she had been able to grasp for a moment had slipped from her fingers again.

He tried not to ask her to recall more after that.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The thoughts kept him up at night, and while they had once set his blood boiling, now they just made his heart ache.

Even imagining Etien trapped in the Tempest, in that recreated Amaurot, under the care—not even care, custody—of Emet-Selch, who had invited her there to devolve into beasthood and then mocked her for fighting the transformation, hurt to think about.

They had been close, apparently, but this Emet-Selch seemed more than willing to forget that, so he could rain down insults to this ‘diminished’ version of her, and then he had the nerve to instruct that Etien remember Amaurot?  How could anyone forget Etien? Especially if she was then somehow more than she was now. He wanted to protect some star he loved? Protect her. Take care of her.

But then… Aymeric much preferred being the man in charge of that. Yes, the Scions were her constant companions and help in the field, but when they brought her home, who was it that held her and listened to her stories and gave her space to rest, to heal?

He rolled onto his side now, watching Etien as her eyes darted under her eyelids. He often wondered, when he caught a glimpse of her still sleeping deeply, immersed in a dream, what it was she dreamt about. It was… commonplace but strange, for her to be in a world completely inaccessible to him. The only difference from the moons prior, when she had been on the First, was that she was still physically there with him, and bringing her back would be as simple as waking her up.

But he had no need to do that. So instead he watched her, trying to guess at her dreams.

He only hoped they were sweet.

Unfortunately, his hopes were not to be.

For not the first time, and tragically not likely to be the last, Etien was reliving her battles in the realm of dreams.

It was almost as though Aymeric’s thoughts were bleeding into hers, his thoughts of Emet-Selch leading her memories of the fight with Hades to replay on the dark sides of her eyelids.

She remembered… little of the encounter, considering how splintered she had been. Indeed, at least half her shots were a guess as her vision was going white at the edges like a frosting window, and as she focused on running, on preserving her life, what little of it she had left.

Still, she had been brought to the ground for a moment, and no matter how hard she grit her teeth and willed herself to rise, gods damn it, she was struggling to get back up.

And that was when she had seen him, and was seeing him again all the same.

Well, the first thing she saw was Ishgard, but it was who was waiting for her at the gate, a hand extended.

Haurchefant.

The warm friendship of his gaze was breaking through the fog over her eyes, clearing her vision so she could see home behind him, could clearly see the offer of an eternity with him—she remembered clearly now what she had said, that he was the only one who had never asked anything of her—instead of a forever in service of Hydaelyn or at the bottom of the sea, purging the world of the “vermin” Emet-Selch wanted her to eradicate.

She could be a sister and a friend, or she could hang onto this existence and be a weapon.

Gods, the temptation was strong to reach out, to take Haurchefant’s hand and enter his embrace and never have to think about any of these grievances again.

It broke her further that she had to shake her head. The Scions had just tried to save her, they needed her to win so they could make it out of here, so they could make it home.

She needed now to return to the arms of her lover, not of her brother.

So, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, she did shake her head. “No. I’m sorry. They need me.”

Haurchefant blinked, accepting her answer, and the vision of Ishgard faded from her mind, but not before he curled his hand into a fist, willing her to stay strong.

For him, for Alisaie and Alphinaud, for Y’shtola, for the future Ryne wanted and the apologies Thancred had to make to her, to ensure all Urianger’s work hadn’t been for nothing, for the chance to see Aymeric again and for the Ishgard she would live to see, she rose.

Etien stumbled onto her feet, jaw clenched. Hazy gaze be damned, she would use what little she could see to take her aim and stop Hades.  

She woke so suddenly, she sat up, gasping.

“Etien?” Aymeric called from next to her. When she didn’t say anything, still panting from her dream, he laid a hand over hers on the covers. At the touch of his hand, she settled, sighing instead of drawing in another breath, and lying down again.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, brushing back a stray strand of her hair.

“I was dreaming about Hades.”

“When? In the distant past?”

“No.” Etien let her eyes close. “From when we fought. I don’t want to think about it any more.”

Aymeric pulled her close, tucking her under his chin. “Then you do not have to. What do you want to think about?”

