just to allay any fears: it's not for bad reasons, quite the opposite in fact-- missus frost and i were able to save up over the last three years to restore our nest egg from surgeries and student loans to have a down payment on a new house. we are once again homeowners, sticker shock aside (seattle has a stupid expensive market sighhhh), and hopefully it's the last move we make for a long long time
anyway!
as you might guess, moving has left me with very little time to write (and that will be the case probably through into october so ffxivwrite isn't looking super likely this year either. which is just as well since i haven't even touched dawntrail LOL), but i'm hoping to return to pale dawns once the dust settles and i've finished cleaning the rental i was in so i don't have to pay both a mortgage and expensive rent on a vacant house
see yall on the other side of all this, hopefully with an update ready to go lmao
you know i feel people can write what they want but damn if my #1 biggest turnoff from reading other people's ship fics isn't seeing sexual assault used as a plot point, especially pretext for hurt/comfort. ESPECIALLY if the one doing the assaulting is someone who would literally never in their lives
i am probably not going to take a very active part in ffxivwrite this year for a lot of personal reasons (i'm not going to stop writing ffxiv fic, i've just been busy and dealing with ongoing health problems this year) so instead i am linking my older works here for anyone who wishes to read them!
a lot of things in my writing and my longfic plans have changed from when i wrote some of these, but ffxivwrite has always made for very good writing exercises and has even helped me solidify backstory for my WoL, so i've left them up to that end.
collection 1, sept 2019: tales of radiance
collection 2, sept 2020: above the tide of hours
collection 3, sept 2021: the cold heavens (still in progress as this was written while i was actively in the middle of moving out of texas ;; but tbh this collection has some of my personal favorites so i'm very fond of it still!)
collection 4, sept 2022: my tale again for me shall sing (largely wol-centric backstory)
The late summer air in Mor Dhona lacked the warmth of Ul'dah or the temperate mugginess of the Shroud but here at the edge of Silvertear Lake there was a soft, cool breeze, whispering in her hair like a mother's touch. The sun had set a good two bells past; stars twinkled in a clear sky and she could see the black outlines of trees and branches. Past that, the serenely glowing sentinel that was the Crystal Tower, a great monument reaching for the heavens.
The place where - for her, at least, in many ways - her journey had truly started.
Aurelia bent over with a soft grunt to pick up one of the stones that lay scattered amongst the shards of crystal - not from the tower or even the Calamity but the ill-fated maiden journey of the Agrius - and tested its heft in her palm. It was a goodly weight, not so heavy as to sink into the water but not too light to skip across its surface in pleasing ripples.
She perched upon a nearby outcropping of rock lying not far from a rusting chunk of steel hull, drew back her hand, and tossed the stone with a neat snapping motion. It skipped three times, four, five, before it submerged: swallowed by the dark waters around the wreckage of the dreadnought and the skeleton still wrapped about its length.
"Neatly done," called a familiar voice at her back. Aurelia smiled over her shoulder at its owner: a tall, lanky man wearing a long and leather-chased linen longcoat, the hem dusty and somewhat the worse for wear these days. The moon's watery illumination dappled patches of silver against his flaxen hair.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said. "I hope you haven't been looking for me too long."
"No." He sauntered down to the water's edge, hands in his pockets. "Mistress Tataru told me you'd gone for a walk to get some air. I thought you might be headed this direction."
"Good guess." Aurelia patted the empty space on her right. "Care to join me, Scaeva?"
"In your rock-tossing?"
"I'd hoped you might keep me company but I'll skip stones with you too, if you're willing."
"Right. One moment."
She braced her hands against the rock's surface and let herself relax, watching him pick among the crystal and sand much as she had done moments ago, and cast her eyes up to the twinkling lights in the sky. What was it Meteion had told her, back in the wastes of Ultima Thule-- the shine of those stars came from dead worlds, civilizations gone thousands upon thousands of years, centuries even, before their light had reached Etheirys... but some of those worlds might yet bloom with life once more.
Perhaps Meteion - armed now with fresh purpose - would find joy in her discoveries.
A tap on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Nero seated alongside her, holding out a handful of skipping stones with a faintly quizzical expression. "I'm all right," she reassured him. "Just thinking."
"About the...?"
He gestured, somewhat comically, in the vague direction of her stomach. Aurelia grinned at him and shook her head.
"I'm not nearly far enough along to start fretting about that - just a little tired here and there. Why? You're not worried something might happen while we're on the road, are you?"
A year ago, his pause might have worried her. Now she understood it came neither from hesitation nor a refusal to answer. She could tell by the tilt of his chin that he was simply mulling over her question and deciding how best to respond to it.
"...At the moment," he replied at length, "I think my answer is 'not particularly'. Does that satisfy you?"
"Aye, it does." Aurelia reached for his knee- bony as ever despite all that muscle of his- and gave it an affectionate squeeze. His left hand settled over hers in the same moment that his right cast a stone out across the water. Six skips.
She gave a low whistle. "You're better at this than I am."
"Am I?"
"I only managed five."
"The night is young and you've still got plenty of stones yet," he pointed out. She laughed, hefted another rock with her left hand this time, and threw. Four skips.
"So," Nero said as they both watched the water's surface tension flex and ripple. "What are you thinking about?"
Aurelia shrugged. "It really wasn't anything momentous," she said. "I was thinking about a question someone asked me. If I had enjoyed the life I've led thus far."
She thought he might laugh it off, make some wisecrack, bring a touch of levity to the discussion. Instead Nero only looked at her, turning another stone between his fingers, but not throwing.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What did you say to them?"
Aurelia looked down at his large, warm palm where it enveloped hers, still resting on his knee. "To be honest... I couldn't really give them a satisfactory response at the time," she admitted. "That's not the sort of question with a 'yes' or 'no' answer, you know?"
"Everyone has a different... threshold? I suppose?"
"Well, yes, but so much of that answer depends upon where you are." She held up another stone, studying the small fissures and veins in the weak light, "It would be like stopping a traveler on the road to Ul'dah, or somewhere, and asking them if they were having a good trip. If you're just starting out, if you've had something good happen or something bad happen or you're tired or you're excited or really any old thing."
"Right."
He threw. The stone skipped. Six.
"I've had a bit more time to reflect upon it," she continued, "and I think... I think life is about moving forward. Or trying to, anyway."
"Unfortunately I know plenty of people who would argue that point - not that I'd take their opinions much under advisement."
"What I mean is... think about when you first came to Eorzea. Knowing what you know now, would you have rather stayed the course? Contented yourself with whatever research projects they allowed you to touch-"
"Yes, yes, I take your point. You're asking if I regret my decision to accept my losses, start anew, et cetera and no. I don't. Not even a little bit these days. The things I care about now are here."
"Well, that's a very sweet-"
"Lucrative contracts."
She scoffed. "Pillock."
"Caught you out."
"Because you were saving that one."
Nero didn't miss a beat. "Like a fine Dalmascan vintage."
"Awful man. I ask a serious question-"
"Well, you didn't let me finish, did you? What I have now, and I've no intention of giving up, is freedom. I can pursue any project I like. Go anywhere I wish."
"Friends," she pointed out. "You have those now."
"Aye. And Garlond." He paused, lips stretching in a slight rictus. "...Do me a solid, sweetling, don't tell him I said that. He's a big enough bloody head right now as it is what with me deciding to become a full-time engineer with his company. I'd never hear the end of it if he knew the truth."
Aurelia managed to keep a straight face. Only just.
"My lips are sealed."
"You're on that list of mine too, just so you know." Nero nudged her with a full-body lean until she leaned back with a soft chuckle. "But judging by that question I don't imagine you have many regrets yourself."
"No," she answered without hesitation. "Had I stayed I'd have... well, it's hardly worth musing upon now. But that's what I meant by asking. People don't ever really stay in one place. Not in my experience."
A glance at Nero's face showed a distant expression, eyes as far away as the light of the stars in the rift above.
"Good old Varis would have had me making more and more elaborate weapons until I was no longer of use-- or until that entire miserable house of cards finally collapsed beneath its own weight, as we saw. I'll not pretend it didn't take losing everything to have that moment of self-reflection, but for what it's worth I think we're of one mind. I don't believe it's in man's nature to stagnate, and that isn't a bad thing." He removed his hand from hers and stretched, biting back a small yawn. "It's certainly not in mine."
Aurelia smiled. "It never has been."
"Your turn."
"What?"
"You've still got one stone left."
"Hmm."
The light of Syrcus' massive spire caught her eye once more and the question resurfaced, like a stone washing up on the shore of an ancient lake.
And have you enjoyed your journey? Has it been good?
Tell me, my mirror. The life you chose-- did it bring you fulfillment?
Two different people in two wildly different contexts, one fundamentally identical question.
Was there one single answer? She still didn’t know.
I thought about giving up more than once. But I didn't. I set my feet forward, one before the other, even through the worst of it, and followed the road where it led me. I made choices, good and bad. I learned how to live with my mistakes and grow from them. I learned what love is, and I learned how to accept it. And I'm still learning.
They sat in uncharted territory now. The ancients were gone along with their grand dreams and terrible dooms, and with them Zodiark and Hydaelyn alike: the final vestiges of that long-bygone age. Silvertear Lake was just a lake now (though she didn't doubt it would see Midgardsormr's renewal eventually). Etheirys - their star - was just a star. One of the countless many spinning through the vast expanse.
Take your new life and live it, her mother still whispered.
Life was about moving forward. Even in this moment, they were only passing through to the next.
The breeze had returned, ruffling her hair. Aurelia shut her eyes for a long moment, reveling in it, before she opened them again. It was a beautiful clear night in the best company she could think of, the future stretched before them as a long and unknown road, and her only goal was to find whatever might lie over the next horizon.
Yes, she decided. The journey has been good.
Aurelia cast the final stone and watched as it sailed in seven smooth skips across the water.
"...Suppose we'll call it a draw," Nero said.
She slipped her arm about her companion's waist with a laugh. Together, the two adventurers turned their gaze to the heavens. The sea of stars wound a path around the tower and beyond like an uncharted path all its own.
Nights in Garlemald were so cold that one could hardly call them pleasant but this one seemed to fling all its fury into the teeth of the Broken Glass encampment, with a wind so fierce it shook the windows and blew debris into stone walls, and knocked several outdoor pavilions askew. Even the most stalwart of the Ishgardians had fled into either the infirmary or the command pavilion.
Vahne supposed the streets would look as eerily deserted as they had upon the contingent's arrival, had the streets actually been visible. All she could see out the thin panes of glass - radiating a cold that no heater could dispell - was a wall of white.
Most of the time the infirmary was deathly quiet save the loud moan or scream but just now it was alive with the bustle of a moving camp. Grand Company soldiers and steppe warriors and Resistance officers filed in and lifted bed frames and rolls alike, helping conjurers and chirurgeons make room for those seeking shelter.
