WOLRAHA Week 2025 Day 3 Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time
Chapter 1: The Lost Boy
Characters: Emet-Selch, Haurchefaunt
Guest Characters: Ement Vauban and Klynt Gohtawyn from @saesama , Apple Silverberg from @eorziapple, The Thalia Voss and her sisters from @ladyofvoss
Original Characters: Keith Summers, Kirian Summers, and Hayzel Summers
Timeline: Post 7.3
With a raise of his sword and his trusted horse rearing under him, Prince Phillip earned the cheers of his people. Today was the day he'd slay the vile Maleficent and awaken the sleeping beauty trapped beyond the bramble moor about Forbidden Mountain, laid to wait in the wicked dragon's castle. Or so he thought. As he raced through the Enchanted Forest his horse stumbled over a tripwire sending him careening, armour and all, into some soft bushes.
A groan escaped his armour before his fell from his head and onto the dirt road in front of a pair of small feet. Hazily he looked up, finding a young boy staring down at him, brow furrowed. "Dad! There you are."
Phillip blinked, tilting his head as he rolled backward onto his ass then sat up. "I think you're greatly mistaken young sir. I have yet to find my princess and start my family. Actually, I'm on my way now to rescue said princess from a rather scary dragon. The forest isn't the safest place to be until I vanquish her. Perhaps you should return to the village before you get hurt."
The boy sighed and crossed his arms. "That's not happening. You're going to come with me and help me find father so we can go back home where we belong," he said defiantly.
"Wait. So you're looking for your dad then. I misheard. Well, I should be getting to Aurora but…I suppose the dragon won't harm her as long as she remains asleep. I'll help you find your dad. Where did you see him last," Prince Phillip offered, giving the boy a smile.
"I found my dad! You're him! We need find father now. He probably thinks he's some weird story-tale guy too," the boy said, furrowing his brow. "You're under a curse or something, the Prince from Sleeping Beauty…and I guess that means Uncle Hayzel is probably asleep in the dragon's tower. He's not the one you're supposed to rescue! Uncle Carter is…or should. You've gotta come with me instead."
Phillip chuckled, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "You've got a wild imagination young sire. My younger brother's name is Paul…And you say the princess is not a princess but a prince? Well, I suppose that matters little to me. They were all the same enchanting in the glade where I-"
"That's all Storytale nonsense! You're not Princes at all! You're Keith Summers! And your husband is G'raha Tia! I have a big sister G'khenna and I'm your son Kirian," the boy shouted, causing Phillip to take a step back.
Of course he didn't believe the boy, but he was starting to see he was becoming increasingly distressed the more he was rebutted. "G'raha Tia…that name does sound familiar….That's the Crystal Exarch! From the Realm Reborn books! My mother read those to us as a child…You're saying I'm his husband? The um…what was he. Keith was just one of the Scions was he not? Not really a featured character but I think there were a few stories about him…Friends with the Warriors of Light though."
Kirian nodded. "Yes! That's exactly who you are! And all your friends are here too! They're stuck miserable as Storytale characters and the only way to fix everything is to break this stupid curse!"
Phillip grimaced then looked around. "Are you from the town? Perhaps we should go back…So that way we can find more information about where your father might be."
"Hells! You don't believe me. Fine. We'll go back to the village and I'll prove it to you," Kirian huffed before storming off ahead.
Phillip sighed, looking over his shoulder toward the clouded moors where his love awaited him. Still, he could not turn his back on the troubled youth, and so he indulged him by following along, horse in tow.
By the time they reached the village, the sun had begun it's decent onto the horizon. Shopkeepers were starting to shutter their windows for the evening while the miners, field hands, and castle attendants returned from their duties and ventured out to unwind at a pub or with friends. Kirian led Phillip through the streets until finally stopping in front of a toy shop called 'Geppetto's.'
"What do you remember about the Warrior, U'rahn Nuhn?" Kirian asked.
"He's every little knight's favourite hero. A lion man with a heart of gold. He was the last of the chosen to save the world, the favourite of the goddess. She loved him so much that she put a piece of herself in every world to watch over him. Let's see…he also proved himself to be a wise leader and had a bunch of daughters and a son…and I think married an automaton right?"
"Close enough…," Kirian said with a shrug before pointing into the window, past the hanging puppets and throw a small part in the curtain. Inside, an orange haired man quietly carved wood in a chair as he rocked, alone. "That's him. That's U'rahn Nuhn!"
"No…that's Geppetto the toy maker," Phillip said, gesturing above to the wooden sign bearing the man's name then to the toys hanging in the window.
Kirian scowled, "Look at the toys. Don't they look familiar," he asked, pointing to one that had a black and white painted face and a little crown atop it's head then to another that bared a striking resemblance to it's maker.
"This one does a little. It's a little Geppetto," the prince said, giving a firm nod when he was sure of it.
"No! That's supposed to be U'rahn Tia! Instead he's a lifeless puppet and U'rahn is miserable without his loved ones. Don't you want to help him," Kirian asked.
"Geppetto isn't miserable! He brings joy to all the townsfolk with his stories and puppet shows," Phillip pointed out.
Kirian crossed his arms then looked down at his feet. "Right, he's happy on the surface. That's why this curse is so good. You can't really tell something is wrong…Everyone here settles for an almost happily-ever-after because they don't no better or no one can see what's really in their hearts…The real Geppetto's puppet came to life. The Blue Fairy granted him a wish to be a real boy if he was honest, brave, and true and Geppetto got to have the family he always wanted…He doesn't even get that in this messed up place."
Phillip frowned as the boy sulked then reached out to ruffle his hair. "The Blue Fairy hasn't been seen in eons kid. And when I look through that window I see a guy that brings happiness to everyone around him. Surely, you can see that too."
"That's not happiness though! You can just say your happy or fine and everyone just believes you. Just like you can just say you love someone but that doesn't make it true," the boy said bitterly. "Let's try this…can you remember what you did yesterday?"
"Well…I met Aurora in the glades and fell madly in love with them," Phillip said, recalling dancing in the woods.
"And the day before that," Kirian pressed.
"I…well…," Phillip started before finding himself drawing a blank. A briefest dread set in on him, but it passed quickly. "That was two days ago. It was just a regular day? I did normal stuff."
Kirian raised his brow at the prince then shook his head. "You're definitely my dad."
Though the boy had said it before, Phillip felt this time Kirian had meant it as an insult somehow. Before he could raise another question, the clock-tower struck seven bells. Alerted, Kirian looked up then took off back toward the Enchanted Forest. "Oi! Get back here! You can't go into the forest this late," Phillip called out.
Worried for the boy's safety, he chased him, golden twilight nearly blinding his view as Kirian deftly weaved through trees ahead of him. Slowed by his armour, Phillip started to unbuckle his plating and letting it fall behind him in a trail until he was just in his tunic, leathers, and grieves.
Panting, he finally came to a stop where the trees broke into a flowered meadow. Ahead, a small cottage set nestled just beyond a small creek under a rather large willow. Outside, a tall slender man tended to laundry while Kiran watched, squatted down behind some fencing. Phillip hurried after the boy then joined him. "Who's this supposed to be?"
"The brother of the Shieldmaiden…huh, I guess that works in both realms. Regardless, he's the fairest wisest man in all the land and has caught the attention of the Princess of the Sea. Unfortunately…the Evil Queen of the Twisted Forest also wants the attention of the Princess of the Sea."
"The Evil Queen? Oh, that's the forest with the trees that throw apples at you," Phillip said with a little shudder.
"That's the one…but they're really, well, the Shieldmaiden's good friends…and father's friends too. They're supposed to be really lovey-dovey with each other but here they're all twisted up because of the curse. The Evil Queen is mean and jealous here but in the real world a really nice lady with a cool house on a boat! But here she hasn't been able to be close to her friends…I don't know all the details because you say I'm not old enough to know yet…but now…," Kirian said, pointing to a woman in a green dress striding through the field with a basket of apples on her arm.
"Huh. She's gonna bring him apples? That's not really evil. Unless she pelts him with them," Phillip mused.
"No! They're poisoned," Kirian huffed, "They're gonna curse him into a eternal slumber only true love's kiss can break.
"So….we just get the Princess of the Sea to come and kiss him awake then," Phillip said. "Text book curse breaker."
Kirian seemed to get lost in thought for a moment then shook his head. "The problem is…the Prince of the Sea is well…at sea," he said before hearing a thud in the distance.
The two looked around the fence, watching as the Evil Queen fled back into the forest, leaving the slender man on the ground clutching a bitten apple. "Heck! I suppose I should have stopped that," Phillip sighed before watching Kirian take off.
Once more the prince gave chase, finding the boy squatting over the stranger's body then folding his arms over his chest, putting his empty hands flat on his shoulders. "His friends will be by later and put him away…if the Prince of the Sea can ever get back to him they'll probably wake him…but they could also be stuck on a voyage forever unable to get back. If you'd just remember who you were you could save him now!"
Phillip frowned, looking up as the sun finally started to fade beyond the trees while a dark blue sky crept in behind them. He reached out, about to pet the boy's shoulder but Kirian jerked away. "Come on! If you still don't believe me then maybe you will if you meet with someone you're closer to!"
"Fine. We'll go to one more place," Phillip agreed, pulling down a sheet from the line to cover the man's lifeless body before letting the boy lead him back toward the forest.
Phillip could tell they were getting farther away, to where his kingdom brushed up against the neighbouring one. The trees thinning, he found himself on the grounds of a rather large estate. Approaching the mansion upon it, he spotted a carriage as two beautifully dressed women came out. "They must be going to Charming's ball. I could be getting ready for that myself with Aurora at my side right now," he sighed wistfully.
"Prince Haurchfaunt's ball," Kirian corrected.
"My neighbor…is the smiling knight from Heavensward?" Phllip laughed, watching as a young maid came out and handed them their heels to put on in the carriage.
"Thank you Ella," one of the glamour woman sang.
"These dresses are beautiful. It's a shame you couldn't finish yours," the other said.
"Oh! It's no bother at all. You should go and have your fun! I don't like dancing anyway. Tell me all about it when you return," the girl named Ella said, blowing a kiss as the carriage started to move on. Phillp watched quietly as the young woman looked up into the sky, fingers lacing together almost in prayer.
Phillip cocked his head then leaned over to whisper, "What's she doin-"
"Shh," Kirian hissed, watching quietly until Ella went back inside. "Everything is wrong here…"
"Let me guess. That's supposed to be Thalia, the great love of Prince Hien? She seems happy enough to stay home," he pointed out.
"Yeah! Your good friend has to stay home and not meet one of the loves of her life. Doesn't that make you upset? I guess she's Cinderella here. In that story her evil sisters ruin her dress along with her wicked step-mother and she can't go to the ball! Then the Blue Fairy comes and makes her a gown and crystal slippers so that she can meet the prince and they can fall in love. Here…she's just content to watch because her sisters are nice instead…,"Kirian grunted.
"Isn't that good? She loves her sisters so much. I wish my brothers got along that well…," Phillip mused.
"Probably cause their real sisters…," Kirian said weakly.
"Huh?"
"Nothing…you don't believe me anyway," the boy answered before slumping and starting back toward the village.
Phillip followed, feeling a bit bad for the boy. He didn't want to encourage his fantasy; however, he hated to see him looking so sad. "So…how did we all get cursed," he found himself asking, thinking it might clear up some issues.
"I…," Kirian started. "I got upset at everyone. I said a lot of stuff I didn't mean again…And so I used one of my aetheryte tickets to get away and ended up at the Great Gubal Library. Father said to stay out of the children's section because a lot of books were still kinda messed up from all the ambient aether, but where else was I going to go? I was just minding my own business and this man in a black hood came up and offered me a book and said if I wished hard enough that I could live in a place that only had happy endings. I thought it was just another stupid Storytale book but everything was kinda different…and then I fell asleep and woke up in it."
"Ah, so then you think it's a bad dream," Phillip said with a nod.
"It's not a dream! It's a cursed world. No one's actually happy here! I'm sure not. I miss you…and father…and even my sister," he huffed.
Phillip paused, "Yeah? Well…if that's the case. Who's your folks here?"
"That would be me," an annoyed voice cut in.
Turning the two found a tired looking man in a furred jacket standing impatiently at the village's gate with a gilded carriage behind him with the flag of the empire waving from it. "The Uniter! Emperor, apologies," Phillip said, getting to one knee with a deep bow for the ultimate ruler of all the joined kingdoms of the land.
"Don't bother with that. He's just a dreamed up version of some old geezer that antagonised father," Kirian grunted, fists balling.
"This old geezer has seen to it that every want you could possibly have has been tended to. Horses. Swords. Toys. Friends. I've brought them all to your feet and yet you still play the ungrateful son…," the Emporer sighed, shaking his head. "Let's go home Kirian. You've bothered the prince enough with your story telling."
"I don't have to go anywhere with you! You're not my real dad," Kirian shouted before taking a step back and digging into his pocket.
A deep, exhausted sigh came from the Emperor. "Please, Kirian. Come along and we'll… I don't know. We'll find you something that pleases you. It is late though and I'm tired."
"I'm never going anywhere with you again old man," the boy said, pulling something from his pocket then shoving it into his mouth. Kirian started to shake then dropped to his knees.
"Kirian!" screamed both the Emperor and the Prince.
Rushing in, the Emperor caught the boy before he could fall onto his face. Like the slender man in the meadow, he was lifeless. Panicked, the man shook his son and shouted for him to awaken, causing a apple that had a bite and piece picked from it to fall onto the ground and roll to Kirian's feet.
"Oh no…," Phillip breathed out.
"What is that!? What did he eat," the Emperor demanded, standing up with Kirian in his arms.
"A cursed apple…from the Evil Queen," Phillip breathed out, reaching out to touch Kirian's cheek only to have his hand smacked away.
"Don't you touch him! I'll see that witch and her forest burned to ashes! Guards! We must away to the castle and send for the wisest mages in the land," barked the Emperor as he strode into his carriage, delicately setting his son inside.
With that, he was gone. Shaking, Phillip just watched him disappear down the road until he was gone. As he stood there, he felt something streak down his cheek. Touching his face, he found himself starting to cry, but before the thought of what it could meant formed, he felt himself tackled to the ground.
Title: Blind Date
Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Y'shtola Rhul, Y'mhitra Rhul, Ryssthota Sundstyrwyn, Apple Silverberg, Ement Vauban, Thancred Waters
Summary: Zoissette and Y'shtola find themselves being roped into a blind date by their very well-meaning friends.
Notes: August YOTP entry - Blind Date
Y’shtola picked up and examined the glasses carefully.
She had not been able to get to them as fast as she had liked, but with matters in the Thirteenth now well in hand, and her friend on their way to recovery, well. She now had time and means both at her disposal. Working on the glasses, restoring them to full use, would give her something to do in between writing reports on her experiences.
She examined them carefully, to gauge the work that would now lay before her.
It was to be a matter that was going to be more difficult than she had first surmised.
Fortunately, the glasses were not needed for corrective means, and so Zoissette would not be left blind while they were being repaired. That was where the good fortune in the matter ended, however. The glasses were special, and not as some mere fashion item. They had been carefully made, and then laden with a great many enchantments, many of which were tied to Zoissette’s aether, or had been instilled using formulae and techniques which were yet unknown to Y’shtola.
A challenge, but one that was not beyond Y’shtola’s unique qualifications. Even if she did not know some of Zoissette’s magical specialties to any depth, she was a master of aether itself, and could fair see the weavings of magicks deeply embedded into the lenses and frame. She could not replicate many of the magicks, but with care and diligence, she could shift them and restore them whole.
She turned the glasses over in her hands. The frame was salvageable, but would need a hinge replaced, and the metal carefully refurbished. One lens was intact, which was well. It would inform her approach to replacing the other, which was broken, the only remaining part being a large shard that stubbornly remained attached to the frame. The nose pieces, too, were more than just functional, and carried some magical energies that would need to be handled. Unfortunately, they had been partially melted in the laboratory fire, and would need to be replaced.
What had initially seemed to perhaps be merely an afternoon of due diligence was now looking to perhaps be a larger project, but it was of no matter. Zoissette would certainly not need them for many moons, and so Y’shtola had time. She would shift her focus between this project and the reports she had promised to make, and finish both with her usual aplomb.
