Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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we looked for peace,
but no good came,
and for a time of health,
and behold: trouble!
...the whole land trembled at the sound
of the neighing of his strong ones;
for they have come
and have devoured the land,
and those that dwell therein.
--jeremiah 8:15-22

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THE CARTENEAU FLATS, MOR DHONA - 1572, 6AE

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||Hear||

She came awake with a wrenching gasp that was as painful as it was sudden.

Cramped limbs screamed in silent protest as they convulsed, slamming against the edges of what felt like a console. Trapped in a cocoon of lacquer and reinforced steel and cermet plating, she tried to cry out but all she could manage was a hoarse and rasping groan.

Above the loud pounding of her heart she could hear a steady, metallic rattle: one she finally recognized as the sound of water drumming against the husks of unmoving warmachina. One of Mor Dhona's frequent heavy summer squalls must have blown in over the lake. Otherwise-- there was only silence. Even the bright and frantic wailing of the raid alarums from Castrum Novum had long since faded into memory.

The world had been consumed in fire and wrath, but for the moment she was still in it.

What had happened?

She could recall aught else of her first real battle with a clarity she wished she didn't possess, right up until the eikon's release. After that everything felt curiously vague, memory as muddy and opaque as the dirty water trickling into the small crater that the reaper’s impact had left behind. 

Reluctantly she played through the last events she could recall in her mind's eye: the awful sounds echoing from without the relative safety of the VIIth Legion's infirmary pavilions, the glassy staring eyes of the dead and frightened screams and blood-soaked aprons and issuing dose after dose after dose of potions and remedies and combat enhancers. 

There had been a call for teams to come retrieve wounded from the front lines-- that was how she had found herself in the thick of battle, but-

(she could vaguely recall the weight of her field kit as the strap cut into her shoulder even through the protective carbonweave that she wore beneath her uniform, carefully compartmentalizing the horror of stumbling over bodies as she tried to focus on her objective. sudden surge of maelstrom forces from the flank, caught and separated from her cohort amidst the skirmish, in a surge of scarlet so like and unlike her own.)

(pillar falling from the sky threatening rumble overhead monstrous shriek of rage and triumph fire and devastation when the moon split apart like a cracked egg and then)

(nothing.)

But what had happened? 

||Feel||

Pain lanced anew through her body, arcing across her temples like an aether current and centering itself in her third eye in a relentless throb where it kept unrelenting and awful pace with her heartbeat. Her hands, raised instinctively to grasp her head, smacked uselessly against her helm. Spears of white light danced in crystalline shards across her vision.

Not that damned voice again, not while she was awake-

||Hear. Feel. Think||

She waited for more, dreading more, but the voice was gone as soon as it had come.

After a few shaking breaths the visual artefact passed with it (the pain remained, but she suspected that had more to do with the blood she could feel trickling from her scalp). It took a few moments longer before she realized that she was in almost total darkness save for a sliver of very dim light entering her space, visible against the back of the upside-down chair.

She had to figure out a way to extricate herself or she was going to drown in a few paltry ilms of contaminated sludge and rainwater.

After a moment's thought she wondered if she might be able to get some leverage by bracing her feet against the back of the cockpit seat and pushing until she had enough room to get free. She couldn't properly assess her physical condition in near-complete darkness, pinned and sinking into the mud by a few tonzes of scrap metal.

She took a deep and shaking breath and reached down, arranging her legs so that both of them pressed against the back of the seat. Seven hells, this was going to hurt. She hadn't broken a bone since she was a young girl of twelve summers, when she'd fallen out of a zelkova tree in her own garden trying to impress her best friend by showing him how high she could climb. But she knew this pain well enough to recognize that the impact with the reaper had fractured something. 

Naught else to be done. Pain is temporary; death is permanent. Get on with it.

She shifted her weight, braced her elbows in the mud, and pushed. White-hot agony blossomed out of her hips and shot upwards, setting her nerves alight. She groaned between clenched teeth, the sound muffled and deadened in the darkness of her helm--and she also caught the creaking sound of shifting metal.

Something had moved, ever so slightly.

Again!

Her gauntlets sank into the ground, water and thick mud pooling in around the elbows, as she braced her feet against the console and shoved with all the force she could muster. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, trickling in warm rivulets down her cheeks, as she kept throwing her weight against the wreckage over and over as best she could manage, as little by little the tiny gap of light grew wider.

She wasn't going to be able to move the reaper, of course, not any significant distance; she had hardly expected that would be in any way feasible. However, there was the possibility she might at least make a space that she could squeeze through and escape with some work.

Her hands dug deep furrows into the earth, soft and loosened by rain and blood and leaking ceruleum fuel, and over the course of the next bell she had dug a makeshift trench she judged just deep enough for her to fit. The pain of her injuries lurked just beyond, a large yammering animal, but the surge of adrenaline and hyperfocus had pushed it beyond current consideration.

Survival came first. 

"All right," she muttered. "All right."

There wasn't as much space as she'd hoped---even a scant ilm of slippage into the mud while she tried to adjust her position, and her chest would be crushed beneath the weight of the bloody thing, and that would finish her for sure. But there were no other options available. All she could do was take the chance. She could deal with her hurts as soon as she was able to find a field kit, and failing that- well.

She'd improvise.

The nosebridge of her helm would only pass a hairsbreadth beneath the railing. But it was enough, she judged, only just, for her to get clear.

She rolled awkwardly onto her side, splashing into the mess that had pooled beneath the unyielding metal of the seat. Biting back a groan as the uneven landing jostled her hips, gloved hands grasped the lacquered edge of the reaper's reinforced steel railing. They slid perilously along the wet metal, water squelching out of the carbonweave, before she was able to get enough of a grip.

The moment she was able to find purchase she twisted her body to one side and dragged herself beneath the body of the reaper and out into the open field, ignoring the hot bolts of agony the movement brought with it when the flare of her hips cracked against the edges of the console.

Her nigh-useless legs trailed behind her, greaves catching and digging in the mud as she pulled herself through the gap and the fuel-slicked mud to higher ground. She pistoned her feet as best she could, pulling dead weight along the sides of the reaper until she could prop herself up against the lacquered hull in something resembling a sitting position.

It all seemed to happen in such a torturously long space of time, though it must have been only a brace of minutes.

She was soaking wet, filthy, and freezing, one and/or both legs were definitely not in proper working order, and there was a dull and unrelenting ache in her head. But at least she would not die of exposure or drown in tainted sludge while lying pinned underneath a dead warmachina. She was free, whatever that meant in this moment.

She stared at her gloved hands through her helm's tempered glass visor, trying to force herself to feel nothing, to push past it. Her commanding officer had always said that guilt on the battlefield was self-defeating but- all these months traipsing about the Eorzean wilderness, losing people to local resistance fighters and sickness from ambient aether and foul diseases and the local flora and fauna-

All this death and destruction had been for naught save one man's hubris, and she was left awash in bitterness and disgust at the futility of everything they'd done. 

It had all been so bloody pointless. All of it. Naught more than pointless vanity.

That they had been so blind, and so arrogant-

The sight of the broken and burnt bodies littering the field made her feel like a distant and passive observer, witnessing the devastation around her through the relative safety of magiteknical contrivance. Most of the imperial uniforms were worn by the conscripted aan from far-flung corners of the Empire, dead in a fruitless battle for their masters' cause.

What of these trivial luxuries her people took not only for granted but as their due, while those less fortunate by a mere accident of birth were left to choke and die in mud and poisoned aether?

Still unsure of the reason behind the compulsion to do so, she started removing her armor. She yanked viciously at buckles and straps and metal clasps. Gloves off, then tassets, then gambeson: trembling fingers tearing at the buckles and clasps and ceruleum insulation as she disposed of it piece by piece, until her hands ached and her fingers bled and the only remaining piece of protection she wore were the greaves on her legs.

The helm was last. Once she had managed to pull the blasted thing free of the myriad straps and wiring that seemed to bind it in place, she flung it through the air and watched it disappear into the dark and the rain.

Almost immediately she was given cause to regret her recklessness. The scorching burn of fire-aspected aether seared her lungs on her next inhalation even through the chill of the wind, and the air smelled every bit as bad as she'd expected-- blood and sulfur and offal and death.

She coughed into the fabric of her sleeve and had just enough internal warning of impending sickness to twist her upper body to one side before she retched into the mud, overtaxed body convulsing from the spasms and fingers carving wet holes into the rain-slick ground. It was there she remained for some time, stomach heaving until there was nothing left.

When she pushed herself upright again she did so slowly and carefully. She squinted into the sheets of falling rain, trying to figure out what she should do. Through the thick smoke she could make out a few figures moving about the field, but she didn't see anyone she recognized from her cohort. It occurred to her that under the present circumstances, she should have found this fact worrisome. No black-and-crimson meant no allies. No allies meant you are behind enemy lines.

But after everything that happened it was a struggle to care whether or not the enemy found her in this state.

Did it matter now? Did it? 

By ilms, by minutes, the pain she'd forced herself to ignore became more and more immediate, demanding her attention. Cold rainwater was steadily soaking into the black carbonweave suit, defying the liquid-resistant lining, straight through her smallclothes and to her skin. Her hair stuck to her face and the back of her neck in thick clumps, the wheat-gold braid absurdly still pinned in place but stiff and tacky with rainwater and dried dirt and blood.

It was getting harder and harder to keep her thoughts clear. She should find shelter. Somewhere. If there was any to be found in this godsawful place. If she was able to move any further---but she couldn't. Rescuing herself from beneath the husk of that metal beast had sapped the last of her strength and all that was left was exhaustion. And pain.

Unable to continue further, she slumped against the side of the reaper and shut her eyes, and let darkness claim her once more.

Chapter Text

In the wake of the primal's fury came the rain.

Hail and icy water, more suited to the autumn months than midsummer, beat down upon the ragtag remnants of the command pavilion, dripping in chilly rivulets from the slick oilcloth of the tents and turning the ground into freezing sludge. The back end of the storm cell that had set a raging blizzard upon the whole of Coerthas had ripped open from the influx of aether, confounding most serious rescue efforts.

The leaders of the realm's city-states and their military commanders huddled beneath the windbreak (for at this point it was little else), each in their turn staring out over the near-opaque haze of mist and smoke that blanketed what remained of the Carteneau Flats.

No one spoke in a voice louder than a murmur, rousing themselves only when messengers entered the area to deliver news. Dalamud's descent had disrupted and disabled most linkpearl communications, so the Grand Companies were in most cases reduced to runners on chocobo relaying messages from post to post.

Though none were thus far willing to say so aloud, most of the assembled were waiting for the storm's fury to lessen sufficiently that the Flats could be safely traversed and the dead could be cleared from the blasted wastes below. Any observer passing might notice that no voices were raised-- but just as was the case among the rank and file, the tension was so thick one could practically cut it.

Presently an elezen man in the bright yellow of the Twin Adder knelt before Kan-E-Senna, proffering a sealed envelope. Conversation among the Padjal's circle faded from a subdued buzz to silence as they watched her take the document, crack open the seal, and unfold the parchment.

Pain twisted its way across her face as she read its contents, tilting the corners of her lips into a trembling downward arch.

"Seedseer?" Raubahn Aldynn said gently.

The big Ala Mhigan had a voice that carried and a laugh she could pick out in a room of thousands, but even he had been reduced by sorrow and shock to a shell of himself, forced to watch the endless parade of death along with the rest of them: the corses of friends and countrymen and adventurers who had fought beneath his banner, bundled into sackcloth and laid on a cart. There was some small hope for those who had been in the drop zone, but it was very small indeed.

He tried again.

"What news from the Twelveswood?"

Kan-E-Senna released a sigh that carried the weight of an entire nation.

"The Twelveswood burns," she said. "And Gridania fares little better. Fully half the city was destroyed. This missive is from Brother E-Sumi-Yan; he and the others go to quell the Greenwrath as best they are able. The Shroud will become nigh-uninhabitable in short order, I fear."

"Bloodydamned imperials," Raubahn swore, slamming one heavy fist on the nearby table. After a moment to collect himself, he continued in a quieter tone: "Will it spread, do you think? The fire?"

"The Wailers have protocols to build firebreaks. They are deploying 'round the large settlements." She folded the parchment and tucked it into her robes. "The worst of it is near the border with Mor Dhona, but this rain may serve to hold it at bay---provided the wind does not change course."

"If we need to deploy-"

"We have no one left here to spare as it is. I will have Vorsaile send people back to the Shroud as we are able, but we must needs take stock of what numbers remain." She turned to the runner, her kind smile strained at the edges. "Send word back to Bowlord Lewin: Pray have the Black Boars aid in evacuations, and bolster all defenses at the firebreaks. They must hold, at all costs."

Timidly the youngster queried:

"What of the Garleans? They-"

"Will cause us no mischief now. The imperials have their own worries, likely to match our own. Now go, with all haste."

Hastily sketching a salute, the runner scurried out of the pavilion and back towards the post where he'd tied off his chocobo. She waited until he was out of eyesight before sinking into her chair and burying her face in her hands.

"Would that Louisoix's binding had worked," she murmured. "We won the day, but the cost..."

"I know."

"What should become of us all, if the Black Wolf--"

She didn't need to finish her question. They had brought their combined strength to bear against one, one imperial legion, and it was all the Grand Companies had been able to do just to hold them at Carteneau while the adventurers (which ones? her mind cried, overtaxed and frustrated and on the verge of panic. which adventurers?) had confronted Nael van Darnus at Rivenroad.

All here were painfully aware that the Eorzean Alliance had fought the Empire to a draw only because the XIVth Imperial Legion had elected not to take the field alongside her steel and magitek-clad brethren. Should they now choose to take advantage of the decimation Dalamud had wrought, Eorzea was in no position to offer even token resistance.

How will we recover? We have barely the means to see to the pieces that are left, much less-

Kan-E-Senna forced herself to push that thought away.

Time enough later to worry about Gaius van Baelsar. As she had said to the boy, the Black Wolf had his own problems, and she would not compound their woes by inviting trouble.

"Our own numbers were badly culled by the primal, and I don't doubt that Nanamo will have a damage report of her own for me soon," Raubahn said, into the prolonged silence. "But if there is aught the Flames can do to help, you have merely to say the word. U'ldah repays her debts. You know that."

"I know, General. Thank you." Her hands dropped into her lap, where they fidgeted anxiously for lack of Claustrum's smooth, reassuring grip. She'd propped the staff against the side of the tent where it stood still alongside the assortment of weapons from the others. "...I will be taking a unit into the Flats at cockcrow to search for survivors and heal the wounded."

"The storm will make it slow going."

"Even so, it is the least I can do. I would not sit here in relative comfort whilst others die in our names."

He did not protest further; both of them knew it would fall upon deaf ears.

"Very well. Merlwyb and I will take count of our people and our supplies while you do that," he said, glancing across the tents to where Admiral Bloefhiswyn stood in hushed conversation with her storm marshals. "We do have one more important matter to discuss before we adjourn tonight, and that's what to do with any prisoners."

"We are taking imperial prisoners if able, yes? That was what we decided?" 

Raubahn grimaced. Her question was pointed, and for good reason; the argument on this point had been much louder when it had actually happened, and Kan-E-Senna had won only because Louisoix Leveilleur and the others had backed her (no doubt hoping for further intelligence-gathering), and now-

Now the wise old Sharlayan was gone. 

Thal's balls, he thought dismally. So many faces gone or missing since the drop. And no time to take stock of the dead right now, much less scrape together the personnel for search parties.

"Aye, that's what we decided, right enough. You already know my opinion of it and Merlwyb's likewise, but we gave our word and we'll not go back on it now. She's passed the order along down her ranks and I've passed it down mine. For better or worse, if we find any of the enemy alive, we'll take them into custody where possible."

"Good."

"Mind you, I've told them if there's any too far gone or too hostile-" He stopped at her pained expression. "...I know, I know. But you are well aware these are likelihoods, Kan-E, and I'd rather not risk getting more of our people killed than we already have."

"Don't see what the point is in taking prisoners," Merlwyb said flatly, joining them at the table at last. Her storm-grey eyes fairly snapped with ire and her gait was a long and decisive stride; just as Raubahn's laugh could be heard in a crowd, Admiral Bloefhiswyn's very presence could fill a room on its own.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a waste of manpower, if we're just going to have them all swing from the hangman's noose the second they get back to the cities," she continued, leaning her weight against the other side of the war table with one hip and folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose it's not very honorable of us, but lining up the VIIth Legion on a gibbet is as good a warning shot as any to fire across van Baelsar's bow."

"No, Admiral," Kan-E-Senna said firmly. "I will not be a party to any such thing. No public executions."

Her blunt statement of dissent, as calm as it was quiet, cut through the agitated chatter of the gathering. As ever, she rarely raised her voice, but then she rarely found it necessary. Though the Padjal appeared young and delicate, all assembled in this room knew that the impression was a false one.

Even so, Merlwyb's expression grew positively thunderous.

"The White Raven dropped a swiving moon on our heads and we're supposed to what--let his forces frolic through the fields all the way back to Garlemald? To regroup so they can finish the job? You've seen the devastation!"

"I will be receiving a very close and personal view of it tomorrow morning. Far more than I shall ever want to see." She looked at them all in turn, her leaf-green eyes solemn. "I still say no. These people are prisoners of war and will be treated accordingly."

"War criminals, more like," the roegadyn snapped. She shoved her seat backwards in a gesture of frustration and braced her arms on the table's surface as she leaned forward. "And the distinction hardly matters."

"Seedseer, as much as I'd like to argue otherwise, she has the right of it. 'Tis not like the people of the realm will see it the way you do." Raubahn's rough-hewn face was pale, drawn, and haggard, for all that his words were carefully measured. "Should the enemy not suffer some consequence for the havoc they have wrought, we will be seen as ineffective--if not outright sympathetic to the Empire. Well you know that could cause trouble for all of us down the line."

"The majority of these soldiers were conscripts given little choice in the matter. To force them to-"

"People are going to expect-"

"...To force conscripts, Merlwyb," she repeated patiently over the angry interjection, "to pay with their lives for a circumstance they could not control goes beyond mere dishonor. It would be naught but cruelty, not to mention the very barbarism of which the Empire accuses us so freely. Such an act would only play into their propaganda."

"If Limsa gave a tinker's damn about the Empire's opinions of any of us," came the flat, matter-of-fact response, "we'd not have spent the last score of years and more harrying their patrols on open water."

She'd half expected that answer and couldn't help a smile. Still, it faded quickly as she returned to the matter at hand. 

"Very well, then can we not agree there has been more than enough bloodshed on Nael van Darnus' account? On both sides?"

"Surely you don't believe the VIIth would have shown any of us the same compassion?"

"Of course they wouldn't ha-"

"Or," Merlwyb continued, "that the people suffering and dying for this folly will be satisfied with anything short of Garlean blood? Reparations must be made."

"And they will be made. But not like this, I beg you. Both of you." Kan-E-Senna cast a glance over Raubahn's shoulder, peering through the partially open tent flap to the cratered wasteland that had once been such an open, fertile field. Wreckage and earth were still burning in places below the cliffsides despite the pouring rain. "I harbor no more love for the Empire than either of you. But I look to what must be done in the wake of this disaster. What our people will need most desperately now, and in the coming days and weeks, is food. Shelter. Medical attention. What they do not need is a violent public spectacle, no matter how much their anger demands it."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Work-release, of course," she said simply, as if the answer were obvious. "We make of them wards of the city-states and set them to a labor of our choosing, then free them once their time has been served. They can help with rebuilding efforts. I suspect we shall need all the hands and backs we can find, and now is not the time to be selective."

Silence fell over the tent, then-- but Merlwyb was finally offering a slow nod of acknowledgement.

"A certain justice in that," she said, her concession somewhat gruff but no longer heavy with outrage. "They helped break Eorzea, so their punishment would be to help fix it."

Kan-E-Senna was far from ignorant of the particulars of statesmanship, and she knew that they should at least understand that aspect of her proposal, if naught else. As she'd hoped, it had struck true. The Admiral was, if not exactly mollified, a bit less eager for vengeance, at least in the immediate sense.

"That said, it's not likely that all of the prisoners are going to be conscripts," Raubahn pointed out. "There'll be purebloods among them too- true Garleans, not just the poor sods forced to fight under the ivory banner. Most of that lot aren't going to be grateful or cooperative no matter what we do, and I can't say I'm comfortable with the notion of a bunch of zealots walking free."

"I said nothing about letting any of them walk free, much less those like to remain loyal to the Empire regardless of circumstance." Kan-E-Senna left out a soft exhalation, relief lessening the furrowed lines that worry and fatigue had carved into an otherwise youthful face. "However, even in their case I do not think it fair-minded to condemn all for the obstinacy of a few. We will do what needs must, of course, but I would not put them all to the sword sight unseen."

The big man shook his head, but his expression was one of capitulation. Merlwyb wore a wry smile.

"I think you're being dangerously softhearted," she said. "But for the sake of argument, I suppose we can make the attempt."

"An attempt is all I ask. Despite our differences, they too are people." Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was serene. "And if I have learned naught else, it is that sometimes people can surprise you."

~*~

"Miserable bloody weather," Bryngeim Ahrmbraena muttered.

With an annoyed sigh the Seawolf woman braced one heavy boot against a mud-covered rock and wiped away a mixture of sweat, grime, and rainwater from her brow. In this weather about all the gesture did was move the dirt around her face. Mor Dhona's humidity was harsh enough in midsummer, but she'd vastly preferred the cooling canopy of the rainforest to the blasted waste it had become in so short a time.

As she took a moment to catch her breath, she watched the faces of the half-dozen men and women who followed her, their own faces pale and pinched with exhaustion -- all of them were running on next to no sleep, herself included -- and squinted into the smoke and mist and the sheets of cold rain to scry for any signs of life. For the last four bells, every now and then someone would catch a movement out of the corner of one eye only to be disappointed when it was just a battle standard or the bloodied ruff of a dead chocobo that had caught the northerly winds.

"Ma'am?" asked the yellow-clad Duskwight archer at her side, taking note of her scowl. Bryngeim glanced back over at him, then once again to the sorry lot trudging at her back, and wiped another handful of cold water from her face before adjusting the heavy axe resting on her shoulder.

"Ah, 'tis naught, Idront, pay me no mind. I was woolgathering for a moment. You haven't seen anything?"

The man's brow furrowed and he shook his head. Drops of cold rainwater flickered off the corners of his ears with the motion, but he barely seemed to notice. "No, ma'am. Nothing yet. Might be a good idea to spread the search out a bit."

"Hm. See if we can find anyone we might have missed? Not a bad idea."

"Yes'm. There's a sector a few yalms off-" he gestured to the vague suggestion of a shape through the mist, "-that isn't tagged yet."

It had been her idea to take a strip of bright-colored cloth from... repurposed Grand Company tabards, tie them to a piece of wood or any other bit of debris that might serve as a marker, and thrust them into the ground at set intervals to mark areas that had already been searched and cleared.

Some had thought it ghoulish, but to Bryngeim's mind the dead were hardly able to make use of the fabric; better they be used to enable the survival of the living.

"All right. Just keep your eyes open. Don't stray from line of sight." For all they knew the enemy was still out there, looking for likely 'savages' to cull. "Call if you need us. And if you come across anyone too far gone..."

She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Idront looked away from her, the protrusion in his throat bobbing visibly when he swallowed at the implication of her words- but he gave a short, resolute nod before striding off into the wet haze. While they all agreed that it would be the height of cruelty to give anyone false hope, that didn't mean any of them relished the idea of putting down one of their own.

Of all those who had survived the crimson moon's descent, a few hundred survivors among the combined Grand Company units were able-bodied enough to take on active duty. Bryngeim's captain in the Foreign Levy had relinquished his command; his last act had been to suggest that each squad should take quadrants of those portions of the field that were still passable and search for survivors.

The surviving commanders in the Maelstrom had enthusiastically agreed to the notion, and for the last twenty-seven bells they'd been sending units out in shifts. What had truly amazed her was the way all of them, without really much discussion, had cobbled together what functioning units they could until further notice.

Thus far, they'd only managed to clear a small segment of the area a quarter-malm beyond the cliff where the interim camp had been struck. All of the reformed units were now taking turns looking for more survivors, with mostly middling success. They were to check every corse on the field for signs of life, without exception. Many allies had been trapped underneath destroyed machina, or beneath the dead themselves: too injured to walk under their own power but perhaps still able to be saved by the few remaining healers if their hurts were tended quickly enough.

It was dirty, grim, and thankless work, for all it was necessary. Every minute of every bell counted: every breath spent in idleness a breath that might be stolen from an injured ally awaiting rescue.

And further searches were becoming nigh impossible, now that the weather had taken such a poor turn. The temperature had plummeted in the space of the last eight bells, and a supercell had blown over Silvertear Lake, part of a massive front that scouts said was dumping snow on Coerthas in the middle of the damned summer, seemingly out of nowhere.

Worse, the storm had broken open over the Flats on the latter side of their shift. Had there been a better outcome they'd all be back at the campground seeking shelter in the mess pavilion with a pint and a bowl of whatever currently passed for rations until the worst of the storm had passed. But the sky wasn't going to stop pissing rain just because she didn't like it.

In the meantime, night was falling fast and the haze from the rain and lingering smoke had made visibility even worse.

By the Navigator, we'd be that lucky to find even one person as things are now-

There was a tug on her sleeve.

"Oi, Bryn." 

"Hn?"

K'luhia Zhisi, a fellow privateer in the Limsan navy and sergeant as of twelve bells past via dead man's boots, was leaning in a conspiratorial sort of fashion towards her. The rogue's gaze drifted briefly towards the newcomers to their group before they settled on her friend's face.

"Guess I should've asked before, but... ye never said what the higher-ups wantin' us to do with the ruffmans?"

"Eh?"

"Garleans," she clarified. "Should we find any still breathin'. Are we supposed to... you know..."

Bryngeim faltered.

"Ah. That."

"Aye," K'luhia said with somewhat exaggerated patience, "that."

Shite. Obviously she'd meant to say something to the others as part of their briefing, since it was just as likely they'd find survivors from the enemy ranks as their own and they all needed to be prepared for that eventuality. But in the rush and the unending grind of the search and her haphazard attempts to fill her superior's shoes, compounded by encroaching exhaustion, she'd just... well.

Godsdamn it all, she'd forgotten to brief them about prisoners. Of all the basic things she could have forgot- 

Twelve, L'sazha, why'd you have to go and get yourself killed? 

Bryngeim pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head with a weariness that was in no wise an exaggeration, pushing past her grief. She had her orders regarding the imperial soldiers, all right---and she misliked them heartily, and she knew the others were like to favor them even less, but there was no help for it now.

"Brass says put down any that're too hostile or too wounded, but otherwise we're to take prisoners back to the camp and hold them until they can be moved."

As expected, a fierce scowl creased her underling's brow, nearly matching her own. "What- why?"

"You never mind the 'why', Lu. Ain't ours to be asking."

"The hells are we saving 'em for?!" K'luhia fumed, her ears flattened against her head with her displeasure. "They're murderers, thousands of times over! They deserve worse than death! If I were in charge I'd-"

"Sergeant." She saw the woman's twitching tail and ignored it. "You have your orders. Don't make me repeat them."

The rogue made something like a feral growl in the back of her throat but otherwise kept her retort to herself, sheathing the dagger in her right hand with an almost savage thrust.

In truth, Bryngeim wished she could agree aloud, but doing so would only undermine what little authority she had. She could not fault her subordinate for her anger. The breadth of her own grief and fury seemed nigh boundless and she didn't for a moment think she was the only one.

How many good men and women had they lost? Her own captain and best friend lay dying slowly and painfully in the Alliance's makeshift infirmary, his body burned nigh beyond recognition by Bahamut's unholy fires, beyond saving even by magical means, and he was but one of many. Scores more had died to the Empire's damnable war machine. Already there were rumors trickling down from the command pavilions that debris from the fallen Dalamud had laid waste to entire villages, that parts of the Twelveswood were on fire, that Limsa had partially collapsed in on itself--even noncombatants hadn't been safe.

How many more were they going to lose? To weather? To time?

"Lu, look-" she began, but before she could continue there was a shout some few yalms distant:

"Ma'am! Captain Ahrmbraena, ma'am, come quickly!"

Chapter Text

Until Idront's shout, sharp with urgency, pierced the steady hiss of the falling rain, Bryngeim hadn't realized just how much she'd resigned herself to a fruitless search. 

Slowly, as one, she and K'luhia paused and looked at each other. The sudden flare of hope in the other woman's eyes, she suspected, mirrored the hope in her own.

"Weapons at the ready," she said. "Just in case."

And they were off, all but running towards the sound of the elezen's voice, splashing through the water and congealed earth.

