#probably not a good thing when lebby starts to sound like he's making sense

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Attempted Alliance 11/24

"She despises cowardice. And you did surrender, rather than meeting your end like a warrior." Gilbert Viscart looked over his mug towards the other. There was no aggression in his words. It sounded simply like an evaluation of Lebeaux' worth. "Yet you still live", he added as the mug came down. "You still have time to seek to become worthy of Her."

Lebeaux Desrosiers smiled, though he did lower his eyes back down to his glass in an effort to look ‘chastised’. “There is too much to be done in Her glory to die in a snowdrift under the blade of a heretic.” He explained calmly. “She has shown me such during my prayers and the blessing of my blade. When the time comes and I do move again to strike Idristan down and rid Ishgard of his tainted presence, will you support my efforts.”

Gilbert thinks on this: "I'm not going to have you cower behind my shield to do your dirty work for you", the Knight says a bit harshly. "Heretic though he may be, he had the right of it. He won fairly by force of arms. Under the sight of the tower. It would have been an honourable death, if not for the accusations leveled against you." He picks  up his mug, then sets it down again with a small sight and continues: "You can't change overnight. It's a long process. You can become a better person if you really want to." He sets his shield and blade down. This was going to be a longer conversation. "What kind of tainted presence do you mean?"

Lebeaux shook his head firmly. “I wouldn’t ask you to fight my battles for me.” He lied pleasantly. “Only to stand as an ally should it come to it. You were gracious enough to help me once, despite my defeat. I would hope to call you a ‘friend’ as I train and pray to return to Her grace.” He explained calmly, though in his opinion he had never fallen from it in the first place. As the phrase he had used was called into question he shifted his smile to appear sad. “You were there, weren’t you supposed to bear witness? You didn’t see it?”

Gilbert nodded slowly. The others' words seemed to make sense. "I saw you both using some strange magicks. Not the sort of thing that one would use in the line", he admitted. "Believe it or not, I am no expert on magicks. But I'm usually pretty good at sniffing out daemons and their ilk. That's why I have been tracking down that family. That's why Ser Agache came to me. He knew I had access."

Lebeaux nodded solemnly. “It was a difficult thing to understand, I’m sure.” He agreed sympathetically. Not bothering to elaborate on why that would be. Instead he took a small sip of whiskey. “ ‘That family’? And how did tracking down a family come to asking you to pull my own personal records.”

Gilbert stiffened some: "Can't talk about it, official business", he said in a clipped tone. "And you haven't answered my question. Tainted in what way?"

The elezen glanced over the edge of his whiskey glass as he took another sip. “You used your official contacts for a private inquiry?”

Gilbert flustered, caught out. "Can't talk about it. Official business", he said. He looked away, quickly draining the rest of his mug.

Lebeaux furrowed dark brows, looking very very concerned all of a sudden. “Gilbert. It is my business as well. It sounds as though you abused the privilege of your position to find information on another Faithful Ishgardian national to hand over sealed records to a bastard-born halfbreed who dabbles in befouled magicks. Halone have mercy on you, what have you done.”

"...." Gilbert looks up then. "I recall you asking me to do just that", he protests. "The only reason you did not get any of that, is you lost."

“Only after you all but admitted to doing this in the first place. Records I very well would have had access to myself if I was still permitted the rights bestowed upon my position during the War.” Lebeaux pointed out calmly. “It is only by Her grace that you do not have the death of a devout on your hands. After you orchestrated it.”

"You don't have access to those records because you are wanted for crimes against the people of Ishgard", Gilbert counters. "I had my doubts about it. You knew that. But you lost to Ser Agache in Trial by Combat. You lost in accordance with the old ways we both hold dear." He huffs: "What do you think would have happened to you had we stood before the highest magistrates and seen this fight?"

Lebeaux tilted his head as though considering it. “Let’s think about this honestly and rationally.” He began slowly. “If we had stood before the Tribunal, as it stood, I suspect it rather would have gone along the lines of never getting started. As a high-born son of a founding House I would have been given the opportunity to publicly repent and likely have my House pay a stiff fine. Possibly some reparations. That is, if I wasn’t praised for my attention to detail and enthusiasm for my work. Ser Agache, should he try to attack me, would have been executed for his dealings with dark arts and the nerve of being a lowborn bastard daring to accuse a highborn.”