Something shifted in her peripheral vision and she startled, suddenly enough to make the tray in her hands jump and one of its contents rattle alarmingly. She felt quite foolish when she turned to look and saw only a tall Xaela man helping an Ala Mhigan in a snow-dusted fatigue jacket to haul one of those ceruleum-powered heaters from the pavilions into the room.
Thank the gods, finally!
At their back stood Ser Lucia Junius, commander of Ishgard's Temple Knights. The woman's gauntleted hand lifted, pointing to the corner closest to Vahne and her patient, and she was saying something to the two men that was just barely out of earshot. If Vahne listened very carefully maybe she could...
Her ears swiveled forward even as she pretended to busy herself with the tray.
"...should have enough fuel to keep these running through the storm," Ser Lucia was saying, a frown knitting her brow. The tall, beautiful Ishgardian knight was possibly the most formidable woman Vahne had ever met. She spoke even less than Aurelia did but her presence managed to fill a room regardless of her reserve, and her voice - quiet and even as it usually was - always held the air of unquestioned command. Her men all deferred to her without question, as did most of the contingent. Even that loud black haired noble boy who was always picking fights with the pirates. "We'll want to make certain the airships and tanks are secured. The last thing we need is for all our fuel to be scattered across the Magna Glacies because of these straight-line winds."
"Ma'am, I don't know that there's room for the crates in here," the Ala Mhigan man said, expression openly apologetic. "There's barely room for us and the heaters as it is. Could we not draw them up next to the building and lash them down with rope, or summat? On the leeward side?"
Ser Lucia crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the floor in silence, clearly puzzling it through. "We'll secure the crates outside against that lamp post," she said at last. "Bring three tanks inside for each location and three days' supply of rations. A-Ruhn-Senna will make it work."
"Yes'm. What about the other units? Across the plaza?"
"Relay the order to the others by linkpearl. Do what you can to shield the rest of the supplies from this wind, but make sure you take partners and don't stray from each other's sight. And don't attempt to cross the plaza. It's too dangerous right now."
She didn't sound particularly concerned about the storm, in all honesty, but it was probably for their benefit. Ser Lucia had lived here once and then in Coerthas so Vahne had no doubt she was used to weather like this and knew just how nasty it could get. She couldn't even see to the street from here and that wasn't exactly encouraging but she figured her job was to help keep the patients safe and comfortable.
Having decided to leave the matter in the other woman's obviously capable hands she turned her attention back to her patient. As they were currently short handed the chirurgeons had shown her how to change out the bag hanging on that little metal stand next to the bed when it started running low. Vahne was not a little fascinated to have found out that it was... not food exactly, but it was doing something to sustain him while he lay comatose, and that was the important part.
As always Vahne kept her eye on him while she worked, looking for any change at all. These last two days he had started to make small sounds in his sleep and she was quite sure she'd seen his fingers twitch against the coverlet a time or two, but she still wasn't certain the latter hadn't been a trick of the light. So she hadn't reported it to A-Ruhn-Senna. Not yet.
A sudden gust screamed around the warehouse and rattled the glass in the windows.
The lights flickered overhead. She heard alarmed cries from the other room, and someone a few fulms away muttering curses-- one of the two men who'd brought in the heater. The Xaela had excused himself, and the Highlander was struggling to get the heater working. There was a tall, thin man in the blue and white of the Garlond Ironworks now alongside him; Vahne hadn't seen him come in.
"We've got to get the pilot light going," he muttered. "Before it gets worse out there."
"You would think the Garleans would have better ways to deal with this weather."
"I don't think there's really much dealing with it, unless by 'deal with' you mean 'survive,' " the engineer said with a shake of his head. "It's the same in Coerthas. The weather is what it is and you do what you can to live, and in a storm this bad all bets are off."
"Odd that you lot can't get the lights on in the buildings. I thought I saw a fuse box near the door."
"Aye, and without knowing where the power grid for this town is located those boxes might as well be wall hangings for all the use they've been, mate. Our generators on the other hand... now if aught happens to them, we'll--"
I'm not going to listen to this anymore. No sense in worrying about problems I can't help solve, she told herself.
Her patient, of course, had nothing to say, still locked in slumber two days after his last tempering treatment. His still, drawn features -- the blue-black hair and long sooty eyelashes that flickered against his cheeks, the prominent nose with the slightly curved slope from its bridge -- had become a familiar sight to her over the past handful of days. What surprised her was how young he appeared to be, despite the marks of rank she'd seen on the sleeves of his heavy military coat (now tucked and folded neatly in the small box by his bed along with the rest of his uniform).
Vahne gently picked up his hand and winced. Cold as ice, and his fingertips were red.
Close proximity to the window had worsened the chill in this corner. She set it down on the mattress and reached for the fur-lined gloves in her pocket. They were warm, she noted, as she slipped them on with a relieved sigh.
With another glance at the blind white of the blizzard outside she wrapped her two hands about his fingers and started to rub as carefully as she could. She didn't want to hurt him on accident but perhaps the friction would help. Until the engineer got the heater in this corner working, there wasn't much else she could do but at least she could keep the poor man from getting frostbitten while he lay senseless.
"Hells," she grumbled after a few minutes of it. Her arms were starting to feel strain from the effort and his hands didn't really feel much warmer than they had been when she started.
A frown knitted her brow as her eyes scanned the room. Aside from the men setting up the heater most of the people in here were patients who had been moved from the other side of the partition and the small handful of chirurgeons and conjurers weaving their way through the makeshift ward. The people in the middle of the room appeared comfortable enough-- as much as it was possible to be in a field hospital in the middle of Frozen Arse-End, Ilsabard, at any rate. She could probably get an extra blanket from someone over there.
All of a sudden there was a sharp, bright sound like a snap and the room was plunged into darkness. Startled shouts erupted from the other room.
"What happened?" That was Ser Lucia.
"Blown fuse," someone else called- one of the other Ironworks folk, Vahne supposed. “We've been running the bleedin' things nonstop, 'twas bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I assume you’ve parts on hand to repair it.”
“Aye, Commander, we’ve spare parts on hand. It’s a simple fix. Half bell at the outside."
The rest of the conversation wound onward, and amidst the orders and the rising sounds of restlessness from the other end of the building, Vahne tried to think while she held that limp, chilled hand. Keepers had good night vision and the dark that impeded everyone else's ability to move about posed no particular problem for her. The engineer and his... assistant? had found a tiny light somewhere, maybe that penlight thing like Aurelia had, so they could keep working on the malfunctioning heater, but in the meantime she had to do something to warm her patient up again.
Sighing, she gently squeezed his cold fingers, then patted the back of his hand. "It's bloody freezing over here. I'm going to go get you another blanket," she told him. If this doesn't work I'll just... I don't know, I'll try and see if my gloves will fit him or something. I can go without them for a little while.
Vahne moved to stand up.
The cold fingers draped over her palm spasmed, then gripped hers in an answering squeeze.
"Attention, all passengers: the 1030 departure from Regio Urbanissima to the Scalae is on schedule and will arrive in 2 minutes. Please remain behind the white line until the vehicle has come to a complete stop."
The bland announcement brought the present back into sharp focus.
Today was a day much like that one had been: cold, overcast, the air redolent with the smell of water and levin. Another storm was on its way.
And just as she'd done six years ago, Aurelia jen Laskaris led a van-- of sorts. This time, however, she was not adorned in black crepe and chiffon to bury her father. She stood alone at the platform wearing the unmarked black uniform she'd been assigned, a freshly enlisted servicewoman of no rank. The single bag of personal belongings she'd been allowed sat upon the corrugated steel flooring at her feet.
Soon the train would arrive to bear her away to Castrum Pinnaculum for basic training along with the other nervous and fresh-faced youths nearby, and this new chapter of her life would begin in truth.
She was following in the footsteps of her father after all, or at least that was how her uncle had seemed to view her decision. Not that Uncle Janus was what she would have termed happy about the situation. His niece had acquiesced to his terms by the precise letter, but by accepting this change in circumstances he risked a great deal of goodwill with the parents of her betrothed, as well as that of his own wife.
Aurelia had held her counsel until the most timely moment. That moment had come the day after her matriculation ceremony. She had sat her aunt and uncle down for 'an important discussion' of unspecified length, only to calmly inform them that she would not be marrying Sebastian wir Acisculus that summer as planned.
Aunt Marcella, as Aurelia predicted, had been fit to have kittens.
--
"You can't do this! We've already signed the contract!"
Aurelia was not moved.
She had braced herself for her aunt's inevitable attempts to sway her decision. That resolve was present in every part of her now: from the even note of her voice to the rigidity of her posture, even the cold composure visible within the hard shine of her indigo eyes.
Vanity and self-assurance had only reinforced their collective sense of superiority. It didn't surprise her. The Empire's highborn valued displays of strength and ruthlessness, believing it granted them the authority to rule. They hadn't dreamed that she might simply defy them, let alone in a way that would render them unable to do anything but let her have her way. None of them had. Uncle Janus, Aunt Marcella, Sebastian, even her own father-- they had all thought her weak. Unfit to dictate the terms of her own life.
She wanted them to see the steel in her bones. Only then would they understand the grievous mistake they had made.
"I think you'll find I can do this, aunt. And I have."
"But-"
"Duty in the legions is compulsory even for imperial citizens, as you are both aware. Whether I serve now or later, I must serve." Aurelia took no small pleasure in throwing that particular line back in Aunt Marcella's face; she watched the woman's cheeks drain of color before blooming more livid than before. "If Lord Sebastian wishes dearly enough to have my hand, he will be more than willing to wait for it."
Janus van Laskaris, having sat in inscrutable silence since her announcement, cleared his throat and stood from the plush comfort of his great chair with a faint wince. From temple to jaw his muscles seemed locked in place: hard and unyielding as the mountains. Aurelia tensed, but held her ground. She knew the law- had studied it to the letter before making her decision.
He held up four fingers.
"One tour," he said. "You are allowed to prolong your engagement for one tour. After that is done and you return to Garlemald, you will do as you are bid and fulfill your obligations. That is more than generous, I think you will agree."
Strictly speaking, Aurelia could have wed before she was due to depart the city. But she knew neither her aunt nor her future mother by marriage would have found such a rushed and quiet affair to be acceptable. Weddings were pageantry, the manner in which families announced their alliances. The whole of the capital had to bear witness. It was their pride, their vanity, which had provided her this opportunity.
The irony of it - and her own intense relief - almost made her smile. Almost.
--
The metal screech of brakes and a thunderous clatter filled her ears.
She watched the train reduce its speed and draw even with the platform. It slowed to a stop with a loud hydraulic hiss.