She smiled to herself. This challenge was one she would overcome.
~*~
Zoissette was keeping herself busy.
As she worked, she reminded herself. Failure was not an option. Right.
It was a saying her old mentor was very fond of. Failure was not an option, he would say. Failure was mandatory, he would repeat, and often. The option, he opined, was in how one faced it.
It was well that such lessons were drilled into her early, with every hefting of her shield and every arc of her sword, every drill, every session. Otherwise, she would probably find her long string of failures even more distressing than they already were.
Like her most recent failure. With Mathye.
The ending of their courtship was almost certainly a good thing. She had tried, and she had failed. Love was supposed to grow where you watered it, so old Ishgardian wisdom went, and she had tried so very hard.
But in the end, that garden had lay fallow. She was willing to keep trying, as long as it took. He deserved it, and she could have made it work, she was certain.
But then all at once, all of a sudden, she realised she might already have a love.
She was not certain, but she had to be honest with him.
And so she was.
And so it hurt.
They had broken it off, and he was hurt, and she was the one who had hurt him, and that was frankly the worst part of the whole affair.
And so, now she distracted herself. Kept herself busy. Long hours in the vehicle bay. Consulting hours with those who wished an able adventurer to help them with their troubles. Anything that kept her out of Mathye’s way.
She had weathered many failures in her summers on the star. This, too, she would overcome.
~*~
Y’mhitra happily wiled her time with her friends in the Gage Acquisitions laboratory. Ryss was a good sort and an accomplished scientist, and Apple and her had a shared history of being among the privileged few who delved deep into Allagan ruins. They had caught one another up on various experiments they had running, Apple’s recent misadventures, Ryss’ good natured exasperation at her friends, and the conversation had turned from the scientific now to the more personal matters the three were dealing with. Apple was still in recovery, and Ryss was in between projects and thinking about what to do next.
“How’s Y’shtola?” asked Apple. “I feel as though I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Last I saw her, she was still writing up reports for the Forum regarding that misadventure in the Thirteenth.”
“And what an adventure it was!” said Ryss with a grin. “But all’s well that ends well, right? Can’t wait to apply everything we’ve learned. What a trip! I have so many ideas, I can hardly pick just one to work on.”
“And I think research into the Voidsent phenomena may help me with my condition,” said Apple. “It’s fascinating, really, how the people on the Thirteenth get along - what few that are left. I hope to get more chances to talk with Zero in the future.”
“And what about the rest of your little group here at Gage? Where is Zoissette?” Y’mhitra asked, taking a tart for herself.
Apple turned the faintest shade of red while Ryss shook her head with a laugh. “Oh, broken up over breaking up with Mathye. She’s burying herself in the vehicle bay these days when she can’t find someone else’s problems to stick her nose into.”
Y’mhitra raised an eyebrow.
“And how recent is this bit of news?”
“Been a bit. Sennights going into moons. Apparently she walked into the dining room when it happened, made a big announcement, then ran right back out. I swear, my girl doesn’t know how to do anything by half measures.”
“She’s been working a lot,” said Apple. “I kind of feel bad for her, but I’m not sure how to help.”
Y’mhitra sat her tart back down, as an idea formed in her mind, and she looked conspiratorially between her fellow sisters of science.
“Oh, I think I might have an idea,” she said, and she could not help but allow herself a bit of a wicked grin.
~*~
The glass turned out to be a key piece of the puzzle before her. She could not just source ordinary glass. It was a remarkable material that Zoissette had puzzled out, glass that was transparent but could be laden down with so much aether to support so many enchantments. It was more artifact than eyewear, puissant in its own right.
Fascinating. Her most powerful piece of adventuring gear, and it might not have been weapon or armor, but rather the way she looked at the world through these glasses. Zoissette was a marvel. Y’shtola smiled faintly to herself as she carefully set the glass into the refurbished frame. She squinted, and her fingers played in the air as she gently encouraged lines of aether to connect to this new piece, convincing the glasses that the new lens had been part of it all along.
She sat back, satisfied, and checked the chronometer. She had half a bell to spare before she had to be at the Last Stand. A lunch meetup that her sister had invited her and Thancred to. She sighed. It was enough time to get ready, but only just.
She was on time, of course. Y’shtola was ever a woman of culture, and fashionably late was a habit she did not nurture if she could help it. She had nothing to prove, after all, and she hoped others respected her time as much as she respected theirs. She found the two, placed their orders, and soon enough they were swapping stories and sharing food.
Y’shtola was pleased. Everyone was in high spirits, in the wake of all that had happened. Thancred had been keeping himself busy, of course, and while he tried to downplay the extent of his travails, she could tell he was pleased with the results of what he had been looking into. Y’mhitra, of course, pressed her for details about her time on the Thirteenth, and oddly, for once, was not prying too much into her personal life.
At least, not at first.
“So, sister mine,” said Y’mhitra conversationally as she poured Y’shtola another cup of tea, “I cannot help but notice that you continue on your trend of being in impossible situations facing unfathomable danger.”
She held a hand up before Y’shtola could offer a rebuttal. “And the star is ever better for it. I wonder, however, if you might not consider my words once more. This latest to hear you describe it was a frightful affair. And in your own words, no less! I am certain you are downplaying certain risks when they might paint you in unflattering light.”
Y’shtola inclined her head at her sister. “I assure you my recounting is ever accurate.”
“Perhaps so. But might you once more consider the advantages of sharing your considerable strength with another? I certainly would feel better knowing someone is looking after you in all the ways you yet refuse to look after yourself. I know you are strong, and you need not have me tell you so. But as the threats you face seem to grow ever greater, I wish you would join your strength with another.”
“A singular argument you oft have returned to over these many years, Mhitra.”
“In much the same way you keep being drawn to such great troubles, Shtola.”
Y’shtola stirred her tea thoughtfully for a moment, as she pondered her sisters’ words. Thancred for his part seemed to be staying out of it, politely drinking his ale and conveniently hiding his face behind the brim of his mug at the same time.
But at last, she set her cup down, to look her sister in the eye.
“…you are not wholly wrong,” she admitted.
Y’mhitra blinked, and Y’shtola resisted the urge to smirk at her sister’s surprise. “There is someone, then?”
“Many someones, if you must know,” said Y’shtola. She sighed, and waved a hand at Y’mhitra’s disappointed expression. “’Tis not what you meant, I know. But whilst I continue to keep my own counsel, I do find myself more often heeding the counsel of others these days. And you were right, though perhaps not in the way you meant. What I mean is… that I have learned. To share my strength, as you say. And to accept strength in return.”
She looked down into her cup and smiled at the many memories. “I feel that it was on the First that I truly learned what it was to be part of a community, to share and share strength alike - and more. I recognize now, that before, I ever kept myself at arm’s length, isolated from my fellow Scions. But after, well. Separated by the rift though I am from that clan, I fair feel our bonds are ever intact. Hence my efforts to find a way back, to keep a promise I made. And my bonds with my fellow Scions are so ever stronger for the lesson.”
Y’shtola held her cup up to Thancred in salute, and he bowed his head and held his mug up in return.
“These bond are made ever stronger in our travails. I would lean on any one of them as I would myself, and you are right. We are stronger for it.”
Y’shtola thought of Zoissette, and felt herself smile. “And others, aside. I am in good enough company, sister.”
Y’mhitra sighed. “That is all well and good, and it does truly reassure me to hear this change in you. But still. I wish you would find a partner. Someone who does not just shares their strength with you, but complements you. Someone with who perhaps you would find the sum to be greater than its parts. Someone special. Thancred, you agree with me, right?”
Thancred had been watching the exchange between the sisters with fascinated interest, but Y’mhitra caught him while he was taking another pull off his ale, and he near choked on it. Y’shtola raised an eyebrow at him as he spent some few moments coughing and spluttering before he cleared his throat
“Ah, I think you may have mistaken your choice of ally in this fight, Y’mhitra, and I believe I will be finding myself staying well out of it. Y’shtola shall do as she wills, and none can convince her otherwise. I know I won’t try to do so, as I rather enjoy having all my bits attached.”
Y’shtola looked to Y’mhitra, tilting her head at her.
“Unlike you to miscalculate so badly, dear sister,” she said. “What are you playing at?”
Y’mhitra looked desperately at Thancred, but he just shook his head. She slumped, and Y’shtola laughed at her sister’s misfortune.
“Or perhaps I have overestimated,” said Y’shtola. “Well. ’Tis of no matter. This has been a most pleasant afternoon, but I find I wish to return to my work. If you both will excuse me.”
Y’shtola placed enough Gil on the table to cover her costs, before giving the table a wave as she left. Y’mhitra looked after her, dismayed, while Thancred looked on, rather more amused.
However, once she passed out of sight, Y’mhitra turned to Thancred with a faint smile.
“Thanks for the help,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, picking up his ale once more. “Seriously, don’t, I could deal without her being mad about it later if she ever finds out about this little ruse.”
“Have to give her a victory or else she’ll get too stubborn to overcome,” said Y’mhitra, standing up and cleaning up after herself. “She really has changed over the summers, hasn’t she?”
Thancred shrugged. “We all have. I guess maybe I hadn’t noticed as much as I might, being right there alongside her for much of it… but now that it’s been pointed out rather explicitly, yes, I suppose what she said is true. I think she’s definitely more open than she used to be. Definitely closer with some of us. Not like that, though, before you get any ideas.”
“I have a rather specific idea, thank you very much. Still. This is a good start.”
“Think it’ll work?” asked Thancred.
Y’mhitra just smiled.
~*~
Zoissette was busy in the vehicle bay, plotting launch schedules and scheduling time for making more components on the fabricator. She could hear the comings and goings of others, but mostly ignored them. If someone wanted her attention, she would make time for them, but for now, her work was a pleasant enough distraction.
A loud boisterous voice called out from behind her.
“Hoi, Zoi!” it bellowed.
“Hullo, Ryss,” said Zoissette, not yet fully paying attention. She reached up to try to tap the rim of her glasses, but stopped her hand in time before she had a chance to thwap herself in the nose yet again. Not having them was taking some getting used to, but replacing them was going to be a project in and of itself.
She should finally buckle down and do that.
While she was musing, Ryss had come to hover nearby, looking over her shoulder. “Hey, got a moment?”
Zoissette looked over the console. Well, nothing was very urgent.
“Sure, Ryss. What is on your mind?”
Ryss looked at her thoughtfully, rubbing her chin.
“You’ve been keeping yourself awful busy lately.”
“There is an awful lot to do.”
“There’s -always- an awful lot to do, and you’ve been trying to do it all ever since you broke up with Mathye.”
Ryss had never been one to beat around the proverbial bush. Zoissette grimaced, and turned back to the vehicle control console.
“Girl, I’m not saying you have to get over him immediately, but you don’t have to keep beating yourself up about it, either.”
“I am not ‘beating myself up’,” said Zoissette.
Ryss let the silence stretch for a bit.
“You said you were in love with someone else,” she ventured.
“I said I thought I was in love with another. I say a lot of stupid things.”
Zoissette fell silent, letting her fingers dance over the console controls. Ryss patiently allowed the silence to settle in for as long as it would take, and Zoissette at last turned the machine off. She turned to her friend, and looked up at her for a moment, before turning away again.
“Ryss,” she said quietly, looking at the floor, “I am not even sure I know what love is.”
“Oh, Zoi,” began Ryss.
“No, I am serious, Ryss. I understand what lust is well enough, I understand what the rush of hormones feels like, but that - I do not think that is love, that is just, well, a desire to swive, and fades fast. So that is not it. And I have read the storytales, of love fathoms deep, of a deep abiding desire or draw or … something. Of people saying things like, like, they would die for one another. Is that love? If so, then I love pretty much everyone. I would die for any one of you, Ryss, but that seems too easy, too… well. That is just the duty of a knight.”
“Maybe the duty of a knight is to love the world,” said Ryss mildly.
Zoissette paused.
“I think about that a lot, and have reached the same conclusion,” she said. ”But that is not the kind of love one builds a bonding out of. I just do not know. I … I remember, being told as a child, that love would grow where you tended it, like a garden. But do you know how many seeds I have planted? Relationships begun, and tended to, waiting for that love to grow. Hoping desperately for it to grow. To feel whatever it is that everyone else is feeling. To be something for someone like that.”
Zoissette threw her hands out to the side. “And I like plenty of people, Ryss, but like is not love, and I do not know what I am doing wrong, and I certainly do not know why I said such a foolish thing. I … I could have made it work. I should have been able to make it work! Mathye is a good man. And even without love, I would have been a good partner, and maybe we could have grown a love eventually.”
“And instead you’re down here in the vehicle bay punishing yourself for not being able to meet some metaphor that you don’t even know is right?”
“And instead I am down here in the vehicle bay where I can at least be useful in a way that makes sense and can be measured. Quantified.” said Zoissette.
“Hey. Hey. Look at me, girlfriend.”
Zoissette did not turn her head, but her eyes did find their way to Ryss’ face, which was good enough.
Ryss rested a hand on her shoulder. “You say you don’t know what love is, but I’m willing to bet you do. You just haven’t figured it out for yourself yet, but you’re smart like that. Never rushing into stuff before it’s time. But I gotta ask, how are you going to figure it out like this from down here?”
She smiled at her. “So you said you might love someone else. Wouldn’t it be worth finding out for sure?”
Zoissette did not respond immediately. But after a moment, there was a small smile on her face, a genuine smile.
She seemed to have more of those these days, despite everything.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Good enough for me,” said Ryss. “Hey, we can talk more about it later, alright? Wanna do lunch later?”
“Sure,” said Zoissette, powering the vehicle control console back on. Ryss took the hint, and waved as she headed out of the workshop.
~*~
Ryss and Apple met Y’mhitra and Thancred at a small eatery in New Gridania.
“I really wish I was not part of this little conspiracy,” groused Thancred.
“Rather too late for it now; you’re trapped,” said Y’mhitra, winking at him. He just groaned in response. “How did it go with you two?”
“I think she’ll be open to the idea,” said Ryss. “Just gotta arrange things so she doesn’t have a good reason to say no.”
Apple nodded thoughtfully. “If we can figure out a place, we can pick a time, and I can tie up the fabricator. They both spent a lot of time in Limsa, it’s very important to all of us. I’m thinking the Bismarck, or maybe the Missing Member - their chef won that one competition a few years back, right? Should be just as good if not better!”
Ryss shook her head. “Not the Missing Member. That particular cook you’re thinking of went on a star tour and I don’t think he’s returned yet.”
“Bismarck, then,” said Apple, looking thoughtful. “I’ll check their bookings and get back to you.”
“What about your side?” asked Ryss.
“She thinks she’s won the first round,” said Y’mhitra. “It’ll just be a matter of convincing her when the time comes. She certainly seems to have enough time on her hands, if I can just convince her to walk away from the Forum for a bit. And whatever mystery hobby project she’s up to.”
“I can help there,” volunteered Thancred. “It’s not any real mystery, you just don’t recognize what she’s working on. She’s fixing Zoissette’s glasses.”
“Oh, that sure is nice of her!” said Apple. “Zoissette keeps hitting herself in the nose.”
Y’mhitra looked at her questioningly, but Ryss responded. “Zoissette keeps the things loaded down with enough enchantments to choke a three-headed goobbue.”
“Well, in any case, I think this all bodes rather well for your scheming,” said Thancred.
“Indeed,” said Y’mhitra. “Well, once Apple gets us some dates, I think we can move to the next phase of our plan.”
“This is still rather too much cloak and dagger for my taste,” said Thancred.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” said Y’mhitra.
Ryss waved her hands. “Now, now. If those two had any chance of figuring this out themselves, they would’ve done so by now. We’re just letting out the sails a little to help them get out of their own way, that’s all.”
Thancred just shrugged, and Y’mhitra nodded. “Well. I think we know what each of us needs to do. Keep one another posted.”
“Right.” “Okay!” “Sure.”
Their conversation moved on to other topics while they continued their lunch.
~*~
She had already known that moving the enchantments over to encompass the new lens was going to be difficult, but even in that, it seemed that she had underestimated the work, and underestimated Zoissette, and possibly even overestimated her own capabilities.