The Duskwight was kneeling next to an overturned magitek reaper about thirty yalms northeast of the makeshift pathway they'd beaten into the field. Leaning against the side of the machina, unmoving, was a pale figure clad in a strange black fabric that was utterly unfamiliar: certainly not any standard-issue uniform of the Grand Companies Bryngeim recognized.

K'luhia drew to a halt, the happy light in her green eyes fading at the sight. She glared upon the center of this tableau with open contempt.

"...Piss, Idront, you got us excited over a bleedin' imperial?"

"Hush, Lu." Bryngeim reached over her shoulder and slid the axe back into its leather strapping, keeping one hand ready to draw in case it was needful. The figure in black had not stirred at their approach, but that didn't mean they were truly unconscious. "She's right, though--this one's surely not one of ours. Dead?"

As she drew close she saw a fresh, young face that was soaking wet and smeared with dirt and oil. A very young lad, she thought. That in itself wasn't necessarily so unusual; the Garlean Empire seemed to prefer its cannon fodder practically out of the cradle. Like many Limsan privateers with letters of marque from the thassolocracy, Bryngeim had taken Garlean conscripts into custody before, and more often than not the poor bastards were little more than boys. Her own captain had been one such conscript (albeit not one of her prisoners), barely past eighteen summers himself when he'd first been captured and brought to Limsa.

It was difficult in the fading light to make out much else-- save a strange pale mark on the brow, half-hidden beneath a matted, dirty blond forelock. Bryngeim frowned at the sight of it.

"No, he still breathes," Idront was saying, his own brow knitted in a frown of its own. "If I might make an observation, ma'am? I'm no expert on the imperials nor their outfitting, but by the look of this... suit, it's some sort of undergarment. He looks to have removed the armor. I found some of it in a pile next to the reaper, though I'm not sure why he'd have done that."

"Any idea why he'd be out in the open like this?"

"Might've dug himself out from under this thing." He pointed at the deep furrows nearby, half-submerged in water. "There's drag marks in the mud over there, and more of the same mud in his greaves."

She shrugged uneasily.

"I can't see shite in this soup, so I'll take your word for it." While she appreciated the man's efforts at investigation, they were wasting time out here trying to retrace an enemy's steps. She crossed her arms, fidgeting in place, thinking of the men and women who could be waiting for help. "Well? You found him, Idront. Thoughts?"

"Well, you already know what I think," K'luhia's voice piped from their backs. Bryngeim rolled her eyes heavensward. "...Oh, hang the godsdamned brass, Bryn!"

"Lu, stop it. Even if we weren't under orders to take prisoners, which we are, we're not going to go about killing enemy survivors just to make things easier on ourselves."

"Who'd care, if they even noticed he was gone?"

"Sergeant."

"What?" the Seeker snapped, her temper clearly frayed.

"Go check on the others." Discussing the moral implications of their orders was not the conversation Bryngeim wanted to be having with anyone right now, nor was this particular conversation turning out the way she would have wished. And she knew better than to make any sort of judgment call that might make it appear she'd caved to pressure from her subordinates. "Let them know we'll be along in a moment."

"With or without the Garlean?"

"What we do with him is not your concern, Sergeant. Go." Her voice made it very clear that she was not making a request but issuing a direct order, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the smaller woman's lithe frame stiffen in outrage at her tone. "If we found this one, there's a chance we'll be findin' some of ours too."

"If y'want to bring him in alive, captain, by all means," she said flatly. "But I'll have naught to do with him, ye can be sure o' that--and I doubt the others will either."

She stalked off into the darkness, tail lashing in agitation. Bryngeim ran a hand down the side of her face.

Well, that could have gone better.

"If you think it best to try our luck elsewhere, ma'am, I can take care of this," Idront said quietly. His hand reached for the hunting knife she saw sheathed in his boot, wrapped about the hilt, and tugged perhaps an ilm upwards. Steel gleamed wickedly in the watery half-light of dusk. "He won't feel any pain, and he won't be telling his friends we were here."

Bryngeim... hesitated.

As she did, a soft, cracked groan broke the silence.

"He's coming around," the elezen said sharply. "What're your orders, ma'am?"

The situation -- her sudden and unwanted promotion, the red moon, the primal, everything they'd lost in the space of the last two suns, L'sazha dying a horribly slow and painful death, all of it -- brought a wave of resentment with it. She could actually taste her own bile on the back of her tongue, sour and bright.

Because K'luhia had a point, of course she did. She could turn her back and let Idront open the boy's throat, and the likelihood anyone would be the wiser was next to nothing; certainly her unit wouldn't say a word against her. They could walk away from this now and find someone actually worth saving. One of her fellows, hurt and possibly dying, defending their lands from the endless greed and ambition of the Empire, and far more deserving of rescue.

The first survivor they'd been able to find on tonight's search and it was an enemy.

The Twelve certainly had a sense of humor, she thought bitterly.

"...Ma'am?"

She was opening her mouth to tell him orders be damned, Lu's right, no one will notice another dead imperial, just cut the swiving bastard's throat from ear to ear--and then they saw the twitch of limbs, the head tilting from side to side, that soft fresh face contorting briefly in pain, long eyelashes quivering like the wings of a hurt bird against that pallid skin.

And she-

Couldn't do it.

She couldn't give an order like that. Not only for her own peace of mind, but for the look she imagined she'd see on L'sazha's face if he found out she'd ordered her men to kill this boy while he lay unconscious and unable to speak a word in his own defense, even as an act of war. Even now she knew he would bear their Garlean enemies no ill will. He'd been in their army, knew what it was like to fight for a cause not his own.

But more than anything, Bryngeim simply couldn't bear the thought of her commander's disappointment in her.

The moment came, and it passed, and the flow of time moved onwards. She exhaled, the knots in her stomach settling by ilms now that her decision was made. 

I'm sorry, Lu. I can't. You and the others will just have to live with it until we can wash our hands of him.

"Ma'am, I need-"

"Wake him up if you can," she said. "I would have him make the choice himself."

~*~

Someone was shaking her shoulder.

She'd not been properly asleep; only dozing - drifting in and out of consciousness in the broken sleep of the sick and gravely injured. 

For the first time in weeks, there had been no nightmares about the crimson moon. Or rather: nightmare, singular. For over a fortnight now, it had brought her out of a dead sleep, struggling to cut off the scream that lodged in the back of her throat, raw and hot and aching, so that she would not wake her bunkmates or sound any false alarums. Or get herself discharged and sent back to the capitol, a possibility if her superiors believed her to be shell-shocked.

(Seven hells, anything but that. They'd send her back to her family in disgrace, unable to bear the mental and physical strain of even one full deployment, and if that happened she'd never be free.)

But just thinking about that awful dream made the metallic rasp of scraping sollerets echo through her memory.

"Wake him up if you can. I would have him make the choice himself."

The footsteps she'd heard approaching the reaper, however-- those were real, and she knew by the cadence of them that they did not belong to imperial allies. Her proprioception was still in perfect working order for all that the rest of her was in poor shape, and she could easily sense their positions around and within her immediate space. They were flanking her. Preventing escape.

She felt curiously calm.

The weight on her shoulder shook once again. She remained still a moment longer, her weight slumped against the lacquer and steel of the overturned reaper.

Shaking with cold and acutely conscious that she was unable to mount even a cursory defense against any attacks, she slowly opened her eyes and blinked at the twin shapes that had materialized out of the gloom. Both were attired in uniforms bearing the colors of the Eorzean Grand Companies: one a roegadyn woman in the scarlet coat of the Limsan Lominsan Maelstrom, the other a dusk-complected elezen man in a bright yellow she didn't recognize.

The pair were staring at her with eyes as hard as stone, clearly taking her measure.

"I see we'll not have to put you out of your misery," the woman said, sounding none too pleased. That deep voice was quietly menacing and it put rest to any lingering hope that the new arrivals might be in any way friendly. "You speak Eorzean?"

"Yes," she rasped, then nodded her head in case they hadn't heard her.

"Good. That makes things easier. Hands up. Place them behind your head."

Slowly she raised her hands, dirty and wet and numbing from the cold, and laced her fingers together where they pressed against her equally wet, dirty hair, to show them she was unarmed and not reaching for a weapon. She winced when her palm found the tender spot on the back of her head, and a dull thumping pain wove its way through the edge of her consciousness.

"What's your name? Rank?"

"Aurelia jen Laskaris. Third Cohort Medicus."

Both of them blinked at her in a sort of nonplussed surprise as if she'd said something wholly unexpected, exchanging meaningful glances between them. Aurelia herself was confused in turn by their reaction, but given the circumstance she didn't dare ask for an explanation.

" 'Medicus'." The roegadyn was the first to speak, her broad accent rolling like a crashing wave over the syllables of the foreign word. "Don't think I've heard that one before. Garlean word?"

"Ilsabardian. I-I don't-" she stammered, trying to explain, "I'm not- wasn't- in the fighting force proper. 'Medicus' means, it's..."

"Go on."

For a moment Aurelia was at a loss for words. She had expected them to understand she was just a field medic who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time (or right time, she thought wildly, all things considered)... though it was possible they knew well enough what it was and were simply making her sweat. The grimly amused tilt of the woman's mouth made her suspect thus- but absurd jest at her expense or not, she knew she was in no position to be defiant. 

Her exhausted and pain-addled mind raced, scrambling for the word she wanted. Shite, what was it...? Barber? No, not quite, though it was close; as a child she'd heard the local aan use 'barber' interchangeably to mean-

It clicked, then, and Aurelia felt a vague sense of embarrassment that she could have forgotten a word she knew so well even for a moment.

"...Chirurgeon,"  she clarified hastily. "I'm part of the VIIth Legion's medical corps."

 Those light brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"You mean to tell me you're a healer and you were traipsing about the battlefield by your lonesome? Bollocks."

"No, not- I-I was dispatched as... as part of a-a unit. We got separated when-" When the moon dropped. She swallowed back the rest of the sentence, deciding it would be wise not to finish it, and kept her statement as simple as possible. "...that- I mean. In the fighting. ...I-I don't have a weapon. I don't even know what happened to my field kit."

"Idront." Her captor gestured to the elezen. "Search her."

Hands prodded at her waist, searching for anything hidden, then the soldier shifted the search to her sides and shoulders and she was looking up into the angular features of the elezen man in yellow. He met her gaze for a single instant before averting his eyes, his face a carefully neutral mask.

"Any weapons? Knives, pistols, or the like?"

"No, ma'am. She's unarmed."

"Then I'll take it from here. Move aside."

The man in yellow hastily scrambled backwards and almost fell on his arse into the mud trying to make space for the woman who was clearly his commanding officer. Aurelia barely noticed; she found herself face to face with the stern and unyielding face of a veteran warrior, staring into a pair of flinty dun-colored eyes. The roegadyn woman's lips were thinned with her obvious displeasure, set and tight at the corners.

A hand fell on her shoulder and with it came the kiss of a sharpened blade at her neck. Every muscle in her body stilled, and for a moment even the horrific pain in her hips was forgotten.

"I've precious little time and even fewer words to waste on you," the warrior said in a low, cold voice. "Not when I've allies in need of rescue, on account of the moon you and yours dropped on our bleedin' heads. So I'll lay out our terms. You'll either surrender now, without a fight, or you'll die trying to escape."

Aurelia's mouth felt as though all of the moisture had left it. Keeping her voice steady with considerable effort, she asked: "Should I surrender, have I any guarantee you'll not kill me regardless?"

"What they plan to do with you lot isn't up to us," came the sour response. "Doesn't matter to me either way what you decide, but you either leave with us or you die here. Your choice."

"You've no need to worry yourself about the possibility of escape. I cannot stand under my own power, let alone run."

She swallowed in apprehension, her heart pounding, unsure what they would do with this news. The woman stared at her for a long and terrifyingly silent moment and the scowl she wore was so fierce that Aurelia fully expected to feel metal dig into her trachea, puncturing flesh and tendon, choking to death on her own arterial spray.

Instead there came a heavy, resigned sigh and the blade was withdrawn. She let her weight sag against the reaper in relief.

"I am Storm Captain Bryngeim Ahrmbraena of the Maelstrom Foreign Levy. Henceforth, you are my prisoner. If at any time you should make an attempt to escape or cause harm to my squadmates, your life is forfeit. Do you understand?"

It was exceedingly likely that the Eorzeans meant only to keep her alive long enough to stretch her neck as an example, in the wake of all that had happened. After all, it was what Legatus van Darnus would have done in their place. But even were she able to do so, she knew that running would be pointless. 

She had nowhere else to go.

Not trusting herself to speak, she could manage only a single nod.

Chapter Text

The truly heinous scowl on K'luhia’s face as she stormed back into the clearing was more than enough of a clue to Cheerful Sparrow that something had gone awry. But she didn’t call for reinforcements, even though she looked fit to chew nails and spit ingots, so he thought it mustn’t be much in the way of an emergency.

“…What’s got under your bonnet, lass? Where’s-”

“She’ll be along,” the rogue snapped, hands on her daggers, and strode past them to perch upon the ruins of a nearby colossus.

Sparrow shook his head with a rueful grin. At forty-nine winters, the burly Hellsguard was the veteran of the group, old enough to be father to most of the youngsters in the Levy, let alone this ragtag unit. Like himself, Bryngeim and K'luhia had been adventuring freelancers before answering the thassolocracy’s call to arms. After two years fighting alongside her, he could read Lu Zhisi’s spates of ill temper like an open book.

Some things never changed, he supposed.

He squinted up at the roiling sky, ignoring the raindrops that pelted onto his cheeks. “This storm ain’t givin’ ground any time soon.”

“It’s nigh impossible to see anything in this, Captain Ahrmbraena’s right about that much,” said the other man at his back with a heavy sigh, drawing his yellow overcoat tighter about his shoulders. “Should we go look for her?”

“Eh, don’t worry yourself overmuch about Lu. Cap'n used to say it weren’t a proper mission until them two nigh came to blows over something. Sure wish he was here, though. Bryn’s a good and sensible lass, she’ll be a good officer once she gets her bearings, like. But it’s just not-”

The grating scrape at their backs broke both men out of their conversation. K'luhia had pulled her whetstone out of her bag and she was running it against the edges of one blade, the noise somehow both ominous and grating. After a few minutes of letting her stew in silence Sparrow cleared his throat, clapped Edwin on one shoulder, and ambled over towards the overturned warmachina she’d commandeered.

“Lu,” he said. K'luhia didn’t acknowledge his approach, but he saw one of her ears flicker and swerve in his direction. “Come on, we don’t have time for this right now. You and Bryn will have to work it out back at camp.”

Scrape. Scrape. He sighed.

“…Well then, let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

At that the Seeker set her whetstone aside and fixed him with a cold stare from leaf-green eyes, her ears now so flattened they nearly blended in with her cloud of wet auburn curls. The expression she wore was shuttered and neutral, but he could see the brittle heat of a surprisingly deep-seated anger lurking just beneath the surface. Whatever they’d crossed words over, he thought, it must really be serious this time.

“You want to know aught that’s botherin’ me,” she retorted, her lips drawn back in an angry sneer, “then ask her.”

She gestured impatiently with her drawn blade, pointing with its tip in the direction she’d run with Idront and Bryngeim. Sparrow’s eyes tracked the blade and it was then he saw the pair emerging from the wet mist - with a third person cradled in Idront’s arms. Bryn’s face was a thundercloud, and Idront… well, the Duskwight looked about the same as he ever did, really.

“Sparrow,” their captain called, pointedly ignoring the Miqo'te who radiated hostility from her perch, “come here. I need your help.”

As he drew close he saw that Idront was struggling with his burden, which was passing strange. The man was not small nor weak and shouldn’t have had any trouble carrying a willowy youngster like this–and then he saw why. One of the legs was turned at an unnatural angle, visibly shorter than the other.

“Take her to Edwin,” Idront whispered, lifting the youth towards Sparrow like an offering. 

She was in a great deal of pain, he noted upon taking in the haggard face and glassy, half-opened eyes. He bore the woman the last few fulms to lay her down on the ground next to the conjurer, and even that small bit of movement was painful, if the strangled moan that escaped her throat was any indication.

“See to the prisoner’s hurts,” their captain said shortly. “I’ll not have her caterwauling all the way back to base; she’ll draw every fiend and imperial scout in range for malms.”

Prisoner? His eyes fell upon K'luhia, whose arms were crossed and whose hard glare was likewise fixed on the tall blonde girl in her strange attire. The Miqo'te turned her head to spit on the ground, in the most deliberate act of contempt he’d seen from her in moons.

“Aye, Birdy, yer ears’re workin’ just fine. All these poor sods that deserve our help and she wastes our precious time on a godsdamned imperial.”

Bryngeim’s mouth tightened angrily, but she didn’t rise to the other woman’s baiting. Sparrow, casting an uncomfortable glance between them and thirdly to the injured woman, cleared his throat and tried to change the subject.

“Cap'n, if I’m honest I don’t know that we’ll find anyone else in this mess. Especially now we’ve got a prisoner to worry about, and an injured one at that,” he said, pointing at their captive. “Might be we should put down the yellow marker so anyone comin' after know this area's not been searched, and report in."

"We found one survivor in the last four bells," she said, her voice rough with grief. "One bloody person, and Lu's right, they're-"

"An enemy, aye. But that's still better than none. We might still find others on the way in.”

The note in his voice said he didn’t think so, but none of them remarked upon it. Bryngeim let out a heavy, regretful sigh, running her fingers through her soaking wet hair.

“I just hate leaving when we might could do some good.”

“We all do,” he said gently. “But there’s another unit comin' through here in the next half-bell and if we leave the mark, if there’s any living folk left to find out here someone’ll find them.”

Edwin meanwhile had turned his attention to the woman, kneeling at her side and bracing his hands on her cold, pale cheeks. His fingers drifted lightly over the spot of dried blood on the back of her head. “What happened to your prisoner?”

“The head injury’s of no import,” the prisoner rasped. “Superficial. I’m fine.”

“You’re not 'fine’. You look half dead.” Edwin’s hands were already moving, pressing and testing along her neck, arms, collarbone, ribs. Sparrow had seen him work on several wounded in the last few bells and knew the man's touch would be careful, but even so he could see her jaw clench tight as the Gridanian's cursory examination reached her hips. It was difficult to watch, though he imagined he was probably the only one feeling much in the way of pity.

The conjurer sat back on his haunches for a moment.

“I’ve good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Am I beyond aid?” came the hoarse reply. “Does your Miqo'te friend up there get to use me as a striking dummy after all?”

“Not unless you’ve a mind to try and run, and that shan’t be happening anytime soon. Your hip’s slipped its socket and I’d wager the leg’s broken. I’ll do what I can to put the joint back in place without causing further damage, but setting the break will have to wait until we’re back at camp.”

“Anything you do will be better than leaving it like this.” She took a deep breath. “I imagine you already know what to do.”

“Aye. I’ll make it as fast as I can, but it’s going to hurt.”

“I was hardly expecting it to be pleasant. Just make sure you ali–shite and hellsfire,” the woman hissed between clenched teeth as he wrapped one hand about her still-armored calf. “–align the limb first–”

“Let me worry about that.”

It took Edwin a good few minutes to position her leg properly before he set to work. All conversation fell silent, the rain punctuated only by the prisoner’s harsh and truncated breathing. She’d grasped Sparrow’s forearm for purchase and her fingers had dug in so tightly he could feel the pinprick sting of her nails breaking his skin. She’d borne it without any complaints, though, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by that.

Seeming satisfied for the moment, Edwin looked at Bryngeim.

“Whenever you’re ready to move, Captain. One of us will still have to carry her but we should be able to move without drawing attention.”

Still locked in a haze of pain, Aurelia didn’t even cringe when Captain Ahrmbraena’s stride came to a stop in front of her. It had taken a supreme act of will to keep herself from another bout of dry heaving during the worst of the reduction. Her leg burned and her head ached and dully she wondered why she had been spared at all. It was the rattling sound of iron chains that finally drew her attention back to her captor’s face.

A pair of somewhat flimsy-looking manacles were clasped in the woman’s hands. "Never had cause to use these before today. Hold out your hands.“

"Is this truly necessary? I’ve given my word-”

“Aside from the word of a Garlean meaning piss all, I don’t hold with special treatment for enemy prisoners. If you weren’t too injured to walk I’d drag you across the godsdamned battlefield. Now hold out your hands.”

Biting back further protest, Aurelia obeyed. The metal was soaking wet and freezing cold to the touch, and it weighted down her arms as the hasps locked shut.

“Sparrow here,” a quick jerk of the head in the direction of the salt and pepper-haired roegadyn who’d assisted their medic, “will carry you back to the camp infirmary. You will not speak to anyone unless you are directly addressed. If you have a request to make, then you make it to me and only me.”

“I-… yes. Understood.”

That stony, disapproving glare again.

“Yes, what?”

Aurelia felt a whiplash surge of incredulous fury at the other woman’s insolent tone before it was smothered by shame. Although she wasn’t part of a combat unit, she had some knowledge of what the VIIth Legion had done to its own enemy prisoners in the past on Nael van Darnus’ orders. Captured rebels and imperial defectors processed in the castrum brig to await trial and execution - the precious few given any such courtesy - were treated like this; their names were usually the first thing taken from them.

She could not reasonably expect her own treatment at the hands of her captors to be aught better, now that their positions were reversed. In truth, such petty indignities were like to be the very least she should expect, the situation being what it was. The Eorzeans could do far more than simply not afford her the use of her name.

And there were fates worse than a hangman’s noose.

Her acquiescence, when it came, was soft and subdued.

“Yes, Captain.”

"Much better. Sparrow, if you would.”

~*~

They spent the next bell stumbling across the blasted crystal and corpse-littered remnant of the Flats, all of them soaked in rainwater, the fabric of their uniforms splashed with a thin and unpleasant-smelling layer of mud. 

Aurelia absorbed the cold fact of her captivity in tense and painful silence, trying not to make any noise at the roegadyn’s heavy footfalls. Captain Ahrmbraena’s order to the big, grizzled man called Sparrow to carry her was something she’d found surprising, a small and unexpected concession. Every step he took sent pain jolting through her body, but she bore it as best as she could manage given little other recourse, arms twined about his neck, the manacles binding her wrists keeping her from dropping them to her sides or into her lap even if she’d wanted to.

She tried not to look at the battlefield, at the countless dead on both sides scattered over the ravaged and despoiled land, but the stench was impossible to ignore. It was an awful, cloying reek of incipient decay and charred flesh, and it made her eyes water. 

Surely, she told herself, it was just that. Not the whispers of self-loathing coiling in her own mind.

“Ye doin’ alright, lassie?”

Aurelia blinked up into the lined, bearded face. She’d received a range of reactions from her Eorzean captors, running the gamut between open hostility and cool and distant civility. The former intimidated her less than the latter, as she knew the coolness was a veneer of professionalism that could be breached at any time for any reason. But looking at this man, she saw only concern.

“I can ask the captain to stop a moment if you need it,” he said. “That leg must pain you somethin’ fierce.”

“I-” She hesitated for a moment, unsure if speaking was allowed in this instance- but then their commander had said she could speak if spoken to, hadn’t she? “I’m… I’m all right for now. Just… cold.”

“Aye, this wind’s gone right through me as well. But we'll be there in the next quarter-bell.” The smile he gave her was kind, even fatherly - though her own father had certainly never looked at her with much tenderness. For an absurd moment she thought she felt the burn of tears prickling at her eyelids. “The infirmary’s terrible short on healers, but I’ll try t'make sure you’re seen as soon as possible. If naught else Edwin can help patch you up, once we’re in a-”

“Sparrow, enough idle chatter,” Captain Ahrmbraena barked from her position. “Eyes on the field and mouth shut.”

He cast Aurelia an apologetic glance and did not continue the conversation further. By the time they reached the Eorzeans’ camp, it was too dark to see aught of the Flats, and for that she found herself grateful.

The encampment itself was a series of quickly pitched tents near the cliffsides, on a path that rolled upwards to the escarpment. A few malms south, she knew, lay the town of Revenant’s Toll, the adventurers’ city. Men and women in colorful jackets, and not a few in other garb whom she assumed to be sellswords, milled about, gathering supplies, talking to each other, eating meals, entering and exiting their small tents. They paid neither her nor her captors any mind, aside from a few disinterested glances.

“Agilmar!” Captain Ahrmbraena shouted at a burly, tall Highlander, this one in a dark jacket. He held up a lantern, squinting in her direction, and the light from the fire crystal beneath the glass reflected off the falling raindrops. “Where’re we supposed to take prisoners?”

“We’ve only a handful at the minute. Why? Got another one for us?”

Aurelia knew the Ala Mhigan accent almost better than that of the capitol. His presence here meant he was most likely a refugee of the invasion fifteen years past, and deserved ire or not, she cringed at the context that knowledge brought with it. 

Quickly she averted her eyes and tried to adjust her arms where they lay about Sparrow’s brawny neck without causing herself more pain. Her wrists and fingers had gone numb from the awkward angle and the weight of the chains, another layer of discomfort above the keening ache of her injuries.

“So we do,” the captain said. "Only survivor we found tonight."

“I’d not have bothered with him, myself. Zealots to the last, this lot. At least their conscripts’re forced to enlist."

"Aye, well, I've not seen enough livin' folk outside the camp to be shooting any without good cause, and this one surrendered. So here we are."

Agilmar grunted.

"Agree t'disagree, Bryn. But since you didn’t cut ‘is throat when you had the chance I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we cross it. Holding area’s over near the chocobo paddock we set up.”

She allowed herself a small peek in time to see the man gesture towards a small, muddy clearing that had been hastily fenced in and placed under guard. The holding area was little more than a dirt circle, with no shelter from the rain, containing perhaps two dozen people in familiar uniforms. Beyond the water soaking all of them to the bone, the prisoners all looked miserable and frightened, and the men and women set to guard them didn’t exactly look happy about it.

“We’re headin’ to the infirmary first,” Sparrow said firmly. “Prisoner’s injured. Edwin and I’ll see it done.”

Captain Ahrmbraena nodded. “See that you explain the situation to the chirurgeons. They’ll not be happy about us jumping the queue but there’s naught to be done for it.”

Really, she understood their anger. She had looked askance at this campaign herself once the details had emerged, thinking it accompanied with a curious amount of subterfuge for something that should have been straightforward. But her opinions, had she felt safe to speak them aloud, would have fallen upon deaf ears: save a handful of outliers like herself, the bulk of the VIIth Legion had been fanatically loyal to the White Raven. 

Not that their loyalty had amounted to much.

Why do men always wish to make war?  

Aurelia had joined the army at her family's behest -- that, and the practical experience which combat medicine could provide. But she'd quickly found that the only way to keep her own moral compass relatively intact was to remind herself that her duty was to help the sick and injured, not to provide moral judgments upon military operations.

The fact that she was performing surgeries and healing people who were usually just sent right back out to the battlefield at the first opportunity was something she tried very hard not to think about. As the veneer of duty had worn thin and the depth of the legatus' depravity became too obvious to ignore, it had become more and more difficult to convince herself of her reasons not to defect.

(Her gens would merely disown her for the act. Would they not then find a way to punish Sazha for her desertion, in whatever far-flung land they had sent him?)

There were whispers that the Emperor's relatives were already bickering over the throne, as the old man was in his eighties and had still not named an heir -- and as awful as it was, as much bloodshed as she knew there would be, she found herself wishing the tensions at home would devolve into civil war and force the legions to withdraw.

Mayhap if her people shed enough Garlean blood, they would eventually lose their taste for it.

She let out a bitter sigh and let herself relax against the roegadyn's broad chest as he started winding through the tents.

Chapter Text

All told, Aurelia privately hadn’t expected much out of an Eorzean infirmary.

It would, frankly, have been unfair of her. The technology gap between the Empire and most of Aldenard was more like a vast yawning chasm (though there were rumors, largely unsubstantiated, that Cid nan Garlond had defected to Eorzea specifically to close said gap), so she’d assumed that the procedures would be… well… primitive, at least compared to the working conditions to which she was accustomed.

What she encountered was not quite as bad as she’d feared, but still worse than she’d hoped. There were so many people lying abed within the first pavilion that there was scarce any room to walk. The man called Sparrow was carefully placing his footfalls on what small patches of uncovered ground still existed so as not to disturb the bedrolls with their passage.

As they slipped out the back towards the tent that had been erected for a surgery, Aurelia was astonished to see even more wounded. The line stretched outside, with some soldiers unable to stand and sitting or lying in the mud and cold water, while others were left to mill about with minor wounds and shivering in the rain that still fell.

Hells below, the Garlean thought, dismayed.