Aurelia was sweating despite the chill in the air and knew it was from her anxiety. She tried to distract herself by watching the others: now that their departure was imminent, the families of the other enlisted crowded around them to wish emotional farewells. She could hear the tears of mothers, the gruff affirmations of fathers, the shouts of younger siblings and even children giving their own well wishes.
Neither her aunt nor her uncle had deigned to accompany her to the station. No doubt this was their most unsubtle way of showing their displeasure at her defiance, even for this trivial rebellion-- if one could even call joining the imperial army a 'rebellion' at all.
She was exhilarated. She was terrified. Always before her resistance had shown itself in small, petty ways: little more than the restless beating of a songbird's wings, easily ignored by its captors.
Since early childhood she had been the misfit, an interloper standing just shy of the cozy circle that seemed to shelter the rest of her kin and countrymen from the cold and fury of a world hostile to their existence. A misshapen cog by design, unable and unwilling to reshape itself to fit neatly with the others. Even when she was very young it had all seemed so inevitable, this narrow and uneventful mapping from birth to death.
It chafed at the edges of her soul in ways she could never quite define.
I wish... I wish that I had another life. A different life.
Mama, always a free spirit even among her own peers, would have supported her dreams. Sazha certainly would have at least tried-- but the last six years spent alone with no solace save the drive to complete her education had ground all the wishful thinking out of her. Both of them were gone, whether to the grave or to the vicissitudes of fate, and her daydreams were just that. Daydreams. Naught in the end save a meaningless escape, and on their own they could change nothing.
Unbidden she thought of her father's coffin and its lonely path up through the Via Urbanissima. That display of mourning in the capital, no matter how ostentatious, would never change the fact that he had died alone: drowned in his despair and loss to the exclusion of all else, trapped in the mire of his own bitterness. Largely unmourned, with not even the comfort of his wife's presence alongside him in death.
At the time she had thought it rather apropos. As an adult, she thought it unbearably sad.
Aurelia didn't want to end up like her father. Not ever. If that meant navigating a new and uncharted course - even if she secretly feared that everyone was right and she was ill-suited to a life beyond the relatively comfortable and sheltered surrounds in which she had existed this far- then so be it.
This wasn't freedom. Not really. But making her own choice was worth living with her mistakes.
Shouldering her bag and crossing the platform line into the empty car, Aurelia jen Laskaris forged ahead.
For a mercy there was no snow this morning, although the fat grey clouds overhead lay bloated with the promise of more to come. They hung thick and close in the sky over the procession winding up the road past the Palatium Novum and towards the upper reaches lying beyond the wall that split the city in twain.
Attendees and onlookers alike watched from the sidewalks, their expressions running the gamut from idle curiosity to pinched solemnity. In truth precious few of them had known the dead man at all, let alone well. But his family name was a noble one and carried some considerable weight within military circles, and the families of the imperial aristocracy - while still ranked well below the importance and puissance of the emperor himself - had upon the dissolution of the republic retained the rights to their old funerary traditions when one of their so-called 'great men' passed.
Aurelia privately suspected that this particular bit of concession owed itself not to lingering respect for the traditions of the old republic's ruling class, but merely to the old man's well-known love of the theatrical even amongst his own people. Never mind if he had actually known her father or not. That was immaterial.
Naturally, she had no intention of voicing that thought aloud to anyone. She wasn't that much of a fool.
Traffic on the road had been rerouted to clear a path all the way from the Enceladeum, where the transport holding her father's remains had docked to await preparations for a final interment. Burial was a rare luxury in the far north. Even with the country's relative prosperity in the wake of its industrial revolution, in the capital itself that was still a privilege afforded only to the nobility, and most were interred in stone mausolea near the imperial palace.
Despite the relative fame she had enjoyed in theater circles as a composer, even with imperial favor and recognition of her marriage, Aurelia's mother -- a commoner by birth -- was allotted no space in the family crypt. She had been placed upon a simple pyre and her ashes scattered, in far-off Dalmasca.
All that Julian rem Laskaris had done to escape the fate that his family had mapped for him appeared to have come to naught in the end. Her father would be buried alone. Bereft even in death of the woman he had sacrificed so much to keep at his side, had adored beyond anything and anyone else in his life-- even his own child.
It seemed to Aurelia an appropriately tragic bookend to a short and unhappy life. The realization penetrated even the dull cloud that surrounded her emotions.
So thinking, silent and morose, she led the van behind the bier: a transport outfitted for the occasion, draped with the ivory flag and its tripartite chain links and framed with roses and lilies. They were vibrant, the only other color to be seen from the sides of the road, and they were an illusion. Each flower had been alchemically preserved as a safeguard against the elements. It wouldn't do if they were to wilt before the coffin had completed its journey.
Julian rem Laskaris' daughter appeared to be in deep mourning herself, shambling in a haze behind the transport all in black crepe from head to toe, a veil obscuring her features from the gathered mourners and curious onlookers. It fluttered in the wake of her steps and nearly obscured her view of the grim-faced soldiers lining the last few yalms of the street up to the gate.
Ahead the Ist Imperial Legion in their black and scarlet held their gunblades aloft, a gesture of intended respect as she and the other members of her family drew near. The curvature of the swords formed a steel half-arch as the coffin passed.
As she made her way forward, shoes crunching upon the gravel, Aurelia felt oddly like a ghost or a wraith or perhaps some otherworldly creature born of the snow and ice that blanketed this frozen wasteland, left to wander for an eternity amidst the detritus of her old life. Passing beneath a gauntlet of watchful eyes and stiff salutes and the honor guard that flanked them.
A lone orphan playing at grief just as the flowers played at beauty.
No doubt Solus zos Galvus was enjoying the pageantry of it all from his palace windows.
"It's just reading Azem's incident report during the opening minutes," the snowy-tressed youth across the table pointed out, not at all helpfully, Hades thought. He slumped in his chair with a huff- one his companion either didn't hear or (more likely) studiously ignored in favor of his tea. "It's not the end of the world."
"Yes, Themis. I'm aware."
"Then you should be well-equipped to stand in."
"One would think the most intuitive solution in this case would be to simply have Azem do it. I'm not her keeper; she can read her own minutes for all the trouble she caused."
"She's serving out her censure."
"This can't wait until she returns?"
"No. Several of the others are still quite put out over the incident."
"An incident which you enabled. Elidibus."
"That was not me," Themis said between sips of his tea, with infuriating calm. "The Chief Architect put the idea in her head-"
"For which I have had words and more with him, I assure you."
"-and in any case, he was my first choice, but he doesn't return from Elpis until tomorrow."
Hades shoved an errant lock of hair out of his eyes and slumped over his half-eaten sandwich with a scowl. "How convenient."
"You can gloss over the uninteresting bits."
"That's the problem. There aren't any."
"Any what?"
"Uninteresting bits. It's Azem," he grouched. "She could manage to turn grass growing into one of her absurdly over-escalated misadventures."
Thoughtfully, Themis drummed his fingertips against the polished wood grain.
"Speaking of grass growing... now that you mention it, there was that one incident with Halmarut's greenhouse. And the mishap when that aphrodisiac creation of hers-"
"No," Hades said flatly, in a 'we are not discussing this in public' tone, trying his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Themis' grin only widened.
"As I recall, most eminent Emet-Selch," he was starting to sound more and more like Hythlodaeus by the moment, "you were personally involved in that particular incident."
Hades covered his face with his hands. It didn't help. His ears were turning red.
"Stop."
"Of course, if you were to distract me with Azem's report - in excruciating detail - I might find myself distracted enough to forget about it."
"All right!! All right," he exploded, nearly knocking his lunch aside to draw himself upright as he reached for his mask, "I'll do it. You owe me, Elidibus."
His young colleague's smile was as bright as the sun. Now that he'd got his way, of course it was. That soft face and gentle smile were deceptive; there was a monster under that mask, Hades decided. A sly, devious joint creation of Hythlodaeus and Azem's sent to torment him personally in their absence.
The rhythmic clatter of the passenger car's wheels over the steel tracks might have sent her to sleep under any normal circumstance but Aurelia jen Laskaris was far too anxious to feel its soporific pull.
She stared out the window and chewed absently on the lock of golden hair she'd wrapped around her index finger. It was another cold afternoon, though a clear one for once; the sun shone sharp and brittle where it angled through the thick plate glass, its tepid warmth broken now and again by tall iron-braced flats and the steep rooftops of homes and shopfronts. Her school bag with its logbook and fountain pen and tomes lay before her, completely untouched. The finals were coming quickly - her final finals - and she couldn't find the wherewithal to care.
Ever since the announcement of her betrothal to Sebastian wir Acisculus, it had been a struggle to make herself read anything at all, even a ten-gil pulp novel. All of the joy Aurelia had taken in learning about the things she loved seemed to have vanished almost overnight, replaced by a constant undercurrent of impending doom. She had received nothing even resembling a reprieve from the business of planning and celebratory events. Every other night - for weeks, it seemed - there had been a fight between herself and Aunt Marcella: Aurelia cursing her aunt and uncle for their duplicity, her aunt excoriating her for her selfishness and her stubborn refusal to "accept the inevitable."
Well, it wasn't inevitable. Not yet, and Aurelia was just as determined to avoid the altar as they were to drag her onto it. She'd have even prayed to the Twelve for deliverance, if she had thought it would do the slightest bit of good.
But she wasn't sure this choice was really any better. Every muscle in her body felt locked and something in her chest coiled over and over until she felt like she was going to jitter apart. She hadn't told anyone about this, not even Thea, one of the few people with whom she could claim any real rapport. She didn't know what was going to happen. She didn't know if the army would actually accept her.
She didn't even really know if she'd taken the correct train. This wasn't her usual route nor was it even her usual ride -- the Mark LXIX passenger train was the most direct route out of the Universitates and it was taking the route that bypassed the palace to reach the station which would lead her back to the Laskaris villa after a quarter-malm stroll.
Today she was going the opposite direction. Her family did retain a chauffeur who escorted them to formal functions and the like, and he had driven her to the Academy grounds more than once. She could have requested his services today without raising suspicion, but the taciturn Elezen man was unswervingly loyal to his employers and Aurelia didn't trust him not to go straight to her uncle. The transit pass allowed her some small measure of anonymity.
Watching the scenery didn't soothe her but neither did thinking about where she was headed. Or what it was she was about to do.
Aurelia bit savagely once again on the ends of her hair as the train wound its way towards the mouth of the tunnel.
~*~
"Can I help you?"
The woman at the desk wore a scarlet-trimmed black uniform with no identifying insignia. Aurelia had not expected to see anyone in plate armor, of course; this was the lower floor of the Senaculum Imperialis, after all, not a castrum. But it felt vaguely intimidating when paired with an austere coiffure and a hard and unfriendly gaze, and she had to fight not to squirm.