Her unique sight gave her a special insight into aether, it was true, but the magicks woven throughout the glasses could not be explained by mere aetheric observation alone. The intricate weaving spoke to Zoissette’s deep mastery of Nymian mathematics and beyond. Feedback loops, unusual geometries, all leading to complex and deep combinatorics.
She practically had to move the spell works over mote by minute aetheric mote, checking as she went along, making sure nothing was lost.
A puzzle. A challenge.
It would be worthwhile, she decided, to make this a gift unto her friend.
A knock at the door went ignored. But as it persisted, she sighed. “You may enter,” she called out, setting the glasses down for a moment. She could probably use a break, anyroad, if she were honest with herself.
She smiled at Y’mhitra as her sister walked in. “Did we not have lunch a mere sennight ago? I was not aware you found me such good company. I promise I have not found any trouble in such a short span.”
“You are trouble enough left to your own devices, I should think. Thancred tells me you’ve barely left this room.”
“My report to the Forum must needs be exacting. I shall leave out no detail, no matter how minor I may think it. For if travel between the shards is to one day become a reality, then we would all do well to face it with as much preparation and knowledge as we can muster.”
“And I don’t disagree, but this can’t be good for you. All work and no play makes my sister an isolated old hermit rather too much like her former master.”
“I would hear you say that to her yourself.”
“I think not! Still. I think you could tolerate a day off from this drudgery. A day off, and around people, not mammets and books. What say you, Shtola?”
Well, she had been working fair hard for some days. And indeed, she was not quite sure when she had last sought company. Surely more recently than last sennight’s luncheon.
Maybe not.
“Let us say that I agree with you. Whatsoever are you planning?”
“Well… I was thinking … maybe you could go out on a date.”
Y’shtola looked at her sister incredulously. “Again with this? But my my, what an imagination you have if you think I have any potential candidates for such just now. Or have the rumors of supposed flirtations with voidsent fully taken on such life of their own as to reach my sister’s ears?”
“A blind date.”
At this, Y’shtola felt her expression and ears go flat.
“Certainly not.”
“Oh, come on, Shtola. Might be fun.”
“And whomst have you picked out for me?”
Y’mhitra just smiled at her, and Y’shtola shook her head. “You are still yet young to be able to still entertain such flights of fancy. I am rather busy, and I think I shall not be making time in my schedule for such frivolity.”
“Frivolity is the point, Y’shtola. Get out. Have some fun. Entertain a new face. Practice your famously sharp wit on them, I know that is a favourite pastime of yours. A decent night out, perhaps get a good meal out of it, have a good time, and for the love of the gods, actually get out of your room for a reason besides flinging yourself bodily into harm once more.”
“I think too much more of this conversation and I shall be flinging myself heartily back into my work.”
Y’mhitra tapped her knuckles against her chin, tilting her head as she looked thoughtfully at Y’shtola.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“I am certain you have naught with which to bargain.”
“Do this for me, and I’ll leave you alone for a season.”
“As though you can resist the urge to meddle in my affairs.”
“Y’shtola,” said Y’mhitra, and Y’shtola took notice of the sudden change in formality. “We are women not only of the Jaguar tribe, but daughters of Rhul. Our word is as good as bond, for we could be no other way. And I, your sister, am worried about you. You grow older and wiser and you have your allies - for now. But you are not getting any younger, and I would not see my sister become another Matoya, as wise and capable as she is, all alone in a cave. Do this for me, and I give you my word, I shall not breath a word of finding you companionship for a season.”
Y’shtola desperately wished to go back to her work, but while she could match and usually exceed her sister’s stubbornness, it would mean time and effort she did not wish to spare just this moment.
And the offer was a tempting one. To not be pestered with such nonsense for a time. Though of course, Y’mhitra’s offer was, purposefully, a low one.
“Offer me one summer of such respite, and I shall -consider- your words.”
“Two seasons.”
“One summer, or I shall stay in my little room, blessedly alone, continuing my important work, and shall delight in frustrating your efforts the entire time.”
“…fine,” said Y’mhitra, scowling. “I would leave the matter closed for one summer, but if and only if you put forth a good faith effort. You never have to see them again, but see them the once, at least.”
“If I say that I shall take the matter under due consideration, will you let me return to my work?”
“Gladly.”
“Fine. Then I consider the matter settled for now.”
“Alright, but if I do not have your answer in a sennight, I am coming back,” said Y’mhitra. “And I will be bringing others with me. I am not the only one that worries, you know.”
“I am certain,” said Y’shtola, dryly. “Why, with so many worrying after me rather than themselves, it is little wonder that I ever feel in danger at all. Perhaps all this worry can summon a primal to keep me company.”
“Very funny, Shtola.”
“Now, if you don’t mind…”
“One sennight, and then I am coming for you.”
Y’shtola just waved a hand in the air as Y’mhitra left, and sighed.
~*~
Ryss was keeping an eye on Zoissette, without looking like she was keeping an eye on Zoissette.
She was worried about her, and wondered idly if this was what it was like to be Zoissette all the time. She had long been a confidant to the Elezen, after all, and Zoissette had frequently confessed her various worries about others to her. About Klynt and Apple, and whether or not they were being fulfilled by their work and reaching their potential as much as they wanted. Worrying about Meya and Erick, and hoping their relationship was well. Worrying about her brother, hoping his life in Ishgard was continuing to treat him well. Worrying about Riven and Astrid. Worrying about Mathye and whether she was doing right by him. Worrying about Thalia and her weird shyness around training with Augustine.
She did not complain much, and she often kept her true feelings tight to herself, but she did seem to worry a lot, and now here Ryss was, worrying about Zoissette.
Well, if this worked, then all would be well again. In a far corner of the workshop, where she could not be heard, Ryss saw Apple take a linkpearl call. Apple nodded a few times, before lifting her head, facing Ryss, and waving to try to get her attention.
So much for subtlety, but if Zoissette noticed, she wasn’t paying it much mind. Ryss sighed and waved back, and Apple gave her a thumbs-up.
If she was reading the situation correctly, that meant Y’mhitra had just called in, and with good news.
It was time to move in. Ryss ambled over to where Zoissette was.
“Say, Zoi, I had a thought.”
Zoissette did not look up from her work. “Hopefully more than the one, since that is what we get paid for.”
“Say, Zoi, I had a -lot- of thoughts.”
“Oh very good. I suppose you wish to share some?”
“Yeah. S’about what we talked about the other day.”
“I still think the merits of the Nymian systems of measurement shall rule out over the current standards one day.”
“…not about that.”
“Oh! Well, I had thought the matter settled, but I am open to suggestions.”
“Not that either! … wait no actually I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What we should get for the tea tin.”
“Oh. Oh, no, not that, either. Wait. Since you brought it up I think that we should get honey now that we’re here in Gridania. I hear they have the best honey.”
Zoissette lifted her head up to yell. “Apple! Add Gridanian honey to the supply list!”
“Okay!”
“Alright, but still not that either,” said Ryss, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m talking about love.”
There had been a few changes in Zoissette’s demeanor since she had returned from the events of the laboratory incident. One of them was that while before her face had often had an aloof expression of Ishgardian politeness, now it seemed that every emotion she had danced across her face at the slightest prompting.
Like just now, as she passed through several expressions so fast that Ryss blinked and missed a few.
“I do not know that there is much more to talk about there, Ryss.”
Well. The Ishgardian stoicism may have been gone, but the person behind it was still the same.
“Girl, look, you’re sitting down here thinking about it when you should be out there doing something about it. You gotta get back in the saddle! We gotta get you out there! And most importantly of all…”
Ryss trailed off for dramatic effect. When the silence began to stretch into the awkward, she nudged Zoissette in the shoulder.
Zoissette just looked flatly at her, and she threw up her hands.
“Fine, I’ll just say it. You need practice! Science demands research, Zoissette!”
Zoissette continued to look flatly at her, but then after a moment, she cracked a smiled and laughed, and Ryss knew she had her.
“Alright, fine, what do you have in mind.”
“Dating. Get out! Meet people!”
“I am not inclined to inflict myself on anyone else just yet, Ryss.”
“Whatever, you’re a delight, you just haven’t found the right person yet. And how are you gonna find them if you’re not willing to search a bit?”
Zoissette just shook her head. “I’ve not the social calendar to be a gadfly and sort through potentials just to inevitably be letting them all down.”
“Letting them down? I’m not talking about courting, Zoissette. Dating! Just dating. Casual meet ups. Lunches that don’t have to go anywhere, dinners that are just for fun. Practice for when you’re ready to go looking for the one. And if you don’t like ‘em, you can just tell them no thank you, no hard feelings, and be on your way. You can tell people no, right?”
“I tell people no all the time, Ryss. Like every time Erick tries to sneak a trebuchet into the fabricator’s planning schedule. When Aeryn starts to get that look in her eyes that tells me that she’s thinking of chasing something over the horizon again. Or when my friend tries to tell me that me dating is a good idea.”
“Aw, come on, Zoi. Science demands sample sizes!”
“I thought it demanded research?”
“Which can be done through…” said Ryss, making a ‘go on’ gesture with her hands.
Zoissette just looked at her with a small smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Tell you what. Say yes, and I’ll even do all the hard work. Get you dolled up, find you a nice place to eat, pick out someone for you to get you started. Call it a blind date. It’ll be fun!”
“I will think about it, Ryss.”
“Good enough for now!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Apple give her a thumbs up, and she resisted the urge to facepalm. Fortunately, Zoissette didn’t seem to notice.
~*~
“I am not at all sure what has gotten into my sister lately,” said Y’shtola to Thancred. She was certain she was on the last bit of work needed to restore Zoissette’s glasses fully, but needed a break, and had elected to make time for tea with her fellow Scion. “She has always worried after me and been quite insistent on meddling in my personal affairs, but her efforts have rather increased as of late.”
Thancred shrugged. “Maybe she just thinks it’s a good time. It’s quiet in our collective lives. For once. Interrupting your report writing for the Forum is certainly better than trying to divert your attention while we are trying once more to save the star from something or another.”
Y’shtola just sighed. “I don’t imagine you have any insights as to what she may be planning after her little attempt to rope you in over lunch the other day.”
“Well of course I do,” said Thancred. “She’s been coming to me.”
Y’shtola set her tea down, and glared at Thancred over it. He shrugged in response.
“To be clear, I do not wholly agree with her,” he said. “After all, I know you well, Shtola. You are an independent woman, of unimpeachable character, with strength enough to rival the star. Indeed, I dare say if more of us had been blessed with the Echo and felt the need to step into the role of being a true Warrior of Light, why, I think none of us would be as well placed to fill the role as… G’raha Tia, naturally, with his long tenure of experience as the Crystal Exarch.”
Y’shtola chuckled, and Thancred gave her a grin before he continued on. “But it would be a close race, and if he was to place second to any of us, I daresay it would be to you. Your sister might make mention of your strength, but I’ve witnessed it. And I will not indulge your ego any further by speaking to your knowledge. But I cannot help but think that the crux of our last discussion was the ways in which you have found the wisdom to applying both, whether by yourself or with allies. So no, I don’t agree with her that you need a partner.”
“Do not think I do not detect the faint whiff of self-deprecation there, Thancred, that you fail to count yourself amongst the more capable of our little group.”
He waved a hand at her. “Perhaps with Urianger to help make up for my shortfall in aether. But never mind that. Y’shtola, I love you like family, and as family, I say, your sister may be wrong in the specifics, but I think she’s right in a broader sense. A partner would suit you. You’re not perfect, despite how often you pretend to be, don’t look at me like that, we’re being honest right now. And if I am to be honest, which I am, I don’t think you need a paramour. But imagine having someone to truly share yourself with. Someone to weather our various trials, side by side, another half. Who understands who you are and what you do and why you do it whole heartedly. Someone who can look at all of this like you do, who understands your point of view, and can match it with theirs. I think the idea has more merit than you are pretending to give it credit for.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, ‘truly’. That is my vaunted insight, if you’ll have it. Maybe let her have her fun. Let this play out. See where it goes. And then you’ll do what you want anyroad.”
Y’shtola was quiet for a moment, and Thancred shrugged.
“If nothing else, it does get you out of your room for a spell. Even if she’s wrong about everything else, you have been working too hard.”
“This from you?”
“Who would know better?”
“Well. I shall certainly not belabor the point,” she said. “I shall consider your counsel, Thancred.”
“Just leave me out of it if you decide to get mad at somebody. Don’t shoot the messenger and all that.”
“I believe I shall be cross with whosoever I wish, should such come to pass,” said Y’shtola archly, and she laughed when Thancred threw up his hands in defeat.
~*~
“I hope that ending my courtship with Mathye has not put your relationship with the Lady Fortemps under any strain,” said Zoissette.
Ement was practically living at Gage Acquisitions for the time being, helping out around the place and keeping an eye on his sister. They made a point of catching up often, and were just now alone in a quiet corner of the workshop where they would not be bothered.
“Riven? Heavens, no. She’s been an utter lady about the whole affair.”
“Good. I am glad,” she said, and Ement watched, as she fidgeted. “I… I told him I thought I loved someone else.”
“So I heard. Anybody I know?”
“…it does not matter.”
“Oh, good. You only ended a courtship over it. One you were trying your very hardest at, as I recall.”
Zoissette gave him a dirty look, and he shrugged back at her. He watched her long enough to see the change when it happened, as she went from stubborn to resigned.
“… it’s Archon Y’shtola.”
“Oh, fantastic taste, and I mean that sincerely. She threatened to turn me into a frog when I made half a pass at her. I love a woman that can ruin my life.”
“Ement.”
“Zoissette. Okay, but really, Sette, you could do worse. I barely know her, but I know she was there when you needed her to be, and every step after. And you’ve certainly prattled on enough about her to me. Wait, did I say I barely know her? With your stories, I think I could tell her life story.”
“You mean like those awful songs you sing at the tavern?”
“Those songs get me drinks.”
Zoissette sighed. “It does not matter. If she was interested, I am certain she would have made that clear long before now. She has not, and, well. Love her or not, I am content to play my part in her story.”
“Might just ask her about it to be sure.”
“I should,” Zoissette conceded. “But what if I am wrong? If she does not love me, that is fine, but what if I do not truly love her? I just… I do not know. I told Sebastian I would try after Heavensturn, but I do not know. And in the meanwhile…”
“In the meanwhile.”
“Ryss thinks I should try dating.”
“Great! Try that out, let me know how it goes.”
“I do not think that I should be dating anyone when I am not certain about the truth of my own heart,” she said.
“Is that what’s going on? Come on, Sette. Look, I get being cagey about approaching her, but you keep saying you’re not sure of the truth. Not sure of the truth? I’ve never known anyone in my life more obsessive about the truth. Say it with me. What’s the first duty?”
“… to the truth.”
“To the truth. Face her, face it, and find out the truth. Or don’t. I know it’s not like you to rush in, and you like to sit and think about things entirely too much. So, hey. Tell you what, here’s an idea. Keep doing that. And in the meanwhile, put yourself out there.”
“Put myself out where?”
“Dating. Going out. And, since I’m not out of good advice just yet, here’s some more. Forget about whoever you meet. Stop trying to be the perfect shape to fit them. Find out if they can be a shape to fit you. What I’m trying to say, is go out and get some practice being yourself. I’ve known you your entire life, Zoissette, and what you are truly in love with is making yourself miserable to be what everyone else needs you to be. And when you’re not doing that, you love to pretend you don’t exist, and it almost got you killed. Well, stop it.”
Ement was looking at her, and for once, his usual jocularity was entirely missing. Zoissette felt herself sitting up a little straighter, looking back at him square on, and meeting him where he was.
One dutiful child of Ishgard to another.
“Your self assigned duty is to the truth. So stop living so many lies.”
Zoissette felt her eyes watering, and she reached up to wipe them away with the back of a hand, and she nodded. She took a deep breath in, and she straightened her shoulders and stiffened her back, and she nodded.
“And there we are,” said Ement, relaxing back, reaching down a hand to fiddle with his rebreather, letting out a sigh of relief as he increased the airflow feed.
“Thank you,” said Zoissette.
“What are older brothers for, if not dispensing sage wisdom that they’ll never need or follow?” he said, his humor back, and the edges of her lips twitched. She closed her eyes to keep the tears away, and let herself laugh.