“Happy things,” she replied, voice soft with tiredness and interrupted sleep. “Though I guess those are few and far between, aren’t they?”

“Not so rare as you might think. Are you not happy when you climb into bed each night?”

“I… I am,” came her answer, delivered into his throat more than into the air, “but there’s so much to do that I haven’t yet done, so much of it that my happiness feels fake, like I’m ignoring the truth to chase some artificial bliss.”

“Whether or not your tasks are done does nothing to diminish the veracity of the bliss you feel here,” Aymeric told her, hand running along her spine. “When you’re safe and warm, and I intend for you to be, here in my arms, I would hope that you would be at the very least content.”

“I am,” she nuzzled him. “The problem isn’t you, it’s guilt. It’s misplaced obligation. It’s—” she spluttered just a little— “It’s a side effect of being used by Hydaelyn to bring her petty squabbles to the war table.”

Aymeric shushed her gently, not to stop her from speaking but in an attempt to calm her down, when she needed to be sleeping. “I long have said too much is asked of you.”

“Yeah, but what are we going to do?” Etien complained. “I’m uniquely suited for the task at hand, hand-selected as a tool of setting things right. Things I had no hand in other than straightening them out now.” She sighed. “I was little more than a kit when the calamity happened.”

“You were… young,” he said, not wanting to do the math at the late hour.

Etien nodded, her ear brushing Aymeric’s skin. “I still don’t feel as old as I am.”

“The years since you were brought into this have been difficult for you, I know,” he assured her. “A young woman of nineteen suddenly being responsible for Eorzea is—well, it borders on criminal.”

Etien sighed. “I don’t know about that.”

“That you have made it so far and done so well in that distance is just another thing to admire about you.”

Now she laughed a little. “I have always had help.”

“And you always will, if I have anything to say about it,” he told her, finally letting her go just enough that he could kiss her. “But for now, you should rest, rather than worrying about what you need to do next.”

Etien sighed. “Did I wake you, before?”

Aymeric shook his head. “You did not, though I have no idea whether that’s fortunate or not.”

“Well, maybe you can sleep now.”

“If you need me to stay awake and vigilant against pesky nightmares, you know I would be willing.”

“I want you to sleep, too,” Etien told him. “I should be fine, wrapped up in your arms, anyway.”

Now Aymeric yawned. “Well, that’s good to hear. What a simple fix, when I would never let you from my arms if I was never required to.”

Etien laughed, settling in and pressing a kiss to Aymeric’s collarbone, since it was where she could reach. “Never?”

“Never,” he affirmed. “Do you not think I find it comforting to hold you?” He clucked his tongue.  “Etien. Do you doubt my love?”

She shook her head, slowly. “It’s not your love I doubt, darling.”

“Then what?”

“It’s hard to put words to. I just find it hard to believe sometimes, that a silly little kit like me could make you so happy.”

“You’re not a silly little kit,” he replied simply. “You’re a splendor, strong in every way and the breath of spring I longed for.”

“What a concept,” she breathed. Sleep was coming to claim her again, and she hoped she could transfer that sleepiness to Aymeric by pressing closer, letting out a content sigh.

Yes, in his arms, she was more than just content.

[saskiel]

Broken perfection - part II

Part 1 

The celebrations took nearly a week after their victory, yet to her, it felt hollow. She would laugh with her friends, toast with strangers, but her eyes would never find the one she was looking for. With the scions bound to the First for the time being, she spent most of her days in Amaurot. She spoke with the ghosts of the city, but their conversations never held a lot of meaning. Unless she was ready to discuss the “upcoming calamity”, there wasn’t much to talk about.

She was hoping to talk to Hythlodaeus, but after the day she saw him he was nowhere to be found.

In the night, she would watch the city below from the apartment, how it stretched on the ocean floor, before falling asleep.

It has been five weeks after his defeat when she found a leather journal in the myriad of books. At first, she was hesitant to open it, feeling like an intruder on his thoughts. In the end, curiosity got the better of her. His early entries from the First made her smile, sentences like I don’t know why I am keeping this bloody thing or This is a waste of time, I could already be sleeping quite common. He also talked about the plans with Vauthry. She imagined that not that long ago, her whole body would tremble with rage, earning for his demise. But she was no longer that incomplete version of herself and while his words still didn’t make her happy, she understood them.