Gilbert glares. He saw the truth of it. "Mayhaps", he admits. "Is it those old ways that you miss, then? The corruption? Your own privileged position? If so, it would seem that I misjudged you, Ser."

Lebeaux shook his head slowly. “Not at all.” He corrected calmly. “If some empty words of penance and a slap on the wrist were enough I would have returned to Ishgard long ago. Paid the lip service to the new Republic and found myself a comfortable position in the clergy or a clinic.” He shook his head firmly. “Our city is sick, Gilbert. Rather than bickering between us and allowing that sickness to spread … or helping it to spread…” he noted as looked pointedly down his nose at the blonde. “We must be willing to work together. All of us of the old, True Faith.”

Gilbert looked at the other. "Is that what you truly want? To work together? With a mere lowborn hyur?" He sneered and looked back at the other. "I miss the old faith. The honour of warriors. The fight against evil. But we both know why the Fury punished Ishgard. Don't we?"

Lebeaux relaxed the judgmental look and smiled cordially at the hyur, even as he sneered back at him. “Even if we are of the old faith there is no need to return to all of the old ways. I see no reason that an honest, devout and pure lowborn cannot rise up to glory in Her name.” Actually, he could see several but telling Gilbert that certainly wasn’t going to help his cause. “Why shouldn’t She rise you up to what you have earned.” He nodded solemnly in agreement to Gilbert’s question, but didn’t elaborate. Allowing the hyur to keep talking if he really wished to go into ‘why’.

"That's right", Gilbert agreed. "It's the tainted blood of the nobles. All of you drank of the dragons blood. It's a curse on all the generations. Only those of us who do not descend from the Knights are free of that taint."

“Mind yourself, Gilbert.” Lebeaux corrected coolly. “These are the words of the New Republic that you’re bandying about despite claiming to be adherent to the true faith. Why would the Fury wait until now to punish us for the supposed sins of so long ago. The blame cannot be placed solely on the founding families. All of Ishgard has allowed its Faith to rot. What few believers that remain are charged with the task of saving the entire city and returning it to Her light. Will you have yourself be counted as one of them.”

"Of course I count myself among them", Gilbert said with a huff. "But what has been revealed can not be hidden again. You are highborn, are you not? Do you deny that your ancestors drank the dragon's blood?"

The elezen prickled slightly in return. “It has never been told to me while learning my family’s lineage. There was no mention in such records of our founding Father drinking the blood nor eating the flesh of a wyrm. Should I truly have such a taint in me, wouldn’t I have stooped to drinking dragon’s blood to save myself from defeat.”

Gilbert thought about that. "Mayhaps", he ponders. "But then it's not as if your families' chronicle would document how your women fornicated with dragons and beasts, or how your men experimented with foul blood magicks. And if you are highborn then you do indeed descend from these people. If you think you do not, then you are as lowborn as I am. Which is it?"

Lebeaux set his whiskey glass down firmly. “Bear in mind, Gilbert, that the situation did not take a turn for the worse until the foreigners were allowed into the city. We were not thriving but we held our own against the Horde. Then these outsiders infiltrate with the aid of bastards and byblows and suddenly the City is under onslaught. That cannot be coincidence. Now they would muddy the waters to hide their hand by declaring the Archbishop an abomination and his Heavensward monstrosities.” He spoke quickly and sharply. “As you are a low born and hyuran besides, I understand fully why you would gladly open your mouth wide for these lies. How sweet they must taste sliding down your throat. Not only would they tear down the class separation with this re-writing of our history but they would also account your deeds for naught as you achieved your glory slaying dragons, did you not.”

Gilbert frowns. What Lebeaux was saying made sense. "My status has nothing to do with it", he said, though he wasn't entirely sure of it. "I've seen the corruption in Ishgard. I've seen the plotting and the scheming. I've seen you and Ser Agache do it both, with your fine words. Trying to get an advantage using words and paper. It is very different from the wholesome, simple worship we did in the Real Ishgard." By which he meant, not Ishgard proper. "... if these accusations of yours are true then my liege would be in on it as well. And why would he? He had nothing to gain by this. He heads one of the High Houses!"

