( apologies )
post-Singularity Reactor; vague spoilers for the end of 3.0.
The Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, infirmary, early evening.
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"Any word?" Aymeric asked.
"A few," Alphinaud replied, seemingly startled awake by the sound of the question, and Aymeric wondered how long the boy had been sitting there. There was the hint of forced levity in his voice when he spoke again with a half-smile over his shoulder: "She is quieter than usual. Our Warrior of Light is a notorious sleep-talker."
Aymeric could not help but smile slightly at the thought, but nevertheless felt the weight behind the observation. In truth, Alyx looked closer to death than sleep: her already fair skin was nearly ashen-white, save for the edges of dark bruises he could see blooming on her temple and shoulders. Even the vibrant copper of her hair seemed...paled, somewhat, but he decided it was likely the dreary light of the lamps. The pure white bedsheets and cotton gown typical of the infirmary only made her look more sickly.
It had been several days, though Aymeric was not certain exactly how many. Time had seemed to run together of late--perhaps the lack of sleep was to blame. He had a feeling, however, that Alphinaud Levellieur knew exactly how much time Alyx had been in this state, and that he had been beside her for the duration.
"Is there aught I can bring you, Master Levellieur? Some tea perhaps?"
"That," Alphinaud croaked, and then cleared his throat, "Is a most generous offer. I could certainly do with some."
Good, Aymeric thought, Something to do. He felt as similarly helpless as whenever friends or family were ill or injured beyond the point of medicine or healing--not that he had much knowledge of such things anyway. If he could do naught to help Alyx, at least he could help her very tired companion. He nodded and turned to leave but heard a breathy murmur from the bed behind him, followed by the creak of Alphinaud sitting forward in his chair. He looked back toward the bed, unable to make out more than a word.
“What does she say?" Aymeric inquired softly, "A name?"
“Rhodry," Alphinaud said. "Her brother.”
“I was not aware she had a brother.”
“She is not one to speak much of her own loss.”
“I see," he said, and fell silent. His thoughts strayed to Lord Haurchefant, and Aymeric wondered how many brothers Alyx had lost. He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and again regarded the back of the boy's silver head, neck and shoulders a subtle portrait of fatigue.
"I beg your leave. I shall see to the tea," he said, and left through the open infirmary room door. Something, he thought, he had to do something.
*
Alphinaud watched Alyx's eyelids flutter and wondered if she was dreaming of her brother. Dreaming at all would be an improvement over what he could only imagine was crushing nothingness following such an extreme loss of aether. She had a poor habit of overexerting herself, but never like this...never had she attempted magic so far beyond her ken, never had she used her own aether in place of the pooled resources of a group...
His fists clenched in his lap. Never had she been this close to death.
Alphinaud took a breath and softened his hands when another murmur escaped her lips, though this time he could not understand. He allowed himself to relax back into his chair, the post of his vigil, and struggled to keep his mind from fear of his friend never waking. He was done begging at her bedside, he was done hiding his tears from the shuffle of chirurgeons--and Ser Aymeric, and Lord Artoirel--now it was all he could do to wait.
Though far more patient than Alyx, Alphinaud hated this sort of waiting more than anything.
So when she gasped suddenly awake, her green eyes panicked rather than bleary with sleep, the relief that flooded him nearly made him collapse.
"Alyx," he breathed, "You..."
"Estinien," Alyx finally rasped when she found her voice, blinking, swallowing, gulping for air as if she had been drowning, "Where is he? Where is Estinien?"
At the immediate mention of the Azure Dragoon, the relief that swelled in Alphinaud's chest went cold again with anxiety.
"I was hoping you could tell us," he said, forcing the waver from his voice with a careful clenching of his fingers.
Alyx took another shaking breath.
"He was... I was... they Eyes, they..." she swallowed thickly, her pale face a mask of worry and pain, "I couldn't see... I couldn't..."
"What? You could not see what?"
"Something... happened, he... it was all red. It hurt," she blinked and heavy tears rolled out of her eyes, "It hurt so much. He hurt so much. It was so loud. And now he's..."