Two Hyur were working over a table, their aprons bloodied, while a third poured aether into their subject with an outstretched hand. As Sparrow and Edwin approached, an elezen woman emerged from the opposite side of the tent, scowling at them. She wore a long white apron of the sort Aurelia recognized instantly.

“Oh for Nophica’s sweet sake,” she spat, throwing up her hands, “how many times do I have to tell you lot, no jumping the queue. Everyone will be seen in the order they arrive, now back to the line with you.”

Sparrow coughed.

“Uh, beggin’ yer pardon, Léonie, but the prisoner’s got to be seen to before we can take her to the holding area.”

“Another imperial, eh?” A pair of tired hazel eyes met Aurelia’s gaze. She braced herself for coldness, for hostility… and the elezen instead gave a noncommittal grunt. “Well then, put her on the table and let’s get this done. Need to get the rest of her armor off–I’m guessing she can’t walk since you were carrying her.”

“Hip was out of socket,” Edwin spoke up. “I’m fair certain at least one leg is broken if not both.”

“Looks like it was reduced.”

“Aye. Did it before we came back.”

“You shouldn’t have reduced her hip if- hells, that’s a godsdamned third eye.”

The woman had tilted her head back to check the superficial head injury she’d sustained, and her dirty fringe had shifted in a wet, matted clump to bare her brow. She had recoiled, and was now staring incredulously at Aurelia, obviously awaiting an explanation for some mad reason. Stymied as to exactly where this line of questioning was going, she could only nod.

“But… you’re a woman,” the chirurgeon said.

“I… Y-yes?”

“But you-”

There it was again. Aurelia sighed. 

“Why’s everyone so bloody surprised I’m a woman?”

“Oh,” Sparrow said. “Er…”

“We’ve, um.” Edwin actually had the good grace to look embarrassed. “We heard your, ah, your people don’t let their women take the field.”

For a long moment, Aurelia just stared at them.

Well that’s… certainly a theory.

There was some small nugget of truth to it, she supposed. Garlean women weren’t often assigned to the foreign legions because of the risk that deployment to areas like Eorzea posed. For all its technological advancement, imperial society was still rather conservative, and women of her social status were largely expected to serve their compulsory four years before wedding a man of their family’s choice to produce heirs for their bloodlines.

That said, highborn women like herself certainly did go through their paces to make a career of military service, and could rise quite high in rank at that. One of Aurelia’s own cousins, a woman two years her senior, had briefly served as one of Legatus van Gabranth’s tribunes. 

So it was with some difficulty that she managed to keep a straight face when she replied,

“I suppose it goes without saying you are incorrect. Dare I ask where you lot came by that notion?”

There was a long silence before Sparrow mumbled something that sounded like, “Privateers.”

“Ah yes,” she said rather drily, “pirates. Truly, a most reliable source of speculation, and certainly not wont to embellish their tales in the telling.”

The pair exchanged decidedly sheepish glances. 

Really, though, it was absurd. She might have actually laughed did she not feel so terrible - and if she didn’t think she was like to be punished for it. Had the Captain been present, Aurelia was certain she’d have already got a hard shove in the back and told to keep her cheek to herself.

“Well,” the chirurgeon said, briskly breaking the lull in conversation, “now we’ve got that sorted, perhaps you two might clear out and let me do my godsdamned job. Go on.”

“Léonie, the captain will want t-”

“Go, Sparrow, off with you! I can do this without your hovering. If she tries to strangle me with my own apron strings, you’ll know about it. Now pull the curtain shut and give a lady some privacy.”

Aurelia fidgeted nervously as the two dutifully filed out, one of Sparrow’s meaty hands pulling the curtain taut in his wake. She kept thinking of the cold, miserable wounded sitting in their lines, waiting for help, exposed to the elements, watching as she was taken to the front of the line. Her own injuries were far from minor, but she’d seen at least a dozen people who in her own mind would have warranted attention first.

The healer, Léonie, rolled her eyes to the heavens.

“As I was telling him, he shouldn’t have tried to reduce that hip of yours if he thought the leg was broken. Could’ve made it worse." 

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Aurelia said. “I asked him to do it.”

“That was foolish.”

“I know. But there was no way they could have carried me here otherwise.”

“Best you hope your hip isn’t cracked as well.” Deft, long-fingered hands reached for her legs. "Let’s get these off, then.”

“Please be careful-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve done this a time or two, girl. I know what I’m about.” Aurelia relaxed somewhat when she realized the woman was unfastening the heavy buckles that held the greaves in place, rather than attempting to yank them off. “…Can’t bloody believe they had a slip of a lass like you going about in heavy armor. You don’t look built for it at all.”

It was becoming difficult to maintain her composure. The pain had dulled to background noise as they’d traveled - never, she thought to herself, underestimate the body’s ability to accustom itself to anything - but now that her full attention was focused on it once more her stomach twisted, the pain suddenly front and center and very very huge.

She saw why the moment the armor was slowly and carefully lifted away: exposed bone an ilm below the knee, cutting through flesh and carbonweave like a snapped stick.

“Compound fracture,” she said aloud, between clenched teeth. “I had feared that.”

“Pardon?”

“I was pinned beneath a magitek reaper – hit by it when the moon.. when everything happened,” she replied by way of explanation. “My injuries were - are - consistent with blunt force trauma. I was expecting further injury, but I had hoped it was not quite this dire.”

The elezen gave her a quizzical glance as she set the cermet plating aside, and turned towards a small metal bowl on a side table.

“Wouldn’t expect a soldier to know aught of that sort of thing.”

“As well you shouldn’t, because I’m not a soldier,” Aurelia said steadily, or as steadily as she could manage through the screaming fire that was now her entire left side from the waist down. “I’m in the business of saving lives, not taking them.”

“…You’re a healer?”

“A field medic, yes.”

“I’ve never seen a chirurgeon in so much armor.”

“Robes and leggings would be poor protection for me. I can’t use magic so I do what needs doing with… potions. Infusions, and such.” Gods, it hurt, it hurt, she could barely think through the throbbing that kept time with her racing heart. “Lost my godsdamned field kit in all of … this, or I’d have already tried to see to my hurts. But it’s gone. Out in the Flats somewhere.”

She had no way of knowing that for sure, of course. But undoubtedly all those potions, aught that could have done her or anyone else any good – they were likely gone now, destroyed by the eikon’s wrath. 

And for lack of proper medicine and proper care, many of the poor souls she’d seen on her way in were probably going to die before the first night had passed. The sheer frustration she felt in the face of that knowledge made her want to weep, or maybe that was just her broken leg.

“Hm. Well, you’re right, this is going to require rather more work than just a splint. Lie back and relax. I’m going to fetch that conjurer who came in with you so he can put himself to use and let Sparrow know you’ll be here a good while.”

She swallowed, lying back against the unforgiving surface of the table and fighting not to vomit. The older woman placed a light hand on her brow, very briefly, like a mother calming a feverish child.

It was not until the unnatural heaviness had sunk into her limbs and dragged her eyelids shut, leaving them too heavy to open, that she was able to sense the chirurgeon’s aether weighing her down: not the cold heaviness of iron chains but the soft touch of a warm blanket, silently urging her to shut her eyes and drift away.

She fought it at first, panicked, wondering what they meant to do to her– and then a stray observation struck her:

Anesthesia. Of course. Anyone who could put a body to sleep would have little need for potions unless the spell was resisted.

The last of her apprehension began to fade. 

Whatever else the woman was, she was a healer, and her manner, though it spoke of overwork, had not been one of malice. At the very least, Aurelia thought, she could probably trust a fellow chirurgeon to do her work. Even if the conditions weren’t ideal.

She gave in.

~*~

For his part, the Gridanian conjurer in question was currently concentrating on pouring aether into a small body lying prone in the muddy pathway. His patient’s companion, a fresh-faced young Hyur wearing the tabard of an Immortal Flame, sat alongside, clutching at a bleeding forearm he barely seemed to notice and staring at the other lad with dark and worried eyes.

“Is… he going to be all right, healer?” the young soldier asked in a smoke-roughened voice, his skin deathly pale beneath a layer of dirt, water, and prominent freckles.

Just a boy, really, truth be told. Gods, Sparrow thought. So many of these so-called soldiers were naught more than children. The aging warrior reckoned there were even more who’d died well beyond the bounds of Carteneau, defending their settlements–farm boys who’d set aside their ploughs to take up whatever blade they could.

Edwin did not answer. He did not need words to give his answer when he sighed, at length, and let his hand fall to his side. The spark of aether at his fingertips dimmed and went out, and his hands returned to his sides.

What little color remained in the Hyur’s face drained from it.

“No,” he whispered. “No! Didihesu can’t-”

“I’m sorry,” the conjurer said. “Burns this deep and widespread are beyond my power to heal. Perhaps if he had been brought sooner-”

“You have to help him! Please!”

“I cannot!”

He cut off the torrent of pleas, something sharp and angry and hurting in his words, and the boy went quiet. There was a startled hush that rippled through the nearby patients, as his shout briefly drew their attention.

“Healers cannot work miracles,” Edwin continued, his voice more measured, but rough and subdued. And exhausted. “Should I push myself beyond my current limits, I risk my own life as well.”

Sparrow knew it was true, and they all knew it had been a long shot- the lalafellin lad’s wounds had been grievous even before they had been aware of the extent of the burns Bahamut’s fire had left behind- but he also knew what small comfort that would be. They both watched that young face crumple like old parchment, then break, then the inevitable flood of tears.

“…He didn’t even want to enlist,” the lad sobbed. “But then I-”

“It’s not your fault, son,” the roegadyn began, but he was cut off by another strangled sob.

“It is my fault! I talked him into leaving the village with me to join the Flames! I-I just wanted my best friend with me when…!”

Edwin watched all of this with an expression that might be mistaken for indifference did one not see the guilt lurking in his eyes. One of the Gridanian’s hands was already extending towards the body, gently lifting hands that had cooled and stilled, placing them across poor dead Didihesu’s chest, lifting the body to remove it from the mud and the sunken footsteps between the camp tents so that at least he would not be trampled by passerby.

Knowing this was only the beginning of the work they had to do– just thinking about the countless bodies still left to unearth from all the wreckage here, all the destroyed settlements, made Sparrow’s stomach turn itself in knots. But that seemed so trivial in comparison to the decision Edwin had just had to make, to let a boy die because it was either save him or save himself.

It was to this grim scene that Léonie thrust her head out of the tent flap.

“Conjurer,” she said shortly. “You’re needed.”

At first, Edwin did not respond. He knelt a moment longer by the lalafell, wiping at his face, and Sparrow could not be certain if he was shedding tears or if he was simply wiping away mud and rainwater. Then he sighed, and with a grunt used his staff to regain his footing, leather boots splashing in the brown water, the hem of his robes soaked in more of the same.

“Are you going to be all right, then?” the roegadyn asked.

“I have to be all right. I’ve little choice.” His head jerked with a snort tilt towards the straggling line of wounded huddled close and cold and hurting in the storm. “They’re depending on it.”

What a hard and heartbreaking thing, Sparrow thought to himself, watching that slouched and retreating back as it disappeared into the surgery, to be a healer. To bear such a burden, the responsibility of others’ lives. To feel so personally the loss of each, as it shuffled off its mortal coil.

To be cruel simply to be kind.

Gently he placed his hand on the sobbing boy’s back, mindful of his hurts, standing guard over that small cloudburst of grief. A small bit of comfort for the living left behind – that was the least that could be offered, and the most many would get, he thought, in the coming days.

Overhead, the aether-driven storm -  heedless of the affairs of mortals or Calamities - continued apace.

Chapter Text

The stars in the sky are falling.

Meteors streak through the endless expanse of black, painting the skies with myriad pinpricks of light as they fall to the earth, and the land, so recently shored up by its nascent will, shudders beneath their weight. 

Someone cradles her close, the feeble warmth of their body failing against the creeping chill within her own.

She feels the brush of corrupted aether against the tattered edges of her fading self, and forces herself not to shudder away from it as it seeks some small and pitiful scrap of comfort. It twines about her fragments in desperation, like a child trying to gather the pieces of a shattered toy in hopes that it might be repaired.

This was your fault, the someone screams, purest gold and snow white, your fault, your fault, and beneath that fury there is endless, endless anguish and the keening sound of a heart breaking. 

There is almost nothing left of her now but still she reaches out with her last remaining sliver of consciousness.  Oh, don't cry. Don't cry.

I'll save you.

I'll save you, she says to the someone, her soul fragmenting to pieces, fading into forever. I promise.

I promise-

~*~

Aurelia's eyes opened to the sight of an endless expanse of brown.

Throat tight with a hot ache, the Garlean wiped slowly at her eyes with trembling fingers as she tried to regain her bearings. There was wood beneath her, hard and unyielding and splintered, and the hot pain of her leg had faded to a dull throb. With some considerable effort she twisted her upper body just enough to brace her elbows against the table and sit up. Cold, damp, the foul smell of wet clothes and the copper smell of blood and the low ambient murmur of several people engrossed in quiet conversation- and she remembered. The Eorzean encampment.

She wasn't wearing her uniform anymore. Some soul had taken the liberty of removing what was left of the torn and filth-encrusted carbonweave, and had even taken the trouble to attempt to wash her and dress her in dry clothes. The shirt she now wore was rough homespun, as were the pants. Her right foot was bare, covered in mottled bruising that looked much worse than it truly was, and her left-

Aurelia couldn't see her left foot. Her leg was swaddled from her toes to mid-thigh in a heavy field dressing, and she couldn't flex it for the rough wooden splint that had been tied down at three points. When she tried, cautiously, to flex her foot it sent a sharp stab of pain up through her leg that knocked the breath right out of her. She doubled over, waiting for the pain to pass.

"Are you alright? Does the splint pain you?"

She looked up, recognizing the flat and tired voice of the Hyuran conjurer who'd helped take her to the camp - Edwin, she remembered. He looked pale and wrung out, slumped over a stool with his staff leaning against one of the legs. "Pray do not concern yourself. I'm fine."

"...You're crying. If it's that painful, there are potions we can-"

"Anything you might give to me would be better served to the men and women still in need without." Her own response was as low and subdued as his, her voice little more than a rasp in her throat. "The pain is far from unbearable; I simply had a bad dream. Hardly anything upon which to waste a willowbark tincture."

"Was it..."

"No."

He stopped. Her breath stuttered in her throat.

It's so strange, Aurelia thought. We all know what happened. We all saw it with our own eyes, and yet... 

They were practically sitting in the ruins of Revenant's Toll, or close enough as to make little difference, and they were still unwilling to say Dalamud. As if by simply not speaking the name aloud they could collectively will this waking nightmare away, one in which Nael van Darnus had trapped them all.

"No," she repeated, at length. "It was... I don't remember. A meteor shower, I think."

"...A star shower made you cry?"

She offered a small and helpless shrug, and said nothing more.

"Very well," he said. He sounded ever so slightly annoyed, but he didn't press the subject any further. "Suppose we ought to take you to the others eventually. But it's still raining and I'm not going to have spent time here trying to set your leg only for you to catch your death."

"And what of those who have no choice?"

"We've nowhere to send them." Aurelia might have winced but for the fact she heard no accusation evident in his tone, only a bone-deep exhaustion. "Wounded survivors have been coming into the camp since it was struck and we've more in need of a healer's touch than we have the beds to hold them or healers to tend them. I need rest myself, but without me there's not enough hands to work in the surgery."

"Then allow me to take your place."

"But- look, Garlean, I don't-" He seemed visibly flustered, stammering as he tried to find his words. Aurelia waited, seeing him through his surprise. He took a couple of deep and measured breaths, clasped his hands together, and shut his eyes. When he opened them again he said, "Why are you taking pity on Eorzeans? We captured you. You're fighting us. Don't you lot consider us savages?"

"You're not savages," she snapped, ignoring his surprise. "And why are you trying to dissuade me from aiding your fellows? I'm offering to-"

"Who's offering what?" a flat voice echoed from without the tent flap. Edwin startled, accidentally kicking the side of a nearby cabinet, and cursed as his toe cracked against the sharp corner. "Your own fault, Browne. Shouldn't have been sitting so close." The Elezen squinted at Aurelia even as she wiped her bloodstained hands on her apron. "Oh, you're awake. Sorry I surprised you with the spell. How's the dressing? Not too tight?"

Ignoring the Hyur's muttered oaths, she tried to offer the woman a smile. "No, my circulation is fine. The splint's inconvenient, but if it weren't there would be cause for concern. And there's no more pain than I should expect. You did well. Provided there are no complications the break should knit cleanly."

"For that you ought be thanking Sergeant Browne and your own quick thinking. Had you removed those greaves I'd be far more worried about rot, but that black... stuff you imperials wear under your armor-"

"Carbonweave?" she supplied.

"Whatever it is, it did a good job of keeping it clean. There was blood and rainwater aplenty, but otherwise wasn't much for me to do except set the leg and wait for you to wake up so I could send you on your way." She frowned. "Though were it me I'd wait until the rain's let up some. Anyroad, what's this about an offer?"

Aurelia glanced over her shoulder at the conjurer, who shook his head silently. Her lips tightened in irritation, and she turned her attention back to the other woman.

"Your conjurer has exhausted himself caring for the wounded."

"Aye, me and him and every bloody soul with the ability to heal. There's naught to be done for it."

"He needs rest."

"You think I don't know that, Garlean? You think he doesn't know that?"

"If you're willing to let me fill in so he can rest, at the very least you'll be no worse off than before. I can't use aether, but there are other things I can do which are arguably just as effective." She glanced at the tent flap, towards the long line of people she knew still waited outside to be seen. "And if I might be so bold, you are hardly in a position to turn away help where it's offered. You're understaffed as it is and your conjurer here is about two patients away from succumbing to aether depletion. He'll be of little use to you or any of that lot in that state."

The woman stared at her in incredulous silence, long enough to make Aurelia wonder if she'd pushed too hard trying to make her case--then Léonie let out a short, dry laugh.

"Aye, you're a chirurgeon, all right. I know that voice when I hear it. Think you that imperial medicine is superior to our savage healing magicks, then, medicus?"

"Not superior; merely different. I am not so foolish as to claim otherwise. But healing magicks still have mortal limits, limits with which I am well familiar. ...Hells below," Aurelia cursed, "if I just had a bloody field kit! There's so much more I could do with the proper tools. But I know how we can start-"

"All right! All right." The Elezen's gaze wavered between Aurelia and Edwin, and she tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her chin for a long moment before appearing to come to a decision. "Sergeant, on your way to your lie-down kindly inform your commander I've conscripted her prisoner until we've more hands available to process wounded."

"But-"

"She's right. You need rest." She shook her head with a rueful sigh. "As for you, Garlean: you'll stay off your feet, understand? That leg of yours won't heal properly if you aggravate it. The brass're going to have kittens but Twelve help me, I'd take a godsdamned barber as things stand now."

"Hopefully I'll be rather more use to you than a barber. Speaking of which, if Sparrow's still about," Aurelia said, "I have an idea."

~*~

Bryngeim Ahrmbraena had not yet sought her bed. She sat alone, standing vigil over one small corner of the infirmary tents, her hand clasped gently over a set of bandage-swaddled fingers; he had not stirred at her touch, but he still breathed, at least for the time being. She startled, briefly, when a hand touched her shoulder, and hastily swiped a forearm across her eyes before deigning to acknowledge it.

"...No change, I assume?"

"None. Has Sparrow already taken the prisoner?"

"No, Storm Captain Brudevelle's put her to work in the surgery."

"....Has that woman lost aught's left of her mind? An imperial prisoner, working in the infirmary? With our wounded?"

"She's a healer-"

"Well do you know she probably claimed such to spare herself," Bryn snapped. "If I have to have Sparrow drag her into the pens through the mud, I will."

There was a long silence, and then she heard him heave a heavy, tired sigh.

"Beg pardon, ma'am, but you can't. Captain Brudevelle invoked the conscription clause."

Cursing, Bryn laid her commander's hand down on his coverlet, stood, and exited the tent with Edwin trailing behind.

As she approached the surgery she heard the clamor of voices coming from the nearby surgery tent. Mouth tight with displeasure, she increased her paces. And stopped mid-step, staring nonplussed at the sight of Cheerful Sparrow with the Garlean prisoner in his arms, her splinted leg braced against one of his broad shoulders and covered with a blanket. She carried in her lap a pile of cloth strips, the same ones they'd used to mark the fields that had been searched.

"Tie this around her wrist," she was instructing one of the men sitting on the ground, passing over a strip of yellow cloth. "Make sure it can be easily seen when next the chirurgeons make their rounds. If her condition worsens, give a shout."

Bryn's jaw, which had been hanging slack, snapped shut again as she regained her voice. "Sparrow, what in the seven hells-"

"You'll have to take it up with Léonie, Bryn." Sparrow looked apologetic, but he didn't back down. The Garlean woman in question looked some cross between embarrassed and uncomfortable, not that Bryn was particularly minded as to an imperial's comfort, all told. "Prisoner's been conscripted for infirmary duty."

"She can't-"

"Before you start taking your man to task, Captain Ahrmbraena, you've a perfectly good chirurgeon you were about to send to the pens when we're criminally undermanned." Léonie Brudevelle was another veteran of the Levy, albeit not one Bryngeim knew terribly well, but the woman's no-nonsense demeanor had earned her the run of the camp infirmaries -- in this case, infirmary singular; the medical corps hadn't been spared the vagaries of calamity any more than the rest of them. She'd apparently heard the argument and was approaching now, a potion in one hand. "She'll be of far more use here - under my supervision - than she will sitting about waiting for a tribunal to decide her fate."

Bryn's expression was one of deep consternation.

"Go on, then," Léonie said, a trifle impatiently. "We've got things well in hand. Go back to your man -- don't give me that look, Bryn; I know full well you came from Captain L'sazha's bedside."

"...Wait."

The sudden interjection, sharp and just a little strangled, came from the woman in Cheerful Sparrow's arms.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but did... you just say 'Captain L'sazha?' "

"Aye, what of it?"

"He's... is he from Limsa Lominsa or-"

"Most of us what's in the Levy ain't from these parts, lass," Sparrow explained. "We're all 'venturers, most of us, or independent privateers. I don't rightly know if he ever told us where he's from and we have a policy not to ask. ...But most of us know an Ala Mhigan accent when we hear one."

"I see," she said weakly. Her skin, already very fair, had gone the color of chalk. She looked shocked and frightened, as though she'd seen a ghost-- or heard of one.

Bryn's eyes narrowed suspiciously. And just what would one of the Emperor's finest be knowing of a freelancer in the Lominsan navy?

"I-" she began, then glanced at Léonie, "could I... could I please go with Captain Ahrmbraena for a moment? I'll be right back. I'm sorry, but there's something I need to confirm."

The chirurgeon considered this, then said:

"You've as long as it will take us to finish preparations here, that's a half-bell at the outside. Make it a quarter if you can. I'll grab a couple of warm bodies so we can continue in your absence."

"My thanks."

She passed the makeshift wristbands over to the Elezen woman, who continued on her way down the line. For his part Cheerful Sparrow could only be grateful that looks could not indeed kill: the chilly, furious gaze Bryngeim Ahrmbraena leveled upon the woman in his arms could have frozen pig iron to a glacier.

"I know not," she said, in a low and dangerous voice, "what game you think you're playing at, imperial, but so help me I will call the wrath of everyone in this camp down upon you if this is some absurd attempt to escape, do you understand?"

Making a noise that was somewhere between a hiss and a snarl, she pivoted about on one heel and stormed back towards the hospital pavilions, leaving the others to follow.

~*~

The Roegadyn woman had already taken up her seat at the cot and bedroll when Sparrow arrived with his burden. Looking this way and that, he hooked his ankle around a nearby stool and carefully set the prisoner down atop it, the exhaled and sank to the floor with a grimace, trying to work the knots out of his back. Not that it was the girl's fault but he was rather beginning to feel like a draught chocobo.

Got to see about findin' the lass a way to get around the camp without me...

But all of that was forgotten when he heard the soft catch of breath in the Garlean's throat. Even Bryn looked startled, though she recovered quickly, her scowl back in place as she spat back:

"Don't you dare ask what happened to him. It's the same as what happened to every bloody one else. He got near cooked alive trying to save his people from the same fate. He's been lying like this for bells. If you're waiting for him to wake up, the conjurers say it's not like to happen."

Rather than rise to that anger, Aurelia reached across the cot and very carefully ran her fingers through the Miqo'te's dark brown hair, one thumb stroking the soft outer fur on his good ear. He'd been seared by Bahamut's flames, and his chest and most of his face were a half-charred mess. Much of the surrounding skin was as white as marble.

"I didn't know he'd defected. I thought he had found someone else," she said, her voice trembling. "After a year, he... his letters stopped coming. I tried to find out what had become of him but the- the army, they wouldn't-"

-and then the cracked, hoarse groan from the man in the bed drew their attention.

Aurelia had treated more than her share of burn victims; immolation was a common infantry hazard. The worst case she'd ever seen up until now had been a Scorpio pilot who'd lost control of the vehicle during a war game gone awry. Due to inexperience, he had overcorrected himself and rolled the warmachina. One of its fuel lines had ruptured in the process, spraying him with ceruleum moments before the vehicle caught fire. Her team had dragged the poor man shrieking from the remains of his cockpit. Although he'd survived, the burns had gone deep enough to leave him blinded and disfigured, and he'd been retired due to his injuries.

Sazha was somehow worse. His right ear had been burned almost completely away, and the eye that cracked open on that side was naught but a soup, not the deep and beautiful emerald she recalled so well. But the other looked just as she remembered, and it centered first on Bryngeim, the pupil blown wide from darkness or shock, she wasn't sure which.

"Seven," Aurelia jen Laskaris whispered, beneath the sting of her tears. "Bloody ridiculous name, that."

That gaze shifted towards the sound of her voice even as his good ear flickered under her fingers, the half-shut eyelids flaring the barest ilm wider in clear recognition.

"Relia," he croaked, a parched whisper from lips that barely moved.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched something like hurt flash across the other woman's eyes. Aurelia, wishing to spare the Captain her blushes, made no remark upon it and instead continued running her thumb over his ear as though she had seen nothing else but her old friend. His brow was cool and clammy, his breath rattling.

"Captain Ahrmbraena and her men rescued me from the battlefield, after the moon fell." The smile she offered him felt false and strained. "...I've been taken prisoner, but it's not so bad. They've just put me to work in the surgery, that's all, you've no call to worry. So... so you just rest, all right?"

His throat worked as he swallowed.

"Elle said.. Garlemald had to have you," he whispered. "Not who you were."

"Neither of us are sixteen any longer, old friend. You grew up, and so did I." She glanced at Bryngeim, who did not hold his hand so much as support it in her much larger ones, her palms enfolding his bandaged fingers as gently as the wings of a bird, and when Aurelia looked into the woman's brown eyes she understood at last, and this time her smile was more genuine. "So... you and the Captain, eh?"

He blinked at her, looking something close to guilty.

"It's all right," she said gently. "I'm happy for you."

"Sorry you got... in this mess."

"None of this was your fault, Sazha. None of it."

No answer. She leaned over him, careful not to touch any of the bandaging or exposed burns, and kissed him on a small patch of untouched skin above his good eye.

"I've got to go back to the surgery. Be good for the Captain," she said, somewhat hoarsely, and moved to signal for Sparrow-

"Relia."

She looked back over one shoulder. Captain Ahrmbraena was crying openly now, her hair spilling over his chest. Sazha's good eye glistened bright and wet in his ruined face.

"Elle was wrong about you," he rasped. "You've a light in you still. Use it. Too late for me. Not everyone."

For those you can save. Grief sat in her chest like a rock. She wanted to say something, anything, that could help. Do anything that could help, but she had known just by looking at him that he was beyond saving. Bryngeim was right; her people were responsible for this tragedy, and she was responsible, and there was nothing she could do that could possibly undo what had been done.

All she could do was try to atone.

For those who had been lost.

For those she could yet save.

"I promise, Sazha," she whispered. "I'll save them. As many as I can. I promise."

The sounds of his lover's grief still echoed in her ears long after she had fled his bedside.

~*~

(in the end, all she ever remembers are the stars in the sky. falling.)

Chapter Text

In the midst of the short journey back to the surgery, Cheerful Sparrow was the first to break the silence between them, and he did not do so until the tent and its endless lines came back into view.

"I hope," he said very quietly, "that you'll not hold Bryn's words against her."

"You see it in this profession often enough," Aurelia replied in a thin, dead voice. "Circumstances being what they are, no doubt I make an easier target for her anger."

"Aye, but that don't excuse her castin' aspersions and such. I'll talk to her about it." He hesitated. "Doubt anyone'll be askin' after your feelings, though. I'm sorry, truly. I can see you and Captain L'sazha were close once upon a time. He never was one for talkin' much about his life before he came down here."

