Four years, maybe five. There was an odd finality in the number, made all the less comforting for the roughness of the estimate. It lie squarely in the awkward range between soon to arrive and the distant future, a hazy middle ground of far and near. Disorienting, in a way. In four years, maybe five, Michishio's attendant would be dead.
It was an odd feeling, almost hollow. It wasn't quite so tender as the loss of a family member, and to liken it to the death of a pet was simply insulting - not that Michishio had ever had one. What was it she felt? Sadness, of a sort, but not quite sorrow. A touch of... regret wasn't the word. Dissatisfaction? To have the entirety of one's future collapsed to such a narrow span wasn't something of which she could easily conceive. She’d wondered what such a realization might be like, what thoughts it must prompt. What hopes were dashed, what resolutions made... As her thought had circled, she knew one thing for sure: to ask would be to pour salt on old wounds. Better far to let the swordswoman hold to her dignity and resolve.
And yet, she'd been pledged the young woman's blade, with the kenshi's full knowledge of what it meant. It led the fledgling lady to wonder why her servitor had agreed to the doctor's visit in the first place. Was it hope for a cure known to Eorzean medicine that Yanxian arts had yet to discover? She somehow doubted it. If she were to guess, it seemed more an odd mixture of respect for her lady's concern, simple obedience to a request and... The undeniability of hearing it directly from a physician. Her friend Dunrai, who'd seen them in the cellar of his own home, offered them home-made sweets before the consultation, and quietly excused himself after delivering the news to fetch them glasses of water. He'd stayed upstairs, Michishio noted with gratitude, quite a spell longer than the simple task required.
So then, what to do with this news? On the vanishingly small chance the Sakanoue laid claim to whatever ancestral land they may or may not have, the Ashina would of course be granted a portion for faithful service. That was simply a matter of course. Yet with the future winnowed down to less than half a decade's time, even should the prize be won, would any claim it? Should she... comfort the young woman? Ask her thoughts? It seemed inappropriate, somehow, a belittling of her resolve. To question her strength might lead it to falter. Some burdens were borne purely out of the refusal to yield, and to invite her to lay it down may only make it that much harder to shoulder once more when the time came. No, she would speak of it if she wished, and Michisio would listen. If she did not, her lady must simply accept on faith that Ashina-no-Tomoe bore it as nobly as she may.
With such a short span left, surely none could question the resolve that guided her blade; this, Michishio saw plainly. Her motive, however, remained uncertain. Tomoe had appeared out of nowhere having tracked a newly-minted noblewoman clear to Vylbrand, swore allegiance to a house and to a lady that she'd clearly ill understood despite there being, so far as Michishio was aware, a perfectly acceptable alternative... Not to mention conveniently when the house had most needed additional hands. It was either the providence of the heavens or a supremely calculated gesture, and she knew not which. She'd like to trust the impish-and-earnest by turns young lady, but too much trust was a dangerous thing. There were few indeed that Michishio truly trusted. She'd like to perhaps even be friends with the effervescent kenshi as she seemed to so sincerely desire, but friendship required trust and that was one thing kept hoarded close.
Was Ashina a tool, soon to face expiry? It was almost too cruel to contemplate, and yet to be soft-hearted now might cause everything to crumble before it had even begun. Too often, Michishio's duty called her to be counter to her own inclinations, and without fail she answered the call to ignore the now-feeble protests of her gentler nature. If only there were some way to be sure of loyalty, to test it without threatening to destroy the fragile bonds already forged... But there was not. Tomoe was dying, and that an honest soul might be buried never having gained the faith of her lady was a barb set at Michishio's heart.
Dunrai had gently asked Tomoe to stand across the room from the crib when Michishio had gone to say goodbye to his children, lest her sickness spread to those not yet hardy enough to resist. She'd understood, but the blue eyes that followed from the other side carried far more weight than the swaddled babe Michishio gently lifted from repose. When it came the elder daughter's turn for her goodbye hug from 'auntie,' the Raen held the precocious Xaela child just a bit more tightly, just a moment longer than she might have otherwise - for herself and for Tomoe.
