#this thought started out as bittersweet musings on reunions but got silly very quickly

[corishadowfang]

I want the Union Leaders to reunite (at least temporarily) not JUST because I want to see them all together again, but because I also want to see Ven go up to Brain with the biggest shit eating grin and go, "Hey, Great-Grandpa! :)"

And then just watch Brain short-circuit.

[starswornoaths]

Months and Malms Ago

Serella had thought herself the only one who had used her tomestone. Upon a chance review of what data it had collected, however, she found a recording addressed to her. A recording she had not been expecting.

Or:

Hi I didn’t need to make this depressing but I’m on my bullshit and I needed this out of my drafts it’s been here for a year h e l p.

The Steppe was beautiful in the twilight hours in its own melancholy way, Serella observed from her perch on one of the higher cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the lush landscape. The night sky was chasing after the falling sun— N’haama ever reaching out to touch her beloved Azim, ever stopped by the horizon, according to local beliefs. A belief that felt closer to home than she had felt for months now, so far away from all she knew. 

She watched the mundane nothing and everything that happened around her. With her knees curled to her chest she watched the deep blue of unimpeded night fall upon the land. Watched the way the world around her hushed itself in preparation for bed. She watched until the stars began to twinkle amidst the blue of the night sky and sighed deeply. This was both her most loved and loathed time of day, where the world was quiet enough that she could gather her thoughts— but also silent enough that she was left to them.

Still, she found solace and much needed distraction in the handheld tablet that she now pulled out of her pocket. A tomestone used to store and gather data any way it could. Truly, for how remarkable the technology was, it offered little to most; a small storage device, able to record audio, pictures, and motion but useful for little else.

For Serella, it was something to cling to.

It had been a parting gift from Cid and the Ironworks crew before she had gone to Carteneau to activate Omega. Nero had been outright aghast at Cid’s declaration that it was the bleeding edge of what Garlond Ironworks had developed in handheld technology, because, “Garlond! Do you not realize that in Garlemald there are such devices that can transmit data without connecting to another device how are you the pride of our nation?!”

Serella got the feeling that he was largely blustering at the whole ordeal for blustering’s sake. 

Though at first she had no idea what she was meant to do with it, upon her entering Ala Mhigo for the first time and drinking in the sights of the land of Uthengentle’s birth, she found its purpose. With a camera lense and ample storage, she had quickly taken to using it for taking pictures of places she had been, things that she discovered, all in anticipation of showing them to her loved ones upon her return.

Whenever that was to be, she thought bitterly.

The device itself— and every photo she took on it— quickly moved from a curiosity into a tangible piece of what will be for her— proof that this will be over, that there will be people waiting for her back home, that she will be home at all. Each photo she took was a promise to herself: I am taking this home with me. 

Turning her photos into such lofty promises of will be, however, turned into her scrutinizing every photo she had taken, scouring over them to see if there were pictures that needed deleting because she really needed to remember to move her thrice damned finger or looking for which photos she liked the most. It had become part of her ‘winding down’ ritual for the night, ever since they had landed in what felt like a whole world from home: before bedding down, she would scroll through her pictures, reminding her of how far things had already come even while she knew there was still so much more yet to go.

Still, Serella often opted to do so in solitude, whenever she could; even if the only solitude to be found was burying herself fully beneath her blankets, she took it. With the group sleeping safely within the Mol tribe’s boundaries, however, she had the liberty to scurry off to find her own solace; better no one see her and worry over her petty homesickness, she thought. Twelve knew they had all been fretting over her enough since her loss against Zenos as it was, the last thing she wanted was to add to that concern.

Nearing the end of the new photos she had taken, she raised a brow when she began to see photos she could not recall taking. She scrolled through curiously.

Photos of her— taken by Uthen, judging from the height difference between herself and the camera...and photos Uthen took of himself and his surroundings, too. Innocuous photos, all told; a shot of her stumbling through sign language with a member of the Qestir tribe back at Reunion, a shot Uthengentle took of himself with a friendly arm slung around Lyse, who in turn had an arm around Arenvald back in Rhalgr’s Reach before everything went up in flames, a shot of her enjoying a bowl of udon with Yugiri in Kugane— with his own grinning face peeking from the corner of the shot, and a slightly tilted, off center shot of a baby chocobo. She recalled that day— and that bird— because Uthengentle had slapped at her arm while tearfully insisting that she had to look at him, he’s so small but he’s doing his best Ellie look at him, as he had put it. 

She particularly liked that one— he had been an adorable little chick.

Pleasantly surprised by his additions to her collection, she closed out of her photo gallery— and after a few moments of consideration, opted to look through the rest of her tablet to see what else Uthengentle had decided to put on there without her knowledge. Sneaky shite, she thought fondly.