Lebeaux extended his hands, settling them palm up on the tabletop. “There is corruption. There always has been. It is a symptom of the sickness but not the cause itself.” His tone had calmed considerably, a far gentler sound now that Gilbert seemed to have undug his heels from his previous stance. “Your liege lord is a clever man. He saw the changing tides, considering it was under his roof that one of the bastards allowed the foreign contagion to fester. Rather than stand against it, he chose to move with it. Should it turn again, you would best believe he would repeat the process in the new direction as well. You notice that he still has his fine house and brimming treasury, despite his cries for change.”

Gilbert sat back and frowned. He was silent for a few moments, thinking of this. "She would not have us win the war. She brought her icy breath over our lands. If the corrupted blood is not the cause of the sickness, then what is?"

Lebeaux exhaled a quiet chuckle. “I would ask you think and pray on it. Perhaps seek the advice of Father Liautroix.” He suggested as he finished the glass and rose to his feet. The remaining whiskey was slid towards Gilbert. “Their answer isn’t an easy one, yet we must look beyond such things as highborn and lowborn. Elezen or hyur. Look to the Faith. It will be meaningless should I just set it in front of you.” He walked past, giving the blonde a pat on the shoulder as he strolled leisurely by to stand on the far side of him. “Then I would be no different than the non-believers shoving their ‘truths’ down your throat.”

Gilbert nods. "I'll seek his advice", he remarks. That seemed like a good idea. Gabineaux would know the answers. He looked to the side when the other raised and patted him on the shoulder, the gesture prompting a faint smile. "Faith will save us", he agreed. "I will pray on your words, Ser."

Lebeaux nodded softly. “And I will pray for you. That She should guide you to the truth. You are a good man, Gilbert. Yet you seem to be easily distracted along the way. Even if you stop to look at the scenery do not stray from the path. Not for the sake of pretty boys that bruise easily. Nor for the chance to take a cheap shot at a highborn whom you envy. I do look forward to hearing from you soon and perhaps sharing another drink. It was certainly enlightening.”

@gilbert-ffxiv

[songofwizardry]

sea-salt and sand

a beach in Nicodranas, an hour spent attuning to the new amulets, and a moment between Caleb (who has been having a fairly continuous breakdown for the last few hours) and Veth (who stays within hugging distance).

[coda to campaign 2 episode 128]

yes, I am writing Caleb & Veth fic again. cw for canon-typical trauma & extended descriptions of dissociation. you can find the fic on ao3 or under the cut.

The air smells like salt, and seaweed.

It smells like salt, and the setting sun to their left is dyeing the cloudless sky pink and red, and the colours are reflected in the water, and Caleb tries, tries, to stare at it – the water, the warmth, the colour, the sand – and to take it all in, to remember that there are no beaches like this in the Empire, that it is not this warm in Rexxentrum, that he is not sixteen years old anymore, he is here—

He tries, by all the gods his colourful friends believe in, he would swear he tries to stay here and now, but—

Between one crash of a wave and the next, he is gone, echoes of Trent’s voice (real? Magical? Memory? Who knows anymore?) ringing in his mind, the sand between his toes slipping away, and he is floating, up, away, into nothingness and memory—

A splash.

It takes a lot of effort to focus on it, the sound, the sensation of water.

Slow, difficult, like dragging his body through molasses, Caleb forces his way down, into his body. His eyes are still open, staring into the water. There is dampness on his face. Like coaxing a stubborn horse, he nudges his mind to follow the trail of cause and effect, to track where the water’s come from—ah, the splash. He blinks, slowly, focuses his eyes, and takes in the strange beast – elemental, his memory supplies – swimming in the shallows. He thinks the creature looks up at him, with knowing blue-green eyes, and splashes one of its wings again.

This time, he feels the water land on his face.

That’s an improvement, he thinks, distantly.

He raises one hand to wipe away the water. He thinks his hands might be shaking. He runs his hand across one cheek, then the other, and his fingers come away damp and stained with blood and dirt and gods know what else.

