For prompt Steer, as part of FFxivWrite2024. Post-Dawntrail.
Albi isn’t sure where she’s going.
In a grand, melodramatic sense, of course – currently, she is winding her way through the Bayside Bevy markets as the sun is rapidly setting, clutching two wrapped parcels to her chest. The markets are teeming at this hour as some stall owners pack down for the evening, and others set up shop for night time browsing; Albi shuffles carefully around the bustle of the crowds, the patrons left hemming and hawing at close-of-day deals, the growing groups of those heading towards eateries for their late repast.
Her destination, at this time, is a quieter spot near the For’ard Cabins, a small jetty that overlooks the coast. The area is comparatively quiet at this hour, aside from a lone figure sat on the decking, facing out to sea. Beside him is a white overcoat, folded over once, but not neatly.
“Ah, there you are! I was beginning to wonder.” Thancred turns with a smile, gratefully accepting one of the wrapped packages as Albi wordlessly hands it over to him. The waft of grilled meat had given her an appetite as she had headed this way, and she had been aware that her delayed arrival had likely spurred on Thancred’s, too. “I started to grow wary that you had been walked over by a particularly large Mamool Ja while navigating the city,” Thancred takes a bite of his arepa, wasting no time, “or perhaps whisked away on some other world saving endeavour.”
Albi scoffs, unwrapping hers with a little less urgency. “Hardly.” She leaves it at that, unwilling to divulge that the bustle of patrons that were two or three-times her size had indeed, at least partially, been part of the hold up.
Little more is said between them as they eat. Sharing an evening meal by the docks was a commonplace thing between the two, and to do so in such far flung lands brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that Albi was grateful for. Back in Eorzea, what now feels like worlds and lifetimes ago, they would sit by the docks in Limsa Lominsa with similar fare from the markets – Thancred would spare little time between mouthfuls to point out people and places, quirks and tales of the streets he knew like the back of his hand, little morsels of information about the ships turning in the bay, and those who worked on them. Back then, Albi was rather more reticent, and this was a thinly veiled attempt to either keep conversation flowing, or to bring her out of her shell. She wasn’t too sure, even now, if her quiet demeanour was a point of awkwardness, or something more akin to a compelling project for Thancred to work on. Regardless, those times had long passed, and the silence between them now was companionable and peaceful.
That is, until Thancred tilts his head towards Albi. He at least serves her a kindness, and finishes his mouthful before he speaks up. “I know that look. What is it?”
The sudden intrusion into her reminiscence startles her, as does Thancred’s frankness. She had been watching the ships in the distance – unable to come closer due to the reefs surrounding Tuliyollal, instead sending their cargo ahead on smaller dinghies – food unwrapped but untouched in her hands. Her thoughts had begun to wander, thinking about the ships docked in Scholar’s Harbor in Old Sharlayan, the flurry of trading boats in Kugane, the crashed wreckages of similar vessels thrown against the rocks surrounding Eulmore. Albi knows what has been heavy on her mind as of late, but it was as if the circumstances of their meal had turned her back into the withdrawn girl perched above the bay of Limsa Lominsa, unsure of what to say.
“It’s nothing of import.” Albi acquiesces. When Thancred does not return to his food, and continues to watch her with a wary gaze, she is again reminded of those early days in Eorzea, when he would coax conversation from her. It endears and frustrates her in equal measure.
It had been several weeks since the culmination of the Rite of Succession, and dealings with Alexandria. Tuliyollal was still in the midst of rebuilding, but the spirits of her citizens had been healing well, with most returning to their daily lives with aplomb. The Scions, for their part, had been ambling around the city providing assistance, and resting in equal measure. Some had begun to disperse, or at the very least had begun deliberations on where they would head next – Estinien was content to roam without a singular destination in mind, while others had more concrete plans, or intended to stay in Tural indefinitely.
It felt foolish to Albi that it was these periods of peace that left her feeling so listless, when a quiet life was all she had truly desired, but it gave her thoughts time to wander and simmer in an unpleasant fashion. She felt aimless, unsure of her purpose or desires, a sluggish feeling that had been following her in the many moons since the Final Days had been averted.
“I’ve just been thinking about what I’m doing, after this.” Albi finally lets on, aware of how rote and lacklustre the sentiment sounds when spoken aloud. “You know me, always fretting about something.” She finally takes a bite of her arepa, wanting both to assuage concern, and have an excuse to stop speaking. Thancred makes an “ah” sound, and leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if Albi’s ruminations were infectious.
He mulls the words over, but speaks sincerely. “You’re very welcome to come along with me and Urianger, wherever we may end up.” He joins her in taking a bite, but chews slowly this time, with deliberation. “Mayhaps you would benefit from not having a destination in mind? Relax those shoulders, take it easier for once.”
Albi resists the urge to sit up a little straighter, unsure if the remark was intended to be a jab at her posture. “No, no… I fear the tedium of not having a project would get to me.” She bemoans, though ends with a smile. “As much as I would love to accompany you. Can I not persuade you to come along with the Students of Baldesion, instead?”
Thancred laughs, the sound ringing out across their empty corner of the pier. “You drive a hard bargain.” He returns her smile with one of his own. “You and Krile are best left to focus on the Students. But should you ever need a blade at your side for some expedition or another, or simply someone to steer you scholarly types away from the books for a spell, you know who to call on.”
The lighthouse at the other end of the city sparks to life, its beacon clear and bright against the darkening sky. The ships turn in the bay, returning to port, or setting off on journeys anew, Albi cannot be sure. Her gaze is on neither the boats, nor the lighthouse, but settled on Thancred. The tumultuous waters of her heart settle, for a moment. “Thank you. I know.”