Scrolling through the other files and folders that she had, she had begun to think that there was nothing else when a file caught her attention— she had never bothered to check her audio folder, knowing she had recorded nothing of the sort, but upon inspection, she found there was precisely one file to be found within.

Curious, Serella mused, tapping on the icon to bring the file up. She had half expected it to be only a few seconds long, perhaps long enough for Uthen to say something silly, when she was surprised to see that it was a few minutes long— and had been sitting on her tablet for some time, if the date on it was anything to go by. Comparing the timestamp to what the current date was put it at just under a year ago.

Her frown deepened as she tried to think of why that date was significant, though quickly gave up on the attempt; even with a calendar function on the tablet, she had not paid much mind to the precise when of her leaving Eorzea, and by the time she had thought to, it was a lifetime too late, and she was left adrift. She had decided that it was better that way.

Still, she pressed play and held the speaker end up to her ear, fully expecting to hear Uthen ramble about something that he was crafting or trying to craft. Perhaps he had inspiration for a new weapon augmentation — or it might have been Cid using it to test its functionality— 

“Ella,” a voice from what felt another lifetime said softly in her ear.

It was a moment before she realized who she was hearing, though when she did, her breathing stopped. His voice continued but she had to fumble desperately to pause the recording, unable to hear his words for how her heart pounded in her chest. 

Aymeric, she thought with aching, bittersweet warmth. 

It hurt more than she was prepared for, not having immediately recognized his voice— how long had she gone without hearing it? How long had she been away from home? She had dreams of him— and the rest of her family scattered throughout Eorzea— but with absence, their details had grown hazy in her mind. Their voices were distant echoes, their touch a forgotten memory. Hearing him again brought clarity to it all— and to how much her mind had blurred to numb her to the distance. To help her cope.

The date’s significance slammed into her mind with all the force of Titan’s fist: it was the night of the Alliance’s decision to liberate Ala Mhigo, to go to war in earnest against the Empire. The last night she had seen Aymeric, tucked away in their room in the Carline Canopy before he had to journey back to Ishgard, and she to Gyr Abania. He had known of the device— she had showed the Alliance Council the data on Omega that she had collected from Carteneau on this very same screen— and must have fumbled through figuring it out to record her a message. 

A message she found a year too late.

Still, she restarted the recording and held the tablet up to her ear with a trembling hand, her throat already closing around the lump that had formed within it.

“Ella,” the recording repeated. “I know not when you will find this. It is my intent for you to find this later, after you have left— or rather, that is my hope, presuming I have this figured out.” There was a breath’s length of a pause. “Before I say aught else, I should start with an apology. For everything that you are about to go through.

“For you are leaving on the morrow— somewhere that I cannot follow you. For the Alliance has asked it of you. For I have asked it of you.” She heard him take in a soft breath, and she forced down the lump in her throat. “I know you will contest me on that point, so I will say only that I am sorry that you have to leave at all. I am sorry that you must risk yourself in ways that few others are forced to.

“Though even as I am sorry… I cannot stress how proud I am of you. How proud I have always been of you. But know that I am not only proud of you in victory— pray know that I am proud of you for trying most of all, dearest. Even should the worst come to pass, that will never change.”

“Stop,” she wheezed despite knowing he could no longer hear her, despite never wanting to stop hearing his voice again. 

Her eyes stung. Breathing became difficult— it was as if, months before she would lie broken in the blood soaked sands of another nation he whispered a reassurance he would somehow know she needed. Perhaps she had always needed it regardless. Unaware of her anguish grounded in the past as he was, Aymeric’s recording continued on, and she continued to focus her entire being on it. 

“Though while I am apologizing, I would beg forgiveness for my...reservation. Earlier. Though we have only just...come to know one another, I know not why I had ever feared your touch for how I yearned to feel it. I feared that in seeing...me, you would be reminded of all that had transpired in the Vault..and the price of my folly. That it would hurt you to even look at me.” After a pause, he added in a whisper, “Never have I been happier to be wrong.”

Now that he murmured into her ear from that night so long ago she recalled it with aching clarity, and made a mental note to chastise him for apologizing. She knew what he was referring to— he had been reluctant to take his shirt off before they made love for the first time. She’d told him he could leave it on if he so chose— she had no preference— though he insisted that he would not want to hide aught from her. As it turned out, what he feared her seeing were his scars from his time in captivity.

Understandable, but silly. She’d told him as much between kissing every single one of them. She would tell him again in her next letter, whenever she would have the next opportunity to do so.

“I,” he breathed a laugh into the microphone, soft and disbelieving. “I find it strange, speaking to you like this. Knowing you are mere fulms away from me, this seems the coward's way of expression. You deserve to hear this in person, even if I did not know you will only hear this after we have parted— and for how long will we be apart, I wonder.”