"Ah-" she cleared her throat. "I, um."
"Spit it out, girl. I don't have all day."
When the words finally came they fell out of her mouth in a loud and nervous rush.
"Master Philetus. The acting Academy provost, he-he gave me this card and said I should call for an appointment. Which I meant to call earlier and I'm very sorry, I lost track of time and I thought I misplaced it but then yesterday I remembered I put this card in my pass case so I called and they said to come here so-"
"One moment, please." Still looking as though she would rather be anywhere else the woman squinted at a console screen, took a moment to tap on the keys, then squinted back up at her. "Laskaris? Aurelia?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sit over there." She jabbed her finger in the direction of a nearby chair. "I'll let Lord Vitus know you've arrived and call when he’s ready."
"Thank you."
No answer. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.
Feeling quite awkward now and more than a little tempted to simply walk out the door, Aurelia made her way over to the chair. Just a bit over an arm's length away sat the room's ceruleum space heater, and in moments it was so warm she had to shrug out of her coat. There wasn't any place to put it so she draped her coat and muffler over her legs and put her school bag on top of that.
She rolled her jumper sleeves up to her elbows and winced at the sight of the fingerprint bruises on her left forearm. They were just a faint discoloration really, and she doubted anyone else would notice, but she could trace the outline well enough at a glance.
Heedless of the uncomfortable heat in the room for a moment, she shivered.
--
"So this is where you went."
Sebastian's murmur was more akin to a purr, soft and deep. Aurelia supposed in any other context, if she had wanted any part of this, it might have been an appealing or even seductive sound. As it was, that voice put her in mind of a tiger making circles around its prey- hoping to bat it around for a moment or two to stun it before moving in for the kill.
Her hands gripped the balcony rail until they ached beneath her silk gloves.
All I wanted was a moment to myself. Can I not have even that?
"Will you not join me in the ballroom, dearest? Take a turn about the floor?"
Aurelia didn't move, didn't even try to look at him. Her eyes remained fixed upon the ice sculpture below, surrounded as it was by roses - the poor things, she thought. She could see how brittle and frost-touched the leaves were from here, on the edge of wilting.
She let out a quiet, shaking breath.
"Why?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I want to know why."
"Yes, well, I'm not quite certain I understand the question."
Oh, I think you do. "Your title means you claim some relation to Solus zos Galvus himself. Surely there were far more optimal choices available to you than I, if you wished to find yourself a wife."
"I see. Then you believe I am marrying below my station?"
She decided not to mince words. "Yes."
"Hmm." A pause, then: "Well, you're probably right about that."
He said it as casually as if she had asked him about the weather. That made his actions all the more baffling to her- if he knew as well as she did that they were mismatched, then why had he been so determined to have her in particular? Aurelia knew full well that no ambitious man seeking to improve his social status would have chosen the orphaned child of a second son, gentlewoman or not, unless he thought he stood to gain something from it.
But if not that, then what?
"Then you should understand my question, my lord. Why did you pick me?"
"What do you want to hear? Should I tell you it was your eyes?” he said, in a voice dripping with boredom if not contempt. Aurelia knew this game; it was a calculated jab to hurt her pride, no doubt in retaliation for the manner in which she’d once wounded his. “Your lips? Your hair?"
She didn’t rise to his bait.
"I want the truth."
"The truth? Very well."
Aurelia forced herself not to jump at the large hand she felt settling against the small of her back. Be calm, she told herself. Controlled. The moment she allowed him to see that he had unsettled her--
"My pater has told me in no uncertain terms that they expect me to settle down and marry lest he and mother choose to cut the purse strings. 'Twould seem Mama in particular disapproves of my personal pursuits."
"So this is about your inheritance."
"Indeed. They ordered me to select from amongst my peers a young lady of respectable family, one with enough money of her own to cast no avaricious eye upon the family coffers. She must be reasonably accomplished but even of temper, docile, and uncomplicated. About as interesting as dirty dishwater, in order words. But sacrifices are necessary if I wish to keep what is mine. Otherwise, everything goes to my brother."
Her cheeks burned, but with anger rather than embarrassment. He might as well have called me a cow.
"If you think me docile, my lord," she put as much chill into her voice as she could summon forth, "you have made a grave mistake."
Aurelia had hoped it would put him off, or at least anger him. Instead, Sebastian wir Acisculus laughed-- a sound as cold and cruel as winter.
"Given the audacity you had to spurn me as you did, I certainly hope not," he said. "All the better. At least I might expect a bit of spirit in my bed when it comes time to breed you."
The hand on her back snaked about her waist to drag her backwards, away from the balcony railing, and before she could react his mouth was on hers. She braced her hands against his chest to shove him away but he was stronger than she had thought and when she gasped, trying to draw in a breath, he forced her mouth to open and yield to the sweep of his tongue. The hand that grasped her shoulder now cupped her breast, palming it through the fine silk, and squeezed.
Revolted, panicked beyond reason, Aurelia reacted upon sheer animal instinct.
Her teeth sank into his tongue. He let out an undignified yelp and recoiled immediately, and the moment she had enough space to do it, she slapped him as hard as she could.
The blow was enough to stagger him and Aurelia took advantage of it to back through the doors into the empty room, hand still raised in silent warning.
Her intended spat out a mouthful of blood and gave her the most baleful glare she had ever seen.
Two strides closed the distance between them with a speed that terrified her, but this time his hand wrapped about her forearm and squeezed until she feared the bone would break under the pressure. She cried out as much in alarm as the pain. That giddy sense of triumph she felt - the control she'd wrested from him for just that instance - evaporated in moments, replaced with a black surge of fear. There was no one in the garden to see their altercation, not with everyone at their dinner, and clearly there was no one in this room, either. If he chose to strike her, or worse-
Abruptly Sebastian released his grip.
It was Aurelia’s turn to stumble backward; she nearly tripped over her heels and fell, and it was only the fear of what he might do if she showed herself at his mercy that allowed her to maintain her balance. She had thought he might come after her a second time, but he remained where he was and straightened his jacket, spat out towards the balcony once more, then reached into one pocket.
Aurelia watched him draw a handkerchief and wipe his reddened lips. His expression was now so neutral it was as if her resistance meant nothing, but as before the rage in his eyes gave lie to his calm. She knew it by the irises that glittered as hard as flecks of mica in the half-light.
He looked like a cornered predator. Feral and furious.
"You'll pay for that, wife," he said, in a voice so cold and quiet it made her tremble. "All in good time."
His arrogance and entitlement, his cruel indifference - his vindictiveness in choosing her only to punish her for daring to spurn him - all of those things were bad enough on their own.
His malice was worse. Far worse.
Clutching her throbbing arm to her chest, Aurelia fled the room.
--
Two days later, the incident still seemed somehow unreal: burned into her memory in a way that felt like a bad dream. She almost couldn't believe it had happened. That he had dared to lay a hand to her at all, much less threaten her for defending herself-- Aurelia could only think that he felt himself so secure in his ownership of her already that it made no difference if she had seen his true colors or not.
The worst part of it was knowing how alone she was in truth. Even if she went to her aunt and uncle about what he'd done, it would not change a single thing. She would still have to wed him.
Dully she pulled her sleeves back down. At least the bruises had faded. That was something.
That was also the night she'd remembered she had the card with the number for the recruitment office. The moment she was alone and was sure her aunt and uncle had retired for the night Aurelia had curled up on her bed and sobbed into her pillow, spent her terror and rage as best she could, and after a cup of warm milk had gone digging through all of her handbags. Finally she had checked her pass case to find the card with the switchboard number sandwiched between two incomplete punch cards for a free twelve-onze coffee.
Aurelia doubted this would free her from her betrothal obligations in the long run, but it hardly mattered. She saw the writing on the wall. Trapped in a marriage of convenience with a man who despised her, or four years of compulsory duty in the imperial legions-- and the latter was the only escape hatch she had.
The irony of it didn't amuse her at all. It was awful. Some poor cosmic jest at her expense.
The door across the room opened, bringing an abrupt end to her gloomy thoughts. It was the woman who had been at the desk. "Miss Laskaris," she said. "The pilus will see you now."
It wasn't the choice she wanted to make. It was barely a choice at all.
But it was a choice.
Gathering her coat and slinging her school bag over her shoulder, Aurelia followed her into the recruiter's office.
The skies over Mor Dhona had threatened rain for the last two days. That in itself was not out of the ordinary; Revenant's Toll lay very near a large rainforest and the humidity in the air blanketed the camp in a haze. On the far side of the lake the scars from the ill-fated journey of the HRS Agrius weren't visible, but on a clear day the wreckage of the hull and the corse wrapped about it could be seen for malms in any direction.
Today though all L'sazha Tia could see was the outline of the great wyrm's wings, and that only vaguely.
Night had fallen a bell past and the fire in front of him illuminated only a ring of pavilions. Beyond that, other figures in uniform like himself, huddled in circles as if to guard each other.
All of them, like himself, waiting for word.
Sazha sighed, chestnut-colored tail lashing with poorly concealed restlessness against the crate upon which he sat. He'd slept ill the night before and had only managed about half the food from his mess-tin. His crew had given him a worried glance but had taken the opportunity to go find coffee, giving him a moment to himself.
The small and simply carved wooden box in his hand was neither from his homeland nor anywhere in Eorzea. He knew it was made of red pine lumber, cured and treated in Corvos and a rare sight in Eorzea. Red pine lumber sold for a princely sum, as hulls made from the stuff could withstand extremes in weather -- far beyond the pockets of most privateers like himself.
Regardless, the little box wasn't as important as its contents. The notched lid was meant not to lift but to slide open and shut, which he did now with a swipe of his fingertip. Silver caught the nearby firelight until the bauble within seemed to wink at him. He lifted it up; it was actually rather good-sized, dangling with some weight from its chain.
Sazha caught the pendant in his palm and let the chain drop, then ran his nail gently along the seam until the catch popped open and the contents were visible. The small braided lock of hair inside was somewhat the worse for time, its green ribbon having frayed and faded a shade or two, but the little pressed purple flower and its seeds appeared intact-- as did the picture on the opposite side. The woman in it was not one he knew, but the face was similar to one he did.
"Captain?"
Immediately he snapped the locket shut, dropped it back in the box, and closed the lid.
His first mate stood on the other side of the campfire with two steaming mugs, one in each hand. Her normally bright smile was muted - she was as worried as he was. "I saw you stay behind," she said, circling the pit to perch upon a nearby stool, "so I told Sparrow I'd get you a mug while I was in the queue. Save you some trouble."
It wasn't a cold night, but it was damp enough that he accepted the drink gratefully. "Thanks, Bryn."
"Anytime. What was it you were looking at just now?"