"We were children together. I can't- I wouldn't know how he truly felt. There were," Aurelia faltered, "I can only speak for myself. But his presence brightened the life of a very lonely little girl, and-" She heard the crack in her own voice and stopped, tried to breathe through it, to keep her grief from spilling forth unchecked until she was certain the urge to cry had passed. "Sazha was my best friend. We'd planned to- ...we meant to leave the Empire and go adventuring toge- to-"

And then she couldn't stop it anymore. The words were choked out by a strangled sob, her chest hitching in a short gasp, and the tears came hot and close. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't have stopped it if she tried. To his credit, Sparrow didn't say anything, just stood still and let her cry.

"What happened to him- it's all my fault. He'd made a new life for himself, and I was part of the force that came down here and kicked it all apart like a godsdamned anthill-"

"Last I checked, your name was not Solus zos Galvus, unless we're mistaken about a hells of a lot more than we thought." She offered him the barest ghost of a smile, a small and tremulous thing, and he continued, "You can't hold yourself to task for your Emperor's actions."

"No, but I can hold myself to account for my own."

"Aye, that's as it may be, but- listen, it's commendable t'want to change yourself for the better. Just have a care you don't take the whole bleedin' world's troubles on your shoulders. There's a difference between atonement and bein' a martyr, like."

"Every single person in this camp right now has lost family and friends, if not their homes." Aurelia swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Crying over my own losses is naught but selfishness."

He gave her a sad smile.

"Selfish? I wouldn't say so. Bryn may not have noticed - as y'can see, she has her own troubles just now - but seems t'me like the Empire's taken its share from you too." Unable to formulate a proper response, she stared down at her hands, picking at her sleeve with her fingertips. "You good to get back to Captain Brudevelle, or do you need a minute?"

"I'm... no. No, I've taken enough of your time."

"Only time I'd be spendin' asleep, have no fear. Let's get you back before she sounds the alarum -- an' maybe see if she can't scrounge up a pair o' crutches or summat in the bargain. No offense, lass, but you're heavier than you look."

~*~

The next handful of hours (bells, they called it here) proceeded in a blur of activity, for which she was grateful. The tasks she'd been set to complete were not so very unlike her duties within the infirmary in the VIIth Legion's camp, for all that she lacked many of the amenities that she realized now she had very much taken for granted.

When not on the battlefield Eorzeans relied on magical healing far less than she'd supposed, which was something of a surprise. It also meant that her own mundane skills were not half as useless as she'd worried they might be, though at this juncture she'd hardly put them to use. Léonie - Captain Brudevelle - had set her and a handful of able-bodied volunteers to overseeing the triage roster. She was currently spending what little spare time she had in stripping down the remaining bolts of homespun the Grand Companies' remaining medical teams had on hand to create bandages and dressings.

Aurelia set the heel of her splinted leg on a low stool (a milking stool that had been repurposed, she suspected) and kept a watchful eye open while she kept her hands busy. Most of those milling about were freelancers who had taken up arms beneath the banners of the Grand Companies. She heard myriad different accents among the chatter, most she assumed to be Eorzean, though her ears caught tongues she recognized from all three continents.

A couple of adventurers who passed by the triage lines on their way elsewhere caught her eye for a brief moment. Both Hyur in appearance, but fair and svelte and very tall, their brows carefully covered-- Aurelia knew her countrymen on sight, and she noted with something like amusement their own expressions of startled recognition when they sighted her; clearly they knew her too. Imperial defectors who'd made sellswords of themselves, no doubt.

Like Sazha. She couldn't help but wonder if he would ever have attempted to reach out to her again, had circumstance not dropped him back in her life--and thought to herself that the odds were against it.

It was a sort of bookend to their lives, she mused. They had met by blind chance, had grown up dogging each others' heels, and in the end had become little more than ships passing in the night, physical and emotional distance enforced by the strictures of the imperial caste system. He had had no reason to believe he would ever see her again and so he had made a life for himself here.

One that had been cut short by-

Aurelia let out a choked exhale at the sudden wave of pain that snapped through her head, just behind her eyes, and doubled over with a hand pressed to her temple.

=

"Not like that, Bryn," Sazha is saying. His voice is soft and ragged, the barest sound rising from a wasted chest and charred lips. The weeping woman at his side tries to glare at him and can't. Even in the throes of grief and jealousy, she can believe naught but the best and truest intentions from him. If he says that the Garlean is nothing more to him than an old friend, he means it.

He sighs, one of his bandaged hands resting on her forearm and patting, the movement slow and clumsy as he tries to offer what bare amount of comfort he can. Bryngeim wants to rage at him out of jealous hurt. Throw his hand aside. Storm out of the tent and confront the woman. She does none of those things.

"Childhood friend or not, she has no call to be so blasted familiar with you. If she cared so much she'd have defected long ago."

"She had a duty. And family. Not easy to defect." His reply, mumbled as it is, halts her angry rant in its tracks. "Empire makes it hard. The more you have, more you have to lose."

"Sazha..."

"Don't blame her." His unburnt eye falls shut. "She's here now."

Bryngeim bows her head, feeling a vague sense of shame. That much is true; the Garlean woman is here now. It is also true -- much to her own chagrin -- that her beloved at one point knew the prisoner extremely well, well enough to be much more than passing fond of her. And he is insisting she help the woman once he has passed. It feels like salt rubbed in a raw wound, though she knows he doesn't intend it that way.

"Bryn," he mumbles. His eye has still not opened. "Don't forget. Talk to the brass. Keep her off the gibbet."

"...I know, I know. You always were too sentimental by half." A great sigh erupts from the woman's lips and as she responds, she tastes the salt of her own tears. "Fine, all right. I'll give her that box like you asked *and* I'll try to get leave to speak with Admiral Bloefhiswyn on her behalf. I don't much rate the chances of her listening to my like, but I'll try."

=

"Oi! Watch out-"

She'd nearly fallen off the stool.

A soft chorus of concerned murmurs had arisen from the small group of wounded nearby, and Aurelia stared at them all with blank and uncomprehending eyes, her head still pounding with the vestiges of that ache. She winced as she saw she'd upended the box of cloth bolts. It was Sparrow who had caught her as she was about to fall in the mud. He was carrying a large and familiar-looking bag slung over one shoulder.

"Saw you hunched over grabbin' at your head, like, and then you nigh keeled over. Should I fetch Léonie and let her know you need to lie down? You look ill."

Aurelia heard the question but it didn't register right away that he was talking to her; she was still puzzling over the vivid scene she'd just witnessed. Slowly she reached for the box, checked its contents, and was relieved to note that most of them were still intact. Fine job it would have been if she'd soiled all of the supplies they had left over a fainting spell. "I- no. I'm fine. I just..."

What in the seven hells was that? 

She'd seen Sazha and Captain Ahrmbraena talking--through, it seemed, the Captain's own eyes. No, not just her eyes; her own memory. Had it been a hallucination for lack of sleep? Some sort of extremely lucid daydream? It had felt so real Aurelia could almost feel the roughness of the homespun cloth that had been used to make Sazha's dressings. And she'd felt every thought and emotion of the Captain's as surely as if they'd been her own.

Well, there had to be some reasonable explanation, surely, Aurelia thought. It wasn't as though she could read minds, or project herself into the woman's body; the very idea beggared belief. Likely just a passing fancy, or she'd been dreaming. She was starting to feel every ilm of her exhaustion.

"Lass-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted somewhat absently, shaking her head and wincing at the fresh stab of pain the movement sent through her. "Mayhap a bit tired. What're you doing here? I thought you would have sought your bed."

"I did, but one of the lads found something on their run that I thought might be of use to you."

With a grunt, he unshouldered the heavy bag he was carrying and set it in front of her. The fabric was covered in mud and singed in places, but the damage appeared to be superficial. She gasped, recognizing immediately the scarlet triple-link insignia of the imperial standard, stitched as it was into the canvas.

"You found a field kit!"

"So this is what you were telling us about, then? Good."

Aurelia's hands quivered with excitement and relief as she unsealed the top and flipped the bag open. Syringes, fresh dressings, spare reagents and alchemics, a set of sterile tools for use in an operating theater (or on the field itself in a dire emergency)-- they were all here. Granted, it wasn't enough to actually use on more than a few of these poor folk, but arguably more important than the potions were the tools themselves.

"You... didn't have to go out of your way for me like this," she said unsteadily.

The silver-haired marauder shrugged, hazel eyes not quite meeting the wide sea of blue. "Well, might be as I heard you mention such a kit a brace o'times afore Cap'n Léonie set you to work."

"Sparrow, that was hours ago-"

"-and might be as I had mates in some other search units about to start makin' their rounds. One of them served some time with the imperial army in the Estersands 'bout five summers past afore he came to Eorzea, so he said he'd keep an eye out."

Before she could stop herself, Aurelia had thrown her arms about the man's neck mid-explanation and bestowed upon him the fiercest embrace she'd granted anyone since she was a child. She could feel him stiffen in surprise beneath her, but after a moment- somewhat awkwardly- he patted her on the back.

"Here now," he coughed, his deep voice a touch gruff with his embarrassment, "no need t'make a fuss. If you say one o'these would be useful, that means it helps our lot too. Just help as many folk as you can manage, an' that'll be us square."

"I'll not forget this," Aurelia said, still smiling, and meant it. He had been unfailingly kind to her when he had no reason whatsoever to take her part. It seemed that she had at least one other person in her corner, and that made her feel an immeasurable sense of relief. "I promise you that. Tell your friend he has my most sincere thanks."

"Aye, I'll pass it a-"

"I told you lot I don't need any swiving help!" a voice roared, the shout echoing from nigh the back of the line.

Both of them turned to look in that direction and bore witness to the sight of two men in Maelstrom colors, a Hyur and an Elezen, dragging a decidedly recalcitrant-looking third in officer's dress towards the front of the line. The Roegadyn was cradling his left arm and his face was deathly pale except for a couple of spots of hectic color on his cheeks, indicating a fever.

He was clearly also in a very high temper and he towered over his fellows as he blustered all over the camp, which made their ability to drag him forward despite his attempts at resistance all the more remarkable.

The Elezen caught her eye and waved.

"Miss!" he called. "Miss, we need a healer. I know there's others ahead of us but I'm beggin' ye, please. He's ill and gettin' worse by the minute. Taken fever, an' he's weak as a-"

"Shut your bleedin' hole," the Roegadyn snarled at him. "I'll show you weak."

"Sir," the other man said, expression pained, "with all due respect, if you would just-"

"Bugger off, both of you! There's naught wrong with my arm." The man yanked his limb out of their reach, swearing as he did so. He wore a brown band about his good wrist, meaning someone had marked him as lower priority for treatment. Aurelia surmised it was one of the others, as she didn't recognize the man. "Just needs one of those conjurers to wave their fingers a touch."

Inwardly, Aurelia sighed. This man promised to be a difficult patient if his behavior now was any indication. She was tired, grieving, and her hips and leg were still a dull background ache. Her composure had already slipped its leash once; she wasn't entirely sure she could rein it in a second time.

Still, she turned her attention towards the trio with a polite smile.

"Well then," she said aloud, keeping her tone as even and mild as she could manage, "I see you've had at least a cursory examination. Let's come in out of the wet and have a closer look."

Those rheumy eyes tracked over her form - including her partially exposed third eye, though she knew it was difficult to see it in the dark. He scoffed, loudly, making his disdain evident.

"I'll take no directions from your like, Garlean. Aye, I know what you are. There's rumors all down the line about the imperial prisoner working the triage lines. Stick to your busywork and let the healers do what they're good at."

"...Are you done? You can come in if you like, or should you prefer to stand out here in the damp and cold and continue to be miserable while rousing the entire camp with your bluster, then I suppose that too is your choice." Annoyance at his coarse demeanor had made her response sound rather more waspish than she'd intended, but Aurelia couldn't be bothered to moderate her tone. 

"And who in blazes do you think you are, to be taking that tone with me," he sneered, "the Emperor? Think I'm one of your pet savages to order about at will, is that it?"

With some effort, she took a deep breath and held her tongue. She had no idea who this man was, but the medals he wore on his jacket indicated a fairly high rank and it probably wouldn't be wise to antagonize him unnecessarily. 

"Sparrow, would you mind taking these dressings and the kit inside? And the stool so I'll have a place to sit? I can take matters from there." She reached for the makeshift walking aids she'd been lent and carefully maneuvered herself to stand on her good leg. "You two, please bring your friend inside."

Safely out of sight now, Aurelia winced as she made her slow and careful way towards the surgery. Her hips, still sore and extremely disinclined to bear her weight after her recent injury, screamed in silent protest. Under normal circumstances there was absolutely no way she'd be up and about like this; she really should be keeping her weight off both feet for about a sennight. As it was, she had to force herself to work through the pain.

Just like the rest of them, she couldn't afford the time spent in a sickbed. And bellicose as this man was, a patient was a patient and none of them had the luxury in a crisis situation to choose who was and wasn't deserving of treatment.

Steeling herself, she nudged aside the oilcloth flap and entered the relative dry warmth of the surgery. The partition was drawn; she could hear voices speaking quietly on the other side of the cloth. Otherwise it was quiet save the soft tick of an aetheric chronometer on one of the nearby shelves.

"Where's the healer, Garlean?" was the first thing out of the man's mouth.

"You're speaking to her," she said. Sparrow had set the field kit within easy reach for her to remove the steel tools within and a roll of fresh linen, so she did just that, looking over the assorted bottles and their contents within and refusing to give the irritating man a second glance. "I'll need you to have a seat on the table so I can examine the wound, please."

There was no response, so she looked away from her tools to repeat herself in time for the man to cast an imperious glare at her down the length of his aquiline nose.

"The request was for a healer," he snapped, "not an imperial wench with the manners of a harpy. I'm not near enough of a fool to trust your like to pull an ingrown toenail from your enemy, never mind-"

Aurelia's temper snapped like an overtaxed thread.

Her palms slammed down onto the surface of the table hard enough to crack the brittle wood and set the nearby potion bottles to jittering in place on its surface, making them all jump. She rounded on the man with unbridled and vicious fury burning in the depths of her dark blue eyes, and his sneer faltered before the heat of her anger.

"My best friend, who fought the Empire beneath your banner," she hissed, "is dying. He is dying slowly and painfully, and with the limited resources on hand there is little that can be done to ease his suffering as he passes. Would that your places had been exchanged, but they were not, and it is your life I must needs safeguard and not the one I hold dear."

"How dare y-" he began, but Aurelia was not finished.

"As regards my heritage, you should count yourself extremely fortunate that I am first and foremost a chirurgeon. I am charged with the preservation of life, regardless of the worth I would personally find in it. Rest assured, you have naught to fear from me save my words--which hardly cut so deep a wound that your pride shall not recover anon. Now," she bit out, "kindly place your arse on the sodding table, and keep your mouth shut unless you are addressed. You can do that much, can't you?"

The man had gone slack-jawed with incredulous astonishment-- but he didn't attempt further argument. Shivering, looking visibly ill now that he was no longer shouting at everyone in close quarters to obey his orders, the man seated himself on the edge of the table.

"Move aside," she told his companions, voice still flat and cold. They all but scrambled to clear a path as she reached for the dress jacket slung loosely over his shoulders and shoved it aside. The foul smell hit her nose almost immediately, though she didn't react, only peeled back the dirty bandage that had been slapped over his forearm in all haste some time ago. "How long has your arm been like this?"

"S... since yesterday evening...?" At her mulish expression he sputtered, "Don't give me that look! 'Tis just a scratch."

"Aye, one you've let fester long enough it's like to cost you the limb."

"Like hells it is! This is why I wanted to see someone with magic, so they'd just heal it and I'd be about my way!"

"Conjury can only do so much," she said. "Magic isn't a panacea; even I know that."

"You imperials have taken aught else of value," he snarled at her. "I'll die before I let you take my godsdamned arm in the bargain."

There it was, she realized. The fear and distrust he'd hidden beneath his belligerence--not of her specifically, or even her people, but of medical practitioners in general.

Her own helpless anger subsided beneath a small sense of pity. She suspected that - ironically enough - he had put off having his hurts addressed simply because he was too frightened to deal with a chirurgeon, and ashamed of his fear. He was far from the first patient she'd received who worried her first answer to his problem would be a bone saw, and he'd hardly be the last.

She put her hands under his arm, bracing them at the wrist and the elbow so as not to touch any part of the wound itself. The man flinched and hissed at even her slightest touch; pus had leaked into his filthy dressing from the opening of the wound, and she could see a small piece of metal lodged just under the skin. Angry red streaks lanced down his swelling limb nearly to the elbow where her index and middle fingers touched.

When Aurelia spoke again, she kept her voice perhaps a bit calmer and gentler than before.

"First things first, there's shrapnel that needs removed. It's the most likely culprit-- and then I'll need to clean and suture it and change out your dressing. I think I have some things on hand I can use to keep the infection contained. Although at this point, I can't promise that any of these measures will forego the need for amputation. Captain Brudevelle is currently working with other patients; once she is available, I shall consult with her. For the time being, that is the best I can offer."

"I told you, I am not-"

"I am very sorry that you mislike matters as they stand," she said quietly, "but your anger changes nothing. Shouting at your wound will not cleanse nor heal it. Nor will shouting at me. Hopefully it shan't come to surgery, but if it's your arm or your life, then we shall take the arm that you might survive the infection. I would not even suggest it if it were not a possibility."

He blanched even paler beneath his fever-stained cheeks, but nodded and slumped forward in a clear show of defeat. His gaze didn't meet hers. He had lost what little fight remained in him.

Aurelia turned to his two underlings.

"Now," she said, "if one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to assist me, I shall need the basin atop that sideboard filled with water and brought to me, please. Quickly."

Chapter Text

Another morning broke, grey and dimly lit. Light had finally filtered its way through the heavy blanket of clouds sitting low in the sky, driving forth the last vestiges of the storm that had spent its rage upon Mor Dhona and passed along its way north and west into Coerthas.

Gradually, the sun -- what little of it that could be seen behind the sickly purple haze of unaspected aether forking its way through the clouds like lightning-- rose over a vast graveyard of men and machina.

In daybreak's wake had come reinforcements: what few conjurers could be spared, descending the cliffside alongside reinforcements from all three of the Grand Companies as part of an organized rescue effort. Now that the rains had cleared and smoke and fog had faded, it was safe to navigate the sheer drop to the plains below, and in short order the parties had coordinated their searches by the marked quadrants the adventurers' units had left in place.

The entire day had been spent searching for survivors that might yet live, who could not be rescued in the inclement weather that had plagued them for two days. No stone, corse, or machina was left unturned, and in their wake traveled Kan-E-Senna's people with their white magic to provide what aid was needful.

Now the sun was setting again, and the Elder Seedseer felt as though barely any progress had been made. So many had been beyond her aid.

Currently she stood watch over a contingent of Serpents as they carefully extracted a very young man - a boy, really - out from beneath a reaper that had turned on its side and crushed him in its fall. Kneeling next to the mangled figure in scarlet and black, she stretched forth a hand to lay upon his brow. Aether poured into his body in a torrent of healing power and little by little the twist of agony in his face eased.

Satisfied that the lad was out of any immediate danger, the Padjal extended a hand towards the waiting Serpent, and with his support regained her feet, bracing her weight against the sturdy heft of Claustrum as she did so. "He will live."

"Yes, my lady. If you'll permit, I believe the adventurers in the nearby encampment have a holding area that-"

"No." Her tone brooked no argument. "See that he is brought to the rearguard for succor and nourishment. Gridania will not consign any of the Empire's conscripts to a prison cell or anything resembling such. They are to be treated as any of the other wounded found in the retrieval effort."

The man before her, who had so recently been willing to kill an unconscious boy, nodded slowly, his gaze not meeting hers. "At once, my lady."

With a gesture to his fellows, the injured imperial soldier was hoisted upwards to be carefully carried to the rear as ordered. Kan-E-Senna did not watch them go. She was surveying the grim scene before her: watching brightly colored coats picking through the rubble, checking for signs of life amongst the bodies of the fallen. This had all happened at her behest.

None of these people would have died here if not for me.

Out of all the city-states within Eorzea, Gridania had been the most exposed: perilously close to imperial territory, little more than a stone's throw from Baelsar's Wall. All that protected them from invasion was the Twelveswood itself, and though the Garleans harbored a healthy caution for it, their ignorance had hardly proven to be any sort of deterrent to venturing beneath its boughs. Castrum Oriens sat on the edge of the Shroud on its Gyr Abanian side, and there had been numerous forward scouting units they'd caught in the East Shroud- too close to the city for anyone's comfort.

She had seen the writing on the wall almost immediately. Nael van Darnus and Gaius van Baelsar had already taken Mor Dhona. She was not naive; she had known then it was but a matter of time before the Empire set its sights on Gridania, perceived as the weakest of the three nations. If Gridania fell, thus fell all of Eorzea. Divided, none of them would have been able to stop the VIIth Legion.

Knowing this, she'd sent missives to Merlwyb, to Nanamo and Raubahn, to Archbishop Thordan, in the hopes that a united front might give the Garleans second thoughts about their campaign, or even deter them altogether.

The people of Gridania and its surrounds were reclusive out of necessity; they had learned long ago that there was a price to live in harmony with nature, for the elementals would not abide them to dwell in the Twelveswood otherwise. And yet, she could not well ignore an impending Calamity, any more than she could ignore the steel boots and metal airships on their doorstep. Given even the smallest chance tragedy might be averted, she had tried.

And failed. Despite their best efforts, the Seventh Umbral Era was upon them.

"Seedseer?" a familiar voice rumbled, intruding upon her grim thoughts. "You look like a lady with something on her mind."

"Yes," she said distantly, gazing back in the direction of the interim camp at the edge of the field. "I am overseeing the rescue efforts. Was there aught you wished of me?"

"We're about to head over to the interim camp and see to the prisoner transport there. Merlwyb is waiting for us."

"General Aldynn, I cannot well leave when-"

"They too have folk that will be in need of succor from the Conjurers' Guild," he said. "I'm told they have an infirmary in operation and none too many healers to work it, though it seems they've lost surprisingly few souls thus far, all considered. Come. Your people know what they're about. It can keep for a bell or two, and then I'll let you right back at it if that's what you wish."

The Padjal squared her shoulders and lifted her staff, tucking it over her shoulder, before folding her hands over the front of her robes. "Very well, but only if I am allowed to tend to the prisoners. I can't imagine many have had their hurts addressed."

"I'm sure there will be no objections," he said with a weary smile. "Shall we?"

Kan-E-Senna answered him with a smile of her own, but she couldn't help one last glance over her shoulder at the wasted remains of the field -- and the movements of the rescuers still searching for survivors -- before she turned to follow.

~*~

Aurelia had registered the entrance of another person into her immediate range of perception almost as soon as the oilcloth partition shifted on its rope. She didn't react or respond at first, assuming it was either one of the other medical staff or the next person in line. They could wait another five minutes or so for her to finish her examination of the young soldier perched on the edge of the table.

She was fighting not to fall asleep on her feet, truth be told, but there was little to be done save recuse herself from further surgeries. The enhancer injection she'd given herself was quickly losing its effects. There were more in the field kit Sparrow's friend had found, but more than one infusion in a twelve-bell period was ill advised.

Besides which, they were highly addictive, and she had no intention of falling prey to that trap, either.

She rubbed her eyes and turned her waning attention back to the Lalafell sitting patiently in front of her. Like most of the other Eorzeans she'd seen, his attitude towards her was some mixture of fear, mistrust, and a wary sort of respect for her skills - Garlean or not, it seemed, in a situation like this her presumed allegiances were less important than her ability to provide aid.

Once they realized she had no intent of performing nefarious experiments upon them or harming them, the injured here had taken her presence more or less in stride. That said, she still wasn't quite certain if their reticence stemmed from her clearly visible third eye or from her profession. Really, it could be both. But she wasn't going to waste her time or theirs asking; it hardly mattered now.

"The head wound looks far worse than it is," she judged, using her index and middle fingers to lift his chin and tilt it gently from side to side. There had been a small penlight in the kit, which she used now to check his eyes. "Move your eyes with the light."

"It was bleedin' bucketfuls when me mates and I first came here."

"Scalp cuts tend to bleed quite a bit. It isn't deep at all, shouldn't need more than a cleaning." Setting the implement aside, she gently reached for the bandaged hand in his lap. He flinched, but didn't push her away. "I'm more concerned about this hand of yours."

"It hurts, miss. Please don't t-"

She winced at the smell, when she opened the soiled dressing. Two of the fingers on his hand had turned black.

"Miss," he began, but Aurelia was already shaking her head.

"With better facilities, perhaps, but with what's available to us now there's no saving them."

The soldier sighed. "The conjurers can't... you know...?"

"Unlikely," she said, "as far gone as it is now."

Before Castrum Novum had deployed her cohort to the staging camp, Aurelia's late commanding officer had taken her and some few others aside, those who had never before seen serious combat engagements, to forewarn them that the battle was going to be ugly and bloody, and they were like to be taking more limbs than they saved.

He'd said it was just the unfortunate nature of such things, and even the most advanced medical practices couldn't fix everything. But it was very different to hear "you'll become more familiar with amputations than you expected" than to actually tell someone to their face they were going to lose a limb. Witnessing the grief of the soldiers was a gut punch to her conscience.

And just as it had been with the last dozen or so who had come to her with spreading rot in their limbs, it hadn't lessened a whit. She swallowed down the guilt and continued her speech.

"For what it's worth, you do have my utmost sympathies," she said quietly. "I have a salve I can use to numb the area so the work can be done, or I can speak with Captain Brudevelle and have the conjurers put you under."

The small shoulders slumped. "I'd... I'd rather not be watchin' you take off me fingers, miss. No offence."

"None taken." Aurelia resisted the urge to offer any further platitudes, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated. She reached for the crutches leaning against the table, braced herself, and carefully rose from the stool, leaning her weight into the walking aids so that the bulk of it wasn't on her working leg, and turned around to see who had entered while she worked. "Pray give me a few moments and I'll speak with the Capt- oh."

A very tired and grim-looking Edwin stood at the entrance to the partition. His face was calm, but his eyes were very solemn.

"Captain Ahrmbraena's asked me to come and fetch you," he said.

She felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"I have a patient," she said, a trifle unsteadily. "I cannot well leave him as he is."

"That won't be necessary. I'll take over."

"Have you even slept?"

"I've had more sleep than you," he retorted, and Aurelia couldn't help but flush at that. "Go. Take the back way so you skip the line and the mud. We'll have to change out your dressings after."

"They'll need changing anyway." She glanced over her shoulder at the disconsolate-looking young man sitting on the table. "Pray be gentle with him. The fourth and fifth digits are lost and he's taking it about as hard as one would expect."

"I told you, I'll handle it. Now hurry and go."

There were a few glances her direction as she made her painful way out of the tent and back towards what passed for the medical bay, but most of the initial surprise at her third eye was gone by now, and the attention she received was perfunctory at best, the casual curiosity of onlookers wanting to see who had passed them. She limped to her destination as fast as she could safely navigate the deep and muddy ruts in the pathways, grateful that no one remarked upon her passing.

~*~

An empty stool awaited her at Sazha's bedside.

Bryngeim Ahrmbraena occupied the other. The Roegadyn lifted her head wearily to look at Aurelia as she seated herself, her eyes red-rimmed, deep and hollow shadows carved in half-moons below them, her face pale. Aurelia wondered if she had taken any rest at all, or if she had been here the whole time.

"Edwin says he's going," she said, in a low, rough voice. "I hope you weren't overly busy."

"I had a patient, but he traded places with me. The poor boy lost two fingers, but he'll live." Aurelia looked down at the dying man on the pallet. His breath rattled in his throat, harsh, slow sighs that were very loud in the dark quiet of the tent. The only other sound was the captain's soft sniffling. "Thank you for having him fetch me."

A halfhearted shrug. "Was the least I could do; Sazha said you two meant something to each other once. And... I wanted to apologize to you."

"No, it's-"

"It's not all right. That's what you were going to say, isn't it? It's not all right. You've done naught to merit my rudeness." She sighed, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. "At first it was down to you being an enemy. But then it became clear he and you- that you- and I was jealous. He told me I had no call, that you and he..."

Aurelia thought about her strange dream, and decided it would be best to keep that to herself. No need to make the woman think she was mad on top of aught else.

"As I said before. Childhood friends," she said quietly. 

"He is very fond of you."

She took the limp hand at his side, tightly bandaged, with great care, knowing how damaged it was. "As I was - am - fond of him."