She let out a sob and instantly clapped her free hand over her mouth— she would not dilute the sound of his voice with her blubbering, of all things. The blue of the night sky blurred— and almost looked like a familiar but half remembered coat she had not seen in over a year. Or rather...how she remembered it looking.

“You have said before that there have been lovers that have left,” he said in that slow, careful tone he had when he knew he was traversing a verbal minefield. Though he had rarely used it in speaking with her, she could hardly fault him for using it now. “That there have been those who have courted you falsely, and demanded you stay when the realm would yet need you— and when you would yet need the realm. I fear this might be in the back of your mind as you march on our command, that months and malms will sever our ties.”

Her throat closed, and she nearly choked on another sob. While it had been a scarred wound, she had shown it to him, much in the same way she had shown him every scar that marred her body that night in the Canopy. He would know that this would only needle at her nerves, her fear that her obligations would burn this bridge, too.

“Pray never fear that my heart will change— Ishgardians are not bred of fairweather stock. We endure the storm for the encroaching sun, come what may.” 

When he paused again, she wept in earnest— how did he managed to always find the words that she so desperately needed to hear? Even when he was no longer beside her?

She heard a shuffling sound— she could almost picture him shifting his weight from one foot to the other in that way he did when he wanted to say more.

“And...my heart already decided some time ago, Ella. I have been careful not to say overly much; I would not burden you with myself more than I already have.” She added chastising him for thinking himself a burden to the rapidly growing list of things her next letter would contain. “All the same, it felt...important that you know, given the circumstances. I love you.” 

Her heart almost stopped beating. 

“Please know, above all else, that I love you, Serella. With all that I am.” His voice cracked, and she curled tighter into herself, squeezing her eyes shut to better try and conjure a clear image of him in her mind— and cried when she could not.

The way her heart clenched made her wonder if it would burst under the pressure, even as she felt tears trek hotly down her face. She bit her knuckle to keep her sobs quiet and prayed he still had more to say— Gods, but what he had said had already been more than enough, more than she'd ever dared hope to hear him say.

“So rather than plead with you to stay, I would ask of you this: go, Serella.” He said, his voice soft but solid in his conviction. “Go and let your light push back against the dark. I shall be waiting, praying for the Fury to shield you.” He sighed deeply. “Though that is a prayer for the dawn. For tonight...I will simply pray for the strength to say all of this to you before you leave. But if my cowardice does not leave me before we sleep, then...goodnight, Ella. I love you.”

Just like that, the recording stopped.

It was an abrupt goodbye, rather different from the lingering, hesitant farewells they had exchanged in Gridania. 

The Fury must not have heeded his prayers for courage that night: he had said none of this to her. They had made love again upon her emergence from the baths— the only time he would have had to record this message— and though they spoke in quiet whispers lying in bed together for much of the night, he had said none of this.

Though he had certainly looked like he had more to say, she had noted at the time. 

Even standing at the crossroads, where she and Uthen would continue south and he and Lucia would continue north, they had lingered where their travelling companions had taken their paths a ways to give them privacy. Aymeric had looked as though he had more that weighed on him, even then. 

And this had been it. Telling her he loved her. 

She had hoped, had wanted to tell him of her heart besides but she had feared pressuring him— doubtless he had been driven to silence for much the same reasons. 

Before she had even realized what she was doing, she was scrabbling to her feet, her limbs imbued with frenetic, desperate energy. She felt her own aether near vibrating beneath her skin with the want to go home. Just for an hour. Just for a moment. Just long enough to find him, to be reminded of what shade of blue his eyes were and tell him she loved him, too, the sweet fool, and she could—

But...no. That wouldn’t be wise, she reminded herself, even as her eyes stung all over again. Never mind what time of day it would be in Eorzea— and he would likely just be unavailable besides— she had obligations here. While nothing prevented her from just leaving for a little while, to drain herself so heavily of aether for how vast such travel was when they were on the eve of the Nadaam; in comparison to how important this was— to help the Mol tribe, but also to further aid the liberation of Doma— and later Ala Mhigo— what she felt didn’t matter. What he felt...couldn’t matter. Not yet.

Though...it could matter enough. Enough to make her fight that much harder, push herself that much farther to accomplish her goal that much sooner. 

Better he not see her like this, anyroad. With hair haphazardly growing back in all manner of directions it could, with her eyes puffy and red, and trembling like a leaf. Better she meet him on the cusp of victory, on the edge of home— ideally, after she’d been able to get a full night’s sleep in, but that was fantasy.

Obligation fettered her in place— the aether she felt prickling under her skin like a thousand needles softened and dissipated. She could wait. She was fine. Sinking like a dropped anchor she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. The other hand was already starting the recording over from the beginning, already pressing the device to her ear again that she might memorize the cadence of his voice once more. 

“Ella…” said Aymeric, and she was home again, if only for a moment.