Sazha considered concealing it for a moment before he shrugged. What was the harm in telling her, he thought.
"It was a parting gift," he handed her the box, "from a childhood friend of mine when I went away with the imperial army. About... oh, seven years ago? Give or take? You can open it if you want, just be very careful. It's an antique, I think."
"I will. How does it open?"
"It's a Corvosi puzzle box. Use your finger to slide the top right."
Sazha looked down into the fire and took a sip from the mug as she peered into the locket. He had promised Bryn a long time ago he would always be honest with her when she asked questions about his past - a rare concession from most adventurers - but one that was important to him. And it wasn't as if the box's owner would likely be able to claim it from him now. Or ever, depending on how things went at Rivenroad.
A tiny pang of guilt tightened his chest, but Sazha pushed it away as best he could. There was naught to be done about it, after all.
"She's very beautiful," Bryn said after a moment. "Is this her? Your friend?"
"No."
"Bit odd to carry around a locket with a picture of someone you don't know." There was a tiny click as she closed the locket; Sazha's right ear twitched at the sound.
"It's a picture of her mother."
"Was your friend?"
"Was she..."
"Beautiful. Like that."
Sazha grinned at her. "Why? Are you jealous?"
"Wh- don't be daft," Bryn sputtered, and Sazha grinned, face peering into his coffee where she couldn't see it. "Why should I be jealous of a bloody painting?"
"Daguerreotype," he corrected.
"Dag... what?"
"A daguerreotype," he said. "The Garlean Empire have these... boxes, I guess? With glass lenses in them and lights and other things. It lets them capture a likeness of you with the press of a button. No painting needed."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Are you having me on?"
"Not at all."
"So do they not have paintings at all?"
"According to Master Garlond they do."
"Then what's the point?"
Sazha shrugged. "What's the point of ten-gil novels?"
They sat in companionable silence for a moment. The fire crackled, the wind whispered at their cheeks, smelling like phantom rainwater. He took a long sip of the coffee. It wasn't the best he'd ever had, but it was warm.
"Her mum was beautiful. She wasn't," he said after a moment. "Not the way people really think about 'beauty,' anyway. Not that I mean she was plain or anything, but..."
"Go on."
"...There was always something about her that just... drew me? She was my first friend. She wasn't a saint, mind you - she was the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met.”
“Worse than Lu?”
“Far worse. She used to get us both into the most ridiculous kinds of trouble." He smiled into the flickering flames. "But she would do anything to help the people she cared about. Even if it meant suffering their punishments for them."
A glance revealed the pinched purse of Bryn's lips; Sazha supposed she wasn't particularly happy to hear him talk about another woman this way. But she didn't seem angry or upset about it, either.
"I suppose you were an absolute angel and never did aught to encourage her."
"Oh, I had my share of schemes, aye. But for some reason, whenever it was time to get our just desserts her da and my foster mum always assumed she was the mastermind. She broke a boy's nose at a dinner party once on my behalf." His smile faded. "I lost contact with her after... you know. I hope she's faring well, wherever she is."
She gave him a quizzical look. "I thought you said she was in Ala Mhigo."
"She went north for school not long after I was conscripted, to learn how to be a chirurgeon. I imagine she's practicing her trade somewhere these days." Sazha shrugged again and reached for the box. "She made me promise to give this back to her when we saw each other again. Don't suppose it matters much now, but I’ve held onto it for her anyway. Just in case."
Bryn reached for his hand with a grin. "You have me, you know."
"Oh, it's not that sort of relationship, not now. We'd made a pact to run away and become adventurers when we were done giving the Empire our pound of flesh, but we were children then. Neither of us knew the ways of the world, and I'm sure the years have changed us both."
"That's life for you. Taking the bad with the good." She paused. "I hope you don't regret this, at least."
After a moment, Sazha squeezed her hand.
"Not even for a minute, Bryngeim," he said, with a quiet conviction. "I won't pretend I don't miss my friend, especially on a night like this. Not knowing where we’ll be this time tomorrow is...”
He trailed off. Bryn nodded.
“I know.”
“But life rarely goes the way you plan or expect. And even with all that I lost I don't regret coming to Eorzea. I certainly don't regret this. Us."
"Good."
They looked up at the sky, as one. Dalamud hung as low and bloated as Menphina during the harvest month, a vermilion harbinger menacing the land below. Cloud cover did naught to obscure the corona of sickly violet that ringed the sphere; it nearly blotted out the surrounding stars.
Sazha shut his eyes.
"Bryn," he said in a low voice, "I want you to promise me something. If I don't come back-"
"Don't."
It was a flat, angry denial, but he could hear something almost frantic in it. "I will. You’re my second and we have to talk about it. We need a plan in case something happens to me."
"I'll not hear it. It's doomcrying, Sazha, that's all it is."
"Bryn. Please."
She heaved a sigh and withdrew her hand. He folded his back in his lap.
"If I don't come back," he continued, "I want you to take this box and hold onto it for me. For safekeeping."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a sentimental fool." He set down his mug. "Because for all I know she might somehow find out where I was and come looking for it, and even if she never does at least you’ll have something of mine. I know you think it’s foolish but I don't break my promises to people I care about. Not my friends, and not the woman I love."
Her brow creased and her lips trembled, but after a moment she nodded.
"For what it's worth," Sazha said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood, "I've no intention of dying out there. We've far too much to do." And too many imperials to cull. Poor bastards. I’d wager most of them don’t even know where they are let alone what they’re truly about to die for.
"Aye. A great deal to do."
Sazha heard approaching footsteps followed with a friendly shout from his bosun. The others had returned, bearing mugs of coffee and a set of playing cards.
He tucked the box back into the folds of his uniform; he would put it in his bags for safekeeping before seeking his bed. His parting words weighed heavy on his first mate's shoulders for some time afterward, but good company and good fortune in the cards brought her a measure of her old cheer.
As her melancholy lifted, Bryn shunted Sazha's request to the back of her mind. The battle was not started and Dalamud had not yet fallen. There was still a chance that all might remain as it was. Go as the two of them had planned.
Thus night upon the Carteneau Flats fell, into the next morning and whatever lay beyond, as threads gathered into the unpredictable weave of history.
The sound of the wind whistling about cracked stones and mortar and brittle cedar eaves reminded Aurelia of home.
Coerthas, like Garlemald, was a cold land-- cold within and without. Beyond the relatively cozy quiet of the Pillars compassion seemed in short supply. The great men of Ishgard were generous and respectful enough towards their own peers, but those below them both in station and in domicile were an afterthought at best. She couldn't very well blame the smallfolk for their thinly veiled hostility, nor their distrust of her. On paper at least, as far as the Holy See was concerned, she was a Fortemps, and that fact preceded her entry into the city slums.
She could feel the wariness all but radiating off the young woman as she drew a stool to the child's bedside. No great surprise, that. It seemed a reasonable enough inference to believe that no other healer - none with a legitimate shingle to hang, anyroad - would deign to make their services available to Ishgard's poorest.
The church had turned a blind eye to her activities in the Brume thus far; she suspected word of the tribunal had made the rounds for that to happen- but it was wise to be as circumspect as possible. Too many practitioners of the healing arts in this part of the star still believed in such notions as ‘balancing humors,’ and Aurelia refused to give the church or the High Houses further ammunition to make accusations of heresy.
Charges like those had a way of sticking. Especially if the three of them ran afoul of the Heavens' Ward a second time.
"How long has she been coughing like this, Edythe?" Aurelia asked in a hushed and gentle voice as she folded the child's small hand into her palm. The tiny body was hot to the touch, as was the surrounding space and the (alarmingly threadbare and filthy) linens. It made her think of the ceruleum heater in her old bedchamber.
"Three days, my lady. I thought she'd taken a chill and naught else, but she wouldn't leave her bed yesterday morning."
"She certainly has a fever," Aurelia reached into her black bag for her scope. "Has she eaten anything?"
"Aye, my sister says she took a little bread while I was working." The poor woman's face was pale and pinched with worry. "I-I work up in one of the big houses, you see, just a bit o' piecework here and there."
"For the lady of the house?"
"Oh, no, my lady. If I were that important, they'd give me lodgings. I sew for them what serve the lords." Edythe swallowed, the click of her throat audible even with the whistle of the storm outside. "...I can't spare a day's work today, if I'm honest, but she was so much worse this morning I feared she might..."
Aurelia loosened the ties that bound the little girl's tunic closed. "May I ask your little one's name?"
"Aye. It's Fenella."
She set her scope to the exposed chest to listen. The heartbeat was strong if a bit on the rapid side, but the lungs-- the girl's breaths were more akin to a wheeze than aught else.
"It's very fortunate you called when you did," she said after a moment. "Another day or two and this would have moved into her lungs, and it would have likely become very serious.”
“Oh...”
“As it is, she'll need to be watched for a day or two until the fever breaks."
"I understand that, my lady, but it's just her, me, and my sister. I'm the only one with steady work." Her dark eyes held a silent and desperate plea. "My husband... he died not six moons past, fighting heretics out west. I've no one other than Olwen who can watch her. Do you have aught you can give her for it? A potion? Or even a bleed?"
"I don't bleed my patients,” she replied. “Even if I took part in such practices she's far too young to risk such treatments."
Aurelia refrained from offering a further opinion; it would do little good and Edythe was like to resort to a chirurgeon willing to do so if she didn't come up with a treatment of her own. She tapped her toe against the stone with a thoughtful frown. She'd taken ill with these agues a time or two when she was very young and her mother was still well enough to tend her. Accustomed to the deep chill of northern Ilsabard, Vittora had---
"Have you any pitch?"
"Pitch?" Edythe gave her a decidedly dubious look. "...You mean the tar for the roof? What would that do to help?"
"No, not that sort. Pitch as in resina." Aurelia floundered for a simpler explanation and tried to remind herself this was Coerthas, a land which was cold but hadn't always been so. A fellow Garlean would have understood immediately what she was asking about and why. "You've probably seen it sold at market in- in cakes. Or... actually I think in Ishgard it might be called balsam?"
"Oh, balsam. Why didn't you say so? I keep it on hand in the kitchen. It’s in a wee cabinet near the stovetop. I can go get it if you-"
"I can get it," Aurelia assured her. She glanced at the small wooden bucket next to the door, and a few fulms away, the wood crackling in the fireplace -- and knew how she wanted to do this. "Would you be able to slip outside and find me a few stones?"
"There's stones lying about everywhere. Rubble from the horde’s attack. How big should they be?"
She held up a closed fist. "No larger than this."
"Aye, I can find that much, but-- what do you mean to do?"
"I'll show you when you get back."
Once Edythe had wrapped herself in as many layers as she could and slipped out the door, Aurelia set to work.