"I don't know what I'll do," came the soft, choked response. "He was- we'd meant to settle. There are folk that would object to us being together, him being a Miqo'te and all, but no one whose opinions we'd mind. He had no family that I knew of, and mine... well, the less said the better. None of import to gainsay us, and we're adventurers, and... it's expected for us not to follow tradition, you know."

Aurelia nodded. She understood that notion quite well.

"But... we had all these plans. Everything we'd do... and now- it's not fair, it's just not fair-"

What was left of the captain's composure finally crumbled, and she doubled over the pallet, sobbing, her hair draped over L'sazha's shoulder.

Aurelia felt a deep-seated sense of discomfort playing witness to the woman's meltdown, unsure what course of action she should take and feeling as though she probably hadn't been meant to see such a private moment. Her countrymen were a very reticent people, and while Garleans were as subject to intense emotional outbursts as any other Spoken race, they took pains not to express those emotions in public if possible.

In the end she chose to offer silent comfort. She reached over the pallet and braced her hand, gently, against the woman's shoulder. Captain Ahrmbraena didn't speak, but she didn't push her away, and after a moment one of her hands came up to wrap around Aurelia's wrist. She didn't remove it; she simply held onto it as she cried.

For that moment at least, their respective allegiances were of no import. They were simply two people in a moment of shared grief.

As the bell wore on those breaths grew louder, harsher, slower and more torturous, as if every lift and release of his chest was made through terrible agony. Aurelia sat up, removed her hand from the captain's shoulder, and laid her palm once more against the unburnt patch of skin over his brow, to stroke through what was left of his hair. Captain Ahrmbraena watched with anguished eyes, still clutching his other hand, but said nothing.

Aurelia leaned over and kissed his good ear. It was soft and cool, and didn't flicker in response beneath the heat of her breath.

"I love you, old friend," she whispered. "I wish we could have met again in happier days. But it-... it's all right for you to let us go. We'll be fine."

You always tried to protect me, but you don't need to do that anymore.

She had heard, once, that people in comatose states could still retain some of their senses, though she didn't know how much of her words would have reached him in this state. And she didn't know if it was that reassurance or if her timing had been prescient, but after another small series of loud and tortured breaths there was a soft, long sigh from his chest, a soft click in the back of his throat-

-and that was all. There were no more breaths. He lay on the pallet, his body now just an empty shell.

Aurelia heard a loud, strangled sob, as if someone had knocked the breath from the other woman's lungs.

She took a moment to reflect; her own grief was much quieter, a small shower rather than a storm. Her best friend was gone and with him the girl she had once been, and Aurelia thought to herself she might be grieving for that loss, as well: for the sweet and sunny and outspoken little girl who had rescued her first and only friend from an imperial patrol, done what she could to help him. Stolen treats from the kitchen together, learned their Eorzean letters together, climbed trees together.

It felt like the closing of a chapter, the final death of her childhood. Truthfully, she knew that her old self had been doomed to such a fate when she had set foot on the transport back to the capitol seven years ago. But the last rattling vestiges of that life had now passed for good, and her old dreams had died along with it.

Her body felt heavy with sorrow. She was crying herself now; she could feel her tears dripping from her cheeks and into his hair.

And it was to this scene that a group of four Maelstrom soldiers arrived, flanking her on all sides. She tensed at the overwhelming impression of their presence, but she couldn't summon the wherewithal to move herself from her friend's corse long enough to retain even a shred of her dignity. Captain Ahrmbraena was likewise stirring from across the other side of the pallet.

"We've come for the prisoner," a quiet voice spoke, somewhat awkwardly, into the silence. "Admiral's orders. Conscription's been overruled, now the Conjurers' Guild has people here. She's been relieved of her duties and you're to remand her to our custody."

With some effort Aurelia forced herself to sit upright, tried to speak in her defense.

"I was told my skills were needed to-"

"Not anymore. Your reprieve's over. It's to a gaol with you. Transport leaves today." This from a second man, the curt tone marking him as the officer in charge. "Put your hands out."

She blinked at all of the Eorzeans in turn, half-blinded by her tears. There were no kind or helpful faces here; these were the cool, remote expressions of soldiers who looked upon her and saw only a faceless enemy, and somewhere through the grief, she felt her stomach clench with apprehension. There would be no understanding conversations or common ground with them.

"Damn you, I said give me your swiving hands," the man spat when she did not react right away. He grabbed her with such abrupt ferocity that the violent movement jostled her still-healing leg, smacking it painfully against the side of her wooden perch. Aurelia let out a gasped cry despite herself. It was all she could do not to fall from her perch when her wrists were yanked forward and the cold irons were slapped upon them. "Get up. Now."

"Are you lot blind?" Captain Ahrmbraena snapped, surprising Aurelia out of her partial stupor. "Look at her. She can't bloody stand, never mind walk."

"Then we'll drag her," came the sneered response. "I don't give a shite about an imperial's godsdamned comfort and nor should you, but if you're so hellsbent on taking her part then you can carry her yourself."

The Roegadyn said nothing, only fixed the man with a cold glare until he could no longer look her in the eyes. Finally she turned her attention to the bewildered young woman who now sat with her head bowed, staring with empty eyes down at the metal hasps and chains that bound her once again. Her blonde hair had come partially loose from its coiffure over time, and tumbled over one of her shoulders in a tangled mess.

Sazha's friend, she thought, and likely the only person who understood - and felt - the depths of her grief. She felt a surge of pity and anger.

"Come on, then," she said gruffly. "Arms about my neck, unless you'd like them to make you crawl through the mud. Don't worry about the crutches. I've got you."

"Captain-"

"It's Bryn, Garlean," Bryngeim replied as she hoisted Aurelia's weight into her arms with a soft, cracked grunt, her voice still hoarse from crying. "Just Bryn."

Chapter Text

The last time she’d seen the pen where the camp was holding its captives, it had been the middle of the night during a torrential downpour and she had been half mindless with pain so Aurelia didn’t remember much of it. In the light of day it was somehow even more desolate than her spotty memory had painted it. The stench of wet feathers and bird guano hung thick enough in the air to make her cough, and there was not a single place within its confines to rest that was not covered in mud or half-submerged in a puddle of water. Two days’ exposure to the elements had done the prisoners within no favors, and she didn’t much fancy her own chances were she left to her own devices here.

But, it seemed, this was not their destination.

“This way,” the scarlet-coated Hyur said to the two women, tone curt and clipped.

A few fulms past the chocobo pens and the circular run sat three rickety carts, clearly commandeered for use. Each of them bore the tabards of the Grand Companies draped over their frames, the hems dangling over the sides of the tall wagons. The birds hitched to them had the placid demeanor of draught animals– which, Aurelia thought, was likely what they were. Armed soldiers stood watch at each to prevent any attempts at escape once the carts had been loaded.

As they drew near she happened to catch the notice of a burly Highlander man in a brown coat. His grey eyes flared wide - her third eye, no doubt; surprise was a common response - before something darker slithered into them and a vicious smile twisted his lips. It made Aurelia’s skin crawl, and she forced herself to look away as if she’d only cast him a curious glance.

When Bryn made her way up the narrow steps of the cart to deposit her burden onto one of the flimsy planks that passed for a bench, she could see the man grinning at one of his fellows, casting her speculative glances all the while. Aurelia winced, fixing her gaze instead upon the heavy, cold iron chains weighting down her arms. She did not see Bryn’s gaze as it had followed hers, nor the way her eyes narrowed as they settled upon the two men nearby.

Once the Roegadyn had made sure her prisoner was seated, she held out her hands.

“Give me your hands so I can remove your bonds.”

“Not worried I’ll make a break for it?”

“You wouldn’t get far on one leg, anyroad.” Aurelia let out a soft sigh of relief once the iron fell away from her hands, but that relief was shortlived when she saw that the other woman was turning to leave. “Try not to talk to anyone. I’m going to talk to Captain Brudevelle and some other folk; I’ll send one of my people along with your crutches.”

“Captain- I mean, Bryn, wait…”

The Roegadyn was already off, taking the steps two at a time and jogging across the muddy square. Fighting the impulse to chew on the ends of her hair, Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth instead and returned her focus to the floorboards, careful not to try and look at those men a third time, and tried to push away the stab of disappointment. The woman had her responsibilities here, and besides, someone had to make arrangements for Sazha’s- for-

Yet again she forced her grief back: deep inhale, shaking exhale, in, out, until her vision cleared. There was no shoulder here she trusted enough to cry upon, and she didn’t want anyone else seeing her tears. She had her pride to consider, after all; it was about all she had left other than the clothes on her back.

The clatter of footsteps shouldn’t have startled her as much as they did, but she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t paid attention to the approaching men. The prisoner being led onto the cart in chains was a pureblooded Garlean like herself, still clad in most of his uniform. His pale brows tilted upwards at the sight of her, though he didn’t say anything as he took a seat on the other side of the cart.

Right behind him were the two men who’d been leering at her earlier, much to Aurelia’s ill-hidden dismay. They seated themselves next to the other prisoner, one on each side of him, so that they were looking straight at her. Both were Hyur, one a Highlander and the other a Midlander, and with their stocky builds and dusky complexions she took them immediately to be Ala Mhigans. They continued to stare, and she shifted uneasily in her seat, trying to arrange her legs in such a way that she could still support her splinted left foot without touching the two men.

“Afternoon, lass,” the Midlander said, leering at her. “Lovely day for a ride.”

She offered a stiff, polite smile but did not reply. His smirk faded and he glanced at his larger companion, who stood with a grunt, crossed the narrow space, and dropped his weight into the seat on her right. 

Aurelia felt every muscle in her body go rigid when he draped an arm about her slim shoulders, dragging her unyielding frame against his much more muscular one.

“Now that’s just not very friendly, is it? You’ll ask pardon for your rudeness, and say it like you mean it,” the Highlander said. “We’ll even make sure you get a blanket in your gaol cell - if you show us how sweetly you can beg, that is.”

She knew exactly what sort of ‘friendliness’ they meant, and her stomach twisted with disgust. Her hands balled into fists on her thighs, gathering handfuls of homespun, as she fought against the rising impulse to unleash her temper, against the desire to lash out and force this man out of her space by any means at her disposal.

But as humiliating and infuriating as it was, Aurelia knew she couldn’t resort to any sort of physical attack - or defense, for that matter. Couldn’t shout at them. Couldn’t hit, couldn’t shove, couldn’t do anything to make herself look hostile or like any sort of flight risk. If the Eorzeans treated imperial captives as harshly as the Empire did its criminals, then they wouldn’t need much of a pretext to punish her for infractions, real or imagined.

She was at their mercy and she knew it, and furthermore they knew that she knew it.

A pained gasp escaped her lips when the Highlander’s fist knotted in her hair and yanked backwards. "All this and you still think you’re better than us, don’t you?“ he hissed in her ear. "I wonder just how high and mighty you’ll be once we savages show you your pla-”

The threat cut off midsentence. 

Across from her seat, she saw his friend’s eyes flare wide with surprise. Aurelia tried to tilt her head to follow his gaze, but she was only able to manage an ilm or two before her cheek rested against grimy, leather-covered knuckles. Still, she could see the tip of the steel blade that now lay against the man’s ear.

“You’ll be takin’ your hands off the mort now,” a woman’s voice said.

“Go to the seven-" 

The blade’s tip dug into his flesh, just the barest bit, but it was sharp enough to draw blood. A thin crimson rivulet trickled its way down that bearded jaw and dripped into the collar of the man’s gambeson. He let out a hissed breath of startled pain.

"Wrong answer, mate. Try again." 

Aurelia felt the withdrawal of that heavy, hateful arm around her shoulders, along with the hand that had been tangled in her hair. 

"Good. Now back to the other side where you belong. You’ve one job and you’re to do it proper.”

A few moments later came the near-silent pad of leather boots on the rickety planks. The Highlander hastily stood up and moved, and the recently vacated seat was filled by a Miqo'te woman: dark red curls, green eyes, sharp features. She had a pair of familiar crutches tucked under one arm, and the other flipped a dagger into the air, catching the hilt in her palm over and over with an almost insolent ease as her tail smacked slowly but forcefully against the bench. Aurelia recognized her as the angry woman who had told Captain Ahrm- Bryn that they ought to have slit her throat when they had the chance.

“…You’re comin’ along, K'luhia?” the Midlander sputtered. “Thought the Levy had your squad on search an’ rescue duty.”

“I’ve been put on minder detail for the nonce.” Aurelia caught a mirthless flash of canine as the woman offered him a cold smile. “Captain Ahrmbraena don’t trust none of you to behave yourselves. Can’t say I disagree after what I just seen.”

The man let out a thin, nervous laugh.

“Here now, Lu,” he began, “Rolf and me was only trying to have a bit of fun with her. No harm done, aye?”

“Think I know right enough what sort of 'fun’ you’re after," she scoffed. "Find it elsewhere. The night doves got warm an’ willin’ bodies aplenty.”

“Takin’ an imperial’s part like-”

“You," the Miqo'te hissed, ”won’t be finishin’ that sentence.“

The Midlander’s jaw snapped audibly shut.

"Now, best you mark what I said an’ leave her be. Otherwise your manhood’ll be makin' intimate acquaintance with me stabbers.”

Even if they’d wished to continue the altercation there would have been little opportunity, for it was in that tense and sullen silence that a line of prisoners clambered into the cart to take seats in any open space available, their chains clinking and rattling loudly. The Highlander man gave the woman a surly glare, but retired to his original seat with a huff.

Aurelia glanced at her unlikely savior, a hesitant, questioning look. The Miqo'te sighed.

“You can talk if you like, imperial.” She held out the crutches. “Here. From Bryn. Said she has somethin’ else for you but didn’t want to give it to you yet, not when it’ll just get confiscated.”

“We’re headed to a prison, or so I was told.”

“Aye, the Emerald Spire. Old Ishgardian border fortress built to keep an eye on Silvertear Lake. It ain’t much in the way of a gaol- more like a watchtower with a dungeon attached, but it’s the best the Levy could do on short notice. Spirithold an’ Toto-Rak are the closest others, and the Gridanians’re real strict 'bout outsiders comin’ into the Shroud. Woodsin and the like.”

“…What’s 'woodsin’?”

“Somethin’ to do with their elementals. I dunno. You’d have to ask Edwin.”

Shouts across the carts between the drivers caught her attention. She watched two additional soldiers apiece board the three carts before the steep steps were folded upwards and the low-slung opening on each was shut and securely latched. 

The wheels under their feet gave an abrupt jerk, the lurch forward nearly sending Aurelia out of her seat and to the splinter-ridden floorboards before she was able to right herself. But there were no more sudden starts after that. They were off, traversing slowly up an incline that led out of the Flats and presumably to another road.

She cast one last, longing look over her shoulder back in the direction of the camp and its infirmary. At least there she’d felt useful, somewhat in her element if not quite at home, and now even that had been taken away. The sudden removal of her - well, her privileges, truth be told - sat ill with her, as did the painful awareness that in all this time not a soul had explained why they were suddenly being transported.

“Lu, is that right? Thank you for helping me.”

“Aye, that’s right. And don’t thank me. Bryn said you was Cap'n L'sazha’s old friend and I owed him a life debt. Can’t very well do aught for him now, so I’m payin’ it forward by watchin’ out for you.”

“I-I see.”

“Most of this lot’re good honest folk just defending their homes from the Empire. They won’t be friendly, but they’ll not harm you.” The Lominsan’s cool gaze settled, rather pointedly, upon the pair of sulking men. “But Eorzea's got its good and its bad folk like anywhere else. There’s some o'these mots what’d sell their own mam to a fishman for a fat coinpurse. You’re fair enough to look upon an’ the pleasure barges would make a tidy sum off your back - if you’re understandin’ me.”

Aurelia did understand. She felt blood suffuse her cheeks.

“But,” Lu continued with an almost overwrought cheer, “anyone what wants to lay hand to you has to go through me first. So don’t you be worryin’ yourself about that.”

“So… why are they taking us somewhere else?”

“Probably to keep you out of the way an’ under guard while they continue cleanup here.” Lu shrugged, tapping the flat of her dagger’s blade against her knee. “And keep any soul from runnin’ before the trials start.”

“Trials? What trials?”

The Miqo'te cast her a pitying look. "Did you think we was just goin’ to leave you all to rot in a gaol forever? We’ve not the space to hold you lot that long, nor the resources left to feed all the extra mouths.“

That sounded… distinctly ominous, but she knew Lu wouldn’t be sympathetic so she said nothing more. It was just as well; the woman didn’t seem much inclined to speak more than her duty required, not being half as kind-natured as Cheerful Sparrow nor as broad-minded as Bryn Ahrmbraena had turned out to be.

Aurelia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the crutches, rested one cheek against the rough wood, and tried to empty her mind for the time being. Gods, she thought, how very far the water had flowed beneath time’s bridge. Her younger self would have been thrilled. She would have seen it as an opportunity for adventure. But her younger self had not been so careworn by the Empire’s myriad cruelties large and small, nor had she lost her best friend in the world.

"Then let’s go south! Once I’m done with my service, once you’re done, we can go adventuring together. Your sword, my medicine- let’s just, let’s just go, Sazha, let’s just get out of this godsforsaken place-”

She’d got her wish, all right. And its cost had been far too dear.

~*~

Her leg began to pain her more and more as the day wore on, enough that she could feel nothing but relief when the tower finally came into view–what was left of it. The sun was setting behind the charred, deadfall-ridden remains of what must have once been a pretty copse, blackened splinters of tree trunks thrusting upwards out of ash-choked earth. It was a disheartening, depressing sight, and only made the ruins of the tower appear more forboding.

A flicker of violet-tinged light arced across the outline of the darkening cloud cover, followed by a sullen rumble erupting from the grey sky overhead: a promise of more storms imminent. Lu looked up, glowering, and shook her head. “As if two bleedin’ days of rain weren’t bad enough,” she said, and in silence Aurelia heartily agreed.

“Right, you lot,” a man shouted from the front of the cart, “look alive! On your feet, and be quick about it.”

With a loud rattle the conscripts stood, gathering the heavy iron links of their own chains in their hands. All, she saw, had been bound together at the ankles with heavy iron bracelets in a sort of chained line to prevent any escape attempts. They shuffled past her, eyes downcast and lips grimly set. They’re as frightened and worried as I am, she thought, and who can blame them for it?

The uniformed Elezen, noting that she had remained seated, gestured in her direction.

“You there,” he barked at her. He looked upon Aurelia with a mild sort of disgust, as though she were a particularly distasteful insect he’d happened across while on a hike in the woods. “You’ve to the count of five to get yourself up and join the processing line, or you can crawl. I’m not minded which choice you make, but make it.”

At her side Lu rolled her eyes and stood, sheathing her dagger, before turning with an outstretched hand. “Aye, well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

Aurelia clasped the hand that was offered and found her own all but crushed in a surprisingly strong, callused grip, one that pulled her upright with a casual ease almost before she’d managed to brace herself. She wobbled for a briefly alarming moment trying to distribute her weight across the crutches before she was able to center herself. Once she reached the narrow steps that had been lowered from the gate, Lu extended an arm, blocking her from the exit.

“Let me go first. Sit yourself down on that top stair and hand me your sticks.”

The guard’s expression darkened. “I said count of five.”

“Unless you brought the prisoner all this way just to have her break her bleedin’ neck fallin’ off a hayrick then you’ll be findin’ where you stowed your patience, mate. I’m her minder, I set the pace.”

The two locked eyes, his hazel with her green–then he broke his gaze with an annoyed scoff, folded his arms across his chest, and stared out at a point somewhere over the heads of the two women as if he couldn’t be bothered to continue the argument. The Miqo'te, Aurelia noted, seemed to have the very enviable power to make most everyone who challenged her back down when it came to it.

“Here, put your arms 'round me neck. You’ll have mud all on the back of your trousers, but this way you’ll not be riskin' a fall an’ break the other leg.” Aurelia draped her arms about the woman’s neck and tried not to flinch at the dull throb of pain in her leg as she was pulled down them while sitting, one step at a time. Each jolt of her hard landing made her clench her teeth, but there was little to be done for it. “Put your foot down now. Careful, it’s slick.”

The crutches were pressed into her hands and after taking a moment to get her bearings again she began to move, limping to the back of the line with her minder in tow. She could feel that guard’s stare boring into the back of her head, watching her every step she took.

The wind was gusting sharp and chilly and the incipient rain a sting of cold drizzle like needles on her exposed skin by the time she made her way to the bored-looking Elezen woman in a yellow uniform, looking down a handful of parchment which appeared to be some sort of list. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Aurelia’s third eye but otherwise made no comment, her gaze swift and perfunctory before she glanced back at the papers and reached for a quill that sat in an inkpot. It was perched on a wooden crate, which appeared itself to be what passed for a desk.

Two quick dips, a swift tap of the filed point on the edge of the pot, and the woman looked at her. “You understand Common?”

“I do.”

“Name and rank, please.”

“Aurelia jen Laskaris.”

“…Lascelles?”

“Laskaris,” Aurelia corrected. “I can spell it if-”

“No need.” The Eorzean letters formed with an artless grace from the loops and turns of the pen nib. “Right, that’s the last one. Take her to the keep with the others.”

The woman didn’t acknowledge her again as the guards took Aurelia by her arm and all but dragged her to the fortress entrance. She had thought that the building was damaged in the recent battle but as she set foot within she saw that it had stood partially exposed to the elements for some time. Ivy creepers grew over the edges of stone and curled across the floor between the boards, and collapsed beams and mortar lay across the entrances to long-abandoned hallways. The keep in the courtyard, however, appeared more or less intact.

In a good deal of pain and so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, she barely registered the lack of light or the crowding of the cells until she heard the creak of a barred door swinging open on its hinges. Aurelia hesitated, her eyes traveling over what she could see of the haggard and drawn faces that looked back at her. 

This cell was meant to hold perhaps three bodies at the most. Currently by her count it held nine, and she would be ten.

Lu muttered in her ear:

“A lesson to keep in mind: Gaol screws’re naught but curs. Nip at ankles an’ bluster all day but don’t have no bitin’ power when they’re called to account. Keep your head down an’ do what needs must but don’t let 'em get to you. Shouldn’t be much more than a fortnight afore the brass decide what’s to be done with you - for better or worse. Now get in there before I shove you across.”

She limped slowly over the iron threshold, and had only just got her crutches free of the door before it slammed shut behind her. The rattle of a key turning in a tumbler met her ears and Aurelia balanced on the crutches, frozen in place in near-total darkness. She had no idea where she was supposed to-

A hand tapped her on the shoulder and a soft voice, a young woman’s voice, said, “There’s some room on the cot still. Over here.”

Guided by the faceless stranger, she was able to make her way slowly through the group and sit down on the pallet. It was little more than molding dried grass covered in a threadbare blanket, but it was a small improvement on the floor.

No one else moved or spoke to her after that. Save the odd murmur or a quiet sniffle and the slow maddening dripping sound of a leak somewhere in the stone above, the gaol cell lay silent. The air felt close and stale, but a distinct chill lingered in the air, one that seeped through the homespun she wore and stuck to her skin. 

With no other recourse, the Garlean leaned back until her body sat flush against the damp stones of the wall, and along with the others, she began to wait.

Chapter Text

When Aurelia next awakened the only indication of a chance from night to daytime was the angle of a thin sliver of light, shimmering fitfully betwixt a stray crack in the wall’s mortar.

She stirred, shivered from the damp chill in the air, and tilted her chin curiously at the sleeping man whose head lolled on her right shoulder. Her cursory inspection of the cramped cell, now dimly lit, showed that this was the sleeping arrangement for everyone: shoulder to shoulder for warmth, if not protection.

A glance into the other two cells confirmed that she was the only Garlean who appeared to be participating in this endeavor. The men in the other two cells had isolated themselves, sitting stiffly back to back against the walls, separate from the others.

“Good morning, my lady,” a voice said to her left.

She turned her head to address the speaker with a strained smile. The owner of the voice was a pretty Midlander woman with straight midnight-black hair, cropped to regulation length. She was holding something in her hands, and Aurelia caught a scent that roused a bodily demand she’d almost forgotten she had.

“Hiro and I saved you some of the rations. The guards brought it by a few bells past, but you were sleeping so soundly you didn’t stir.”

She blinked at the trencher’s contents. It was some kind of simple stew, lentils and sliced sausage in a thin broth with a rough-cut hunk of dark brown bread.

“It’s gone cold,” the woman continued apologetically, but Aurelia paid no heed. She was already tearing out a piece of bread and soaking it in the broth to soften it, then scooping out a heap of lentils and meat to shovel into her mouth. The food was in fact cold and the lentils overcooked, but she couldn’t remember the last proper meal she’d had. It felt like the best thing she’d ever tasted.

“Thank you,” she managed once she’d eaten enough to silence the feral gnashing of her hunger. “How long was I asleep?”

“I think… three full changes of the guard? It was a very long time. The woman with the knives said you’d been conscripted to work in the infirmary back at their camp, so we thought it best to let you sleep. She’s been coming down to watch them, said she was making sure they only do what they’re supposed to do.”

“What? You could have awakened me. I don’t want to be a bur-”

“Beg pardon, my lady, but there’s barely any room for one set of feet to walk,” was the blunt response. “It’s true we could have awakened you, but it's easier for all concerned to simply bring you aught that’s needful.”

She felt the urge to argue, but let it go. The woman had a point: their quarters, or what passed for quarters, were so cramped that there was little enough room to stand and sit.

“What’s your name?” she asked instead.

“Sayaka, my lady. I’m - I was - part of the Fifth Cohort signal corps.”

“An Othardian name.”

“Yes. I hail from Doma, my lady.”

“Please,” Aurelia winced, “don’t call me 'my lady.’ I’m neither your mistress nor am I anyone's commanding officer.”

“But you are pureblooded, my lady,” Sayaka said patiently, as if that explained everything.

“…Well, yes, but that doesn’t-”

The rattling clank of metal on stone interrupted them, followed by the creak of the door’s turning hinges. Sayaka immediately froze in place, her gaze cast down to the rushes as an indistinct figure peered between the bars with a torch held aloft. And then Aurelia herself tensed, for she recognized the face that was looking in on them. It was one of the Ala Mhigan men from the cart, the pair who’d harassed her before Bryn’s underling had interfered.

His eyes swept over her as if she were invisible and the light passed along.

After the door closed both women sighed in unison, paused, looked at each other, and grinned. It was a grim sort of camaraderie to be sure, but when Sayaka spoke again she seemed a bit less diffident than before.

“They’ve been coming in every few bells or so, as near as I can tell,” she muttered. “Everyone’s been wondering what the Eorzeans are planning to do with us. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything, would you?”

“I remember hearing rumors about a trial of some sort. Beyond that, I know as much as the rest of you.”

The Doman engineer didn’t say anything for a long time. All she could hear was the slow shuffle of the other woman’s feet in the soiled rushes. In one of the other blocks, someone else coughed, then sniffled, then went silent.

“A trial,” Sayaka said, and she could hear the note of fear there. “You don’t think…”

“Think what?”

“...No, my lady, forgive me. 'Tis naught.”

“I’m not your lady," Aurelia repeated. "What were you going to say?”

With clear reluctance that pretty face tilted upwards to look at her, dark brown eyes wide. “…You don’t think they’ll just sentence the lot of us to hang, do you?”

The question chilled her. No one in the camp had seemed to want to address anything beyond the immediate needs of the wounded, when she’d been there. Even Bryn had been closemouthed, stating only that it wasn’t her responsibility what the command actually decided to do with any prisoners. That lack of clarity didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but she didn’t want to say so. 

“I don’t have anything against the Eorzeans at all,” Sayaka said plaintively, before she could answer. “I was a good student and I learned very quickly, so I was able to secure a sponsor to send me and my brother to the capitol. For our schooling, you know- and I thought perhaps if I joined the imperial army and earned my citizenship I might be able to help the people in my village. I didn’t think…”

She nodded. "I know."

“I never would have hurt anyone. I haven’t even laid hand to a weapon since basic.”

“So that’s it, then,” someone else said. “We’re waiting to see if we live or die.”

“Assuming they ever plan to let us see the light of day again,” a gloomy retort echoed from the cell next to theirs, this from one of the other Garleans. “For all any of us know, the savages might’ve bloody well decided to let us rot down here.”

They could do that, she knew. She didn’t think they would, but they could. They could simply let them starve to death down here and no one would be the wiser- and she hoped that notion hadn’t occurred to any of their captors. The Spire was such an isolated location that it could be weeks before anyone thought to check and see how they were faring. If anyone remembered they had been sent here at all.

But what choice did they have save to hope for the best?

~*~

Kan-E-Senna was angry.