"Alyx, where is Estinien?"
"He's alive. I know he's alive," she breathed, "but I...I can't hear him anymore."
Alphinaud pressed his lips together into a firm line to keep them from quivering. A maelstrom of grief and worry and relief and anger filled his head with heat. He wanted to trust her judgement, but given the state of the Flagship he still feared the worst. At least, some small part of him reasoned, at least he had not lost her.
"Why did you do it?" He implored her weakly.
She turned to look at him with knit brows, and tears welled in his eyes in spite of himself. That same quiet and reasonable part of him knew this was not the right time for such questions, but he was weary and raw and could not hold it in any longer.
He hated how badly she had frightened him.
"How could you do it? They... they told me what happened. How could you have done something so reckless?"
"I did what I had to do," she said, voice still shaking.
"No," Alphinaud said through clenched teeth, "You did what you wanted to do, without any thought of your own well-being. Or Estinien's..."
"I did not kill Estinien," she pushed herself up onto her elbows, green eyes now alive with fury. It sounded as if the statement was directed partially at herself. "And I did not kill myself. But if I had known I'd be subject to such ridicule upon waking I might have rather stayed asleep."
Alphinaud had risen to his feet angrily without realizing it, now looking down at her through his tears. Like hells you would have, he thought, but unfortunately his heart spoke from a place of deeper pain.
"Lord Haurchefant died to protect you!" His voice cut through the quiet of the room like a bitter blade. The look on her face made him hate his own words immediately, despite their truth.
"Don't you fucking dare," she growled weakly, "Don't--"
He continued regardless, consumed by a desperate storm of emotion.
"Do you think this is any way to repay his sacrifice?"
The question hung between them among shallow, quaking breaths, before Alyx once again gathered the strength to speak.
"Get out," was all she said, looking away from him towards the window. Tears streamed down her cheeks but she made no effort to wipe them away. There was a beat of silence while he hesitated; though he was not surprised by her reaction, it stung.
"I must needs report to Tataru and the others," Alphinaud said in some semblance of agreement, anger subsiding into a cold regret, "Surely they will be wanting to see their hero alive and well."
And with that he slipped through the door and down the corridor, intending not to seek out his friends, but rather be alone with his relief.
*
Aymeric had been waylaid considerably on his mission, as was common whenever within the walls of the Congregation. A small silvery blur rushed past him, and he called out to capture his attention, and perhaps to apologize for taking so long.
"Master Alphinaud!"
He did not reply. The boy did not even seem to hear him. Puzzled, Aymeric watched him disappear around a corner, wondering what could possibly have caused him to leave his post in such a rush.
Not a happy rush, either, he realized, and his heart pounded in his throat.
Hands still full of requisition documents he strode quickly down the corridor toward the Warrior of Light's room, worry settling in the pit of his stomach. The door was slightly ajar when he arrived, yet he hesitated. Perhaps she was with a healer now, perhaps he ought to wait...
He rapped on the door with his knuckles, hoping he would get a reply, yet not expecting the one he did receive:
"Back to apologize already? That was quick."
The voice was definitely Alyx's, but shaky, bitter. Aymeric hazarded to enter the room, finding her alone but sitting upright, her pale cheeks stained with tears. When she saw him her eyes lit up in surprise and perhaps a hint of embarrassment; she hastily looked away.
"I imagine 'twas not from me you were expecting an apology," he said gently, desperate to break the silence.
"No," she agreed tiredly, and looked away, "You have done nothing to apologize for."
Aymeric begged to differ.
"How are you faring?" He asked her, knowing immediately it was a stupid question, but he had to know. "Are you--"
"I don't know where Estinien is," she said suddenly, staring straight at the wall in front of her.
Aymeric had not intended to ask, certainly not yet, even though the question had weighed heavy on his mind for days.
"I..." he began, but Alyx continued.
