(So so soooooo many thank yous to the wonderful people at Gage Acquisitions for carrying me through Seat of Sacrifice EX so I could steal Elidibus’s stuff.)
Art’imis and Gosetsu have a chat that leads into the cut scene where he goes to pay respects to the dead Xeala that was thrown in the desert.
Art’imis watched the sky burn carmine and scarlet as the sun fell toward the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept an eye on Gosetsu as he meditated in silent vigil for a dead Xeala Warrior. In the distance, she could hear wild dogs. She noted the sound and gave it space in her thoughts so that she could track if it came nearer.
“I would never have expected to find a staunch alley in a Ronin,” Gosetsu said at length.
“Ronin?” Art’imis asked mostly for an excuse to roll the word around her tongue.
“A masterless samurai, Yugiri said that you are a free paladin,” he paused like he was trying to judge the shape of the word in his mouth, “that you have not sworn yourself to the same master as other Paladins.”
Art’imis shrugged. “I suppose I am then.”
“In Doma, this was considered… dishonorable. To fight, but for one's only glory, not in service to a master or home.” The Old Warrior turned from where he had been regarding the desert and the fallen Xaela. His old eyes considered the small Raen woman. She was of a height with Yugiri, and once he may have scoffed at the idea that such a diminutive creature could lift a sword let alone wield it. It was a prejudice Yugiri had broken him of long past. She watched him with one grey eye and one amber eye, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. “I must admit that when Yugiri first told me you were sworn to no master I was not inclined to trust you beyond whatever coin it was that bought your service.”
“No need to sound quite so contrite. You haven’t run out of coin yet.” Art’imis drawled, amusement making her eyes glint like silver and gold.
The samurai laughed from his belly. “Yugiri said you would say something like that if I ever brought it up.”
“Your kith and kin that came to Eorzea would say that they owe the scions of the seventh Dawn everything.” Art’imis pulled the kite shield from her back and then rested against the boulder by her feet. She then leaned back against a boulder and crossed her arms over her chest. “I would claim the opposite. There are many things that would have gone much worse if Yugiri and the shinobi had not aided us. For the first time, there was somewhere safe for my daughter. The Doman’s were of the few groups that did not distance themselves from us when all the rest of Eorzea was content to watch madmen take Ul’dah in their fist.”
There was an old bitterness in the words. Gosetsu watched her jaw set and her tail lash scraping against the stone. “Yugiri was most irritated with my dismissal of you and yours. I understood better after seeing you in battle, but we did not have time for more discussion until we were on the voyage back. She confessed it made her heartsick that she could not give you succor, as you had done for our countrymen when you were driven from your home.”
“She brought Tataru back to us safe, and found Rhuban before Ilberd could complete his farce of an execution.” Art’imis looked up at the stars that were steadily showing in the darkening sky. “She has taught me more about keeping faith to one's oaths and self than some of my teachers who professed such things. She need not feel guilty for what could not be.”
Gosetsu let the conversation lapse into silence. He looked at the shield by Art’imis feet, a black shield with a blood-red unicorn on it that was near incandescent in the dying light. “You say you have no master, and yet I have never seen you without another’s crest in battle?”
“Hmmm?” Art’imis blinked back from whatever thoughts she’d been occupied by. “That? That was gifted to me by a brother I did not know I needed to find. It is a twin to a shield that broke saving both my love and mine own life. I do not serve Fortemps in the way you mean when you speak of a master.”
“Than what are the oaths you have spoken of?”
“Once I would have simply said the light and left you to draw your own conclusions,” The AuRa woman’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And now I find that is not sufficient.”
“How is the light of good, of the kami insufficient?” Gosetsu challenged her, his eyes narrowing.
Art’imis met his narrowed gaze with a hard stare, “I met a Warrior not so long ago, from a land unfathomably distant. He had called himself the Warrior of Darkness in direct counterpoint to my title of Warrior of Light. He had been a hero of his world, had born mine same title. He had fought back the darkness, won, and doomed his home to blinding purity.”
Her lips pulled back in a flinch as if she had suffered a blow she refused to let rock her physically. She did not break the uncomfortably hard eye contact though. “No, I will not be a pawn of The Light.”
She blew out a breath and looked up releasing him from her hard stare. “What I take into my care is mine to keep watch over, to serve, to aid, to shield. What is mine I keep, against all odds, against any threat be it light or dark.”
A rolling growl drew both of them to the present. The desert dogs were coming out as the air began to chill. They were lean and rangy creatures creeping with the wariness of animals whose hunger had overcome their fear. As Art’imis straightened, the Samurai grunted and got to his feet. He hissed in surprise when the air next to his shoulder cracked with ruby energy. The concentrated aether shot past him to hit the closest wild dog in the chest. The creature howled in pained surprise and the entire pack retreated finding that their easy meal was not so helpless.
Gosetsu glanced at his companion who was shaking out a gloved hand with a sour expression. She caught his look and shrugged. “I hate casting without a focus.”
The roegadyn snorted and turned back to the sands. He shook his head considering the carelessly discarded body of the Xeala Warrior. “Left for the vultures…”