To Raubahn Aldynn, who had known the Elder Seedseer for several years and had never known the outwardly mild-mannered woman to even raise her voice save on very rare occasions, it was a remarkable experience. Her eyes were fever-bright and her cheeks rosy and the air about her small frame fair seemed to crackle with energy, as if the Greenwrath itself were contained within her bones.

Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn’s countenance was like a thunderstorm to Kan-E-Senna’s fire: her pale brow knit in a fierce scowl, arms folded in a defiant yet defensive posture across her chest. “I was under the impression that the Levy was under my authority. I am not going to pull personnel when our numbers are far outstripped as it is!”

“Surely we have enough-”

“Seedseer, I’m aware you mislike the way this has been handled. But what’s done is done. You can make any decision you like with the people under your authority, but Commodore Sletteidin made the same call I would have made in his position.”

The smaller woman took a deep, visible breath, clearly trying to rein in her ire.

“To those souls we granted succor upon the Flats,” she said, “I have already given my word that they will never see the wrong side of a gaol cell. I did this because our plan will not work if we cannot prove our word can be trusted.”

“Then what do you suggest? I’m not going to have imperial prisoners given the run of the camp. I wanted all of these people watched and kept from running to the XIVth with intelligence, and that is easier done from a holding cell.”

Kan-E-Senna looked out over the muddy remains of the Foreign Levy’s interim encampment in silence. After a near moon spent here in cleanup, they could afford to tarry no longer despite the widespread destruction that still remained. Their people needed all the hands that could be spared for disaster relief. Now that preparations had been finalized at home, all three leaders of the Grand Companies had given orders to make preparations for departure. Rites had been said over the last of the bodies retrieved from the battlefield, the pyres burnt until the coals had died to embers, and the ashes blown across the land by the southern winds.

Those who had been held at the camp upon the Seedseer’s arrival had been removed from it nearly as soon as she had seen to their hurts, as if it had been planned specifically due to her presence. Hence her wrath, Raubahn knew. She felt she had been made to give a promise that it appeared she had immediately broken, and he couldn’t fault her frustration any more than he could fault Merlwyb’s logic.

Deciding to break the impasse as the third voice, he cleared his throat until he was certain he had their attention. 

“Do we know exactly how many were taken prisoner by the Levy?” he asked Merlwyb. “Conscripts and Garleans separately?”

“At last count the Levy itself held nine Garlean prisoners all told, eight men, one woman. Most our people encountered were officers who chose either to attempt escape, attack the rescue squads, or take their own lives rather than surrender. As far as the full headcount, I couldn’t say off the top of my head.”

“Where are they being held?”

“The Emerald Spire.” Merlwyb pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll request an exact number. Linkpearl communications are still unstable, but I think if we keep them brief there shouldn’t be a problem obtaining that information quickly.”

“Seedseer, do you know roughly how many of the prisoners Gridania would be able to take in?”

“Twoscore, perhaps. That’s in addition to all the injured conscripts we have already taken as wards of the Twin Adder. I don’t know that we have the resources at present to support many more.” She sighed, bowed her head, and he knew she was thinking of the people who had been lost in the partial destruction of the city. “Should it be needful later, we can certainly revisit that number. Full well do I know you and the Admiral bear your own burdens, and I would not add to them.”

He nodded.

“The Admiral’s exactly right about the logistics, mind,” he said. “I don’t think it’d be advisable to move them again before a decision is made, for a number of reasons. So instead of trying to shift them all about and figure out which group should go to which camp and risk muddying the waters further- 'tis my thinking that we should go to them. Will the Spire have any space suitable to host these proceedings?”

“Most of the fortress has lain in ruins this past score of years,” Merlwyb said, “or so I’m told. But the keep itself, along with its gaol, has been in continuous use by the Twin Adder as a watchtower and is still usable. There should be at least one space within its walls that can serve our purposes well enough. Three more souls to serve on the panel, I should think; 'twould be best for all concerned to bring this to a swift conclusion.”

“And should anyone wish to speak in defense of any of these poor sods, they’ll have the chance to do it. Aye, that includes the Garleans,” Raubahn said, at the sight of Merlwyb’s lifted brows. “Much as I mislike it, we owe it to ourselves to be as evenhanded as possible.”

She appeared to mull this over for a moment, lips pursed in thought, before slowly nodding.

“I suppose I’ve no objections,” the Admiral allowed at last. “Though I doubt they're going to like our terms.”

“Then that is their choice,” he said. “We'll let them be the masters of their own fates.”

~*~

The days and nights had long since blended into each other, a monotony of dim light and fouled rushes and unrestful sleep broken only by meager rations and the intermittent visits of the guards. Lu didn’t say anything to her even in passing, just kept a watchful eye on soldiers and prisoners alike, and Aurelia understood that matters had not changed between them, regardless of the woman’s connection to a mutual friend. She’d receive no aid from the Miqo'te in either direction save the bare minimum. It was disheartening, but not surprising.

At first she had tried to track the days by the number of times the guards changed, but she soon lost track of that, and the light between the mortar cracks was even less reliable due to the unseasonably cold and violent storms that rolled frequently through the area. Once or twice she heard one of the guards mutter something about odd aether in passing, but she wasn’t sure if they were talking about the weather or something else, and none of them were friendly enough for her to attempt to ask.

One dreary morning the rattle of keys and the opening door woke her out of a feverish doze - between the damp chill and the constant slow leak in the mortar, everyone on the block was nursing an incipient cold, Aurelia included - and a fist slammed against the metal bars of the gaol cell.

“Look alive, Garlean, you’ve a visitor.”

She coughed, shifting herself into something resembling a sitting position, and blinked owlishly at the Elezen man staring in at her. His expression was utterly neutral but the shifting of his feet betrayed his impatience.

“Well, hurry it along, then,” he said. “We don’t got all day.”

Sayaka helped her to her feet and handed her the crutches. The Doman’s face was a picture of concern, but she didn’t speak as she watched the woman she’d cautiously befriended make her careful way over the floor to the cell door. The tumbler turned with a hollow click and the barred door was opened just enough to let her limp across the threshold.

The guardsman gestured with a jerk of his chin. “This way.”  

Aurelia followed, trying not to flinch at the slamming of the wooden door behind her and wondering who on earth would have come here to see her specifically. Bryn perhaps, but she couldn’t think of anyone else who would have taken especial interest in an imperial prisoner. She limped carefully behind the man up a set of stairs to the main floor, where she saw-

“Sparrow!”

The Roegadyn stood with his arms folded across his broad chest at the threshold of a closed door that led into one of the long-unused rooms inside the keep. His hazel eyes lit up with something like relief at the sight of her. He was not in the scarlet colors of the Maelstrom any longer; he wore a suit of well-used leather armor, his axe strapped over his back.

“You’ve a half bell,” the guard said briskly at her back. “Make the best of your time.”

Once the door had snicked shut behind him, Sparrow reached out to embrace her, walking aids and all. 

“Glad t'see you hale an’ whole, lass.”

“Both of those states are debatable,” she said wryly, “but I still breathe for the time being. How long have I been here?”

“Not quite three weeks. Camp’s breakin’ down to roll out. We’ve done about all we can do at the Flats for now. As far as you and yours go, a panel of judges arrived at first light this morning for the hearings. There was some sort o’ miscommunication - that’s why you've been here so long - but it’s mostly been sorted.” His worried expression didn’t change. “They’ve allowed any folk what want to speak on behalf of the prisoners to make statements.”

“So then the rumor was true? We’re all to stand trial?”

“Eh? Aye, that’s so.” Sparrow scratched the back of his head, looking somewhat abashed. “But if you’re worried about gettin’ rotten fruit thrown at you or the like, don’t. It won’t be a spectacle. Just you and the panel and character witness statements from whomever decided to put in a good word for you. Bryn’ll have given hers, and me an’ Captain Brudevelle already gave ours. You’ve a goodly number of folks in your corner, lass, as it happens.”

She stared down at the stones beneath her feet.

“You’ve never really answered my question, Sparrow.”

“What question?”

“Why do you keep going out of your way for me? We barely know each other; most would call us enemies, in fact. And yet you’ve shown me naught but the utmost consideration.”

For once Cheerful Sparrow, whose lighthearted personality so often seemed to be so fitting of his name, appeared at a loss. He opened his mouth as if he meant to speak, then shut it, then opened it again. This time a sigh issued forth and an old pain flickered at the corners of his eyes, deepening the lines in his face. It muted his smile somewhat, rather like a cloud that had drifted across the afternoon sun.

“My daughter,” he said at last, “was very much like you.”

Her grip on the crutches was so tight her knuckles had gone colorless. She peered up at him, very carefully, eyes half-hidden beneath dirty fringe.

“Her name was Yellow Daisy- looked just like her ma. She was serious and dutiful and very kind, had plans to travel south to Ul'dah and study at their Phrontistery once she came of age. Fair bit of a presence; I could pick her laugh out of a room of hundreds. After my wife’s passing, I took up mercenary work for the extra coin - like aught else in that city, schooling of that sort costs money. I used to worry she resented me for always bein’ gone on jobs, but if she did she never said so.”

“You say 'was.’ What did she… what happened to her?”

His smile trembled in place.

“When the Garleans first arrived in Eorzea, they drove out a host of smallfolk from their villages an’ farmholds an’ took that land to build their fortresses. Most folk fled to towns and cities, but some turned to banditry. Daisy came across an overturned cart in the road one day on her way home from market and tried to help, not knowin’ it were just a ruse. Gave 'em her food, but they didn’t believe her when she said she had no coin. So…”

“Oh, no,” she breathed, “they-”

“The Yellowjackets sent word by linkpearl. I left Cap'n L'sazha’s crew at port with our job half done so I could go home and bury my only child. She was nineteen summers.” She felt the warm weight of his hand on her shoulder. “Now before you go an’ start blamin’ yourself, you should know that Daisy’s death was no more your doin’ than mine.”

“Why?” Another lost life that could be laid squarely at the feet of her people. “Gods’ sake, Sparrow! Why don’t you hate me?”

“Why should I? You’ve not a malicious bone in your body, lass. I saw that much the night we found you. You freely offered to help when you knew your skills were needed.”

“How do you know I didn’t simply do that to save myself?”

“Have you known, at any time, what we planned to do with you?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Then why would you help us?”

"I had to."

"Why?"

“...Because I can't make myself ignore people's problems if I can do aught to help. The woman who raised me used to call it my curse.“

Sparrow laughed.

"Aye, your Empire would see that as a weakness, I expect. But that kindness takes a special sort o’ strength. Especially when refusin’ to turn your back on folk in need oft repays a body with naught save even more trouble.”

“Well,” Aurelia said with a mirthless laugh of her own, “I expect that shall prove true enough. Taking the part of a Garlean prisoner - particularly under present circumstances - is in fact liable to be troublesome for you.”

“ 'Tis like to be troublesome for me an’ Bryn both,” he agreed. The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. “But I couldn’t help my daughter. I have a chance to help you and I mean to take it. So I’ll not be lookin’ away, either.”

“You’re a good man, Sparrow, do you know that?” Her throat felt so raw and tight she could barely choke the words out. “Would that we had been on the same side of this pointless bloody war.”

“Had we been fightin’ on the same side, lass, 'tis unlikely we’d have ever met. Like this, anyroad.”

She bowed her head. That was true enough.

“Can you promise me one thing about tomorrow?” she ventured. “Please? Just one thing?”

“What is it?”

Aurelia chewed on her lip, her gaze shifting towards the closed door. “The other prisoners,” she said. “The conscripts, I mean. I know you can’t simply set everyone free, but most of them were given no choice in joining the army and I doubt anyone will listen to me. They deserve someone to speak for them as much as I do, if not more.”

“And still not a thought for your own neck,” he said gently, as the guard opened the door to come take her back to the cell. “I’ll do what I can, lass, I promise.”

Chapter Text

"Seedseer?" a diffident voice called from the nearby doorway.

Kan-E-Senna barely spared the runner an upwards glance from the document she was scribing. Her fingers were chilled and aching from the damp cold, cramped and stained with ink from a day's worth of work, and the proceedings had only just begun. Though she was well accustomed to administrative matters when necessity called for her intervention, it had been a long time since the Padjal had felt compelled to confine herself to a room in this manner.  

She scratched out her signature and set the quill back in its pot, reaching for the well-used scrap of blotting paper nearby. The room was darker than it should have been in mid-afternoon. A distant rumble of thunder shook the stones; combined with the grey bank of clouds she'd seen earlier this morning, it promised another bout of foul weather.

At this point, she thought with an internal grimace, it was safe to assume that most of the summer crops this year would fail. This was going to-

"...Ma'am? There's a man outside wanting to speak with you."

"One moment, I pray you." Carefully she dabbed her signature with the paper, then relaxed in her seat with a grimace and used the back of her hand to move stray strands of blonde fringe from her eyes without smudging herself with the ink. "Does this man have a message, or does he ask a boon?"

"It's a request. Says he's passing it on from a prisoner."

"If he is here about witness statements, we have given ample time-"

"He says it's not. I told him the trials would start at first light, and he said that's fine, he'd sleep on one of those old mess hall benches until first light to have the chance to speak to you if needs must."

She stifled a regretful sigh.

"Very well," she said with a serenity she was struggling to feel. "Send him in."

"At once, ma'am."

Kan-E-Senna cast a somewhat longing look at Claustrum leaning placidly against the wall, its stark white outline beckoning her to plead fatigue or some other excuse that would allow her to take her leave and rest for the night. But the notion that this man - a soldier, presumably - was willing to subject himself to some considerable inconvenience on behalf of an enemy prisoner was too intriguing to pass up.

A series of loud rapping noises echoed from the other side of the door.

"Second Lieutenant Cheerful Sparrow of the Foreign Levy," the runner called.

She'd known by the name that the soldier who entered would be a Roegadyn. He was an older man, his brown hair interspersed with shocks of glittering silver and sun-wrinkles winging outwards from the corners of his eyes. He'd taken off his hat as he entered the room, dressed in civilian garb, and was carrying a pack over one shoulder. A heavy-looking black bag of strange make dangled on straps in his left hand.

"A fine evening to you, Lady Seedseer," he said politely. "I know 'tis terrible late, but I was hoping to speak with you personally. It concerns the conscripts, you see."

"I was merely finishing the day's work." She gestured for him to pull up a spare chair leaning against the wall, and watched him as he set his packs down to pull it over to the desk. "Tomorrow begins the hearings for the Garlean prisoners. As long as I've made sufficient preparations before I seek my bed, 'tis of no import. How can I be of service?"

"If this is a bad time-"

"Forgive me, Master...?"

"Just Sparrow. I'm an old mercenary, I don't stand on ceremony."

"Master Sparrow, then." She folded her hands in her lap. "If you'll permit me a moment of honesty, at present there is no such thing as a 'good' time. We are trying to see the matter of the enemy's prisoners resolved as quickly and quietly as possible so that we can attend to vital business in our respective cities. Would that I could promise these poor people a truly fair trial, but..."

"I know you aren't doin' any of this to be cruel, Lady Seedseer." His hands kneaded nervously at his woolen traveling cap. "A trial's unpleasant business, 'specially a rushed one, but there's no jury in all Eorzea impartial enough to give a Garlean aught but short shrift. Although... if you don't mind me askin', do you know what's to be done with them?"

"That is not a matter I am at liberty to discuss," she said mildly. The note of rebuke in her voice was unmistakable, however, and in the dim light she thought she could see his cheeks flush.

"Right. Sorry. It's just-" The Limsan Roegadyn coughed to clear his throat, obviously ill at ease by the way he shifted in his seat. "It's just that I were asked by Miss Aurelia to make sure their conscripts were treated fairly, is all."

"Who?"

"Miss Aurelia," he repeated. "One of the Garleans. She'll not be hard for you to spot on the morrow, seein' as she's the only lass in the lot -- down in the keep gaol by her lonesome at the minute, I shouldn't wonder."

"...She's expressed concern for the conscripts' fates? I was under the impression Garleans looked down on those not of their race."

"Aye, well, she's a strange one,”  Sparrow shrugged. “I'm sure she's worried for her own neck, but she didn't ask after what's to happen to her, just them."

"They've been sent to each city-state to serve out their sentences in rebuilding efforts, with immediate effect." At the sight of his frown, she continued: "I've obtained promises that the conscripts will be allowed to remain in Eorzea once their time is served, if they wish it. 'Tis unlikely they will be able to return to their homes, at least until relations with the Empire can be normalized. If that should ever come to pass."

"She'll be that glad to know they've been spared," he acknowledged, but the grin he gave her was decidedly rueful. "...Don't rightly know how she's survived military life for this long, between you an' me. I've spent nights on feather mattresses not half as soft as that girl."

"Service in the imperial army is compulsory even for Garleans, so I'm told."

"Mayhap that's so. Anyroad," Sparrow grunted, his knees creaking as he stood, "I'd best be seekin' my own bed afore this storm breaks if I'm to head out at first light. Give her my regards if you're able. If things turn out for her, I hope she an' I might could meet again - under better circumstances, o'course."

"If I chance to speak with your friend alone, I shall do so," she promised quietly. "You have given me much to consider this evening, Master Sparrow. Thank you."

"Consideration's all a body can ask. Aught you'll care t'read is in the statement." He gestured with his chin to the smaller of the two bags, still sitting on the floor. "Should you decide not to have the poor lass swing from a gallows, mayhap you could find a way of gettin' that medicine bag back to her."

"Medicine bag." She paused. "Your friend is a healer, then?"

"Aye, that she is."

In response, she offered a slow and thoughtful nod.

"I shall review the statements carefully," she said, and meant it. "A good night to you, Master Sparrow."

"Good evening to you, Seedseer."

Kan-E-Senna's leaf-green gaze lingered on the door long after it had shut behind him.

~*~

A full turn of the sun had passed, and the conscripts had not returned.

Aurelia had known something was amiss when the rattle of footsteps preceded the smack of the door against the wall much earlier than expected; it was early morning, the cellblock still full dark. Even though she was awake for the loud banging against the iron bars, she still cringed at the ringing scrape of its echo in her ears.

The occupants of the cells began to stir in earnest, squinting bleary-eyed into the sudden intrusion of light, their wakefulness punctuated with muffled coughing and sniffling. Wincing as a particularly strong cough sent a lancing pain through her chest, she leaned forward to reach for the crutches that leaned against the wall.

"All right, imperials," the man had said gruffly, handing his torch to one of the other guards at his back, "get up. We're clearing you lot out-- not you, Garlean."

Confused, she had retreated, watching the others file out of the cell one at a time, unwilling to meet her eyes. She had caught one last glimpse of her cellmate's pale, fearful face as the Doman glanced back over one shoulder, before the exit to the keep slammed shut and she was left in near-total darkness with a single torch by the door the only light in the room.

That had been at first light, and the angle of the light through the mortar cracks had lengthened before dimming to naught, and she was still alone.

Fighting back her anxiety for the nonce she leaned back against the damp wall, carefully flexed her healing leg, and reached beneath the filthy dressing to adjust it - the wound itself had healed clean despite all odds - and winced. Without any chance to exercise it on a regular basis, the muscle had begun to atrophy despite her best efforts. She'd need to put some work into rectifying that problem in the coming weeks.

Assuming you have weeks remaining, murmured a tiny voice in the back of her mind.

"By the bleeding Twelve," she muttered aloud. A derisive snort echoed from the other side of the block.

"Desperate enough to invoke false gods already, I see. They'll not save you, you know."

Aurelia frowned in the direction of that voice. Squinting at the barest hint of a man's silhouette against the far opposite wall availed her little save the suggestion of silver-white hair and the scruff of an unshaven face. "We shan't know the outcome until we've had a chance to speak our piece."

"To speak?" he scoffed. "Were I you, girl, I'd not waste my breath attempting to reason with savages. It's clear our fates have been decided."

"Perhaps if you have resigned yourself to die."

"Turning coat to the Eorzeans like a coward, then, are you? Hoping to save your own neck? If you believe they've considered aught for any of us besides a hangman's noose then you're a greater fool than I took you for."

"You chose to surrender rather than fight to the death, along with everyone else here," she shot back. "The Empire would have us fall upon our swords rather than submit to captivity. What call have you to lecture anyone upon cowardice?"

There was no response save the sound of soft muttering, another series of coughs, and then nothing. 

She found herself thankful for his silence, as she didn't want to argue with the man any longer: disagreement or not, he was still one of her countrymen. The thought occurred to her that he had spoken so harshly not out of anger but out of fear, and she could hardly fault him for it were that the case.

Aurelia herself was terrified, though she had largely kept her own counsel on the matter of her personal feelings. She had a better inkling of what was to happen than the rest of them thanks to Sparrow's information, but that didn't mean she knew whether this trial would be an empty gesture for the sake of show or whether the Eorzeans actually meant to give them a fair judgment.

And what had been done with the conscripts--whether they would return, what would become of them - was currently a mystery. Her best guesses hinged upon whether their captors were inclined to anything resembling mercy, and she wasn't certain of that, either.

She knew so very little, really.

With a short and bitter sigh the Garlean drew her legs carefully upwards until both feet rested on the edges of the cot and rested her cheek against her knees, listening to the slow drip of leaking water. And waited.

~*~

The clacking turn of the door's tumbler broke the ominous silence that had descended upon the gaol. Another storm had rolled in overnight, and with the lack of light there was no way to tell it was morning. Aurelia coughed, roused from her restless doze by the loud clattering of multiple footsteps.

Three Eorzeans stood on the other side of the bars looking in at her, Lu among them. The Miqo'te looked at her and nodded once before deliberately focusing her green eyes straight ahead.

Fear twisted at her stomach once again. None of the guards had been forthcoming with information as to the whereabouts of the others, and none of the remaining Garleans had asked -- nor had any of them spoken to each other once they had been left alone with watery, unappetizing gruel from rations now running low. Aurelia knew they feared the worst just as she did.

"When your name is called, stand and come forward." The Elezen, whom she surmised must be their commander, was holding a piece of parchment in one gloved hand. "...Caelus pyr Betto and," he checked the names once more, "Marcus pyr Nerva."

Across the block, she watched two tall, pale men shuffle out of their cell.

"You two stand here," he said. "Hands out."

The pair looked at each other, sullen and resigned, and held their hands out with their wrists facing up. The chains attached to their heavy iron manacles rattled with the movement as the guards clamped them securely in place. Two more names were called, and two more men came forward. Aurelia watched them all file out of the cells one by one, disheveled, bitter, and disconsolate, all staring at the ground or the ceiling or really anywhere save at their captors.

When her name was called, all of the remaining prisoners lifted their eyes to stare at her. The guard's lips were drawn as though he'd bitten into an especially sour fruit. "Seeing as some small accomodation must needs be made for your current condition, Sergeant Zhisi has agreed to accompany you to the hearing chamber. I assume you're aware of the consequences should you attempt escape."

She nodded. Even if she'd had any intent to try, friend of a friend or not, she knew the Miqo'te wouldn't hesitate to sink a dagger into her throat.

"Along with you, then," he said, and for the second time within the last day, the door to her gaol cell creaked open. 

Aurelia limped through to freedom and felt the woman's hand wrap about her elbow, guiding her behind the chain line as it rattled past her up the stairs into the keep proper. Her limbs felt unsteady after so little time spent on them, and the bright sunlight streaming through the keep's windows screwed sharp calipers into her eyes, making her wince.

Single-file behind the chain gang, she entered a room barely larger than the cell block. It was clear this was some sort of holding area by the additional personnel posted at the door on the far end, and they would be expected to wait here until they were summoned. Before she could ask whether she was to sit or stand, Lu guided her to a small stool in one corner of the room and gestured to her to sit down.

She did so, fidgeting fitfully as she watched the Garlean men. As before they held themselves apart from their captors: stiff and hostile, expressions cold and proud. Haughtiness fair leaked from them despite everything, and she thought she understood, at least in part, the antipathy she'd faced thus far - not that the Eorzeans put any particular effort into hiding their animosity, either.

With steadily increasing anxiety she observed that none of them tarried overlong: no more than a half-bell at the outside, and for most of them it was closer to a quarter bell. Minutes stretched into hours - bells - as one by one, the others were called by name to enter.

"Aurelia jen Laskaris," the Elezen read after what seemed an eternity, and the abrupt cadence of her own name startled her enough to all but jump from her perch. She fumbled with the crutches and slid off the stool, limping towards the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest; she could hear her own pulse in her ears. 

Lu was standing by with a hand firmly gripping her arm to prevent either an escape or a fall. The look in her eyes made it clear she had sensed the prisoner's terror. 

"Here now, Garlean, you look like you're marchin' to your doom. 'Tis the culls what's to be hearin' your case, naught else. They'll not be loppin' off your bleedin' head on the spot."

Aurelia blinked at her, surprised that the woman had actually made something approaching an attempt to reassure her. Bracing herself for whatever lay on the other side of the door, she took a few deep breaths and nodded.

There was an unceremonious shove against her shoulder as the door opened, and she found herself flanked by two men in scarlet jackets who caught her mid-lurch. She thought she heard a muttered 'good luck' in her ear, but it was so quick and quiet that it could have simply been wishful thinking after all.

In that same instant she heard the latch fall at her back. She was alone.

=

The room was dimly lit, a fire crackling away in the hearth. In the center, taking up a good deal of space, sat what appeared to have once been a war table that she surmised had been appropriated from the keep itself. Six people sat on the opposite side, watching her as she entered the room. She swallowed down her fear, wavering in place near the threshold, uncertain what she was supposed to do.

"Prisoner," commanded a deep alto with the broad vowels that Aurelia was beginning to recognize as the cadenced speech of Limsa Lominsa, "approach the bench."

The hands on her arms were released, but she could sense the men standing behind her with their watchful eyes. She adjusted the crutches enough to let herself limp carefully towards the chair - no, bench, she realized, an actual bench.

As she approached she was able to get a better look at the adjudicants hearing her case. The woman who had spoken was a pale and very tall Roegadyn woman with silver hair and a piercing grey gaze. Next to her sat a rugged-looking Highlander with his hair bound in locs and pulled away from his face, a slim and pretty blonde Midlander who surely was no older than Aurelia herself, two more Elezen, and-

Seated at the grey-eyed woman's left, his dark eyes impassive, was a Roegadyn man she immediately recognized. His arm was still bound in a sling, the dressings freshly changed, and the expression he wore was devoid of any emotion, a clean slate. The man she'd verbally scoured in the infirmary pavilion.

Her vision swam at the edges.

"You may sit," the grey-eyed woman intoned again, her voice ever so slightly sharp. Aurelia was quick to obey, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so until the sensation of lightheadedness had passed and she trusted herself to focus. The man's attention was now on a piece of parchment lying upon the table. He wasn't even looking at her, though she sincerely doubted he had forgotten their exchange.

It's all right, she told herself. It'll be all right.

"State your name and rank for the court."

"Aurelia jen Laskaris. Medicus, Third Cohort, VIIth Imperial Legion." The quick and automatic response, learned through long weeks of protocol drills in basic training, felt dull and leaden on her tongue. It wouldn't be strictly necessary to quote chapter and verse, she knew, but she might as well go through the motions.

"Do you acknowledge the sovereignty of the Eorzean Alliance over this realm and all territories within?"

Aurelia found herself unconsciously correcting her posture beneath the woman's scrutiny, feeling rather like she was seventeen summers again, back home on a term break and sitting through an uncomfortable dinner party while her aunt talked to her guests as though she weren't in the room. 

"Yes."

"Do you acknowledge the authority of the presiding court?"

"Yes." Her voice had faded to all but a whisper.

"As an actor of an enemy state, you did make entry into Eorzean territory with the intent to invade and subjugate multiple sovereign nations. Is this correct?"

"I was deployed as part of a-"

"Prisoner will respond with a yes or no," was the curt response. "Is this correct?"

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and considered the question. While she'd acted under orders, the accusation wasn't untrue.

"Yes."

"As an enlisted servicemember of the VIIth Imperial Legion under Legatus Nael van Darnus, were you part of the cohort responsible for the dissemination of imperial propaganda in relation to the summoning of primals?"

"No. Eikon summoning wasn't my-"

"Were you at any time subject to the details of Project Meteor?"

Aurelia raised her eyes from the floor at last to fix the entirety of the panel with an appalled stare.

"I pray the court will excuse my confusion," she said, "but I must needs ask you to clarify the question. Are you asking whether or not I would possess intimate knowledge of a top secret military operation?"

"Prisoner will respond with a yes or no."

She felt a surge of affronted fury.

"Of course I didn't know what the legatus was planning! Why in the world would you make the assumption-"

"Yes or no-"

"-that an army chirurgeon would be privy to such knowledge?"

"Prisoner-"

"How am I to expect a fair trial if I stand accused of matters beyond all reasonable ken?" She was all but shouting, having risen into something resembling a standing position. Her leg throbbed in angry protest from knee to ankle and she knew it would be unbearably sore later, but she barely paid the pain any heed. "I shall not be made to place a noose about my own neck!"