She took the ladle hanging from the wall alongside two other rather weathered-looking kitchen spoons before digging about the small cabinet in the tiny kitchen, until she unearthed found three of the resinous pitch cakes she'd asked about. Aurelia folded one into her apron pocket, then with a glance at the teapot in the other room shook her head and took the empty three-legged pot next to the single-burner stove instead. It looked like it was used to heat water for laundry, but was not overly large.
It would work for her intended purpose. She hoped.
There was a back door here that led into a yard barely large enough for one person to stand in and a ramshackle building that by the smell... she coughed and covered her nose with the back of one hand. Aye, that was the midden.
I'm not risking fouled snowmelt. Other door it is.
Aurelia closed the door, moved through the small room and past Fenella's sickbed, opened the front door, and began scooping handfuls of snow into the pot. Her fingers were red and aching in short order, and she wasted little time in hauling the pot back indoors to hang it from the chimney bar, risking another piece of kindling to keep the fire burning. The water had just started to bubble when the door opened at her back. Edythe had returned.
"The stones, my lady."
"Wonderful." She removed the pot from the fire with a soft grunt and reached for the resin cake she'd set aside in her pocket. "Can you put them in the fireplace? We're going to pull them out of the embers as soon as they're hot. Mind your fingers; you'll want to use the tongs."
As Edythe placed the stones Aurelia carefully crumbled the resin into the water-- cooling now, but hot enough to dissolve the pitch. The stringent scent of it prickled her nostrils as she stirred the pot's contents with the ladle. So far, so good.
It took relatively little time for the stones to reach the proper heating point. She took the tongs from Edythe, removed the stones from the fire, and placed them in the empty wooden bucket alongside.
"I don't-"
"Watch me."
Slowly Aurelia dipped the ladle into the resin-filled water - now quite cooled - until she had filled it halfway, then poured a small amount onto the hot stones. There was a sizzling hiss as clouds of steam billowed out of the bucket, and at her back she heard Fenella's wet cough. She did it a second time, and a third, until the sharp medicinal scent from the resin filled the small room.
For a good quarter-bell there was no sound save those steady hissing noises and a little girl’s coughing-- and then there was the soft rustle of moving cloth. Edythe startled with a gasp, and Aurelia watched as she moved quickly to her daughter's bedside.
Fenella was trying to push herself upright.
"Mummy?" she rasped. She was still wheezing, but her breathing was already beginning to clear somewhat. Certainly she sounded less worrisome now than she had when Aurelia had first arrived.
"Nellie," Edythe nearly sobbed, wrapping her arms around her child. "Nellie, I was so worried-"
"I'm all right, Mum. I’m cold. And my head hurts. But my chest feels better." Fenella gave Aurelia a slow, owlish blink. "Are you the chur- chi-"
"Chirurgeon," she said gently. "Aye, I am."
"Why does it smell like pine needles?"
"That's the steam, love. There's medicine in it that will help your cough."
Edythe was staring at Aurelia like she'd performed a magic trick.
"I thought we'd have to have her bled. Or call on the church to send a healer," she said. "How did you know what to do? I've never seen a chirurgeon do that before."
It's an old Garlean folk remedy, she didn't say. "I used to catch these same lung agues when I was Fenella's age, and my own mother always put me in the bath with a steam of camphorwood resin to help me breathe. I'd advise it be repeated every four bells or so for the next couple of days. I'll go out in a moment to fetch more resin cakes and kindling for your fire. Willowbark tincture, too, for the fever-"
"Oh," Edythe said, visibly distressed, face falling, "I don't have enough gil."
"You don't need to worry about that." Aurelia would probably be able to find her some good quality camphorwood resin, too, if she went to the Crozier. Not that she planned to tell Edythe that; there was no point in making her feel guilty about it. "Just show your sister how to prepare the water and the stones, and remind her she must pour slowly and carefully. If you pour too much water too quickly, the treatment won't be as effective. The room should be full of the steam for a good quarter bell."
Edythe nodded, arms still about her daughter's thin shoulders, rocking slowly. She looked as though she were about to cry.
"I don't know why you're helping us, my lady," she said, her voice unsteady. "Fine healers from the Pillars don't much care about what happens to the likes of us- they want patients who can pay them, you see. I thought we'd-"
Her voice broke. Smiling, Aurelia reached for her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.
"I'm helping you because I want to help; it's really no trouble at all. If Miss Fenella here doesn't start feeling more like herself in a day or two - if she still has a fever, if her cough worsens - go to the Forbidden Knight and ask for Gibrillont. Tell him I gave you his name and have him send for me, and I'll come as soon as I'm able."
"Aye. Aye, I will. Gladly." For the first time since she'd set foot in the door, Edythe gave her a small and tremulous smile. "I think the heavens must have sent you to us, my lady. May the Fury and all Her saints bless you."
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Aurelia made her excuses and slipped out the door, exhaling a small white cloud into the chilly air. She wanted to finish this errand quickly and get back to the manor before aught else was said. Fenella would be fine, of course, a nasty chest cold could be kept from getting worse with bed rest and a simple steam treatment to clear the airway.
But that sort of talk... well.
If the church found out the smallfolk were saying that sort of thing about her, even over something so basic as a home remedy, she doubted the archbishop would be so willing to let it lie. It was most like he didn't believe that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn were strong enough to pose a threat to his power, but-
No point in worrying about it now. Best go get the resin for her before the markets close.
Cinching her heavy coat snug about her willowy frame, Aurelia began her walk back towards the plaza.
Aurelia glanced at the Exarch still struggling up the steep hill at her back, then squinted at the blinding sky above with a faint wince. The perpetual light always left her with a vague headache but ever since the return from Amh Araeng it had seemed a bit worse than usual: a stinging pain in her eyes every time she was faced with even direct lamplight to read by.
If they had the time for leisure - which they didn't - she would have tried to find somewhere dark to curl up and sleep it off. Or she would, if dark rooms weren't in such short supply on the First.
Oh hells below! I'm starting to sound like Emet-Selch.
Hydaelyn's agent shunning the Light, she thought with a certain sour humor. An Ascian would no doubt appreciate the irony.
She paused long enough to reach into her pack and retrieve an old straw hat she hadn't used in ages - it was looking rather the worse for wear - and placed it on her head. It wasn't much of a solution but it would suffice for now.
Another look over her shoulder and she realized that her companion was not moving. The Crystal Exarch was paused mid-step, clutching his staff like a pillar, braced into the shallow and rocky soil. He was staring at her with a combination of consternation, concern, and.
Something else she couldn’t quite parse. She’d never seen him look at her like this before. Was it pity? Sorrow? Sadness-- but what would have made him sad just to look at her?
His brow crinkled for the barest moment.
"Are you all right, my friend?"
"Oh," Aurelia said, clearing her throat. "Sorry. I was a bit distracted for a moment. I said 'is aught amiss.' You seem a bit tired."
The strange expression she'd seen moments ago seemed to clear upon her reply, like a cloud passing the sun. He smiled his gentle smile and straightened his back and it was as if the moment had never occurred at all.
" 'Tis of no import. Unfortunately my link to the Tower is more than superficial. The joints in my hips and knees have become partially crystalline over time as well. I can move well enough through the Crystarium, but inclines like this are..."
The Exarch trailed off midsentence. Aurelia frowned, realizing her pace had probably felt rather punishing for him. He did seem to be limping a bit.
"We can rest if you like," she offered. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was outpacing you so much."
"I'm fine, I assure you. ...But I would not take it amiss if you'd like to sit with me for a few moments." There was now something quite rueful in the tilt of his lips. "I admit this has been a bit more taxing than I had hoped."
Nero Scaeva knew the minute the Warrior of Light materialized upon the rift platform that he was in trouble. She came storming towards the console wearing the fiercest scowl he'd seen from her since those early days in the Crystal Tower, looking decidedly disheveled and... 'out of sorts' might have been putting it mildly.
It did nothing to wipe the insolent grin he could feel stretching from ear to ear.
Aurelia lifted one hand and jabbed a finger in Nero's direction.
"You."
"Me," he drawled.
Her glare dialed up about three notches. Definitely in trouble.
Nero gave an exaggerated yawn and stretch, set down the coffee cup in his hand -- absolute shite coffee, he couldn't believe he was going to have to give a demonstration to a bunch of engineers of all people on the proper use of the kettle one of them had invented -- and drew himself upright from his slouch. As he had a full fulm of height on her, vaunted strength or no, his corrected posture forced the Warrior of Light to crane her neck up to glower at him instead. Which rather ruined the ominous effect he assumed she was going for.
Not that it would have helped her, particularly. He didn't find her show of temper intimidating in the slightest.
"Is aught amiss, dear hero? You appear somewhat displeased."
Aurelia huffed and stamped one foot against the grate like an irritated child. "Don't you play the innocent with me. You know perfectly well what you did."
"Did I? It's been a very long morning and I've been monitoring your progress. I'm afraid you'll need to jog my memory."
She reached into her robe -- down the front, in fact, and he made no effort to hide his enjoyment in watching it -- and pulled something out of her bodice. Before he could attempt to discern what that something was, she snatched one of his hands toward her and dropped it into his upturned palm.
"There. Is your memory sufficiently jogged, Scaeva, or should I elaborate?"
Ah.
"I see the antigravity gimbol I gave you this morning," his cheerful calm only seemed to annoy her further if her exasperated sigh was any indication. "What about it?"
She gave him a loud, angry huff.
"What do you mean, what about it?"
"Did it work?"
"What?"
He repeated patiently, "Did it work?"
Aurelia opened her mouth, closed it, then grumbled:
"...After a fashion."
"Oh? 'After a fashion' sounds very much like 'Why yes, Nero, it worked perfectly! It was the key to my victory! I don't know what Garlond would ever do without you! You're a genius! The most brilliant engineer on the star!' "
"Scaeva," she began, but he continued, in a high-pitched trill:
" 'In fact I think I should reward my hero for his selfless realm-saving deed with a kiss!' "
"What- will you stop that? I'm being serious!"
"Jesting aside, sweetling, if the job was done and done well - if I do say so myself - then I'm not quite certain I see the problem. It was a decidedly inelegant solution, I'll grant you, but on such short notice-"
"Maybe you don't see a problem," her glare had returned but it seemed to be rather lacking much of its earlier vitriol. Good. "But you aren't the one being bounced through the bloody air without warning. Dangling ten fulms over an earthquake. Tossed about by tentacles."
Nero lifted a brow. "I take it all back."
"Good. That's what I've been-"
"I really don't see the problem."
"Oh, for the love of- why do you even have something like that, anyway? Frustrating enough that you gave it to me and didn't tell me what it did."