~*~
“Okay so it’s not so important what she wears, so long as she’s comfortable in it, gonna ask if Meya can help.”
“Oh! Maybe I should drive them both in a chocobo carriage! That’s romantic!”
“Right. So, I just linkpearled Klynt, and I told her everything that’s going on to get her advice, but all that happened is she laughed so hard she disconnected, and I’m choosing to take that as a good sign.”
“Now that she’s agreed to our deal, she’s not like to renege on it, but we still must needs be certain to not give her a reason to cancel.”
“Didja happen to get us tickets to be off the continent when they meet? I’d like to live to next summer.”
“I’ve fully booked the fabricator on these days! And I’ll ask around to make sure all the leves get filled, too!”
Ement and Thancred watched with some level of detached amusement and bafflement as the others dashed around making last minute adjustments to their master plan.
“You want to know the really funny bit?” asked Ement.
“Hmn?”
“This could all probably be upended with a five minute conversation.”
“What, and deny them their fun? Perish the thought.”
They continued to watch as the plans were fully assembled.
“At least Y’shtola’s not like to blame me for this mess,” said Thancred, and Ement just grinned at him.
~*~
There. Her work was near finished.
All she had left was to finish checking those enchantments that she could. Overall, she was quite pleased with herself. Without knowing the depths of Zoissette’s various magical disciplines, she had, nevertheless, managed what should have been an impossible task. The glasses were repaired, and the enchantments were restored. No matter how complex or tricky they had been, a look at their aether showed that they had been perfectly preserved, and now only wanted for their owner.
She could not check all of the enchantments, but those that she could, she had carefully been examining for the last bell. She had some time before Y’mhitra would show up to escort her to her arranged date, and she wished to see the work through.
As she reviewed them, she found herself smiling, as many of them brought back memories of her various adventures alongside Zoissette. The glasses were a useful tool, and Zoissette oft used their many capabilities to study aether, detect the positions of magitek in the field, get a closer look at some creature from far away, and more. Zoissette was inventive and clever, and that cleverness was reflected in the complexities of every enchantment, every decision that had been made in the manufacture of her glasses.
And the enchantments formed a history. Recent ones were fairly complex, with interlocking functionality, but they grew simpler as Y’shtola checked older ones, until she began to came across those that any beginner to the art may’ve created. Why they were still present, Y’shtola was not certain, but she checked them as well. An indicator for aetheric aspects. A range finder spell. A magnification function. And then, at last, she came to the final enchantment she could check. It was not quite as simple as many of the ones of similar age, requiring more than a novice’s knowledge. It seemed to form a method for storing images that had been drawn with aetheric ink.
She gave it a pulse of aether to bring it to life.
An image flared up on the lenses, and Y’shtola felt as though the world had come to a sudden stop. She was full certain that she was not, could not, be seeing the image that was now projected onto the lens.
It was a simple enough image.
It was comprised of two sketches. The first was the outline of a kite shield, drawn in blue. And the second existed in the middle of that shield, a shape that was most familiar to Y’shtola, drawn in red.
The witch’s wand, drawn to be the standard on a shieldmaiden’s shield. The full composition had been drawn by two children in Sharlayan, over twenty summers ago, and inscribed for posterity in the very enchantment she had just restored.
~*~
Zoissette felt bewildered and more than a little overwhelmed.
She had decided, ultimately, to take Ryss up on her offer to go on a blind date. If she just set aside her feelings for a moment, it promised to have the potential to be fun. She could just go out. Without a care in the world. Whatever happened, happened. At least she would not be screwing up another courtship. And there were no expectations of her. Just show up. Right. Just be herself. Right. Get some practice being out in public. Right. No disasters, no being unintentionally off-putting, no weirdness, just act normal.
Right. Learn how everyone else did this kind of thing.
She took a deep breath in. Her friends had been trying very, very hard to make sure this would be a nice night for her. Apple had taken over her responsibilities for the night. Klynt was away, that was fine, she was in training. Dark had seemed very amused when she had asked for her shift change, but had allowed it.
Meya and Ryss had helped her pick an outfit, something with colors that supposedly complemented her complexion. And something, Ryss had stressed, she would be comfortable in. She had tried her hand at wearing the latest fashions before, but this time, something simpler. Something more her. Lots of pockets. Very comfortable boots. A nice overcoat. She already had moved several journals in and out of their pouches, unable to decide whether to leave them behind or not. It would be rude if she brought them out in the middle of doing something else.
She absolutely had to do this. She absolutely should not do this. It was not too late to beg out. Probabilities and possibilities coalesced in her mind. Different paths and different outcomes. Infinite possibilities in infinite permutations. Each thought a note, each note a noise. A cacophony. A discordance. A swell, thoughts running over and into one another, like an entire musical orchestra all playing every note on every instrument all at once, overlapping, overwhelming.
Zoissette was moving mechanically, now. Almost on autopilot. She knew Ryss would be here soon. To pick her up. To take her to this blind date. All she had to do was be dressed by then. Put her hair up. Use the bow that Ameliance taught her how to make. She liked that. Kept her hair out of her face. Reach for her glasses except they were not there and she really missed them just now.
She looked mournfully at the spot where they were supposed to be, and looked at herself in the vanity, and second and third guessed herself.
But this was a good idea. This was a good thing. Ryss meant well.
She glanced to the single earring on the vanity, one which she wore nigh continuously. A gift from Y’shtola, meant to symbolize their deep friendship. Two black carnations, with two tiny silver threads holding two beautiful pearls. She should leave it behind, she thought.
But then she reached out and touched her fingers to it, and memories came to her, and the noise in her mind seemed to recede of its own volition, quieting, becoming a single solitary thread, a melody carried by a single note.
She looked at it, and time seemed to slow, to allow her to stay in a gentle moment.
~*~
The shieldmaiden.
Y’shtola set the glasses down in disbelief.
My, how she had grown.
The shieldmaiden had been young, her complexion darker, and her build had been wiry. She had been awkward, someone who had not yet grown fully into their height, and when she had first seen her, why, Y’shtola was not sure if she was dealing with a young man or a young woman. Her hair had been shorter back then as well, and her mouth too wide for her face.
Zoissette Vauban.
She had not known her name at the time, due to a singularly foolish game they had played at, but Y’shtola reached down and tilted the glasses up to look again, and there was no mistaking it.
Her one time companion in mischief, and she had returned to her life for full on many summers now.
Ser Zoissette de Vauban of Ishgard, noble, knight, warrior.
Shieldmaid.
She was quieter, now. The shieldmaiden had been boisterous and chatty, stumbling over her words, exuberant and full of energy and that awkward smile. Just… like Zoissette could be, when she got excited about something, when she lowered her guard long enough to truly let herself be free. The awkward smile had been replaced with a somewhat distant and vaguely polite one, but nevertheless.
They were both insatiably curious. They were both willing to put themselves in harm’s way for others. Both were honest in that sort of way that demonstrated that they knew no other way to be.
Their eyes always searching out truth. Their heart always finding the good in the world. Their shield arm always strong, to protect any who were in need. Foolish and brilliant and that was her Zoissette, her shieldmaiden grown into shieldmaid, her friend.
Zoissette could be foolish at times, it was true, but it was the foolishness borne out of a most earnest desire to do the right thing. Even when they had their differences, and such happened often, Y’shtola still felt a great fondness for her. That she could hold her own against Y’shtola’s intellect was endearing, not off-putting. And truly, her feelings were more than just fondness.
She had changed from the young girl who she had remembered, true, but what was more important was the many ways in which she had stayed the same. She had grown up into a fine woman, possibly the finest that Y’shtola had ever known, the obvious result of a lifetime of lessons hard learned, but the core of who she was, well.
It had stayed the same. After all these years, she felt as though she recognized her, fully, now. Seeing her in a way that she had never allowed herself to see her before.
What a fool Y’shtola could be.
~*~
Zoissette sat down at the vanity, picking up the earring, and rubbing her thumb gently across the petals of its flowers, careful to not disturb them any more than was necessary for enjoying the sensation of touching them.
Y’shtola had always had that affect on her, had she not? A calming influence in a chaotic life. She had been there from near the start of Zoissette’s misadventures upon arriving in Eorzea, and she had been by the woman’s side ever since, sometimes leading, often following.
She was a lodestone, an anchor, and Zoissette never had to put on any pretense for her. When she prattled on excitedly about some new discovery or deep recollection of a beloved topic, Y’shtola had always listened with patience. When she outlined some stratagem, Y’shtola was often the first to see it. When there was some challenge to overcome, Y’shtola was always quick to stand by her side to face it. When something needed to be done, well, Zoissette and Y’shtola were the kind of women to do it.
When the world was noise and chaos, Y’shtola was a powerful quiet in it, her courage and steadfastness as stable as they came. She could be short with people, and she was famous for her sharp tongue, but Zoissette knew what few people did, that it was a tool for cutting not to the quick, but to the truth. Y’shtola did what honesty demanded, and Zoissette always respected her for that.
And now, Zoissette knew she had to do what honesty demanded of her.
~*~
Y’shtola curled her hands around the glasses, and she smiled. Her heart felt light. It was as though the clouds were parting after the rain, and she could see the majesty of the history she full shared with Zoissette.
She gingerly picked up the glasses, releasing the aether keeping the enchantment going, and closed them upon themselves, tucking them away, to keep on her until she could see them safely back to their owner.
And when she did so, they would have something new to talk about. Their shared past.
And perhaps, a shared future.
~*~
Zoissette picked up the earrings, and slowly, almost reverently, put them on. She looked at herself in the mirror as she did so.
The truth. The truth was, she loved Y’shtola. And she had loved her for a very long time.
And the earrings were a reminder, of sorts, that she had always known that, hadn’t she? The world was an often confusing place, and she often felt like she would never be part of the shared human experience, like an outsider, looking in, but Y’shtola never made her feel that way. Even in her sharp moments, Y’shtola was always inviting her in, offering her wisdom, showing her truths and knowledge.
Zoissette felt fear and uncertainty become replaced with resolve.
~*~
Well, in any situation, these were truths that could be faced later, matters that would hold for one more day. For now, however.
Y’shtola Rhul looked herself over in the mirror one last time, and satisfied with what she saw there, headed out to satisfy her sister’s need to meddle. That it might not matter shortly did not matter. Y’shtola was a woman of her word, and she would keep it.
Zoissette Vauban checked everything one last time. Pens and journals and tools secure in any of a number of pouches and pockets. She nodded, and headed out. Regardless of any personal revelations, Ryss had set this up as a favor to her, and she would not let the woman down.
Besides, thought Y’shtola, as teleporting magicks gathered around her, if her company for the night turned out to be a boor, she could simply tease her sister for her poor planning and foresight for the foreseeable future. But she would tolerate this evening well enough. And then, after, she would go visit her dear friend, and that, she looked forward to with relish.
And anyroad, there would be no real consequences for this, would there be? With the earring, it would be as though Y’shtola was there with her, and Zoissette felt a bit of light giddiness as she decided that perhaps she could just regale her would-be date with her research. If they enjoyed it, then she would happily share, and if not, then so what? She could be a boor for once in her life with little real consequence, and she could share an amusing story with Ryss, and Ryss would bear the burden of having such an awkward friend with good humour. And then, after this, she would speak to Y’shtola, at long last.
Conversations, perhaps, overdue. But first.
~*~
It was a clear night in Limsa Lominsa. The sun had sunk down over the horizon some bells past, and now the stars were out, sharing their light with the ocean below them. As one looked out past the tide gates, the twinkling of lights reflected in the waves met the twinkling of the light shining from the stars, and at the horizon, it seemed almost as if ocean and night sky were one, seeming almost to be a way to glimpse into infinity.
The Bismarck was famous not just for its food, but for the ambience it provided, the view over the starry ocean accessible from its balconies, the open kitchen ensuring its smells were shared with all. The noise of the fires in the kitchen met the sound of the ocean waves crashing far below, and tonight, the two sounds met and intermixed to form a deep whisper that seemed fit to speak to the very soul of those diners fortunate enough to meet there this night.
One of the hostesses led Y’shtola on a path past the other diners to reach one of the higher up balconies. As they arrived, the hostess bowed, and politely went on her way, leaving Y’shtola to take the last several steps herself. A table for two had been set up, and none else. A private spot, with someone already there, seeming to be looking out over the bay.
Y’shtola walked up the steps, and as she got closer, she slowed, as she recognized that outline. Broad shoulders, appropriate for a knight. Tall, even for an Elezen. Hair in a ponytail held in place by a neatly tied large black bow. A familiar set of earrings hung from one ear.
And her aether, still that calming shade, fair brimming with a power that was belied the potential of its depths, hugging her outline, tightly controlled. A faint glow that Y’shtola had come to find comforting, over the many summers she had known it.
She felt a flash of annoyance. Her sister was going to be insufferable, and she was going to skin her alive.
It evaporated nearly immediately though, and she laughed at herself. How upset could she be? Her sister had merely lead her to conclusions she had already full reached herself. Let her sister think herself clever; the benefits would be hers to have.
She climbed the stairs, and the other woman heard her as she approached.
Zoissette turned to face her, and oh gods, how had she not realised the connection earlier. Her eyes, in any sight, held kindness enough for the star, even as they darted across Y’shtola in confusion as a frown creased her forehead
“Shtola?” said Zoissette, surprised. “What are you doing here? Uhm, I mean, not that I mind. It’s just, it is just, well, uhm, unexpected. I am supposed to be meeting someone here shortly, they are not here yet…”
Her voice trailed off as Y’shtola reached a hand out towards her. “Hello, Sette,” she said. Zoissette only paused a moment before taking her hand in hers, and oh, the levin rumble at her touch, fair tingling her fingers.
“…hi,” said Zoissette, feeling a bit light headed and breathless. She was ready to confess her feelings to Y’shtola, but had not expected to need to do so tonight. She could feel the noise beginning to rise again, but as she looked at the soft smile on Y’shtola’s face, she calmed. There was surely a rationale for what was going on right now. She would solve this mystery, and then tackle that question.
And the answer was obvious, really. Zoissette squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.
“Ryss set this up,” she said.
“Ryss and my sister both,” replied Y’shtola.
“I am so, so sorry.”
“I find that I am not.”
Zoissette took a deep breath in, and let it out, and when she opened her eyes again, Y’shtola was looking up at her with that mischievous smile, and a wicked glint to her eye. As full of confidence and poise as ever. Y’shtola could meet any situation, and oh gods, Zoissette would meet the challenges of life with her forever more if she could help it.
“I believe I have an idea that will allow us to make the most of this,” said Y’shtola, leading Zoissette by the hand to her seat. Bemused but willing, Zoissette sat down, just watching Y’shtola curiously as she went to go stand by the railing and look out over the bay.
She was not a tall woman, not by Miqo’te standards, and certainly not by Elezen ones. But despite that, her posture, her poise, all made her seem so much larger than she was. She was such a strong woman. The very figure of a wise and powerful sorceress. Many found her intimidating, as they should. Zoissette found her beautiful, especially now, silhouetted by night sky, a sea breeze ruffling her dress and somehow highlighting her figure.
Y’shtola turned away from the bay slightly, and their eyes met, and oh, Zoissette wanted the moment to last forever. Just the two of them. Or to grasp the moment and make the most of it, to confess, and let whatever may be happen.
But first.
“I have a storytale I would share with you,” said Y’shtola, as she began to pace slowly to come around the table, one foot solidly in front of the other. “Perhaps you are familiar with it. It deals with the shieldmaiden of your history, and takes place, I think, not so long ago, and not so far away.”
Zoissette just watched her, uncertain where the conversation was going, but curious all the same.
“The shieldmaiden left her home, I believe it goes,” Y’shtola continued, “to travel far away. To a land of learning, of wisdom. Of green rolling hills, and of tall white towers, which were said to hold many of the books of the world. Her curiosity would not allow her otherwise, you see; she would seek wisdom, whatever form it might take, and wheresoever it might be.
“And in that place, she was scorned by the witless and set upon by fools. A lesser woman may have been discouraged, but not she. For even in her youth, she had her bravery and her determination, and while she sought no quarrel, she also would not allow herself to be driven away. And it was well, for in this place, she met another young woman, one much like she. Not as strong, perhaps. Wiser, perhaps. It is in that place, she met the witch of this storytale.”