The guardsman yanked her backwards by one arm and forced her back down onto the seat, hard enough for the wood beneath her to make a cracking sound. His grip dug into her shoulder hard enough that she could feel the bite of his fingernails through his gloves.

"That's enough out of you," he snarled.

From her seat the silver-haired Roegadyn woman snapped: 

"The prisoner will henceforth remain seated and address this court as she is bid, or be held in contempt and subjected to additional punishment. Respond with a yes or no. You will not be asked again."

She glared at the assembled panel from beneath greasy fringe, heart pounding. Her fingers bunched in the filth-caked fabric on her thighs, gathering tight handfuls as she stared down at her feet.

"...No," she growled between clenched teeth. 

There was a pause and a series of low murmurs as the panel exchanged words she couldn't hear. She sat stiffly, every muscle thrumming with tension, her previous fear replaced by her anger. The rough-hewn Ala Mhigan man cleared his throat, glancing at his fellows before turning his attention to her.

"Admiral, I think we have established the prisoner is not one of the Project Meteor masterminds," he said, a somewhat dry note in his voice that surprised her. "Let us move on. We've all reviewed the statements from the three officers of the Grand Companies vouching for-"

The scraping sound of a chair's wooden legs against the floor interrupted the proceedings.

Aurelia tensed, her heart leaping into her throat upon seeing that the man she'd treated in the camp had pushed back his chair and stood, drawing himself to his full height. In the day's light he was handsome enough, dark eyes and a broad nose, his long dark hair pinned back in a tail and various medals and badges of office affixed to his jacket. Even the burly Highlander looked startled.

"...Loezwyrn?" The silver-haired woman was staring at him as though he'd started to speak in tongues. "You can't... we're in the middle of the hearing."

"Aye, I know it's highly irregular, Admiral, and I apologize. But I should like to give a statement to the court."

"This isn't-"

"’Tis but a moment of our time."

Somewhat reluctantly, her expression bemused, the Admiral gave in.

"...I take your point. The whole godsdamned situation is 'irregular'," she said with a sigh. "Very well. We might as well attempt to do this the procedural way regardless, I suppose. State your name for the record."

"Commodore Loezwyrn Sletteidin. Maelstrom, Foreign Levy."

Aurelia felt her heart drop straight into the pit of her stomach. 

She didn't know much of Eorzean military structure beyond the basics, but she knew enough to realize this man was probably equal in rank to an imperial legion's tribunus militum at least, and she'd dressed him down like a child. Surely not, she thought. Surely fate was not this cruel.

The pause before he continued felt as though it stretched into years.

"During the battle," he began, "I was struck by shrapnel. My wounds were minor and 'twas my thinking at the time that my leadership was too necessary in the heat of the fight to bother with seekin' a conjurer. Hadn't expected it to turn bad, of course."

"Perhaps the greatest hazard of all," murmured the Midlander girl in white. Her voice was soft and soothing, like sunlight rippling over water. "But I digress. Continue, please."

"My thanks, Seedseer. Weren't until we'd set up the temporary camp that my assistants realized I'd taken ill, and I found myself dragged to the infirmary pavilion. The wait was long, and my fever worsened, and Storm Lieutenant Pavin had the foresight to try and jump the queue in order to call for aid. The prisoner happened to be working the triage lines at the time. I wanted naught to do with a Garlean. I said I would have none of her aid, in no uncertain terms."

"And then?" the Ala Mhigan prompted. "What did she do?"

To Aurelia's shock, a grin cracked the stony neutrality of the man's features.

"Lost her bleedin' temper, that's what. Told me to 'place my arse on the sodding table and keep my mouth shut.' Then said I'd probably lose the arm due to my own neglect. I was fit to chew ingots and spit nails, I'll not lie."

"Did she?" the girl asked gently. "I see you have not in fact lost your limb, Commodore."

"Aye, she was able to save it. Wouldn't promise aught at the time, but she came through. I thought I'd lose it for sure, if only for the insult I dealt her. But she did all that she promised and the wound healed clean."

Commodore Sleitteidin's smile faded somewhat. His gaze had shifted to Aurelia's face, and she found that for the first time she was able to look him in the eyes.

"I watched this woman treat our wounded with the same care I'd expect of one of our own. That said," he added, speaking now to the Admiral, "I’m afraid I must needs recuse myself, ma’am. Personal involvement and whatnot."

The other five exchanged glances.

"Right, well," the Highlander said, "I suppose we'll burn that bridge when we cross it. In the meantime, should the prisoner have aught to say in her own defense, now is the time to do so."

Aurelia tried to ignore their expectant stares, knowing precisely how pathetic she must appear. She had managed only the most broken of sleep in the past few weeks and she now felt every ilm of that deprivation. Her golden hair was lank and flat and filthy, the rough homespun she wore having fared little better during her incarceration, and by its ill fit she knew she had dropped a noticeable amount of weight.

She straightened her back, summoned all of the remaining poise she had at her disposal, and looked each one of them in the eye. Carefully she folded her hands in her lap, as if she were addressing a guest at one of her aunt's afternoon salons.

"I shall not make excuses for myself," she said simply. "Nor shall I defend the actions of my countrymen. What we did to your people was unforgivable, and you are well within your rights to seek recompense.  I served the Empire in my capacity as a healer. When I was rescued and taken prisoner by your people, I felt it only right that I offer what succor I could in exchange."

"Then you admit that you are motivated by guilt?"

"Think you we Garleans are such monsters that we lack the capacity for pity? Or remorse?" Aurelia spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "What could I possibly offer as sufficient proof of my intentions? I cannot bring back those who were lost. I doubt very much I could ever begin to atone for what the VIIth has done. But if it is within my power to provide aid, I will do so."

The woman in charge of the proceedings still looked grim, but the young girl in white was... smiling and nodding, very gently, in what appeared to be approval.

"Is this your final statement, prisoner?" the Ala Mhigan asked.

Her hands clasped tightly, shaking in her lap, Aurelia said, "It is."

"Then," he responded, his voice slow and deep and measured, "I move to adjourn unless the court has further questions.” 

None of them spoke. Into the lengthening silence, he continued: 

“The men here will escort you outside whilst we complete deliberations."

She was almost unable to support herself when she regained her footing. Her legs felt like gelatin and her heart was pounding. She hadn't intended to lose her temper but it had happened all the same, and looking at the collection of faces behind the table she wasn't sure whether they would rule in her favor or not. The girl appeared openly sympathetic, but she was the only one.

She felt as though she’d just placed her head on a chopping block.

Forcing herself not to look back, she turned her back and, flanked by the stone-faced guards, slowly limped out of the room.

Chapter Text

After the final prisoner had taken her leave, a strained silence had descended upon the assembly. Each set of questing eyes offered tentative glances at their fellows, unsure what to say, or if anything needed to be said at all.

Then Raubahn's shoulders dropped, the tension flowing out of his body as a wry smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," he said mildly. "That was... certainly a show of spirit, wasn't it? Wouldn't have thought that slip of a lass would have enough fire in her to castigate you for that, Merlwyb. Not after a near moon spent in that hole."

"I've met enough of her kind to think otherwise," Merlwyb groused, her tone sour. "Too proud by half for their own good, the whole miserable bloody race. We could send her to the gallows or a firing squad on the morrow and she knew it, and still had the gall to speak out of turn."

"I doubt it was gall so much as anger. We did falsely accuse her, after all."

She scowled at him. "Navigator's teeth, Raubahn, don't tell me you're actually defending an imperial prisoner."

"...That's stretching things a touch," he said, tapping the surface of the table with his index finger. And it was, though in truth he was full glad to see his first impression of the Garlean girl had been inaccurate. He could respect an enemy with some spirit. "Right, well, at the moment we've only one other who seems willing to work with us and that's the engineer lad, Albinus jen Marsyas. Witness statement was fairly unremarkable." 

"We didn't expect much from any of this lot in the first place," Merlwyb snorted, though with no real rancor. None of them had particularly been in the mood to pore over the character accounts of people whom they were well aware would likely not be amenable to the Alliance's terms.

The Seedseer lifted a slender hand. 

"Floor's yours, Kan-E-Senna."

"Thank you, General. First I should like to point out that each of the statements we received did confirm the prisoner's account of events. In addition, Commodore Sleittidin's testimony also confirmed that she is a chirurgeon as she claims. That had been somewhat in question originally if you'll recall-"

"Speaking of which," Merlwyb interjected with a fierce scowl, "what in all the hells were you thinking, Loezwyrn?"

The man winced at the displeasure writ large on his Admiral's face. 

"I'd thought to keep my peace unless it became necessary otherwise, ma'am, but reading those accounts-"

"If you needed to recuse yourself then the time to say so was before the hearing began, not in the bleeding middle. To make no mention of the theatrics before a prisoner? You are an officer of the Maelstrom, not a mummer."

"Let it go," Raubahn said. "We'll mark the Commodore's abstention from the decision on the court record. Seedseer, if you have aught to add, please continue."

"I think it unjust to place a heavy sentence upon a noncombatant. Her only real crime appears to have been enlistment in the legions rather than conscription. She could well have held her tongue and kept her healing skills to herself, yet she did not. She has to the best of my knowledge made but a single personal request since her arrival at the Spire, and it was to see the other prisoners well cared for."

"You make her sound almost saintly," he said with a short laugh.

"I hardly think her to be anything so lofty as that, but it would be foolish of us not to make use of skills that she has freely offered to the Alliance - be they in exchange for her life or no. Whatever is ultimately decided about the others," she finished quietly, "I want this one. I will treat with the elementals to make room for her if needs must."

"Yes, but for what?"

"There are any number of folk that would benefit from her presence." Kan-E-Senna's patient smile carried the air of someone who thought she had just been asked an inane question indeed, but had graciously decided not to make mock of it. "The Conjurers' Guild, for example."

"Conjury?" Merlwyb sputtered incredulously. "You want to make a conjurer of a Garlean?"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not. Time will tell."

"Garleans don't have a scrap of ability to use magic, Seedseer. Not a one of them can lay a finger to their own aether, that's why they've all the machina in the first place. She'd be of absolutely no use to anyone expecting her to be, well, a conjurer."

"Though this is neither the time nor the place to explain to you why, that is not quite true nor is it accurate," she said. "Frankly, even were it the unvarnished truth this is the decision I have made and I mean to stand by it. I want the Garlean girl. I will not withdraw the request."

They all stared at her. Kan-E-Senna stared back, calm and impassive, and no one could hold her gaze for more than a few moments before looking away. Lifting her chin so her voice would carry farther across the room, she continued as if the argument had never taken place.

"In any case, circumstances being what they are, I move that we extend clemency in this case and consider commutation."

"Motion acknowledged." Raubahn idly tapped the toe of his leather sandal against the edge of the table. "Do we have a move to second?"

"Well do you know my opinion of the whole damned affair, General Aldynn," Merlwyb said. After a moment she added, somewhat grudgingly: "...That said, I take the Seedseer's point. We are all going to be in dire need of those with healing knowledge in very short order. As low a bar as that is, it's still more than we've got out of most of her fellows. I mislike the notion of trusting to the integrity of any imperial, but-"

"As a friendly reminder, Master Garlond also hails from the Empire," Kan-E-Senna pointed out gently, "and he has ever served as a faithful ally to our cause."

Merlwyb did not smile. Her already stony expression took on an even darker cast, the corners of her mouth tight with suppressed anger.

"Cid Garlond? Aye, he was a good man," she acknowledged. "For all the precious little bloody good his loyalty to us did him in the end, the poor bastard. They've not yet recovered his body, either, so I hear."

They all sat in solemn silence for a moment, reminded of yet another casualty of the Empire's seemingly endless ambition and greed. 

"...Anyroad, if you want to give this girl a chance I suppose there are worse candidates." She shook her head and laid her quill alongside her stack of papers. "We'll see how long it takes her to balk at the terms of the sentence, but that'll be her problem, not ours. Aye, I'll second Kan-E-Senna's motion to commute the sentence."

"That's a move and a second. Show of hands?"

At first Raubahn Aldynn thought they might refuse after all, now that the choice was before them. The reminder of their friend and ally Cid Garlond, missing for weeks, the last sighting of the master engineer that of him and his beloved Enterprise set alight by Bahamut's flames and off-course to crash somewhere into the depths of the forest, seemed to have sobered the mood of the room considerably.

But one by one, with varying states of reluctance, each of their hands raised aloft - save the Commodore, who had abstained as promised. 

Slowly, he nodded, raised the gavel, and brought it down upon the wooden surface. May the Twelve forgive us.

"Motion passes unanimously."

Seeing the matter settled for all intents and purposes, Merlwyb glanced down the table. "Your plan is far from foolproof, you know. It's still possible she could betray you to her Empire at the first opportunity."

The warmth of Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was like spring sunlight filtered through leaves.

"I'm well aware she could, Admiral," the Padjal said. "But from all I've heard of her thus far, I think she won't."

~*~

Heedless of the murmurings of the others in their cells, Aurelia coughed and let her head fall back against damp stone with a dull thud. There was the sound of something scurrying in the rushes mere fulms away and she decided she would have more peace of mind did she not attempt to investigate it. She had enough on her mind as it was.

The waiting, she decided, was worse than anything. Worse than the moments surrounding her capture, worse than the last moon of imprisonment, worse even than the tension of that hearing. She could deal with the Eorzeans' spite towards her, bureaucratic or otherwise, feeling it was little more than what she and the rest of her fellows deserved if one came down to it. 

But she had no idea if she'd even be drawing breath by this time tomorrow and the anxiety was beginning to wear on her.

She had a pounding headache in addition to everything else, and when she touched a hand to her brow she found it as warm as she'd expected. There was a twinge of unease as Aurelia's fingers brushed her third eye, but she ignored it. There was precious little in the range of its perception that was relevant. Depending on what was to happen to her in the end, a bit of momentary discomfort was nothing.

She didn't even jump at the rattle of the bars or the rasp of the key in its lock. She'd known it was coming. The Eorzeans had made their decision, it seemed, and rather quickly.

"It's time," the guard began, then with a frown illuminated by the torch on the wall: "You taken ill? You look about to drop stone dead."

Aurelia only shrugged. The guard was correct, of course. But she had been running on low-level terror for so long that she had all but forgotten how to slow down or rest and she could not well afford to stop now. It meant she'd paid little enough attention to her physical state; even her leg, which now ached as much as she'd thought it would after that display, remained little more than background noise.

The guard grabbed her crutches and held them out when she didn't move. 

"Out with you," he said. "They're askin' to speak with you and you don't keep folk like them waiting. Come on."

The journey up the staircase and towards that room was, of course, the same length it had ever been. But it seemed somehow to stretch for days while also bringing her to her likely doom with a terrifying swiftness. Step by step, inexorable, almost against her will.

You are a daughter of Garlemald, she reminded herself. Garleans do not cower from a foul end or an uncertain future; we face whatever is to come with a cool head and a brave heart.

She squared her shoulders and straightened her back as best she could when the door opened. 

Even so, her resolve was sorely tested when she stepped once more across the threshold. The man who had testified, the closest to a familiar face she had, was no longer present, and the neutral faces of the remaining five behind that table gave no indication as to what she might expect. Her heart began to beat faster.

The scarred Highlander gave her a mirthless smile, his lips thin and tilting in a lopsided way as she lowered her weight onto the rickety bench once again.

"Welcome back, Mistress Laskaris," he said, not without a small measure of kindness. "You're looking a bit pale. Are you ill or merely worried for yourself?"

"Only a fool or a saint would lack any sense of self-preservation whatsoever," Aurelia said quietly. "Perhaps I am a fool, but I am of a certainty no saint. I am full aware that my life is in your hands and I shall continue to draw breath at your pleasure. Thus, if you please, let us proceed."

At his side, the silver-haired Admiral raised an eyebrow but did not comment. 

"Well-spoken," was the Ala Mhigan's mild response. "I agree. Admiral Bloefhiswyn, if you would, the floor is yours."

The silver-haired Roegadyn woman at his side drew herself to her full height, and as if on cue all eyes fell upon her. Aurelia could well understand why. Even when she had dictated from her seat Admiral Bloefhiswyn had seemed to fair radiate a commanding presence, and it was even more evident now that she had been granted full authority over the upcoming proceedings. 

"We have come to a decision regarding the matter of your sentence, as I am certain you have surmised. Should you be amenable to our terms as they are presented with no alteration, we vow to abide by any bargain we make with you. You understand, of course, that your unconditional surrender to Maelstrom forces upon the battlefield precludes any further negotiation of terms on your own part."

She glanced at each face. The Highlander looked upon her with open pity, although the pretty green-eyed girl's smile had not wavered.

"I do," she said, in a voice that by some miracle did not waver. "Let's have your terms, then."

The air in the room seemed to chill a few degrees when the Roegadyn uttered a sharp, cold laugh, its edge as silvered as her hair.

"You don't mince words, do you, girl? Very well."

That flat gaze was hostile, unswerving, and enough to nearly unnerve the source of its ire for all that the Admiral's tone remained utterly neutral as she spoke. Aurelia's hands knotted together painfully, knuckles white and shining and her nails digging into the meat of her palms.

"Aurelia jen Laskaris, it is the decision of the court," the Admiral continued, "that your conflicting loyalties notwithstanding, it would be unwise to waste a potential asset insofar as your healing skills are concerned. You were not among those who masterminded Project Meteor nor have you attempted at any time to escape or to cause harm to any of our personnel since your capture."

Get on with it, she wanted to scream, but instead forced herself to sit stone still and ramrod straight, her expression a placid mask. 

"Under Eorzean common law you would customarily be sentenced to a minimum of five years in prison or an equivalent amount of time in hard labor. However, the recommendation given to this court, upon advisement from multiple of our own number - including one of our own adjudicators who has since recused himself from further involvement - is that your sentence be commuted to five years of public service."

She released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, though it caused her a series of painful coughs, and felt the tension flow out of her body as her posture sagged forward with a combination of exhaustion and relief. The latter seemed to course through her like a remedy for a blissful few seconds of awareness before it was replaced by a fresh wave of apprehension. 

Boons like these did not come without strings attached, after all.

"With immediate effect, upon your departure from the Emerald Spire you will be transported to the city-state of Gridania, where you shall be remanded to the wardship of the Hearers' Council on behalf of the Grand Company of the Twin Adder, and set to a labor of their choosing. After five years served the particulars of your case shall come under review."

Gridania. She vaguely knew the place, for all that knowledge was limited to outdated maps from her father's old study.

"In order to accept this offer of clemency in full, you are to formally renounce your imperial citizenship. You will be barred from making any attempt to return to Garlemald on your own power, so long as you live. Should you be discovered to have made contact with any agent of the Empire for this reason, your life will be forfeit."

Aurelia squeezed her eyes shut.

So, that was the catch, it would seem. She'd live, but it would be a life spent in exile, on the condition that she never see her homeland again.

She could throw the Eorzeans' offer back in their faces and refuse, and the thought was initially a tempting one. But she was quite certain she would die if she did that- and she knew in her heart of hearts that the strange vision she had seen in the camp, the conversation between Bryn and Sazha, was something that had actually transpired. If it was real, that meant Sazha had spent his last days attempting to buy her a second chance, risking his own reputation in the process. 

Alea iacta est, Aurelia, she told herself. For better or worse. You are left to your own devices now. No home, and no country.

And with that thought her next words fell heavy from her tongue:

"I accept your terms."

All of them, even the girl, looked surprised, clearly not having expected her to acquiesce without some sort of token resistance. 

She didn't listen to anything else that was said after that, instead staring down at her hands as the enormity of the Eorzeans' unilateral terms and what they meant in a more personal sense began to sink in. She'd never realize any of her girlhood dreams, she'd never see any of her professors or old schoolmates in the capitol again, she'd have to give up her ambition of a fledgling medical practice brought to the far-flung corners of the Empire.

And her family -- Gens Laskaris would disavow any knowledge that she had ever darkened its halls. To be taken prisoner in battle was one thing - and shameful enough as far as they would be concerned - but to deliberately defect? That was akin to spitting upon the floors of the Imperial Palace before the Emperor's throne, turning one's back upon the unity of empire and country, and openly declaring oneself a traitor. 

I'll never see Ala Mhigo again, either, she thought. I meant to visit at least once after my service was done, and now -never. 

Aurelia felt herself flinch from the sting that realization brought with it.

None of this would have happened had she not so fervently wished for her independence. She knew that in part it was her own inner restlessness and sense of wanderlust that had led her to this, and a part of her hated herself for it, for knowing she could never have been happy with the life that her uncle - and her mother and father, to some lesser extent - had laid out for her since her childhood. 

Would that she had been born in some other part of the star, she thought sadly. Would that she could be a woman of some other heritage and of humbler means with naught to her name that any man would covet, nor any family who would see her as a glorified brood mare with a bloodline to be bargained as collateral for their personal ambitions.

But wishing would not make it so. The past could not be altered and she must needs accept the consequences of her choices. If the end result of that choice was defection and exile, then her course was set. 

And Sazha - Sazha had wanted her to survive. He had told his second-in-command to see to it that she would not end her sojourn to the south with a noose about her neck. To throw her life away after she knew he had gone to such lengths to try and save it would not only be foolish, it would be an insult to his memory, and she wouldn't see any efforts on her behalf wasted. 

But the hard lump that had seemed to form in the back of her throat lingered, no matter how much she tried to reason with herself.

Chapter Text

In the light of all that had happened, and the weight of her decision, her release from the gaol was almost absurdly anticlimactic. She was made to sign several papers, most of which she skimmed. The process took a good hour, and the adjudicants themselves had long since quit their makeshift chamber, save for the spindly Elezen man in yellow who was directing her where to sign.

“Are you quite certain you do not wish to review the documents?” he had asked. He had a quiet, measured voice, and like most of his kind his angular features made him seem rather more harsh at a glance than his polite speech would have suggested. “I realize this is not your native tongue. If you wish I can see if there is some way to arrange for transl-”

“A translation will not be necessary,” she said, her own voice curt. “Thank you.”

He lapsed into an uncomfortable silence broken only by the shuffling of papers and the scratch of her quill. Upon the final paper, Aurelia signed her name in the elegant looping flow of Ilsabardian script, then printed in Eorzean letters below so there would be no mistake.

Her hand had begun to cramp and her fingertips were stained black from the inkpots. Flexing her fingers with a sigh that lapsed into another wet cough, she passed the documents to him for review.

“You forgot the ‘jen’ in your signature,” he said with a faint frown. “The Council of Hearers may not accept the signature without-”

“They shall have to accept it.”

The man looked at her, looked down at the papers, then back at her.

There was a tense moment in which she half-expected him to argue but instead he seemed to think better of it, extending his hand for her to shake instead. She took it and did so, and her reciprocation of the gesture seemed to thaw that coolness in his eyes just a few degrees.

“I suspect we will be working together in future in some capacity or other," he said, "and it occurs to me that few if any of us have made introductions of ourselves. I am Vorsaile Heuloix, interim Commander of the Twin Adder. My predecessor is not able to fulfill his duties at present, so I am acting in his-”

The knock on the door interrupted him.

“Vorsaile, is the prisoner still with you?”

"Ah– yes, Seedseer, she is.”

“I was hoping to have a word with her before your departure. May I enter?”

"Of course, ma'am."

The heavy door opened to reveal the pretty green-eyed Hyuran woman from the hearing, an ornately carved staff of white wood braced in one small hand as she waited patiently at the threshold. As she made her way into the room, Aurelia caught sight of what appeared to be a pair of slender ivory horns resting within the sunlit gold of her hair.

“I shall go and see to the remaining arrangements with our teamster.” He inclined his chin with that same polite coolness in their prisoner’s direction. “By your leave, ma'am.”

"Thank you, Vorsaile."

Once the door had shut behind him, the woman said: "I certainly hope they’ve not had you in here signing documents the entire time. How do you fare this morning?”

“As well as one reasonably could, given the circumstances." 

The Seedseer was examining the dirty dressings still wrapped about Aurelia’s leg. She fought not to squirm beneath the woman’s scrutiny, feeling self-conscious - this slip of a girl was the leader of a nation, albeit a small one, and was examining her as though she were a patient waiting in an infirmary. 

”…Yes, about that,” she said nervously. “I’m afraid finding suitable work until it has healed enough to bear my weight may prove something of a challenge.“

"That is why I have come, as it happens. I had thought to offer some small assistance.”

“Ah, you’re a conjurer as I thought, then.”

The Seedseer’s smile widened as though she had said something intensely amusing. “Not as such, but you may safely assume that I possess some measure of healing magicks. May I?”

At her nod the Hyur knelt before her and placed that same motherly, gentle hand upon her bandaged leg, halfway betwixt knee and ankle. The staff in her hand seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light, though perhaps it was only the reflection from the white dress and leathers she wore, and Aurelia felt the static pull of aether across her skin and a sensation almost like cool water on a hot day.

With great care she flexed the leg, or tried to. She had to remove the splint and the dirty linens before she could make a proper assessment. The muscle was weaker than she had hoped, but not as atrophied as she had feared. Aurelia allowed herself a soft sigh of relief before she turned her attention back to the healer.

“You have my thanks…?”

“You may call me Kan-E-Senna. Or Seedseer if you prefer.”

The name was familiar enough that she was able to recall it from a cursory debriefing, from their arrival at Castrum Novum months ago. Cautiously, Aurelia ventured:

"Aren't you the ruler of Gridania?"

"I suppose you could say that." That easy, serene smile curved her lips once again. “In truth, my duty is to shepherd the Twelveswood along with my siblings, but acting as intercessor between man and elemental places the stewardship of man within my authority as well.”

“I find it curious that the leader of a nation would deign to trouble herself with the affairs of an enemy prisoner.”

“I promised all of your comrades that I would personally ensure their safety and fair treatment while in my nation’s custody. You are no exception. Healers will be quite valuable to all in the coming months.” The woman tilted her chin in an almost birdlike gesture, her bright hair brushing over the horns on her head. “Tell me, if you would: for all your promises to render aid no matter the creed, would you truly feel no desire to return to your homeland if given the opportunity?”

“…Do you wonder if I mean to escape at some later juncture, or if I bear any ill will towards you or your people, you’ve no cause for concern. I will not knowingly renege upon this agreement. On that, you have my word.”

“Full glad am I to hear it,” Kan-E-Senna said.

She seemed cordial enough, and that smile had not once wavered. But Aurelia was not fooled. She had met this woman’s like in the imperial capitol, and she could sense the steel that lay beneath that apparent softness. The Seedseer might appear small and delicate to the casual observer but so had Elle, and there had been career legate officers in the XIVth who knew better than to gainsay L'haiya dus Eyahri.

“Commander Heuloix shall accompany you back to the city. He must needs return there on official business and has agreed to take you along as a favor to me. He will see that you have all you need when you arrive, including your personal effects.” She rose to her feet in a single fluid motion. “For now, let us quit this place. Do you need assistance to stand?”

Aurelia had borne almost no weight upon her injured leg and her knee buckled beneath her when she first tried to stand. But after another (somewhat embarrassing) attempt she was on her feet, if a bit shaky, and was able to limp to the door under her own power. 

As they walked she concentrated on working the stiffness out of her knee and trying to keep her footing steady so that she would not slip and fall down the stairs, or into the slick mud that the frequent rains had left in the open courtyard. Kan-E-Senna’s aether had knitted the bone back together but no amount of healing magicks were going to correct her weakened muscles of their own accord.

Still, that was to be expected. It would take some work on her part, but time and use would set things right and given that she was to serve a labor sentence, she had no doubt that would happen in short order.

She had expected something like the rickety hay cart that had obviously been appropriated at the last minute for use in removing them all from the camp, but this one actually appeared to be intended for use by passengers. It had proper seats and space for luggage and was drawn by two rather placid-looking chocobos. The large birds watched her with their soft eyes as she limped out into the courtyard with the smaller woman close behind.

Commander Heuloix awaited them by the lowered steps, his fist slapping against his chest in salute upon their approach. His expression remained as neutral and polite as it had been before. “Seedseer.”

“Commander.”

“And Mistress Laskaris,” he said. He extended his hand to Aurelia as if he were a courtier requesting her hand for a dance.

Surprised by the gesture as much as his manners, she accepted. His grip was stronger than she would have thought and with the sturdiness of his weight to leverage against her own willowy frame, she was able to get into the cart with minimal fuss. Truthfully, she was grateful for the assistance. Her leg was already aching from fatigue, no longer accustomed to the exertion that came of walking even this short distance.

“Ma'am, I’ve taken the liberty of submitting all the documents necessary for her release from custody. Those few that will be required by the Council are on my person. Along with the others we discussed.”