He certainly wasn't going to tell her the real reason he had just happened to have an antigravity device on hand; even Garlond didn't know about his current restoration project. "Ah, but that's one of the many benefits in this profession. You never know when this gadget or that might end up being extraordinarily useful. Really though: all things considered, don't you think we're fortunate that I did have it on hand?"
"I... suppose so."
"Then you agree that my expertise has in fact been very useful."
"Yes, but-"
"One might even say it has been vital to your continued success."
"...Yes."
Nero raised one finger, as if to correct her.
"I want to hear you say it, sweetling. Out loud, if you please. 'Nero, thank you for your help! You were ever so useful.' "
Aurelia rolled her eyes, but the tiny half-smile she gave him was enough to let him know it was good-natured. She was willing to give his ego some small concession.
"All right, all right. Yes, your contributions have been useful. As have your strategies. As have your constant bloody jokes. It gives me something else to think about in this mad situation. And yes, the gimbol did keep me safe - most of the time."
He couldn't resist a smug grin. The advantage of height also gave him the advantage of a lean and a comically exaggerated leer, which he turned on her with full force.
"It also afforded me the opportunity to see beneath that tight little robe of yours."
Her jaw dropped and her cheeks bloomed with sudden color as she sputtered, "We've got a rogue machina threatening to destroy the whole of humanity and you were staring at my legs the entire time?"
"Not the entire time." Nero dropped the gimbol in his pocket and flashed her another wide, toothy smile. "I really must send my compliments to your tailor. Those smalls of yours really are something to behold."
"I'm out here risking my life and you're ogling me-"
"Admiring you."
Nero knew her show of ill temper was just that, a show. That deep flush was spreading from her cheeks down to dust her shoulders, a very becoming shade of rose, and it could be mere embarrassment but knowing her as well as he did he suspected it was something else altogether. It surely wasn't sunburn.
Finally she said, in a tiny and embarrassed voice:
"You... liked it, you said? My, um..."
"Absolutely glorious. I'm going to be dreaming for the next sennight about your-"
"Stop," she almost wailed, standing on tiptoes just to cover his mouth with her palm, "Seven hells, you awful bloody man, if you're going to wax poetic about my- my assets, at least try to keep it between ourselves. Alpha doesn’t need to hear about my ‘glorious smallclothes’ for the heavens’ sake."
"I will - but for a price."
"What?"
"The hero of Eorzea has to give me, without question the most brilliant engineer on the star, a thank you kiss for saving her life."
“What- Nero.”
Still grinning at her, he pursed his lips and without pausing made the most obnoxious smacking noise he could muster. "...A big wet messy one."
"Scaeva, don’t you bloody dare--!!”
Without a moment's hesitation Nero wrapped his arms about Aurelia's midsection and lifted, aiming his lips for her face as her startled shriek gave way to peals of uncontrollable laughter.
Who gave a damn if Omega was watching or not.
A short letter, written in painstakingly neat Eorzean, tucked inside a small wooden box.
--
Dear Sazha,
It has been some time since last we spoke; I hope all is well. I was very distraught when L'haiya told me you had gone away, as it seemed so unlike you to leave without a parting word. I would have liked to wish you goodbye and safe travels before you left, but perhaps a letter will do as well.
I know you're in training to be a soldier somewhere, and you don't yet have a permanent posting for me to send a package, but I have gained Lord van Baelsar's assurances that he will see to its safe and uneventful delivery. I have elected to have some small faith that it will reach you in due time. Postmasters are not like to defy a legatus, or a provincial viceroy for that matter.
I'm sorry to say that my first letter to make its way to you must bring with it sad tidings. Father is dead.
Father is gone
father is ps
(The next two lines are illegible: a series of the same aborted statements, each crossed out with a firm hand. The rest is obscured by an ink blot, or perhaps an especially frustrated scrawl from the writer's quill.)
Father has passed away. killed by fighters up in the mountains.
I'm not very clear on the exact details, and I'm not to talk about it very much in any case as I'm told it is a security matter. I hope you can understand.
Due to present circumstances I will be leaving home sooner than I had thought. Lord van Baelsar has reached out to my aunt and uncle who live in the capital-- the ones you met Saturnalia last. They will be arriving on the morrow to see me and my father and some of my personal belongings onto a transport. It seems I'm to sit the Academy's entrance exams in person after all. I will be staying with them in their villa in Garlemald. I'm not certain yet how long.
I keep thinking about the day Father died. The viceroy was in the parlor with L'haiya when he told me what happened. He asked if there was anyone I could call to come stay with me, or anything he could do. It was all very kind of him but I think maybe everyone was expecting me to cry and I couldn't.
The house feels so strange now. I can't sleep so I go down the stairs at night on my way to the garden. I open the door every time I pass and I don't know why. His study is empty and it'll always be empty now. Sometimes I think I can hear him talking. I can still smell his cigars and the whiskey bottles.
None of it seems real. L'haiya said it probably just hasn't sunk in yet.
She told me earlier today that she'll be staying behind in Ala Mhigo. The viceroy offered her a ps position in the palace. she'll be workng in wkr
[----]
(Water marks have stained and bled the ink here beyond recognition.)
She'll be part of the goverm government, working in civil service. I wish she would come with me to Garlemald, no matter what Uncle Janus says. I told her she could come even if it was just as a travel companion, that the viceroy would have allowed that much, but she refused.
L'haiya says she had to give me up and I have to be on my own from now on.
She's leaving me too. It hurts so much. I couldn't say anything to her without crying and I know she hates that sort of display, so I left the room instead. I haven't spoken to her since.
I don't know why she would say <s>someething</s> something like that to me.
I miss you. It's hard doing all of this by myself.
But, Sazha, I know things must be far more difficult for you than they are for me. When I’m out in the garden late at night I think about you being so far away from home and everything you know, and how lonely you must be. I know I am.
I was thinking maybe if you had something of mine then it might be at least a little easier to get through your days. So I'm letting you borrow Mama's memento mori. Please be careful with it. It's old. I don't know if you can wear it; I don’t think the army will let you do that anyway, but you can still hold onto it for me for a little while. Only you have to give it back to me when we see each other again, all right?
I don't want you to worry about me. I'll be all right. I have school to think about and that should keep me busy. I'll still find the time to write to you, my letters will just come from Garlemald instead.
Only two words, but they carried the unmistakable note of command.
L'haiya dus Eyahri had had the run of the Laskaris household since he'd come to live here, with a remarkable carte blanche that precious few non-Garleans in her position could boast. Even if it was in large part because Julian rem Laskaris no longer cared to see to such matters himself, let alone the rearing and education of his only daughter.
Although Sazha had outstripped her in height with last year's growth spurt, Aurelia's governess intimidated him every ilm as much now as she had when he was naught but a nameless market district starveling, insinuating himself into the household of one of the Empire's great families through chance alone.
In truth, he wasn't certain the lord of the house was willing to challenge her often. She wielded her authority the way a castrum prafectus might. Small wonder Lord Julian let her do as she wished.
Sazha sat. His tail twitched with apprehension, smacking the arm of the chair.
For her part L'haiya peered down at him with her arms folded across her chest, expression oddly neutral.
"I suppose you're wondering why you were summoned," she said without preamble.
He was fairly certain he knew already, but nodded regardless. She stood before him in silence for a few beats before moving towards the master's grand chair, sitting empty by the fireplace. The flagstones were immaculate, free of ash, the pit itself barren - Ala Mhigo's winters were chilly, and also the only time the villa was cold enough to need a fire.
"Lord Julian has asked to speak with me about a matter that concerns the pair of you."
Sazha felt his stomach clench and took a deep and measured breath. With any luck she sensed none of his internal turmoil.
"Concerning what?"
"He and I are both fairly certain that Aurelia will pass her extrance exams and be admitted to the Imperial Magitek Academy's medical programme." L'haiya sat, folding her hands in her lap, legs folded and ankles crossed, posture a perfect mirror of any Garlean lady he had ever seen. "As I'm certain you've noticed, Lord Julian is not... the most amiable man, but he is well aware of his daughter's fondness for you."
"Elle, I'm not sure what this has to do wit-"
"If it is determined that she is to enroll, he wishes for the two of us to accompany her to the capital for her orientation next autumn."
That... was not what he had expected to hear. "Wait. You mean..."
"In addition, Lord Julian has offered to make an arrangement with the viceroy which would waive your conscription draft requirement for a full year, in order that you might do so."
"Oh," he said, somewhat faintly. Sazha's hands had curled into fists with his apprehension and as he exhaled softly he felt them start to uncurl from his sweat-soaked palms. "Well, that's... that's good, isn't it? I'm sure Aurelia will be delighted when you give her the news."
"I'm not done," she lifted one hand, palm facing outward. "You will thank Lord Julian for his generosity and decline that offer."
Stunned, Sazha’s smile froze and faltered before it disappeared entirely.
"What- why would you want me to decline? If he believes Aurelia has need of me, then as her closest friend I should-"
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'? You don't intend to send her halfway across the world alone, do you? Elle, she'll be miserable by herself."
"Aurelia will not be alone. She will simply be apart from you," L'haiya said flatly, settling her hand back into her lap, "and that separation will be a better outcome for all concerned. Yourself included."
His heart began to pound. He'd never tried to gainsay his guardian before. Aurelia, possessed of a far more tenacious disposition, had butted heads with L'haiya many a time over the years and such altercations nearly always ended poorly for her. She'd been severely lectured, dressed down by her father, had her outdoor privileges taken away on several occasions, had endured all manner of censure - and it didn't matter. She always defied them the moment she saw fit, usually over some injustice whether real or perceived.
Sazha himself had always been the model child: the grateful ward, the boy who never gave his guardian trouble.
Well, he told himself firmly, there's a first time for everything. "I'm not leaving her."
"Yes. You are."
"Elle-"
She was tapping something in her hand against the armrest. Blue. Small. The card he'd received in the post just yesterday afternoon.
"Early tomorrow morning, I expect you to take your leave of the house permanently. You will take a transport across the loch, present yourself at Porta Praetoria, and obey what orders you are given as per the demands of the draft."
"You can't be serious. You're asking me to just... to simply up and leave her? Without any warning?"
"No, I'm telling you. This is not a request."
"Why are you doing this? I've done nothing to deserve this sudden change and yet you're so eager to rid yourself of me."
L'haiya let out a long, sharp sigh.
"I have let the two of you alone because until now I deemed your presence a benefit. You have been what she desperately needed, a boon companion, one who keeps her feet firmly anchored to the earth where they belong. Were it not for us, I've little doubt that girl would be as blindly adherent to these foolish and dangerous notions of self-superiority as the rest of her kind."
His face flushed; he felt for a moment a flash of protective anger.
"She is stronger than you think," he retorted. "Even if she weren't, none of this explains why you wish to send me skulking away like- like some thief, in the dead of night. As if I've done something wrong."