Zoissette frowned. This was not one of the storytales of the shieldmaiden nor of the witch that she was familiar with, and she knew an awful lot of them. However, as she listened to Y’shtola tell her tale, she thought she could feel a certain tug in her memories, a certain sense of familiarity in the tale.
“The two went on many adventures, though perhaps not as many as they might have liked. The shieldmaiden learned of a witch’s magicks and peoples, and the witch learned that the world was perhaps more than she had previously imagined. Alas, fools fell upon them, but with the strength of her heart, and guided by the witch’s hand, they overcame them, not once, at a bridge, not twice, at an atelier, but three times, under the roof of a powerful man.”
Y’shtola’s path had taken her behind Zoissette’s chair, and instead of twisting around to keep her gaze following her, Zoissette just sat and frowned. She was listening very carefully to the story, and there was a piece that would solve this puzzle in it somewhere, she just knew it.
“And in that place, it was neither the wisdom of the witch nor the strength of the shieldmaiden that carried the day. Nay, it was their trust in one another, their unwavering dedication to their truth, and the honesty of their testimony. Thus was it that the fools were thwarted, and the witch and the shieldmaiden won the day.”
Y’shtola had drifted behind the chair now, and came to place her head next to Zoissette’s, her mouth close to her ear, as she dropped her voice to be dark and low, and Zoissette craned her neck to listen to the last of the story.
“Before she left, they stopped where they had began, at the place they had first met. From there, they parted ways, but before they did, they agreed they would meet each other again, some day.”
Y’shtola wrapped her arms around the chair, resting them on Zoissette’s shoulders, and in her hand was a familiar pair of glasses. Zoissette glanced at her briefly before reaching out to take them, noticing that an enchantment had already been activated, and as she looked, the last puzzle piece fell into place.
“I believe I still owe you a boon,” purred Y’shtola into her ear. “If you would have it.”
Zoissette turned her head, and looked deep into Y’shtola’s eyes. A thousand thoughts crossed her mind, but they quickly distilled down to only one.
“I would,” she whispered, and she reached up, placing her hand on the back of Y’shtola’s head, and gently pulled her closer, and they at last met, and fell into one another freely, as their lips met and they kissed.
The stars’s light reflected in the ocean and the ocean’s light met the stars, but that was not the most beautiful sight in Limsa Lominsa that night.
It was night, and the lab was shut down and quiet. Everyone else had left to get some rest. The next few days were going to be extraordinarily busy. However, both Y'shtola and Ryssthota had been of the opinion that the lab needed someone to watch over it at all times, at least until the work was done.
And so Klynt and Zoissette's brother, Ement, were sharing midnight in the laboratory.
"Truthfully? Awful," replied Ement, and Klynt nodded.
"Understandable."
"I am dead last in the betting pool."
Klynt blinked a few times. "Bwuh?"
Ement continued with no change in expression or tone. "I thought she'd have done something this crazy summers ago."
Klynt looked at him incredulously. She could feel the muscles in her cheeks and lips twitch as she tried to hold it in, watching his face carefully for any sign of betrayal.
Ement continued to look outwards, watching the lab with the serenity of a monk.
She found she couldn't hold it in anymore, and erupted into laughter.
"I lost two months of pay to that pot," Ement continued to deadpan, "and now Janice is going to get all of it, and you're laughing at me. Insult to injury. Unbelievable."
Klynt roared with laughter. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. But she found she couldn't help herself, as undercurrents of tension at last pushed up and overflowed, churning into mirth.
Ement stood, looking at her with mock affront. She tried to reign it back in, to regain control, but she dared to spare a glance at his face just long enough to see the edges of his lips twitch and the quirk of his eyebrow, and she lost it again, falling into laughing so hard that her ribs hurt.
At last, however, she managed to wipe the tears from her eyes, as the tide subsided into whorls of chuckles. She gave him a mildly disdainful sniff before straightening up and smiling.
"...thanks."
"Hey, no problem."
"But seriously."
"Seriously? My sister's made of stern stuff. Ten will get you twenty that we fish her out and she's annoyed we interrupted her experiment."
Klynt snorted at that as Ement continued. "Or she'll be upset she didn't take more notebooks with her."
"Aye, you're probably right," said Klynt.
Ement reached out a hand and squeezed Klynt's shoulder as he smiled up at her.
"We're absolutely going to give her hell when she gets back, though."
"The way she yells at me everytime she thinks I'm off doing some foolhardy thing? Absolutely."
Klynt reached up and touched his hand on her shoulder, and gave it a gentle kiss before returning it to him.
Both of them settled back in to continue the watch until morning.
Fanfic scenes: lil Zoissette slipping into her brother's training sessions to listen and watch and learn herself. Also Y'shtola's transformation, through Matoya's POV, and their reintroduction after; just that whole thing is so lovely.
A Knight's Duty - I am so proud of that setup. It made for a solid foundation for the rest of the story. So solid, the story rarely leaves the training room after the setup.
Sorceress' Apprentice - I am both glad and relieved that worked so well for someone else besides me, as it was me being pretty aggressively self-indulgent. Also I haven't forgotten your suggestions for how Matoya addresses Y'shtola in the final chapter; I think they really added a final subtle, but important, touch that helped underline what I was going for there.
Title: A Knight's Duty
Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Ement Vauban, Guillerme, Lady Vauban
Rating: Teen
Summary: The story of how Zoissette learned what makes a knight
Notes: The First Duty is, of course, from Star Trek: TNG, repurposed for my usage here. Failure is not an Option is from Schlock Mercenary, modified here (original here)
This is the masterpost for A Knight's Duty. If you'd prefer to read chapter by chapter, check the tag: A Knight's Duty
"What makes a knight?"
Ement was still breathing hard from a session with the training dummy machine, and was only half paying attention to the Hyur currently lecturing him as he took a swig from his water skin. It wasn't that his training wasn't important to him, it was, it was just hard to pay attention to Guillerme after the mechanical menace had gotten near to tanning his hide.
Guillerme continued. "Is it their sword, their shield? The armor that they wear? The oaths that they swear? Holiness before the Holy See? Dedication? Service? Power? Birth? Of course, a knight is many things, but it's important that you know what a knight is to you, little lordling."
Ement allowed himself to be distracted further by listening to the count of bells in the distance. At the fourth of what would be five of them, Ement heard the door to the training room being opened and then closed again. He glanced over to see his little sister, Zoissette, enter the room and sit at her customary table.
She took a book out, and set her logbook next to it, as she always did. And then, blank faced, she stared at the wall.
That was weird. Normally she'd either get right into reading, or would be watching for a moment to babble about her day.
Guillerme noticed Ement's gaze, looked over, grunted, and looked back to Ement. Ement shrugged at him. "What's the matter, boy?" asked Guillerme. "Couldn't find a girl at the Scholasticate to come moon over your martial prowess?"
"Couldn't I?" asked Ement, looking up at the ceiling. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to go looking for one there, but I suppose they have a few. I hear they've allowed them for generations now." He looked back down at Guillerme. "...I think something's worrying her."
Guillerme sighed. "I suppose a knight must show fealty to family. Take a break, go, tend to your sister, if you must."
Ement nodded, putting his wooden practice sword and shield aside before making his way to Zoissette's table and sitting across from her.
She can be such a brat, he thought. Nowadays she tended to the younger twins when she had to, trailed after her brother when she could, and escaped to her books when she couldn't.
Regardless, he sat down across from her, and immediately felt awkward about it. Nobody'd taught him how to be an older brother. He only knew he wasn't going to be like their mother, and he knew a little bit about how to be like their father. The good parts. The parts that had sage wisdom and kindness and an always open ear.
Not the parts that were absent for large parts of the year tending to the spiritual needs of a congregation.
Too much thinking. He shook his head.
"What's got my sister grumpy, I wonder?" said Ement, lightly, cheerfully.
"Something went wrong today," said Zoissette quietly.
Ement nodded and took a swig of his water skin. He knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in for long, whatever it was. And sure enough, her eyes were already starting to do that thing where they wandered around the room a bit as she gathered her thoughts.
Some kind of mental thinking... thing. He didn't pretend to understand. She was just a little weird like that.
"It was while I was running luncheon errands during school hours. There is a new kid in our class. I don't know them. But I guess the others did. I was going back to school when I came across them in the street. The others were making fun of the new kid. They called them a bastard and a heretic. They - I think they were trying to get back to school. But the others, they wouldn't let them pass. They shoved them to the ground at one point. They - they let me by, though. I didn't stop. I think-
"I think they were throwing stones by the time I'd left."
She fell silent.
"Hells, that's rough," said Ement quietly. "Stones?"
Zoissette nodded.
"Probably was a bastard."
"That shouldn't matter!" yelled Zoissette, standing up. Ement held his hands up and tried to wave her down.
"Easy, easy. Not saying that makes it right, but that's probably what it was."
Zoissette glared before sitting back down just as abruptly as she had stood up, deflating as her anger fled her as fast as it'd arrived.
"...it shouldn't have mattered."
"No, it shouldn't have," said Ement agreeably. "We're all told to be kind to the Greystones, or at least as kind to them as we are to everyone else, but nobody is, and that's just the way things are."
"It shouldn't be."
"You're right. It shouldn't be."
Zoissette went still, seeming to have run out of energy, and Ement considered the matter closed.
"Hey. Hey, look. I'll talk to father, he'll talk to the headmistress, and they'll get it all sorted, alright? It's good that you told someone. I'll take care of it from here."
Zoissette just nodded, and Ement slapped the top of the table as he stood up.
"Alright. Go ahead and get started studying, I need to finish my training," he said, walking over to Guillerme.
Guillerme studied Zoissette for a long moment before turning his attention to Ement.
"So tell me, young Ement," said Guillerme, getting right back to it. "What makes a knight?"
Ement looked to Zoissette and waited until she noticed, and he gave her his best reassuring smile.
"Being brave and defending the smallfolk, of course," he said. Guillerme rolled his eyes and cuffed him on the side of the head. Ement tried to duck, and failed, but laughed even as the hit landed.
"Take this -seriously-, lad. Dragon's not gonna give you a break so you can strut around preening your feathers. If you're gonna show off, wait until you're off my time," Guillerme groused. "A round of calisthenics oughta get somma that cheek outta you."
The training continued for the day, in a somewhat more physical vein, until Ement was exhausted. He glanced over at Zoissette a few times and noticed that she was paying rather more attention to the proceedings than usual.
Well, no matter. She'd had a bad day, and she'd be back to her usual self on the morrow, he mused.
---
"The new kid wasn't at school today," said Zoissette almost immediately after she'd taken her seat at her table.
Ement was busy loading up the training dummy machine with weights, and only responded with a grunt. Guillerme crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
"And what of it, girl?" said Guillerme.
"They were pulled out by their parents. Going to one of the settlements, the headmistress said. She said they'd be a better fit there," said Zoissette. "She didn't mention anything about what happened earlier this sennight."
"Well, father said he'd talk to her," said Ement, loading up another weight. "Guess that must've happened."
Zoissette looked down at the table. "They'd been hurt real bad. I saw them the day after. They were blue and purple and holding their arm, and they... nobody could get near them. They'd keep moving away. I wanted to... I wanted to talk to them, but they were avoiding everyone.
"It's not fair."
Guillerme laughed. "Life is not fair, girl," he said. "Just be glad your little friend is probably safer now."
"They weren't a friend," said Zoissette. "I certainly was no friend to them," she paused, and mumbled, "Might've been easier to do something if they were a friend."
Gullerme snorted, and Ement stepped back from the training dummy. "It's wound up and ready to go," said Ement. "...I think, anyway. Might need to ask mother or father if we can spare the coin for another one. This one's gone all stiff. I'm surprised it still moves."
"Still hits hard enough for me," said Guillerme, as he inspected Ement's work. "It's noisy and it's bothersome but it gets the job done, now don't it? Alright. Your block game is weak. Grab a shield."
Ement groaned and rolled his eyes as he grabbed the wooden training shield off the wall.
"None of that. You think a dragon'll maybe stick to what you like if you grump at it hard enough? Stand up straight, boy. Look it in the eyes. A knight does not shy away from what must needs be done."
Ement rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, and nodded his head, and looked into the training dummy machine's 'eyes', which were really just two spots painted on the top most rotating section.
"I want to be a knight."
Ement and Guillerme looked over at Zoissette.
"Come again?" asked Guillerme.
"I want to be a knight," said Zoissette, standing next to her table, her head up and fists balled at her sides.
"Fine, you're a knight," said Ement, looking back to the training dummy.
"You're not taking me seriously," said Zoissette.
Ement groaned. "Fine. Let's talk about it. A knight?" he asked, lightly. He gestured with his shield at Guillerme. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but being a knight means training, and that means Guillerme here gets another victim."
Guillerme snorted as Ement continued. "It means more than just reading rules. It means quite a lot of getting turned into meal by this bloody grindstone over here."
Zoissette stuck her nose up in the air. "I know what it means. It means being brave and strong and standing up for the smallfolk and doing the right thing."
Guillerme held out a hand towards Ement, and Ement nodded, falling silent.
"What do you mean by brave, girl."
Zoissette looked at Guillerme, and her eyes danced around the room a bit.
"...it means not being afraid."
"That's what you think, is it? Let me tell you a thing or two. Dragons don't care if you're afraid or not, and if you're not afraid of a dragon, you are a fool."
Zoissette shifted back and forth on her feet, but her gaze drifted to Guillerme, and then it stayed there.
"A knight would face a dragon anyway."
"Hells, true. But not because they're a knight. You don't get brave being a knight. You are brave, and that's what lets you be a knight. You want to be a knight? You do the right thing first. You want to be brave? You gotta figure out what it is first, girl, but I'll give you that one for free. It's when you're scared so bad you've messed your pants, but you do what needs to be done anyway.
"Figure that out. Maybe then we can talk about what it is to be a knight."
Guillerme turned from Zoissette and gestured at Ement. "And I hope you were paying attention. Get to your drills."
Ement nodded, and he set the mechanical training dummy to running. The next time he was able to spare a glance for Zoissette, she had sat back down at her table, but she wasn't studying her books.
---
"What's all the training for," asked Zoissette, without preamble. "You said a knight doesn't train to be brave, but you have to be brave to be a knight, so that's not what the training is for. Is it all entirely just to fight dragons?"
It had been a quiet day in the training room. Ement had been repairing the straps on the training shield while Guillerme inspected the room's armaments. The two stopped now.
"Not... entirely," said Guillerme, rolling his words around in his mouth a bit as he thought. "Tell me about the other day. About your not-a -friend. What do you wish you had done?"
Zoissette frowned, and swallowed, and when she spoke next her voice had a subtle shake to it. "I should have said something. I should have told the others to leave them alone. I should have done anything except - except I kept walking and- and- and I pretended I didn't see anything."
"And then what, girl?" Asked Guillerme, his voice gentle.
"And then what?" asked Zoissette, looking at him.
"And then what. You talk to them. You think that would have, what? Stopped them? You think your words alone would scare them off? Perhaps you think they would have said, ah, well, yes. This girl has the right of it. We should listen to her?"
Zoissette looked down at the table. "I don't know."
"One of the things a knight must needs consider is the consequences of their actions. Not just for good, but also for ill. Maybe your words would have been enough. Maybe it would've staved them off. But maybe it would've just turned their ire to you. And when there's anger in their bellies and stones in their hands, what then, girl?"
Zoissette looked to the training dummy. "...I'd tell the kid they were hurting to run. And... I'd stay, I guess. Get between them and the others. And... and fight."
"And fight. Violence is persuasion through other means, girl, and a knight is ready to use it when needed. We hope it doesn't come to it, oh how we hope, but hope bleeds eternal and it don't keep the smallfolk safe. You'll do well to remember that."
Zoissette nodded, and at last fell quiet. Ement turned his attention to the shield he was repairing.
Guillerme looked thoughtful for a long bit.
"Don't forget to review your Squire's Primer, lad," he said, distracted.
Ement frowned at him, confused. That was from his early days. "Yes, Master Guillerme," he said anyway.