Her heart stilled when she reached an entry from a day shortly after her arrival.

I saw her today. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. When she danced across the battlefield, striking down one sin-eater after another, it almost made me march straight to her and take her away. That’s before I noticed  Hydaelyn’s “blessing” all over her soul. The poor thing is broken and has to deal with such a burden, making it flicker like mad. Even with her here, my plans need to stay the same, the goal is almost within my reach. I shall keep an eye on her, though.

Emet knew. Right from the start, he knew who she was and he let her hate him. If only he told her. But would she believe him?

Her presence continues to perplex me. There are moments when her soul seems to start filling in the cracks after the split, but then it stops. In all the history I’ve never seen anything like this happening. But then again, she always was special. To keep her close, I’ve offered the scions my co-operation. After all, it doesn’t matter what they do, I can always start anew after I deal with them. They should be grateful to have her with them. Fools. If it weren’t for that wretched Hydaelyn.

Her eyes were rushing over the words, feeling a bit closer to him, even if it was just a fleeting illusion. It was all that she had. This diary and the city he made.

**

After averting the calamity, the lives of all scions became calmer, for the time. With no big threat on the horizon, they all got to focus on themselves. Which wasn’t always a good thing.

“There’s something… different about you now,” Y’Shtola said as her milky eyes focused on the warrior of light.

It was one of the regular meetings that they decided on. Currently, they were sitting in the Crystarium, each nursing a goblet of their chosen poison, all of them thinking the same. That there is nothing to discuss. Nothing, until now, it would seem. Ryne turned her head towards the hero, her eyes observing things invisible to the rest.

“I don’t see anything wrong with her,” the younger girl shook her head.

Y’Shtola tapped her fingers on the wooden surface of the round table. “Tell me, do you feel any different?”

“If you mean tired of these meaningless meetings, then yes,” the warrior remarked.

The thaumaturgist narrowed her eyes, clicking her tongue in evident displeasure, but stayed silent.

The hero sighed deeply. Now that all heads were turned in her direction, she saw no point in staying here if she was to be the new hot topic. The chair scraped on the floor as she stood up, announcing she was going home.

“That city is not your home,” Thancred said. Ryne cast him a glance, begging him not to press the matter, but he ignored her. “You’ve been spending days after days there, doing Twelve knows what. Why? Why do you dwell on that ascians dead so much?!”

The room held their breath as they saw her stop, the hand that was already on the handle falling to her side.

“You would dare question my loss? I did what you asked me to,” turning around, there was a fury written on her face, “I carry their blood on my hands. Those who we cared for eons ago! Yet you, Thancred, of all people, think you can tell me what I should feel like?!”

“That is not what he meant-”

“I don’t care what he meant or didn’t, Alphinaud! He is dead, all of them are dead but you are alive! What more do you want from me?! Haven’t I suffered enough?!” Her scream filled the space. None of the scions have ever seen such an outburst from her, so when Ryne gasped, they assumed she was taken aback by the display.

“You are free to come to Amaurot if you wish to. I will help you in your time of need. But do not presume me to be Hydaelyn’s little dog. No longer.”

When no one objected, the warrior of light took her leave.

**

“I saw it now,” Ryne said with a timid voice, looking at Y’Shtola, after they were sure the hero was out of earshot.

“What are you talking about?” It was a question that plagued all of them, yet it was Alisae who voiced it.

Ryne glanced at everyone around the table before fixating on Y’Sthola once more. The latter gave her a subtle nod.

“I am not sure how to describe it. Her aether, or her soul if you will, seems to be… older. But also not? There is a heaviness that wasn’t there before,” the girl shook her head. “It is confusing.”

“So, what are you saying, that is not her anymore?”

“It is her. Yet it isn’t,” Ryne frowned, clearly trying her best to explain what she saw.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Urianger,” Thancred spoke for the first time after raising his voice at the warrior of light.

Ryne sighed. “I don’t know how else to describe it. I am sorry.”

When they left the meeting that night, the words of the hero weighted heavy in their minds.