For long moments, his guardian said nothing. But her expression was as severe as he'd ever seen it, and her gaze-- there might as well have been steel in her eyes, so unflinching was that stare.
Sazha's protest died on his lips.
"I know what you're thinking, young man," she said, the words clipped and cold. "You think that because no one has said aught to either of you about it, surely no one must be the wiser. Rest assured, I do know. There are rumors. Alarming rumors, which I have managed to dispel only at great risk."
"Why didn't you-"
"Why didn't I say anything? I should have, and you're fortunate that I intervened. If her father knew I would be the least of your worries. He would easily be able to claim you were the instigator of your little romance, and no court would question him, not in this land nor any other in the Empire. They'd stretch your neck before a sennight had passed."
"Nothing has even happened between us!"
"You know as well as I do that wouldn't matter to them either."
Sazha swallowed. He couldn't take his eyes off the card in her hand.
"Friendship - as much as any of us can truly befriend a Garlean - is all well and fine. But you cannot allow yourself to be more than that." Something almost like sympathy lingered in the twist of her lips. "Not here."
With effort he managed to wrench his eyes away from hers to stare at the pattern on the Thavnairian rug, shoulders hunched, chin dropped in silent defeat. His ears flattened unhappily against his head, tail slapping the seat cushion, and he could still feel her stare boring into him. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to defy her the way Aurelia always did when she ran up against L'haiya's rules.
But Sazha understood the stakes. As much as he loved her, he knew Aurelia wouldn't, not really. Real consequences didn’t yet exist in her world. But in his, in L’haiya’s, they did, and they went far beyond the trivial reprisal of being caught with a stolen treat or sneaking out for a night beyond the walls of the villa.
"She won't understand," he said, very softly.
"No," L'haiya agreed. "She'll see it as a betrayal of the worst sort."
He swallowed again. His throat felt so tight it was difficult to breathe. The sound of a creak across the room, footsteps, made his right ear flicker against his hair. "She'll hate me," Sazha whispered, and then there were arms around him and his guardian's scent drifting between them like a cloud. Sweet pea. He recognized it from the garden.
"She'll hate me, you mean," and he could hear a certain melancholy resignation alongside the wry note in her voice. "But I can weather her anger just fine."
"But-"
"No buts, boy. Don't you worry yourself about Aurelia. You're right about one thing- she's strong."
"Obstinate, you mean," Sazha snorted. His sight seemed to blur at the edges- briefly mortified, he swiped with one thumb at the moisture that seeped from the corner of his eye. "Stubborn as a bloody aurochs."
"Aye, just like her lord father. Her mother, come to that. She'll need that tenacity of hers soon enough, but she'll manage well enough on her own whether she believes it or not.”
He sighed. “I know.”
“I'll make sure she can write to you from that school- but you keep your head down and do what they tell you, do you understand? Stay out of trouble. I- we can't lose you too."
Overhead he heard a trembling sigh, then what felt suspiciously like a kiss placed against the crown of his head. He was unsure what she meant by that but knew full well that she wept, a sight even Aurelia had never seen before.
He also knew she would want him to spare her blushes. Just as he did.
So Sazha nodded. And only when the wick of the table lamp began to gutter did he take his leave, the little blue draft card securely tucked into his vest pocket.
Vahne Wolndara dragged the heavy coat tighter about herself and shivered. The skies over the snow had been absolutely pristine ever since Aurelia and the others had stormed the tower, but clear skies and dry air meant bitter cold and most of her fellows stood huddled around the fire pits trying to soak in what meager warmth they could, hands wrapped about tin cups of coffee and hot chocolate.
Never in her life before coming to Garlemald had she ever experienced cold like this.
How did she ever stand it? Why would anyone even want to live in this waste?
She was well familiar with winters in Gridania, wet and dark, the damp sinking into the bones like rain into soil, but breathing the air up here felt like inhaling a lungful of knives and it was nearly impossible to get warm no matter your proximity to a fire. The commanders were constantly nagging them to change out their stockings regularly, to check fingers and toes after every outing to make sure they hadn't lost their color.
Many grumbled about it until Maxima (Lord Maxima? Ser Maxima? Vahne wasn't really very clear on the proper protocol and she didn't dare ask) had made it very clear to all of them that despite the wandering Telophoroi and the wild beasts and the rogue magitek, the most likely killers by far were exposure and frostbite - in that order - and he spoke of it with a grim frankness, the sort of familiarity borne of lifelong experience.
It was oddly like talking to Ishgardians about the Dragonsong War. And even the Ishgardians, accustomed by necessity to the bitter cold of their seven-year winter, were faltering in the relentless ice and wind of far northern Ilsabard.
"Vahne," a calm, bright voice called at her back. She turned to see the ruddy-haired A-Ruhn-Senna, the Elder Seedseer's younger brother and a surprisingly steady leader. He commanded Gridania's part of the contingent, and had since their arrival in Camp Broken Glass taken it upon himself to oversee the operation of the infirmaries. That alone was enough to make her wonder why he'd approached her personally.
"Seedseer."
Hopefully he'd understand why she didn't wish to shake his hand. It was just too bloody cold.
"You look as though you should seek some shelter," he said mildly. It was difficult to see his eyes beneath his long fringe but his stance was that of someone who possessed sufficient familiarity with the elements and had few if any concerns about the cold. At least for all she knew. "I have a job for you."
Vahne wanted to protest, but the Padjal was already off, boots crunching through a fresh layer of powder snow towards the warehouse building they'd repurposed. White leathers against white and black and the eerie-looking spindles of the huge red pines that grew up here, about the only things that did. At a glance it made him look like a wraith, one of the spirits said to haunt the Amdapor ruins near her childhood home.
She shook off the illusion as she followed him. It didn't take long to realize they were entering the wing reserved for the tempered. Some stared sightlessly at the ceiling, muttering the same unsettling mantra over and over again. Some screamed without words, thrashing against the restraints that bound them to the bed, so compelled by Anima's final orders that they were a danger to themselves.
Others simply lay senseless, bound in unnatural sleep. So it was with the patient at whose bedside A-Ruhn paused.
Vahne frowned, wondering why they were here. Certainly there were older and more experienced healers among the contingent's medical corps who might show more skill with administering Mistress Leveilleur's tempering treatment to the afflicted imperial soldiers and refugees, but she knew full well that most of those present were simply those few still willing and able to care for them.
Truthfully, many within the contingent now found themselves struggling anew with old hurts. Trying to remain neutral in the face of the slurs and accusations that many refugees still hurled their way was a greater challenge than many had anticipated, and Vahne herself bore too many of her own scars to trust herself with the work.
"I entrust this young man to you," A-Ruhn said. "You will have the care of him forthwith."
Vahne felt her stomach give an unpleasant twist. She shook her head.
"I can't," she whispered. "I-I'm sorry, ser, but... I can't."
"Why? What is the matter?"
"I can- the conscripts, maybe, if there's any here, but-"
"Conjurer," A-Ruhn interrupted, "I understand your reservations. Truly. But we do not have the extra hands at present, and even if we did, healers are not meant to pick and choose whom we wish to treat. We come to the aid of those in need of our skills and do our work as best we are able. Regardless of our personal feelings."
She swallowed back the bile that burned her throat.
"He's a Garlean soldier."
"Most of the refugees are Garleans, Miss Wolndara. It was assumed that you understood you would be using your skills to treat them when you agreed to join the contingent."
It was impossible to miss the admonition in his tone, mild as it was. She colored, cheeks suddenly warm despite the numbing chill of the large room, and dropped her gaze to the hand that lay limp and unresponsive, wrist bound in a thick leather cuff.
"Would it help to know that Aurelia requested you personally?"
Her chin jerked upward and she could only stare at him in shocked silence, too stunned at the revelation to answer.
Aurelia-- but why? Why? She knows what happened to me! She knows what they did- she was there when it happened! Why would she ask me to-
"According to her account, this legate officer - despite his fear and distrust of us - was the only one willing to accept her help with the sick and wounded while she and the Leveilleurs were in their camp. All three of them were sorely grieved to see him tempered by the primal, and when I asked if she had anyone in mind whom she would consider to watch over him in their absence, she recommended you."
"I don't know why she would trust me with him. Friend or not."
"The Warrior is a Garlean herself, you know," he said, gently. "But I think that is somewhat beside the point. She is a woman of great integrity, and I trust her opinion. If she says you are the correct person for this job, then you are the person I want to take care of him. None other will suffice."
Swallowing heavily, Vahne looked away. Her eyes stung, either with tears or wood smoke, and in that moment it was hard to say which it was.
Being a healer means accepting death, but it also means accepting hard choices, E-Sumi-Yan's words to his novices - words now five years old - echoed in her mind. You will have to treat people who will curse your very existence and lose those you wished dearly to save. The world is a harsh and unfair place, but we must rise above it and know ours in turn. We must be even handed in our dealings with all who seek succor from the elementals.
She remembered fire. The sight of her home burning. Her aunt's agonized screams.
Only the wood can decide whether to give the gift of life... or allow it to pass and give way for something new.
She looked down at the limp hand on the coverlet, half-curled into the sheet like a wilting leaf. There was something pathetic and piteous about it.
She couldn’t see that hand anymore. Something hot prickled at her eyes and her throat hurt.
"Miss Wolndara?"
It took so much more effort than she could have dreamed, to force down her angry tears, to push past it. Every ilm of her being screamed against it, tried to remind her what had happened seven years ago. What his people had done to her aunt, to her home. To her.
She managed to keep her composure, but only just.
Slowly she reached for the Garlean man's hand - cool from the chill of the room, but not alarmingly so, not yet - and peered down at his face. Blue-black hair fell in a tangled waterfall against the thin pillow, the exposed third eye just above his brow a stark pearl-white against his bronze skin. Hollow cheekbones, mouth slack, lips cracked and pale. The only sign that he lived was the slow and steady rising and falling of his chest. He had been in this state for some few days at least.
His palm and fingers bore the patterned calluses of a swordsman, or at least someone who used a one-handed weapon very often, the nails short and chipped. She squeezed his hand, carefully, gauging. There was no response, not even a reflexive twitch from the pressure. Not that she had expected aught from him anyway.
At last, Vahne sighed-- resigned at best, but accepting of the task nonetheless.
If Aurelia thinks I can do it, I’ll try. I don’t... know how well I can do it. But I’ll try.
"What's his name?" she asked, then added (somewhat hastily): "I know it... probably doesn't make much of a difference right now if I know it or not. But- he'll eventually wake up and be able to ask what happened and if I'm the one taking care of him, it's probably going to be me. So..."
A-Ruhn offered a nod, a grave incline of the chin that Aurelia herself would have found rather reminiscent of his sister. There was a world of approval in it- and understanding.