---
The next few days were blessedly simple for Ement. The training dummy machine still tended to make an unholy screeching racket, and Ement wasn't sure it would last much longer, but that was a problem he was well familiar with.
As for the problems of his little sister, it seemed she had finally drifted on from this most recent interest of hers and returned to her usual studies. She had her books, and her reading didn't require him or Guillerme to try to field any more of life's deeply complex questions.
At least, that's what he thought, until she walked up to Guillerme one day, her face serious.
"I want to receive a knight's training," she said.
"Not this again," groaned Ement, but Guillerme waved a hand at him, and he fell silent.
"You've been reading," said Guillerme.
Zoissette nodded.
"Why," said Guillerme, slowly, "Should I train you."
Zoissette looked crestfallen for a moment, then frowned, balled up her hands, and looked Guillerme in the face. Ement imagine it might've been intimidating if she wasn't a third his size.
"...I- I did the wrong thing. I shouldn't have been afraid. I should've stood up for them. And if I'm going to stand up for people, I need to be ready for what that means. Ready to defend."
"Standing up for certain people is a good way to make enemies, girl."
"I shouldn't be afraid to make enemies."
"You shouldn't try to find enemies, either."
"I shouldn't be afraid to make enemies if... if it means doing the right thing."
"You kept your head down. You stayed safe."
"And that didn't keep them safe. I - I want to keep people safe."
"And how'll you do that?"
Zoissette took a deep breath in. "Use words, if I can. Diplomacy, if I'm able. Violence as a last resort, but an available one. A knight defends."
"And when you fail?"
Zoissette looked down at the ground. "I already did. Because I didn't do anything in the first place."
Guillerme rubbed his chin, considering the little Elezen. Ement wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing was coming to mind that didn't sound incredibly lame. He tried anyway.
"It's not so bad, Zoissette."
Zoissette looked up at him and so did Guillerme, and Guillerme nodded, slowly. "Aye. He's got the right of it, lass."
"I do?" Asked Ement, bewildered.
Guillerme snorted, then got down on one knee, to look Zoissette in the eye.
"Failure is not an option, lass. Failure is -mandatory-. The option... the option is in how you face it."
Zoissette stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"I want to - I want to face it again. I want to be better. I want to do better," she said. "Please teach me."
Guillerme rubbed his chin more, standing back up. "You seem willing to learn, lass. And I can tell you've done some thinking about what we've talked about. I can appreciate that. Better than some of my priors, anyroad. You certainly seem determined enough. If only you'd shown that mettle before, but I can work with what you're bringing. Well. I suppose I can handle another noble brat... as an apprentice. What say you, lad?"
Zoissette lit up. Ement groaned.
"Fine. I guess we'll ask mother," said Ement.
---
It was late in the day. Dinner was done, the twins had been put to bed, and Ement had waited until everyone was present in the hearth room before getting into the matter.
It'd been a bit of a tactical decision on his part. The twins being in bed would ensure their presence did not serve as a distraction. Father, who was already settling in with a holy book into his favorite chair, would hopefully serve as a mitigating force against mother. And lastly, Zoissette would help him make his case.
Ement put on his best blankly pleasant face. "Mother, Zoissette has taken an interest in my training sessions as of late."
The Lady Vauban had not made her way to a chair yet, and did not now. Instead she stood, tall and imposing and regal, and crossed her arms as she turned her attention to Zoissette. "Is that so?" she asked, seemingly mildly. Seemingly, for Ement often had a hard time getting a handle on where her mood was at when she wasn't upset.
"I want to train to be a knight," said Zoissette, sitting up straight and looking their mother in the eye.
"And you hope to achieve this by watching your brother? I do hope you're not neglecting your duties to your siblings."
"She's not," cut in Ement before Zoissette had a chance to speak. "She's been attending my sessions for near on a moon now, and I've been keeping an eye out. She uses the time to study, but I think she's also learning from me and Guillerme."
"Guillerme and I," corrected his mother.
"Right, of course, Guillerme and I. Anyroad, Guillerme has said he's willing to train both of us," said Ement.
Lady Vauban studied him for a long moment.
"Absolutely not," she said, finally.
"Dear, perhaps we should hear the boy out," said their father, not looking up from his reading.
"It seems like it would be a better use of her time than just watching me," said Ement, breezily with a shrug, hoping he came off as only lightly invested.
"I've learned a lot from just watching him," said Zoissette, and she looked like she was about to say more when her mother cut her off.
"No, and that is final. Ement, you will be needed to take over my duties at the fort one day, and you will not be shirking this responsibility onto your little sister. As for you, Zoissette, your responsibilities are here, to our house. The twins need looked after. You need to maintain your studies. And the house must be kept in order, and I expect you to do it whenever I or your father are away. I will not waste coin we do not have on a foolish child's whimsy, nor shall I risk you wasting time that can be better spent otherwise. We each have our duties, and you each shall tend to them. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, mother"
"...yes, mother."
Zoissette looked crestfallen, and Ement sighed. Well. There was no point to arguing with mother when she had made up her mind, and so he let the matter drop.
---
If there were further troubles with the other kids at school, or elsewhere, Ement did not hear about it. His training continued under Guillerme's watchful eye, and Zoissette continued to arrive at just around five bells to watch.
She would frequently come in with a book or two to read, but she seemed quieter somehow. And she now watched his training with a sharp focus she did not have before.
He expected that, like many of her interests, that this would pass, given time. One sennight became two became many, and still, she came in, to watch him carefully. He noticed that the training machine began to improve in operation as well, a fact he was glad of. Its terrible screeching had begun to worry him, but now, it seemed that it had worked some of its rust loose, and its movements were quieter, smoother.
It was about a moon into this new pattern when he thought he began to notice Zoissette's attention waning during the sessions, which he assumed, at first, was an early sign of her beginning to lose interest. However, he noticed that her attention was not so much waning as vanishing altogether, as she was beginning to fall asleep during his training sessions.
He was not the only one who noticed. He was fighting the training dummy one day when he heard a rather loud crack noise reverberate through the room, coming from Zoissette's table. He quickly disengaged from his fight with the machine only to see Zoissette sitting bolt upright in her chair, and one of the heavier weights for the machine leaning sideways on the table's surface.
"A knight," said Guillerme, "remains vigilant. Do you think the dragons will be kind enough to ring a bell for you before ravaging your comrades?"
"No, Master Guillerme," she said, still dazed. Guillerme snorted and turned his attention back to Ement. "And you! Do you think a dragon will let you walk away just because you got startled? Get back in there!"
Ement nodded, feeling the adrenaline in his veins fade away, and he got back to his drills. After that, he noticed Zoissette showed up to training sessions with a tea kettle and some cups to keep her company. She stopped falling asleep during his training.
It was some more sennights passed when he noticed Zoissette seemed to have picked up a limp. He thought to ask about it, but Guillerme spoke to it first.
"A knight," said Guillerme, "Looks after their health. I trust you are taking your ease with that limp, girl."
Zoissette frowned at him, but nodded. She was more alert for the rest of the sennight, and the limp went away, and Ement simply never got around to asking about it. But after that, shortly after she was walking normally again, she returned to needing the tea to stay alert.
He found himself wondering when he'd started paying so much attention to his sister's eccentricities, and resolved to go back to ignoring her. For the most part.
---
One night, Ement found himself awake at three bells in the morning, according to the bedside chronometer. Finding himself unable to return to sleep, he slipped out of bed and into the hallways of the manor.
It was quiet throughout the house of Vauban. The servants would all be long asleep, as would his family. There would be a single sentry outside maintaining a vigilant watch, and Ement was not about to bother them. He went to the kitchens first, making himself a simple sandwich, before taking to simply wandering the halls aimlessly.
His path took him past the training room, and he almost walked past it for how dark it was. He wondered briefly who had put out the torch in the hallway, but then turned his thoughts to considering the benefits of exercise in alleviating his sudden bout of insomnia. He put his hand on the doorknob, and as he twisted it, he remembered that he had not brought the key with him.
That, apparently, did not matter. The door opened smoothly. He just shook his head. Mother would be upset if she knew he'd left the door unlocked. He failed to notice how the hinges on the door no longer squeaked like they had, well, his whole life, if he'd stopped and thought about it.
The room was dimly lit already. A single torch on the corner furthest from the door had been lit. Near it was the training dummy, and near that was Zoissette.
Ement stood in the doorway, dumbfounded, as he watched Zoissette carefully getting up on the tips of her toes to place the weights on the training dummy. Before she had a chance to turn around, he had the presence of mind to back out of the room, and mostly close the door, leaving himself a tiny crack to watch through.
She glanced over in his direction periodically, but the hallway and training room both were very dark, save for the single light source that she must've lit. He realized belatedly that she must have been responsible for the light in the hallway being out as well.
As he watched, she managed to get all the weights placed onto the training dummy's various cables. She then grabbed a long-nosed thing that looked to Ement to be some kind of watering can. She pushed its nose into various joints on the training dummy, and then would tilt her head or duck down to inspect something or another before moving on. She moved quickly, and it was not long until the can had been set aside, and she was winding the training dummy.
Once it was fully wound and set, she went to the wall with the training gear, and awkwardly put on a training gambeson. Ement recognized it as the set that was sized for a tallish Hyur. Considering she had not yet hit her growth, that sort of made sense, but even then, the build of an Elezen was different from that of a Hyur, and she looked very awkward in the outfit. Then she grabbed one of the training shields, and a training sword, and then, standing close to the training dummy, she reached up, and set it into motion.
She stepped back and waited, watching as it spun up, same as he had to do every time he set it to motion. Once it was whirring along merrily, however, she hovered around its periphery, and then dove into the mess of swinging armatures and counter balances. She ducked in and out of its reach, attempting to block with her shield, and occasionally making indelicate strikes with her wooden sword.
Ement winced as she took a hit to the back, and stumbled forward in time to meet a strike to her helmet. Apparently rattled, she turned around, and another armature slammed into the back of her legs. She sprawled to the ground and quickly rolled away from the machine, underneath where its arms were swinging, and came to sit with her back against a wall, panting.
Ement wondered if he should be concerned at how many hits she had failed to block. He resolved instead to watch as she pulled a small basket close to her. A sandwich, and a water skin. Healthy food for a healthy knight, he supposed. For a healthy night. He groaned inwardly at himself for that one. It was far too late an hour to be awake. Or too early. Or something.
Ement pulled back from the doorway, closing the door quietly before sitting down against the wall in the hallway, leaning back and closing his eyes. He wasn't sure what to make of this just yet.
But it was three bells in the morning, almost four now. And there was nothing to be done that he could think of. So he made his way back to his own bed.
---
Ement continued his training. If Zoissette had realized he had been there that night, she had given no indication of it, and she continued to show up to his training sessions. Guillerme, of course, continued to train Ement directly, and Zoissette in his weird roundabout way. Ement could only guess at the man's motivations. Perhaps he felt it would be craven to ask for more coin. Or perhaps he enjoyed it as a little game. Maybe he was just fond of the girl. In any case, Zoissette continued to pay rapt attention, and Ement started to pay closer attention in turn.
Not to his own training, of course. That, he had always taken seriously. But he began to ask after his sisters' other activities when she was not watching him train. The maids reported that Zoissette was continuing to do her duty of looking after the twins. Her teachers noted that her work had shown some sign of slippage, but it was not alarming, and anyway, at least she was not showing the signs of rebellion that were so typical of her age. The church, in turn, reported that she was attentive enough to sermons.
An acolyte at the church had noticed that Zoissette's reading appetite, already voracious, had expanded greatly in breadth. Ement asked if he could see what she had been checking out, and the young woman had been happy to oblige him.
What he found was not terribly surprising, considering all that he knew now. He saw some of what he would have considered typical. Holy texts for study, drill guides for reading and writing, and her appetite for Shieldmaiden story tales had not seemed to slacken despite her age. Among her more recent reading materials were ones he could have guessed at. The Squire's Primer. A guide to modern sword and shield play, with illustrations. The Precepts of the Upright Soldier. However, he also found some interesting entries in the checkout log that he would never have guessed at.
Such as multiple requests - all fulfilled - to borrow some books from the Skysteel Manufactory. Guides to the assembly, construction, and maintenance of mechanical devices.
Such as the mechanical training dummy. And, if he had to guess, lock smithery was probably covered somewhere as well.
He thanked the acolyte, and headed home, unsure what to do with this information. On the one hand, it was not as though she was getting into any trouble. Indeed, for as annoying as she could be, Zoissette was, well, in his mother's words, a dutiful daughter; well behaved and well mannered. That she was well read as well was no surprise. It was either let her read or put up with her finding her way into the rafters or onto the roof, and the family had made their decisions on that long ago.
He wondered idly if perhaps she had simply gotten sneakier about her mischief.
And as he set his alarum for two bells, he decided that that was what was bothering him. The secrecy. That, and if either of their parents found out, well. He was not sure what rule she had broken, but he was also certain it wouldn't much matter.
And so it was in his own best interest, as well as hers, to try to curtail this disaster before it unfolded. He settled into bed, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.
---
The chiming of his alarum awoke him at two bells. Ement ground his teeth, slapped the top of the chronometer to silence it, and climbed out of bed.
He had not thought to prepare, and so it took him some time to get himself together. He wanted to be dressed, for one. On his last excursion he'd been prepared for the possibility of one of the house servants seeing him in his smalls, but the idea of his sister seeing him as such was out of the question. He also took some time to find a torch, and then even longer to light it. He had intended to catch her before she had made her way to the training room, but it was nearly a full bell later by the time he had fully sorted himself out and made his way there.
The torch in the hallway had been put out again. He lit it as he passed by.
He tested the door to the training room, and found it unlocked once more. He quietly opened it a little bit, and could hear the soft whirring of the training dummy, and the rather less soft sound of wooden armatures as they made their impacts. He let himself in, and went to sit at Zoissette's table.
There was a tool roll on top of it, and several books. He unrolled the tool roll, finding several pieces of bent metal he did not recognize in there. He looked to the books, and recognized them as being on the list the acolyte had provided them. A book on the maintenance of simple machines. A book full of pictures of various attacks and defenses a knight might use against a variety of opponents. A book on lock smithing. He decided to open the book on the workings of mechanical training dummies.
He leafed through it, looking at diagrams and glancing over mechanical descriptions. He paused with a frown on the section about counterweights. He looked up to look over at the machine, and was startled to see Zoissette standing a scant few yalms away, her arms crossed, and a scowl on her face.
"You shouldn't be here," she said matter-of-fact as she moved to roll the tools back up. "Why are you here?"
"Uhm, well, you know how it is," he said, beginning one of his easy explanations, before stopping himself. "Wait. What am I doing here, what are you doing here?"
"I'm training," Zoissette said.
"I can see that," he said, getting up and walking over to the machine. "At three bells in the dark," he added, as he looked at the book once more, and compared what was written to what he saw.
"When else would I do it?" she asked. Ement didn't answer, as he examined the weights on the machine, and read the book one more time to verify what he'd seen.
"You're using the weights that I use," he said quietly. "You are supposed to alter them for the person using them. These are far too heavy for you - that means..." he looked through the book some more. He wasn't actually sure what that meant.
"It means it hits harder and swings faster," said Zoissette.
"Fury, Zoissette. You're a third my weight."
"More than that. And if you can do it, I can do it."
"This thing might kill you!"
"Hasn't yet. And besides, dragon's not going to ask me how much I -weigh-," she said, mimicking the form of one of Guillerme's turns of phrase.
Ement rubbed his face. He'd learned how to deal with mother seasons ago. Bratty little sisters were beginning to prove somewhat more difficult.
Especially at three bells in the hells-forsaken morning.
"You're supposed to be sleeping," he said, switching tacks.
"So are you."
"I'm only awake because you are."
"Well, then go back to sleep," and she looked up at him with a big warm smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. He rubbed his face again.
"Look. You can't keep doing this" he said, gently. "You need sleep, same as everyone else."
"...I know."
"And where'd you get a lock smithing set, anyway?"
"Skysteel Manufactory. I asked nicely," she said.
Ement closed his eyes tightly, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
"Alright. You're going to return the tools and the books," he said.
"But-"
"Let me finish. I'll let you have the key to lock up when I'm done training for the day. That way you can let yourself in. Alright?"