"I don't know what happened to him. After the battle, he was there," she desperately choked out the words, as if trying to expel them from her body. "I couldn't move, I couldn't... I was too tired. I was barely conscious. I did it to myself. It was my fault. If I hadn't, if I--" her voice broke, and she gasped for breath. She folded in on herself, and her shoulders quaked.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed brokenly, and began to weep. "I'm so sorry."
Aymeric was stunned momentarily into paralysis. Something about seeing her this way shook him to the core: never before had she seemed so small and so vulnerable. Even at the Vault, despite her tears she stood tall, almost as if in direct defiance of her heartbreak. Ever since, he had seen the grief in her eyes when she smiled and known it as well as his own, and yet she carried on with her head held high, almost more powerful than before. She was like the string of a bow or a violin pulled too tight, full of power yet finally broken in front of him, and it was all he could do to kneel at the bedside and place a timid hand to her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated. Her voice was jagged and strained, but the blade of her shoulder seemed to relax under his hand.
"My dear friend," he said softly, "You have nothing to apologize for. You have saved us all."
"I couldn't save him," she drew her bandaged hands away from her face and he could see her fingers shaking. "I couldn't--I couldn't protect him."
"Estinien?"
Alyx turned to look at him, and he saw her--truly saw her, saw Alyx, the woman who wore the title. He saw a woman full of generosity and grief and love for her friends who clenched her teeth before speaking again.
"Estinien. Haurchefant. Rhodry." The way she said each name sounded as if it physically hurt. She swallowed, tearing her eyes from his. "I couldn't--"
Aymeric realized his hand, nearly moving of its own accord, had been stroking timid circles over her back as she wept. Disregarding any worries of propriety in such extreme circumstances he continued, hoping it could somehow soothe her, even if only the edges. With his free hand he produced a simple handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat. He knew well they were beyond platitudes and perhaps even such insignificant gestures of comfort but he knew no other way.
"The burdens you carry are many," he said as he offered her the square of unfolding cotton, "This guilt need not be one more."
She looked back at him, and he swore something in her eyes told him to practice what he preached. Perhaps this burden was one they shared, one of several. She reached for the handkerchief with a hand hesitant but no longer trembling. She did not wipe her eyes, but simply held the fabric in her hands, feeling it between her fingers.
"Aymeric," she almost whispered, her eyes bright with tears, "I'm so sorry."
"I know," he said sadly, "I know you are."
When her walls crumbled and she began again to weep, he rose from the floor to sit half-way on the bed beside her. Given the circumstances, he decided, it was not only appropriate but necessary. Alyx collapsed slightly into his arm when he put it around her, and he marveled at how she could be larger than life and yet so small beside him, muffling her quiet sobs with his handkerchief.
Light spilled in through the slightly open door until a shadow passed in front of it. Alphinaud Levellieur peered into the room, his face somber, yet his eyes questioning. Aymeric did not know what had passed between them before he arrived, but he sensed further "I'm sorry"s were to come. He smiled slightly at the boy whose eyes softened, and then Aymeric heard him say in a quiet voice into the hallway beyond:
"Later, perhaps," he said, and looked back at Aymeric with half a smile, "Though she is recovered, the Warrior of Light is not yet ready to entertain visitors."
And then he closed the door, leaving the two of them in the unlikely sanctuary of the Congregation infirmary's best room.
Long moments passed, and Aymeric's eyes strayed to the documents he had haphazardly dropped to the floor beside the bed, no longer remembering their purpose and caring very little to find out. He said nothing, but he rest his chin on top of Alyx's head as she silently wept, and for a few precious moments they were only themselves. He was not Lord Commander of the Temple Knights nor was she the Warrior of Light: he was simply a man comforting a friend, a friend who needed to grieve where the world could not touch her--and, even if just for a time, let lie its unfathomable weight.
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(I added this as a chapter on AO3 as well because it’s such important foundation, but I wanted to post it here first. The conversation between Alyx and Alphinaud is one that I had planned for a very long time, though the scene following was loosely inspired by the catharsis offered by the Stormblood Dark Knight storyline. Alyx isn’t quite there yet, but this is a start.)