He lowers his hand, slow and careful. The elemental flips over in the water, sending up a spray of droplets. Caleb feels his cheeks grow damp again, and this time, he is present enough to notice it, to know where it’s coming from—he’s crying.

Ah. That makes sense, doesn’t it.

He can feel the tears gathering, now, dripping down his nose, coming faster.

He should wipe them away.

He should stop crying.

He should never – can never – stop crying, not ever again.

It tastes like salt.

“Caleb?” A pause, and then, quieter, “Caleb? You there?”

Veth. Of course. Now Caleb can feel the pressure, tentative but there, of a hand on his arm. He opens his eyes. (He doesn’t remember closing them.)

Ah. There are still tears dripping off his nose, into his beard. A mess. He’s probably worrying her, he realises. He should stop, should look at her, should apologise for all this, should—

He opens his mouth, but the only thing he manages is, “Ja?”

“There you are,” Veth says, and there’s this… gods, this fondness in her voice, that he simultaneously wants to cringe away from and bask in. The world does not deserve Veth the Brave. He most certainly does not.

Veth is still talking, he realises, and he has to make himself listen, catches, “–and we’re all fine, okay? You’re fine, you’re good, you’re safe now.”

He is not, not good, or safe, but he can’t bring himself to argue, and Veth is still saying things, and Caleb realises that at some point her arm has wound its way around her back, and she is pulling him into her, closer.

Caleb closes his eyes, and lets her, until their sides are pressed together.

They stay like that for a few moments, and Caleb lets the dual sensations of Veth’s voice and Veth’s side pressed against him keep him here, as much as he can. After a while, his head begins to feel heavy, and slowly, he lowers it, until his forehead is resting on his knees.

He’s still fucking crying, he realises. He considers trying to stop, and quickly abandons that idea. He hopes Veth isn’t worrying too much.

Veth’s voice helps. It Is harder to think every echo in his ears, every rush of breath in his chest, is Trent’s voice, when he can feel Veth, warm against him, hear her talking. It is easier to stay.

Still, it takes many moments of effort before he thinks he can move (he catalogues, as he waits, the feel of damp cloth against his face, the sound of the waves, the bursts of his other friends’ voices) and finally, he turns his head, sideways, to look at Veth.

She stops, mid-sentence, catching the movement. “There you are,” she says, and there’s this brittle cheeriness in her voice. She has always been a terrible liar, Caleb thinks, with a sudden burst of warmth.

“I am sorry,” he says, and tries not to hear how wrecked his own voice sounds. “I—thank you. Veth. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, and she reaches up, one hand coming to rest on his own cheek. “This is, I don’t know, the fourth time you’ve said sorry since we got out of there, it’s fine, you’re—” She pauses, and then shakes her head, gives his cheek a firm pat. “You’re fine, Lebby. No need for that, okay?”

Once again, Caleb considers how untrue that is, and once again, decides he’s not going to argue with Veth. “Ja, okay,” he says, and it feels like the few words have drained all the energy out of him, and he closes his eyes again.

Veth’s hand moves away from his cheek, and she presses close to him once more, and Caleb takes in one breath, two, loses count, starts again.

I think I have forgotten how to count, he thinks, again.

“Caleb?”

“Hmm?” he manages.

“Is the—shall I keep doing this? Hugging you?”

He opens his eyes at that, looks – actually looks – at Veth’s face, for the first time since he sat down here. She’s watching him, the lines of her tattoos glowing in the light, there is this furrow of worry between her brows, and this softness in her eyes. Fondness, he thinks, again. Gods. He’s fairly certain Veth’s proximity is the only thing tying him to this plane of existence right now, but he can’t quite say that, so instead, he says, “Yes. Please.”

Her face softens further, and he shuts his eyes again, because he doesn’t quite know what to do with all that emotion.

“Okay, Caleb,” she says, and her arm presses tighter around him, pulls him impossibly closer. “That’s fine. I’m here. You’re fine. I’m right here.”

That last part, at least, Caleb doesn’t think he can argue with. And the rest—well. He’ll argue that later. Time for that later.

For now, he presses into Veth’s side, and breathes in the sea-salty air, and realises he can finally feel the sand between his toes.