"...you'll let me keep training then? You won't tell mother?"
Ement looked around the room, and sighed.
"I'm -pretty- sure you'd just find some other way to be a brat," he said. "This way, I get to set conditions. A knight's word is their bond. Is yours as good?"
Zoissette nodded.
"Good. Then here's my conditions. Do this closer to bedtime. I can't -believe- you picked between two and three bells to get started."
"I thought I'd be less likely to be caught."
"Yes, well, you're also destroying both of our sleeps. Both of ours? Whatever. Second, less weight."
She jutted her chin out at him. "I was handling it okay."
"Wait. Is that why you were limping a while back?"
Zoissette suddenly found the floor very interesting.
"Sette."
"Maybe."
"Halone preserve. Less weight. Okay?"
"...okay."
"Alright. Alright," said Ement. "Fine. This is fine. Help me clean this place up, and let's go to bed already."
---
Once they were done cleaning up, they didn't get very far past the door.
Standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, as tall and as regal and as angry as ever, was the Lady Vauban.
"Did you think," she began slowly, "That I was ignorant of the going ons of my own house?"
That's exactly what Ement thought, now that it'd been brought to his attention, but what he said was, "Oh, was I supposed to?"
His mother's expression darkened, and in turn, Ement's expression brightened, as he shifted to an easy, lazy play of calm ignorance.
"You know full well that neither of you should be awake at this hour. And certainly not fooling around in the training room."
Ement switched to looking confused, frowning as he tapped a finger against his lips. "I don't remember there being any rules about when we should be awake."
"Do not play games with me, boy."
"I would never dream of it. Though I should get back to dreaming. But first, surely you've noticed how quiet the doors are in the manor as of late? Dutiful Zoissette here has taken on the burden of maintenance in our home."
His mother frowned. "What are you on about."
"Well, she didn't want to bother anybody. So of course, when she wakes up to check on the twins, she's also come by the rooms to, uhm... what is it you did again, Zoissette?"
Zoissette had been standing next to him the whole time. To her credit, she did not attempt to flee or to hide, but instead, had stood her ground alongside him. She stood straighter and taller, now, as she answered.
"The training armature requires oiling at regular intervals if it is to maintain efficacy without damaging itself. The self same oil serves similar needs in door hinges. I have taken care of both."
Ement was silently grateful that, for once, she did not seem to find it necessary to explain every detail of her activities, even though he wished she hadn't mentioned the training machine.
Their mother glared at the both of them, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and her eyes slowly narrowing.
"To bed with both of you. We shall speak more on this on the morrow."
"Right, right, of course, mother. Come on, Zoissette," said Ement, turning down the hallway. Zoissette was quick to catch up to him.
"There is no -way- we're going to get away with this," she muttered to him.
"Oh absolutely not," he agreed. "But now we've got time to make our excuses. And more importantly, get some sleep. Was it -really- necessary to do this at three bells in the morning?"
"Two and a half. I already -told- you why I picked this time."
Ement groaned.
"...thank you," she said. Ever polite.
"Oh, don't thank me yet," he said breezily. "She's still going to be cross on the morrow."
---
Ement stood nervously. He kept glancing over at Guillerme nearby, who was leaning against the wall, seemingly unperturbed.
He was not sure he had ever been so aware of every ilm of his being. He tried and failed to resist the urge to swallow again. He could feel his fingers as they played along the hilt of his practice sword, each one uncurling and tightening in turn. He strained his ears to listen to the tolling of the five afternoon bells, and heard them begin to ring out.
He turned his gaze to the door of the training room as it opened, and Zoissette walked in backwards, keeping an eye out on the hallway as she came in. She closed the door gently and turned around.
Ement could not see Lady Vauban's expression from where he was standing, but he saw Zoissette's response to it as she startled. She started to cringe, collapsing inward, but then something shifted in her. She looked up at their mother, her eyes suddenly bright, and she stepped forward, carrying herself with the same regality their mother often affected.
"Mother," said Zoissette. Defiant. With some kind of fire in her. Ement just hoped she wasn't about to get them both burned.
He considered a possible future as some kind of Chocobo waste handler.
"Zoissette. Care to explain yourself?"
"...and rather better than you lot did last night," said Guillerme. The man seemed to not care whether he was here or not, and his tone was much the same as he might've used to discuss the weather. "A knight does not prevaricate."
Zoissette glanced at Guillerme, and then looked at Ement. Ement nodded his head, once. In for a Gil, in for the whole bag, he figured.
"I was training," said Zoissette. "I wish to learn to fight. To defend."
"Did your brother put you up to that?"
"No. I'm choosing to do it. For myself."
"For yourself. And what of your other duties? Your other responsibilities? I hear tell your grades have been slipping, young lady. And who's looking after the twins?"
"I am. And my grades are still good. They'd be better if I didn't have to sneak out at night."
Ement suppressed a groan.That's probably just going to make her madder, he thought.
"You would not be sneaking out if you -obeyed-," said the Lady Vauban, her voice ice. Ement disliked that he was right. "I am very disappointed in you, daughter."
"Why? I would think you'd be proud! Two fighters in the family, and I can still look after the house! You fight, why can't I learn to?"
"Enough. This is not a discussion. This is an edict. You will no longer sneak out at night to the training room. Do I make myself clear?"
Zoissette frowned at the floor.
"Lady Vauban, if I may?" Said Guillerme.
"You may."
"The girl's grades are suffering because of terrible sleep, aye, but look at what she's accomplishing despite that. And the boy's training has come far enough along. I think he'll make as good a squire as any, a good knight, even. So I think we should push him. Let me teach him summore, and in turn, let him teach the girl. Think of it as good leadership training for the lad. I believe that if you can't teach what you know, you don't really know it. And I think he does, well enough. And since I wouldn't be training the girl directly, I wouldn't see any reason to charge your house any coin for the privilege."
The Lady Vauban turned and looked cooly at Guillerme. He shrugged at her in response.
"You know my reputation. You know I'm good for it. And if this does turn out to be some flight of fancy of hers, like you said to me this morning, well that's fine too. Then your son will learn how to deal with a less than stellar soldier. Both roads, he gets experience, good experience that'll serve him well. If she sticks to it, your house'll gain another sword arm when she's of age, like she just said. If not, well, keeps her out of trouble, right? I'm practically watching her anyroad."
Ement fidgeted, unhappily watching the drama play out.
Lady Vauban held her gaze on Guillerme for what felt like several minutes.
"...perhaps I have been too harsh," she conceded at last. She turned to Zoissette. "It is important that you understand, dear daughter, just how difficult it is to balance my responsibilities between home and the front. I know I am absent often, and I am able to do so, because you have ever been a dutiful daughter.
"But if this is truly the path you wish to pursue... then I suppose I shall stand in its way no longer. But you will deal honestly with me in the future. And if you neglect any of your duties in any fashion, this will be the first one to go. Do I make myself clear?"
Zoissette stood up, glancing over at Ement, and then mimicking his posture of being at attention, chin thrust into the air to look up at the Lady Vauban. "Yes, mother."
"And you, Ement. It sounds as though... you have promise. Keep to your work, then. Make me proud."
"Yes, mother," he heard himself say. It came out as a croak. Was his throat so dry?
"Master Guillerme," said Lady Vauban. "Pray continue your work as discussed."
"Of course, Lady Vauban," said Guillerme, pushing off the wall and giving the Lady Vauban a salute. After a moment's hesitation, she returned it, before turning to glide out of the room.
Ement let out a deep sigh and rubbed his chest. He hadn't been fully aware of just how stiffly he had been standing. He looked over at Zoissette, and found her expression unreadable, but he gave her a thumbs up and a grin anyway.
"Well, that could've gone worse," he said.
Guillerme grunted. "Go clean yourself up, lad, I can smell the stress stink on you from over here. Both of you, get out of here. We'll start the work on the morrow at five bells. And Zoissette?"
Zoissette looked to him.
"Get some bloody practice gear that fits, I don't care how."
Zoissette nodded, and practically ran out of the room in eagerness. Ement chuckled, despite himself.
"Oh, she doesn't know what she's getting into," he said. And then winced as Guillerme cuffed him along the ear.
"Neither do you, sprat. I'm going to drive you harder now. Let's see what we can't make out of a pair of spoiled noble brats."
---
It took a few days for her to get armor that fit, and a few more for them to really get into a rhythm. As promised, Guillerme taught Ement, and Ement in turned trained Zoissette. Lecture mostly consisted of Guillerme gently correcting Ement while Ement tried to pass on what he'd learned. Practice had Ement going up against the training machine first while Guillerme watched, and then Zoissette trying to mimic what Ement had done while Ement pointed out flaws in her form or room for improvement.
Ement wondered how long it'd be before they were beyond what Guillerme considered the fundamentals and he'd start in on the tangents he was prone to. After all, he hadn't heard Guillerme tell him what a dragon wouldn't let him do in a while. And for that matter, he'd seemed to have temporarily dropped asking open questions about what made a knight.
(Pain and tired muscles and too much thinking, thought Ement.)
He didn't have to wait for too many days.
"So tell me, lass," said Guillerme as Zoissette and Ement were pulling on their practice armor. "Why do you wanna be a knight so bad? You think there's glory in it?"
"Ser?" Asked Zoissette as she pulled one of the straps tight.
She winced, and Ement shook his head, walking over to help her. "You don't have to overcompensate for wearing oversized gear anymore," he muttered to her. She just stood still and nodded.
"You heard me, lass. What are you hoping to get outta this."
"Well, not glory, ser," said Zoissette, nodding at Ement as he helped. She mouthed 'thank you' at him before she continued. "I - I don't think there's going to be much glory just in helping defend someone. Which is what I want to learn to do."
"Defend, huh? More to a knight than defending the weak and downtrodden, but let's stick to that for now. Why?"
"That seems... reason enough to me, ser. Because - because it's the right thing to do? The, uhm, honorable thing to do?"
"Right? Who said it was right?"
"Uhm," said Zoissette, biting her lip. "I - uhm. I guess ... me? Well, I mean... father. And mother both. They tell us to help others out. And - and well, I want to. I, uhm, I didn't really think about it."
"Acting without thinkin'? Some might call that foolish."
Zoissette frowned and crossed her arms, looking at the ground.
"You think on that. You also said it was the honorable thing to do. Ement, what've I said about that?"
"You once told me that honor is vainglory that gets knights killed, ser." Said Ement. He remembered that from an early lesson.
"Can be. Can be."
"But ser!" protested Zoissette. "That's - that's what a knight does. They are supposed to be honorable."
"Surely are. I find the word a bit overstuffed. Said too often. A knight goes out to die, we say it's the honorable thing to do. A knight challenges someone to a duel, it's for honor. We defend the honor of our fair maidens and the honor of our fair names and before you know it we've spilt more blood than truth and where's honor then. It's a bit like the word love. Everyone uses it, nobody understands it, and it's worn so thin as to be almost meaningless."
"I think the word love should mean something," said Zoissette quietly.
"Maybe it does to those precious few who say it and -mean- it every time. Otherwise, what's the point? Though you're onto something lass. These words we use should have the power we afford them. They should mean something. Maybe we start from scratch on 'em. Can't help you with love, Fury knows it's lost on me, but maybe we can salvage honor. Go fetch your primer, lass, tell me what it says about honor."
Zoissette nodded, as she went to her little table, and looked through the books there.
"I'm not sure I understand, ser. What are you getting at?" Asked Ement, feeling a bit annoyed. He'd given the answer he'd been taught, and hadn't really expected it to change.
"Nothin'. Maybe nothin'. Somethin' more than when we started, though. You should think on it too. Have to start sometime."
"Do I?" Asked Ement, peevishly, and Guillerme crossed the room to give him a cuff upside the ear. Ement laughed as it landed, though, feeling his tension let go a bit.
"Honor," said Zoissette, "According to the Primer, is adherence to what is right, or to a conventional standard of conduct." She shifted her weight on her feet. "...that's the second definition anyway. I think it's the more correct one."
"Hnh," said Guillerme. "What was the other definition?"
"Great respect or great esteem, Master Guillerme."
"Why not go with that one?"
"It... it's not what I want, not really, I don't think."
"No? Respect can be a powerful ally. Tells you who your friends are. Can also fetch you friends. Friends who share your ideals."
"I suppose. But... but it can't be the only reason to do something. Right? Otherwise, you're just... doing it for selfish reasons, really. I think. And, I mean, there's respect, like... being treated okay, but then there's respect, you know, like being treated as superior.
"I'm not, though. I'm not better than anybody else."
Ement nodded sagely. It was a lesson from their father he had been careful to instill in his children. "That's what father tells us," he said to Guillerme. "We may be noble, but that just means responsibilities. It's easy for us to pretend we're better, but really, we should be servants. And our first duty is to Ishgard, above all."
"Your first duty?" Said Guillerme.
"...yes ser." said Ement.
"Hmn. Yes. I suppose," said Guillerme.
He said nothing more on the matter that day.
---
"Your training is coming along well. I look forward to one day calling you as one of our own, as ser Vauban," said Guillerme.
Zoissette spoke up. "Shouldn't he be ser Ement?" she asked.
"Guillerme here prefers the older style of address," Ement said.
"Indeed I do. Indeed, I do," said Guillerme, crossing his arms. He got that distant look in his eyes he often did when he was talking about days long past, and Ement decided to take a moment to settle in, leaning against the wall. "I suppose it is well that many houses have done so well as to be able to spare multiple sons and daughters to the work of knighthood. That it's just easier to refer to them by their first names. And I understand the desire to mark them as individuals, to say, look, this one, this person, it is them who has the blessing of the Archbishop. But the old way of address... it had its charm, its purpose, you must understand. It said the opposite. It told us that this person was someone who swore fealty to their family. The first step in many of a path to higher devotion, higher calling. For by this, a knight would show they serve their family. And their family, well, they served the Holy See, and the Holy See served all of Ishgard. At least once upon a time, anyway-"
"Guillerme!" said Ement, alarmed.
"Forget that last. Anyway, all the way up, you see, until the knight serves Halone herself. And to serve Halone is the highest purpose of a knight, to serve Her is to serve the very star itself, do you see?"
Ement looked over to see his sister slowly nodding. "So you prefer to call a knight by their family name. Ser Vauban, of Ishgard, of Halone... of the star," she said.
"Just so," said Guillerme.
"Mother prefers that also, and I prefer not getting into arguments with mother, so it's what our family will use," said Ement, pushing off the wall. "But I'm no ser, Vauban or otherwise, just yet. I still need to go through squirehood."
"And to get that far, you still need to finish the preliminaries," said Guillerme. "But I have high hopes. High hopes indeed. Not much longer now, son. Don't disappoint."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Mother would never let me hear the end of it," said Ement.
---
Ement, not having the responsibilities of having to take care of the twins, was often the first one to show up to the training room. Having a question for Guillerme, he made certain to show up particularly early one day. Guillerme was waiting, of course. He often was there a half bell before he had to be, checking the training equipment and going over his notes.
"Master Guillerme?" asked Ement. "I've been meaning to ask. What do you get out of this?"
"Whatever do you mean, lad?"
"I mean... you training me and Zoissette. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but - ser, I know your history. You've trained members of the Temple Ward. You could practically write your own Gil balance. But instead you're here, working for, well. I'm not sure how much, but Sette tends the books sometimes. She's shown me the ledgers. We can't afford you."
Guillerme laughed. "Clearly you can, lad, for here I am."
"Right, sure, but... why?"
"Hnfh. Why indeed."
Guillerme crossed his arms behind his back, and paced a bit.
"... I trained Temple Knights, it's true. Used to be, someone had a promising young lad or lass, they'd send them to me, I'd show them the lashes. Put 'em through their paces. Some of Ishgard's finest fighters have gone by me, they say.
"But that's the problem, lad. Our finest -fighters-. Not our finest knights. I used to think that all I had to do was teach 'em to hold a shield and wield a sword, and the rest would work itself out. Good breeding, I thought, would make good men and women. And the church would help 'em stick to Halone's breast. Halonic men and women, doing Holy work, defending the realm.
"It took me too long to realize how wrong I was, lad. And the damage is done now. I've raised a few good knights, but also too many ... well. Scoundrels. Highwaymen with holy shields. Thugs that go down to the Brume or the low city and kick smallfolk for fun."
Guillerme stopped pacing, and looked at Ement. Ement thought he looked suddenly older, somehow. The lines in his face ran deeper. He noticed Guillerme had stooped a bit, his shoulders slumped down low, and Ement bowed his head, to look away. He felt afraid he'd asked the wrong question.
"I'm - I'm sorry, ser. I meant no disrespect."
"The disrespect's warranted, lad. Don't be sorry. Stand up straight. Like I trained you. Look at me square."
Ement swallowed and did as he was told, looking into Guillerme's eyes, and sensed a depth in them he hadn't noticed before.
"I'm trying to make up for that mistake, lad. Better knights for a better Ishgard. The current generation's a loss, but the next, well. Had to find stock first, though. I looked among the Brume, but I'm not of them. Couldn't connect with them. They saw a threat, thinking me either fit to take advantage of them, or someone who was just there to remind 'em of how they were lesser. And also, a knight - a proper knight - they need support. Armor and weapons and someone to take care of all that. Nobody in the Brume has that. So then I tried the minor houses. Your mother - well, she's got a reputation. Good soldier, does well by hers. Good teacher, so I hear. I thought, well, maybe some of that would've rubbed off on her sprats. So here I am. Yours is a minor house. High enough up that you can maybe afford a knight or two. Low enough to not be spoiled by the indulgences Ishgard allows her high houses.
"And I found you two. Well, just you at first, lad, and while you were a good study with the sword, I found I was struggling to really say what I wanted to say, to try to teach you what good really was. But then your sister showed up, with her heart too big and her head too smart, and, well."
Guillerme laughed, a dry, brittle thing, but a laugh nonetheless. Ement smiled nervously, unsure how to respond.
"The questions I've been asking aren't just for you and her, lad. They're for me. Maybe they're for every knight. I told you, if you can't teach it, you don't know it, but that's a small lie. In the teaching is also the learning, and, well. I'm not learned yet. But trust me, lad, I'm earning exactly what I want here."
Ement heard the bells ringing in the distance as the door to the training room opened, and Zoissette at last made an appearance. Ement glanced between her and Guillerme.
"...thank you, ser." said Ement, quietly.
"Aye, lad. Let's just get on with it, shall we? I get any more morose and I'll need to turn to my cups."
Guillerme began the day's instructions, but Ement found himself distracted, trying to figure out the riddle of the man's words.
---
Sennights turned to moons and they all passed in much the same way as they had. Zoissette no longer fell half asleep during training sessions, but she did start to stay in the training room after them. Early on her studies had been more general, but they had become specific, as she turned her attentions to astrology and arcanistry. She was staying up late in order to keep up with said studies, but despite that, did not neglect her knight's training, taking it as seriously as she ever had. Guillerme, true to his word, drove Ement harder, and Ement in turn did what he could to teach Zoissette. It was slower going, but both Elezen grew into it.
One day, Zoissette came into the training room, and looked as though she was on the verge of crying, but was keeping it in. She walked over to where Ement and Guillerme were standing. The room fell quiet.
"...something on your mind, girl?" prompted Guillerme gently.
"It happened again," said Zoissette. "Not a new kid this time. One of the one's that's been there a while. Not... not a friend. But... the rumors are, his mother left his father to go join the heretics."
"Any truth to the rumors?" asked Ement. Zoissette shook her head.
"Bet she just -left- the bastard, then," said Ement. "If it was heretic business, the whole family'd be ousted."
"That doesn't matter," said Zoissette.
"Rather does to the Inquisition, I might think," replied Ement.
"Let her finish," said Guillerme, and Ement fell quiet. "So what'd you do about it, girl?"
"I told them to stop. To leave him alone."
"Oh, and that was it, then?" asked Guillerme.
Zoissette took a deep breath in. "...no. They started to call me names. They told me I must be a heretic too, or a dragon swiver-"
"Language," said Ement, almost automatically. He immediately planted his face in his palm.
Guillerme looked at him and chuckled. "You so old as to forget three summers past, son? She knows what a swivin' is, and probably much more colorful language aside."
"Halone preserve, forget I said anything. Go on, Sette," said Ement.
"...anyroad, there was yelling, and... one of them picked up a stone and threw it at me."
"Well then. What happened then?" prompted Guillerme.
"They missed, and I... I looped my arm through my carrying bag's loops and used it as a shield. The rest of them got started, trying to hit both of us. I got in front. I mostly didn't get hit. He got knocked down, though. And... that's when I charged them. Knocked one of them over, got him on the ground, hit him a few times.
"One of them pulled me up, and I hit them, knocked them over too. Dropped two more... the rest of them ran. I... I stayed behind, to try to help the other one up. The one who was being made fun of. The one I was trying to defend."
Zoissette took another deep breath, and steadied herself. "He shoved me away when he got up. He yelled at me. Told me he didn't need help. Then... he ran away too."
She looked down at the ground, clenching and unclenching her fists. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
"Well, maybe you were, and maybe you weren't, lass," said Guillerme. "Did you stop to ask if he needed help?"
Zoissette looked up at him with a frown. "No? I mean - no, of course not. He obviously did."
"And yet he didn't appreciate it much when you gave it to him."
"I don't understand."
"Think about it some. In the meanwhile, dress out. We've still got training."
Zoissette nodded, and moved over to retrieve her training gear. Guillerme rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
It was an hour later, both Elezen panting and exhausted, when Zoissette spoke up again.
"Retribution."
"What?" asked Ement.
"Retribution. They might go back for him later, when I'm not around. Or... or he thought he'd just take the hits, and hoped they'd leave him alone in the future," said Zoissette.
"Maybe... maybe. Things to consider. And what about you, lass?" asked Guillerme.
Zoissette looked confused. "Aren't we talking about me? What about me?"
"Why'd you wade into a mess what weren't yours, lass?"
"That's... that's why I'm doing this at all. That's why I'm learning this. To defend people. To keep people from being hurt. Because I can. Because that's... that's what I want to do. To do the right thing."
"And what made it right, lass? Just because you felt it so?"
"Well... yes."
"Hmn. Good knights trust their instincts, I suppose," said Guillerme. He turned away and clasped his hands behind his back. "But far too many of the knights that I have trained have claimed to be acting in the name of the Holy See and its edicts on their way to bash some poor otherwise-innocent bugger's head in. Certainly, they feel right to do as they do."
"It's not the same," said Zoissette.
"No?" said Guillerme. "Don't get me wrong, lass, I agree, but why is it not the same?"
"Well, they're - they're imposing their will on others just because they can. They're not trying to help!"
"And you're tryin' to help, you say, but it wasn't wanted. Aren't you also just imposing your will?"
Zoissette frowned, and Ement could see her shoulders tense, her fingers working her shield-strap as she thought.
Ement thought to ease the tension he felt in the room, and cleared his throat. "Well, I'd say the difference is that Zoissette's man is free to think his thoughts afterwards, with his head rather unabashed, wouldn't you say?"
Zoissette and Guillerme both turned to look at him, Zoissette still frowning, Guillerme's expression unreadable, damn the man. But that was fine. Ement grinned, and spread his arms out wide, and offered a small bow. The tension was thinning, he was certain.
"...you're right," said Zoissette.
"I mean, maybe," said Ement, lightly.
"No, you're - I think I understand the difference. Those other knights, they claim to know and do the right thing, but - but they're not acting on behalf of Ishgard or her people. Not really. I - I was. My intervention may not have been wanted, but what I did, I didn't do it for me. I did it for them. I did - I did what I thought they might've wanted me to do, if they'd had the power to ask for it."
Guillerme nodded, slowly. "And what then if they still don't want it, lass? I would prefer not to train another would-be tyrant, claimin' just as you claim, that they're doing right on behalf of the people for the people, in the people's name, whatever."
Zoissette swallowed. "...then it's important what Ement said. That... that they're alive and healthy and well and capable of being mad about what I've done after."
Ement crossed his arms. He hadn't really meant to have a point, but apparently his little sister had found one.
"...but it's not enough, is it?" Finished Zoissette, suddenly timid.
"Hmm?"
"It's... it's not enough just to... to feel like I'm doing the right thing, is it? I mean, I'm still pretty sure I did. He - he can be mad at me, but like Ement said, at least he isn't hurt, but maybe I'm still not thinking this all the way through. Not as far as I should."
Zoissette's voice trailed off. "Who determines what's right? I'm - I'm still not sure."
"... I did say a good knight trusts their instincts. A great knight, though, a great knight thinks about them. It's a struggle, lass, make no mistake.
"And the best of us," said Guillerme quietly, "Weighs their soul against the very star itself."
Ement watched as Zoissette swallowed nervously. She looked down at the ground, then back up at Guillerme's back.
"I'm... I'm not sure I'm good enough for that, ser," she said.
"Well. Maybe, maybe not, Maybe not yet. But keep it in mind, lass. I'm glad you're thinking about it at all. Keep that up. Maybe you'll learn one day."
"I'll - I'll do my best, ser."
"I hope so," said Guillerme, still quiet.
---
Guillerme paced slowly in front of the two, his hands clasped behind his back, seemingly deep in thought.
"What makes a knight?" he asked. He seemed to be asking himself as much as anyone.
Ement glanced sideways at his sister. She looked back at him.
"I'm not sure anymore, ser," Ement admitted. "I thought it was things like duty. Honor. The ability to fight when needed. I think... ser, I'm sorry. I'll just be happy to serve in my own way. To fight for Ishgard. I intend to be a good soldier."
"And that'll be enough, lad, that'll be enough. I think your heart's true enough. Truer than some of my priors. Aye, I'll take it. Tell me, though. What do you think duty and honor mean? Maybe we can get something outta this yet."
Ement took a deep breath in before answering. "Duty is what we're supposed to do. Defend people. Fight Ishgard's enemies. Uphold our responsibilities. Honor is... I think the book's right. Adherence to what's right. I think that's what the two definitions it had were for, actually. You do the right thing, and then you can be respected."
"Good lad. Zoissette?"
Zoissette was tapping her lips with a finger, looking thoughtful. "I'm still stuck on... who determines what's right and what's wrong?"
Guillerme stopped and looked up at the ceiling.
"Yer onto something, lass. Keep going."
"Well, it's like Ement said. Duty is what we are supposed to do, and honor is adherence to what is right. I thought I was doing my duty when I tried to stop the other students from hurting that boy. I thought I was behaving in an honorable fashion. And I still think I'm right. But you were right, too. I should have thought about it more. Why was it right? I think it was right, the boy I tried to help didn't. We can't both be right. I mean, I guess we could both be wrong, but... who's choosing what's right and what isn't?
"Halone, maybe, but all we have from her is what I can read. She's not telling me anything directly. So... I guess I have to figure it out myself. Same thing for duty. Who tells me what I'm supposed to do? I ... I would've guessed the Holy See, but - but you've made it sound like maybe that's not for the best, if they're just bullies too."
"Sette," said Ement, looking sideways at her.
Zoissette rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about me, big brother, it's just us. I know better than to go yelling that from the rooftops."
Ement shook his head. Guillerme nodded a bit, and resumed his pacing.
"...maybe that's it," he said.
"Ser?" asked Zoissette.
"We've been dancing around it, haven't we. What makes a knight? Well. An adherence to duty. Honor to duty. But what duty? What is our duty? Something fundamental."
Guillerme paused his pacing again, and rocked back and forth on his feet.
"Your first duty," he said, slowly, "It's not to Ishgard. It can't be. Ishgard isn't there in the dirt with you. It must be to yourself. And anyone can claim they're actin' on behalf of the people but not mean it. But perhaps we can rely on something deeper than just that. Not to what you feel, not just what you think. To your own ideals. To ... something true. Something deep, something you build. Something you challenge yourself to. Something you know. Something you are. Everything and more."
"... to a personal truth," said Zoissette.
"To a personal truth," said Guillerme. He looked thoughtful. "Aye, lass. Because when you're on the field, or bleedin' in the ditch, there's no book you can look to, no pretty words from a comrade. You're gonna have to trust yourself to do the right thing. And that means you're going to have to know what the right thing is.
"A challenge, then, to each of you. You'll go on to be a fine knight, lad. I know it, and I'm proud of what we've made here. And to you, lass, even if you never pick up the sword and shield again, you've still acquitted yourself well. And taught me a thing or two, if I want to be honest. So, the same challenge to you. To the first duty. To the truth. Your personal truth, that will forever guide you both, and if you build it right, will guide you true. Can you do that?"
"Yes, ser," said Ement.
Zoissette looked thoughtful for a moment, and Ement watched her eyes wander, as she slowly nodded to herself.
"To the first duty. To a personal truth. To serve my house. To serve Ishgard. To serve the realm. To serve Halone. That I might serve the star.
"...does that sound right?"
Guillerme nodded. "Aye, lass. I think we've found it. It sounds right enough."
Zoissette stood up straight, arms back, head high.
"I can do that, ser."
"...very good. Ement, you'll get yours when your squirehood's done. Zoissette, hand me your sword."
Zoissette looked at Guillerme questioningly, but handed over her practice sword without comment.
"Kneel, lady," said Guillerme gently.
Zoissette looked between Ement and Guillerme, and then slowly knelt down on one knee.
"And bow your head."
She did.
"By the power invested in me - which is none; under the authority granted through the Holy See, which it hasn't been - and under Halone's watchful gaze, may she ever watch over you - I hereby declare you to be ser Vauban, Lady Zoissette of the house Vauban, a knight, even if only in heart, and not yet in name or in deed. But yer a good enough of a knight for me, lady. No matter what you do, I believe you will serve well. Rise, and take up your weapon."
Guillerme tapped Zoissette one one shoulder, and then the other. Zoissette curled up a hand in front of her face, as she appeared to pray for a moment before looking up at Guillerme. Guillerme flipped the practice sword around, and held it out to her, hilt first.
Before taking the sword, Zoissette looked to where her practice shield was laying, and picked it up, strapping it onto her arm. She then stood up slowly, and took the practice sword from Guillerme, and sheathed it, and stood tall once more.
"If you ever decide to fully commit to following in your brother's footsteps, lady," said Guillerme, "I am certain you will be among the best of us."
He looked to Ement.
"I think my lessons have come to an end, young lad. I have nothing more to teach you, and I think I'm as learned as I'm like to get."
Ement nodded to Guillerme, and after a moment of consideration, he saluted. Zoissette did likewise.
"May Halone watch over you both," he said. "I'll speak with your mother later, Ement, and we'll get you set up with a squireship. In the meanwhile, keep to your drills, both of you. Even if you don't plan on fightin', lady, it's a good foundation. It'll keep you healthy and your mind sharp. And never stop asking questions. Even if you have to ask 'em of the Holy See itself."
"Aye, ser," Ement said at the same time as his sister, and he looked over and gave her a grin. She seemed to be paying more attention to some distance only she could see, though. Ement shrugged.
"Will you still be around, Master Guillerme?" asked Ement.
"Aye, lad. I'll help you with your drills until you actually get that squireship, don't you worry. And your sister too, if she wants to stick with it, but I don't think there's much left for you here, is there?"
Zoissette shuffled her feet a bit. "I... I guess not. I'll keep up with the drills though, if you don't mind. But... you're right. I think I'll be spending more time with my books. But - but thank you, Master Guillerme. I'll - I'll try to live up to your ideals."
Guillerme snorted. "Yours as much as mine, Lady. But I'll hold you to that. For now though, we're done for the day. Go ahead and get the place cleaned up, and I'll be back on the morrow. No more lessons. Just training, lad. Enough to keep that sword sharp, 'til you're a proper squire, alright?"
"Yes ser."
"Good lad," said Guillerme.
And then he was gone.
"Well, what do you think of that, ser Vauban? Looks like you got your knighthood before me. Gotta say, I'm jealous," said Ement, grinning at Zoissette.
She was still just standing there, though, a faraway look in her eyes.
"...to the star," she said. She looked down at her sword, and then to her shield, and at last, to her brother.
"You think too much," he said.
"Maybe," she said quietly.
But then she gave him a big smile, all brightness and light.
"But I think I can do it," she said.
Ement had to admit to himself, he wasn't quite sure what she meant. But he believed her.