“Thank you, Vorsaile. Please, do take care on the road and keep watch for the Ixal. I imagine they will attempt to take advantage of the current situation if they are not as beleaguered as we,” she said, with a brief pause before she added: “Pray send a message by way of the Fane when time and opportunity allow.”

“Understood, ma'am.”

Aurelia settled herself into the seat as the Commander and two other soldiers in the same yellow uniform boarded the cart and sat down across from her. No doubt they were under orders to ensure she didn’t escape at the most likely opportunity, though she could have told them they needn’t worry about such things.

With a sigh she leaned back against the hard seat and shut her eyes: after so long spent in a dark gaol cell with little if any light, even sunlight filtered through heavy cloud cover was painful. The sudden influx of daylight had left her with a nagging headache. In short order the steady creak of the wooden cart and the wet and rhythmic plodding sound of chocobo feet in the mud filled her ears. '

Her other senses took in this wild, beautiful place - the murmur of wind, the whisper of leaves, scent of cloud-darkened glades and petrichor - without the need for eyesight. The sensation of slowly sinking into the land's embrace, becoming a part of it, was... strangely calming. The scent and sounds of the forest reminded her of the gardens she'd kept growing up, and it soothed her frayed nerves as little else could do.

Before long she found herself lapsing into a restless doze, and exhaustion carried her down into the depths of sleep once more.

==

She cannot make sense of this dream.  It lies just on the edge of recall, pieces of a memory that surface and immediately submerge again like flotsam caught in the stray eddies of a river current, fluttering just out of her grasp.

Two voices raised in vehement argument, fading in and out of earshot. One of them is her own - she can taste the barely controlled fury on her own tongue - and her companion is less a person than an impression. There is an angry flash of bright golden eyes, hair like new-fallen snow wreathed in cowls of black. Light and gold, wrapped in darkness.

“–not a tenable—tion! You could not even have tried?!”

“What would — ve me do?”

“Do you wish to be party to this atrocity—”

She strains to catch some bare semblance of context, and fails. The words come in static, fragmented bursts of sound until they are unintelligible.

“—ss alo-- my sentiments to -e–”

“—e, wait, please-”

==

Meteors streaking through black sky, land shuddering under the weight of calamity. 

Someone is screaming.

This was your fault, cries the white-and-gold-and-black, your fault, your fault, and beneath it an endless keening goes on and on.

==

The answer is thoughtless, formless–

==

Don’t cry-

I’ll save you-

==

The gossamer fabric of the dream rips to shreds, torn asunder by the Dreadwyrm’s roar.

Bursting forth from its crimson prison in wrath and fire, that scraping yowl rattling the bones of the land beneath her feet, everything is the same as she remembers: a visceral terror imprinted into mind and soul. She barely registers the terrified screams of the soldiers swarming like frightened ants as the lines fold and break– though she has to fight, desperately, to avoid being trampled in the panic. No familiar imperial insignia is anywhere in sight, but the fighting has been forgotten in the hindbrain fight-or-flight instinct that has overtaken the others.

Run, someone screams, save yourselves, and just as before she cannot tell if they are friend or foe, nor does it matter in this awful moment. She can taste her bile on her tongue, high and sharp and sour, her legs weak, bladder threatening to void itself in the extremity of terror, smell the stench of cauterized flesh and burning ceruleum

(but that isn’t right, she was wearing a helm, wasn’t she, wasn’t she-)

and her path to safety is blocked by a figure in heavy black robes, the face half-concealed by a mask the color of blood. The lacquered edges curve into two vicious points like serpentine fangs framing stark, high cheekbones. Behind the mask the black hollows of the eyes are alight with a savage joy and in one of his clenched fists there lies a beating heart.

She tries to move and cannot. She is frozen in place, a living statue.

That awful smile is a wild rictus, stretched far too taut over bared teeth. Gore patters to the mud at the figure’s feet, makes scarlet streaks down the pale meat of an exposed forearm. It bears that quivering heart, holding it aloft. 

Around them, Eorzea burns, broken upon the wheel of an ancient fury.

At last, the figure crows, laughing, *screaming*, at last, at last-

==

Something hard and metal slams into her, shoulder, ribcage, hip, knee, takes her down into a darkness where even the eikon cannot follow-

==

||Hear||

==

Her limbs spasmed, and the sensation dragged her out of the nightmare to full hyper-aware wakefulness, near-drenched in sweat. A wet gasp stuck in her throat, rattling in place before it could become a scream.

Aurelia forced herself into an upright position on arms that felt weak and boneless. One of her traveling companions had draped a thin blanket over her where she had listed to one side, curled upon the rough and unyielding wood of the bench.

She laid her inner wrist to her brow just above her third eye, and for the first time in a sennight it was not warm. Whatever ague had sunk its claws into her while she languished in the gaol had apparently decided she wasn’t worth keeping and had surrendered the fight.

Full dark had fallen upon the forest and the cart had stopped moving. She could just make out the shape of a man lying a few fulms away, curled beneath a blanket of his own–and then the wood beneath her body creaked with her movement and he came awake, hand already on his bow before he saw her staring at him. Even from here she could see the tension in his shoulders relax.

“Mistress Laskaris,” said the man, and she recognized the voice of Kan-E-Senna’s second.

“Yes.” She exhaled. “How long have we-”

“We’re stopped for the night. 'Tis two days’ journey to the city from the Spire. We’re rotating the perimeter watch, no need for concern.” The Elezen’s voice was sharp. “Are you feeling better? I had half thought we might need to bring you to the Fane and have the conjurers treat you.”

“I’m… not completely well, but I think I am much improved,” she admitted. Even in the dark she could almost feel his gaze boring into her. “Thank you for allowing me the time to rest.”

“…Try to sleep as much as you are able. We should reach the city by nightfall tomorrow, if we leave at sunup.”

She used a corner of the blanket to dab the sweat from her brow and said nothing more. These men were not like to feel sympathy for her over a nightmare, and the details of the dream had already begun to turn sepia-toned- except for the memory of the eikon’s rampage; that felt more real than anything that had happened to her since.

Her stomach rolled. The stench of a man cooked alive in the flames of a reaper lingered still in her nostrils, as did the taste of her own bile.

(icy mud and dirty water weighted down by carbonweave and cermet as she tried to dig herself from beneath a sinking warmachina before-)

The Garlean wiped her trembling, sweating hands on the rough homespun. It didn’t help.

She glanced into the cart to see if it had been noticed but by the stillness of his outline and the soft sigh of regular breathing, she suspected Commander Heuloix had gone back to sleep. Still too unsettled herself to relax, Aurelia tilted her head back to peer around the edges of the cart’s bladder into the sky. Stars were visible overhead in the spaces between the stretching fingers of the forest’s high canopy.

Aurelia wasn’t sure what she had expected; the night sky looked the same in Eorzea as it did anywhere else in Hydaelyn.

She’d once sat with her best friend in the garden every evening after his chores and her studies were done to talk beneath the stars. That had always been her favorite hour of the day, a liminal space between dusk and full dark where she could still pretend that it was just the two of them like it had always been.

Right up until the day Sazha had left for Porta Praetoria without even a goodbye. Responding to the conscription notice he'd hidden from her.

Did he secretly resent me for all those years, I wonder, she thought. Did he look at the same stars, thousands of malms away from home, with the same fond memories I have? Or did he try to forget his old life the instant that-

The thought put a sharp ache in her chest.

For the past few weeks Aurelia had experienced her imprisonment as though it were happening to someone else: distant and detached and numb, sitting on the cot in her cell staring at hands she barely recognized. But that protective shroud between herself and the world had been wiped away with a single nightmare. Ripping stitches from a half-healed wound to bleed raw and aching all over again.

And no matter how much she might or might not have deserved the Eorzeans’ rancor she felt lost, and it hurt all the same.

She turned her back on the stars and curled into a tight ball under the blanket.

~*~

It had started to rain shortly after midday, a drizzle that gradually pitched to a heavy downpour. The chocobos and their teamster bore it stoically enough, the carriage creaking with the steady and plodding movements of the birds’ feet. The three men in the carriage did not speak to her that day, their expressions tense and watchful. Bandits, she knew, would have seen them as an easy mark, to say nothing of the beastmen that were said to prowl the depths of the forest.

The journey passed without incident or even a stray sighting, however, and it was nearing dusk by the time they reached the city gates - or what passed for them. They lay in ruins, charred and blackened wood that had been mostly stripped from their hinges and tossed into a careless pile mere fulms away. The aetheryte platform likewise lay in ruins, what remained of its crystal cracked and darkened, which answered her other question as to why she had an officer escort at all.

The Commander followed the track of her gaze and said grimly: “Much of the city is in a similar state. I fear you shan’t find much in the way of welcome here. We’re an insular lot at the best of times, and this is hardly that.”

Aurelia, hearing it for the warning she knew it was, only bowed her head in a halfhearted effort to conceal her third eye.

It was hard to witness. Much of Gridania had been laid waste and was little more than a smouldering ruin. Husks of burnt-out homes and businesses littered the path, tents scattered haphazardly about them with small lights flickering from the interior. Few people were out and about at this late hour, and most took little notice of the moving carriage beyond an idle curiosity. In nearly every case she'd note a perfunctory glance at the plodding chocobos and their burden before the onlookers resumed their various other tasks.

To her great relief, no one seemed to have noticed her. She wasn’t certain how much animosity she was ready to face just yet.

Eventually, there come a shout from the teamster's seat, and the transport drew to a halt. The three men exchanged brief glances before they stood to disembark. Their superior watched them exit the carriage but lingered behind, offering a hand to Aurelia in case she had need of it. She took it and drew herself upwards, her bad leg trembling unsteadily but holding her weight.

“Introductions to your minder will be made on the morrow,” he said. “For now we shall see to your boarding situation - 'tis but a temporary measure while the Twin Adder and the Council decide where you might best be put to use.”

“Kan-E-Se– ...that- I mean, the Seedseer. She said something about my personal effects-”

“In those boxes. I will ensure that they are brought to you, never fear.”

Aurelia stumbled on the steps on her way down, and the Elezen had to catch her about the waist before she could pitch head over arse to the ground. Flushing with embarrassment, she made no response save a murmur of thanks to him as she righted herself. The rain had soaked through her clothes in short order and water now ran in rivers down her face from her wet hair. She squinted into the silver curtains of rain but between the water and the dim light there was almost no visibility.

The Commander tugged on her sleeve. “This way, Mistress Laskaris,” he called, voice raised so she could hear him over the hissing of the rainfall. “We lost a goodly part of the city to the fire but most of the Carline Canopy was spared, thank the Twelve.”

Her gaze followed the direction of his pointing hand. What little of the building she could see was of a large, graceful structure that appeared to be built into the hillside, as if it were part of the forest rather than existing separately from it. Green and yellow banners hung in varying states of disrepair, and although some structural damage was visible to one wing, the rest of it seemed intact. There was a small lean-to with stabled chocobos, and just visible through the sheets of rain, the outline of a huge water wheel that creaked as it turned slowly on its axle.

“It's an inn?” she guessed.

“Aye, Gridania’s finest. Come along, now. She’ll be expecting you, and I've other matters to attend before the day is done.”

Casting one last forlorn look at the rain-drenched devastation about them, still feeling disconnected and lost, Aurelia limped after the retreating yellow-clad back towards the entrance.

Chapter Text

Of all the things the Carline Canopy’s proprietress would have expected the Council to request of her as part of Gridania’s rebuilding effort, playing hostess to an imperial prisoner of war on a work-release program was not one of them. But looking at the haggard, pale young woman before her, dressed in filthy homespun and absolutely soaking wet from the downpour outside, Miounne realized the situation wasn’t at all what she had feared.

Truth be told, she hadn’t been quite certain what to expect. A cruel mien, or mayhap a pretty one paired with a haughty, dismissive demeanor. She’d spoken to enough adventurers over the years to be passing familiar with stories of the warlike race from far northern Ilsabard – or, perhaps more correctly, the tall tales and gossip. She’d heard that Garleans fancied themselves superior to other races, that they were taller even than Roegadyn, that they had a third eye that allowed them to see in all directions at once, that they were violent and, well.

Rather savage, really, for all that they applied that epithet so freely to Hydaelyn’s other peoples.

This woman - no, girl, Miounne thought, this was just a girl, really - had the so-called third eye and that was all: a small pearlescent jewel resting perhaps an ilm below her hairline. Concealed for the most part, by honey-blonde locks that badly needed washing. She might tower over a Midlander but her height was hardly remarkable. She didn’t appear cruel or sullen or haughty, either, although the hands white-knuckled and fidgeting at her waist clearly betrayed discomfort.

Well, she supposed, one could hardly expect an enemy prisoner to be pleased with their reduced circumstances.

“So, you’re the imperial army chirurgeon who surrendered to the Maelstrom.”

“Correct.” That soft, subdued voice was not what she had expected, either, seeming rather better suited to a lady’s drawing room than a battlefield. It also held the barest hint of a tremor; whether from fear or some other emotion, it was impossible to tell. “I am told you offered your space to the Grand Company on the Seedseer’s behalf. You have my thanks.”

Not trusting herself to respond to that, Miounne pushed the ledger on her desk towards her charge.

“Write your name here,” she said. “I oversee the Adventurers’ Guild here in Gridania. In name at least, you will be entered upon this roster as one of my freelancers. It should keep most people in town from asking inconvenient questions about your presence.”

A humorless smirk tilted the young woman’s mouth – ‘inconvenient for me or for you?’ that look said, plain as day – but whatever her opinion might have been she had apparently elected to keep her own counsel, because her expression smoothed back into a neutral mask almost as soon as it had appeared. She bent studiously over the ledger to write on the page with the quill, paused mid-stroke, wrote something else, and finally put the pen back in its inkpot.

Miounne took the book back, half expecting to see an X or some other scribble indicating a signature. 'Twas not uncommon to encounter foreign adventurers who either couldn’t read Common, couldn’t write it, or both. What she saw was a name scribed in painstakingly neat and perfectly legible Eorzean letters.

“…'Aurelia Laskaris.’ ” She stared down at the bowed golden head; those dark blue eyes would not meet hers. “That’s not some amusing nom de plume, I hope?”

“No, 'tis my name, save for a title to which I can no longer lay claim.”

Oh.

“Anyroad,” Miounne cleared her throat after an uncomfortable pause, “your room is through those doors. It’s hardly what one would call opulent, but you’ll find us Gridanians a very simple lot. Your meal times will be regimented as follows. Breakfast at six bells, luncheon at noon, supper at six past, and per the terms of your sentence you are to make an appearance at the inn for all of them if you are within the city limits.”

“Will that be all?”

“I’m told you will have a companion?”

That wry half-smile returned. “The minder assigned to me by your governing council, you mean?”

“Quite. If you are detained for any reason during a meal hour, you may send them in your stead to explain the situation so that the conditions of your service are met. I don’t expect to have to impose a curfew upon you as though you are a child. I ask only that in turn you will please not abuse my hospitality.”

“I shouldn’t expect there will be an issue,” the woman answered softly. “I do find, however, that my services as you put it are unnecessary at this juncture, and I am fatigued. By your leave?”

Somewhat bemused by the polite dismissal, Miounne nodded. Her gaze lingered for a moment or two upon the tall girl as she limped away from the desk and towards the doors that led to the bedchambers of the Canopy’s patrons without so much as a glance backwards.

To a native Gridanian, an exchange like that ending the way it did would normally have seemed abrupt or impolite. Presumptive, at the very least- but Miounne instead found herself feeling both a sense of consternation and pity. She wasn’t certain what she found more remarkable: the air of quiet melancholy that surrounded her newest boarder, or her pitifully dignified demeanor.

It was like watching a disgraced noble attempt to maintain some shred of self-possession while begging for scraps from strangers, and it made her acutely uncomfortable. She didn’t want to feel pity for a Garlean, especially not one she had not wanted to board.

But there was no help for it now. She’d given her word to the Council that she’d take the girl in, at least until a more permanent arrangement could be made.

Twelve, what have I agreed to…

~*~

Over the course of the night the latest bout of rain had passed, leaving the air still and humid. The sky was still grey and overcast, the ruined city somehow even more wasted in the light of day, blackened and broken. A thin and grimy patina of grey mud seemed to have been slapped over every single surface upon which feet had trod and the Canopy’s deck was no exception.

Aurelia limped towards the steps that led downwards to the main thoroughfare, taking care to watch her footing. A small crowd of people had gathered around the remains of the aetheryte plaza, and she saw no less than a score of men and women bracing the dark and cracked crystal with a mass of ropes and pulleys.

“Move!” a strident voice shouted. “Pull left on my count, one, two–”

As one the work detail hoisted and groaned and dug their heels into the water-loosened soil. The crystal moved perhaps the barest few ilms.

“Left! One! Two!”

She was just about to make her way down the steps when she felt the intrusion into her sphere of perception. Not even a heartbeat later, a gloved hand fell upon her forearm.

“Whoa, now hold on a moment, miss.”

Aurelia tensed, thinking perhaps she’d violated some unspoken rule, but the face she saw was mild-mannered and friendly. It belonged to a Miqo'te man with bronzed skin and fawn-colored hair and soft grey eyes, the pupils large and round in a fresh-looking face. He was wearing the yellow overcoat of what she was quickly starting to realize was the color of Gridania’s Grand Company, the Order of the Twin Adder.

“You don’t want to go out there just yet,” he continued.

“I’m sorry, but I’m expected. The Council was supposed to send someone-”

Without skipping a beat he thrust a hand forward. “That 'someone’ is me, as it happens. The name’s Keveh'to Epocan. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you and make certain you don’t decide to hop the border.”

“I doubt I should get that far,” Aurelia said wryly. “I can barely make it down the blasted stairs without falling.”

“That all that’s stopping you, is it?”

“Hardly. I couldn’t return now even if I wished it.”

“…Ah. Well-” he cleared his throat, “it’s the Conjurer’s Guild that has need of you, actually. But before we’re off… you’ll want to put this on.”

The object he held out to her was a kerchief, made of the same homespun, layered and heavy and obviously meant to be worn on her head. Confusion reigned for a span of seconds before her face paled and she looked away. 

“The third eye,” she said, her voice flat. “Of course.”

“Sorry, Miss Laskaris. It’s just…” He sighed, glanced at the work crew, and his voice dropped to a mutter. “I’m saying you should hide it for your own safety, you understand? People are… sensitive right now. They’re already upset enough knowing the Seedseer agreed to take in some of your fellows. Should they find out a Garlean is in the city, right under their noses…”

Her minder trailed off, watching her stare down at the rough hempen cloth in tense silence. To his credit he had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed, but he didn’t say anything as she arranged the kerchief on her head so that the fold over her brow covered both her third eye and her neatly brushed fringe.

“Most folk will know you’re a prisoner, mind, and they’ll be suspicious but they’re not like to harass you - at least, not any more so than any of the others. We’re for the Fane today, so we’ll just pass this lot by and leave them to their work.” Keveh'to held out his elbow. “Here, hold onto me. The mud’s left the pathways a bit tricky to navigate.”

It was slow going. The wooden-soled pattens had almost no traction to speak of and she slipped several times, her gait made clumsy with her limp. But her minder was patient and quiet, and caught her each time with a friendly smile, and they were able to pass by the crowd around the platform without comment.

The main thoroughfare was another story.

Most of it was a mess of charred wood and ashes, and along with the Miqo'te she had to carefully pick her way about the rubble. Several of the people clearing the debris had stopped to watch them pass, and Aurelia fancied she could feel those stony, hostile stares prickling the gooseflesh on her arms.

“Murderer!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Look at what you’ve done!”

“Keep walking,” came Keveh'to’s murmur at her shoulder. “Pay them no mind.”

A moment later she found herself thankful indeed for her third eye and the perception it granted her. The mud-covered stone had come from the other side of the road, hurled with a surprising speed. Aurelia acted upon instinct, barely cognizant of the attack until after it had happened, and was able to dodge it with relative ease. There was a sharp sting as it grazed her cheek and that was all.

Aurelia’s minder acted instantly. Tugging her arm to position her behind him in case any more thrown stones might be forthcoming, he turned a scowl upon  the small cluster gathered on the far side of the path, his tail lashing against her leg in the restless sort of way Sazha had used to do when he was agitated.

“Tossing about insults is one thing, ladies,” he said sternly, “but I’ll not have you attacking people in the streets.”

“Why is she even here?” the leader of the number scoffed, with an angry lift of her chin. She was pretty in the sort of way Aurelia recognized from personal experience: delicate features, head of glossy golden curls, blue eyes alight with defiance. “Why should we have to tolerate imperials in our own bloody city, the one they destroyed? Why are you defe-”

“Enough, Alyse! This isn’t your concern.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Seedseer. Now you keep your hands - and any thrown projectiles - to yourself in future, or there will be consequences.”

The Hyur’s jaw dropped.

“…Are you threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you that the Twelveswood’s law applies to everyone,” Keveh'to said coolly. “Now you have a choice. You can either disperse or return to your business, but make a decision before I have a mind to press the issue with the Wailers. Your father has enough worries as it is.”

The pair locked gazes for a moment, but Alyse was the first to look away - though she continued to glare daggers at his charge. 

Sullen-faced, the women returned to their work, and the prisoner hurried past with her minder close at her heels. They made their way down winding paths, past more burnt homes and shops and gardens, Aurelia keeping her eyes carefully fixed upon the ground.

“Down this path,” Keveh'to said with a brief gesture. “The Stillglade Fane is just ahead. Home of the Conjurers’ Guild.”

By chance or by design, the glade appeared to have been spared any major damage. The stones beneath her feet were worn smooth, mottled with lichen, and half-overgrown by countless treads along the path, and as she emerged she saw people lying in cots under the open air, sheltered from the sky only by the massively tall canopy of the Shroud that arched gracefully over the clearing. Robed figures moved with an unhurried grace from cot to cot, and a soft, cool breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

At her questioning glance, he confirmed:

“People often bring their ill or injured loved ones to the Fane for healing when matters are particularly dire - though the Hearers say it’s up to the elementals whether those lives be spared or no.”

“ 'Dire matters.’ I suppose there has been quite a bit of that particular circumstance as of late.”

“I’ll not deny it. Most come away with their hopes dashed, these days. Even at their friendliest, the elementals cannot and will not save everyone. This disaster left most of them so addled with rage they will no longer respond even to the Padjal. This way.”

Aurelia followed a few steps before she halted in her tracks, froze in place at the entrance. Even from here she could see the Fane’s interior corridor was dark and almost oppressively quiet, its walls close, barely enough to admit two people. 

No recourse if there was a collapse.

She stared into its depths without blinking, the pupils of her eyes blown wide despite the diffuse light of day, and all but startled out of her skin when the Miqo'te’s hand squeezed her forearm.

“They’re waiting on us, you know- …are you all right?”

“….I’m fine,” she rasped. There was a sharp and acidic taste on her tongue. Bile and burnt ceruleum. “I’m…. fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You look about to faint. Your leg, right? I suppose you’ve overtaxed yourself.”

“I’m-”

“Go sit down over there, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Aurelia opened her mouth to protest but one look at the man’s face told her it would fall on deaf ears. 

She limped towards one of the empty stumps and seated herself, watching him disappear into the recesses of the cavern, and uncurled the hands that had clenched into fists. Two of her nails had broken skin cutting into the meat of her palms and she hadn’t even noticed. The half-moon shapes welled with thin lines of blood.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her thighs - the small sting of those cuts helped her focus, at least a little bit - and took in the cool peace of her surroundings. It was a relief that this place seemed so serene and untouched by the disaster. Most of the city of Gridania had burned to the ground and she couldn’t bring herself to look at any of it. 

She supposed it was cowardice on her own part, at least on some level. It was hard to face what the VIIth had done, to acknowledge as their responsibility both the sheer scale of their folly and the consequences wrought from it. Carteneau had been horrible, but it had also been a battlefield; she could make sense of the ugliness of war in that context.

But as they’d traveled she had seen that it wasn’t confined to Mor Dhona. Bahamut had cut a deep wound into the very land and that included the deepest parts of the Black Shroud. Countless small villages had burned to the ground with no hope of rescue and naught left to salvage. There had been endless piles of deadfall and ancient old-growth trees burnt to hollowed husks, lines of shallow-dug graves peppering the roads around abandoned smallholds and settlements, and the sight of each had placed an invisible stone’s weight upon Aurelia’s stooping shoulders.

And beyond the Shroud was the entire continent of Aldenard, and that made her feel so ill with guilt she had to abandon the attempt.

“Miss Laskaris!”

Keveh'to was waving for her attention.

At his side stood… a boy, one with a pair of horns on his head that made her think of Kan-E-Senna. The smile he wore was not unlike hers had been either, though it felt somewhat more genuine, and as the pair drew nearer Aurelia couldn’t shake the feeling that much like the city’s ruler, this boy was much older than he appeared.

“The Seedseer sent word ahead,” he said. His calm voice was clear and crisp, like the sound of a bell on a cold winter morning. “Well met, Aurelia - it is Aurelia, correct? I am Brother E-Sumi-Yan, master of the Conjurers’ Guild. I trust your journey was quiet?”

“Very wet, but otherwise peaceful, yes." 

Were they really sitting here discussing the weather…?

"Ah, that is good. The elementals have been ever so uneasy, ever since the fires.” As if sensing her underlying confusion, he shifted the simple wooden staff to his other hand. “When Dalamud was destroyed, it unleashed a great and terrible force. One that wreaked havoc upon the realm and will, I fear, continue to do so for some time. 'Twas all my fellow Padjal could do to ease their pain and fury, and large pockets of the forest lie too heavy with woodsin to be safe for any living creature.”

“Aren’t they calling it another Calamity, Brother?” Keveh'to asked. “That’s the rumor making the rounds anyroad.”

His smile faded. “I’m afraid so. At the very least, Calamity or no, Eorzea has been brought to her knees. We were fractious and divided at the best of times beforehand, and this disaster has sundered us nigh beyond hope of recovery. The only silver lining thus far is - if you’ll pardon me, Mistress Laskaris - that the Empire appears to have fared no better than we in the aftermath.”

“No offense taken.”

“But enough of politics; you are here for a reason. Many have been injured, mind and soul as well as body,” he said calmly, “and they are desperate for those who can bring them succor. I am told you have skills that will prove useful when used alongside conjury, and that you have extensive knowledge of reagents and the like as well- though the Seedseer did admit that knowledge is secondhand.”

“I have a kit- a field kit, that I was told accompanied me to the city. With medicine and alchemics and such, and my… my tools, should they be needful.”

“They will be, I am sure.”

“Then I will bring it with me on the morrow.” She felt the fragmented pieces of her composure assemble, then settle, as she fell into her role. It was like shrugging on a comfortable coat - she could take some solace, if naught else, in the fact that she could still be trusted to do her job to the best of her ability. “Or at least, I assume that your Seedseer wishes me to work alongside the Guild in my capacity as a chirurgeon?”

“We certainly do. Tell me, Mistress Laskaris- did your duties in the VIIth Legion include the creation of medicines as well?”

“Most of the medicines were premade and shipped to the various castra from the capitol,” she admitted. “That said, any medicus worth the title should know how to create and use simple potions at the very least, yes. Why?”

“While the ability of a conjurer to heal is absolutely vital to our skillset, it is not all that we will need to weather the coming winter. Many people were lost to this tragedy and we have had refugees coming into the old city from the outskirts for weeks. People are in sore need of food and medicine, and we have fewer in the guild who are skilled in the craft of alchemy than I should like.”

“I am only one woman, I’m afraid, but I shall do my level best with what means are available.”

He beamed at her, with an earnest air that did remind her of a boy, at that moment. “Excellent. Now, I know that you must needs report to Mistress Miounne in short order, so let us discuss what you are to do here.”

She listened to his explanations, nodded when she was supposed to nod, and bid him a cordial farewell with the promise that she’d return anon.

But in the back of her mind Aurelia couldn’t help a certain misgiving, one she knew would nag at her for some time tonight. 

While she most certainly did know how to create medicines, most of the tools and components she would have used to restock her supply were not things one could find in a realm that clearly did not make use of much magitek, nor run upon ceruleum-fueled electric power. If she was careful, the contents of her kit would last for a good while, but it wouldn’t last forever. There wasn’t much to be done for it, she thought uneasily. Not right now. Not today.

Still…  she’d have to figure out a workable solution, and she'd have to do so in short order.

~*~

Aurelia hadn’t had terribly high expectations in the way of Gridanian hospitality, given her cordial yet rather tense exchange with the inn’s owner and operator the night before. Thus it was with considerable and rather pleasant surprise that evening when she returned to her quarters after making use of the communal bath to find a tray with a bowl of porridge, a cup, and a teapot sitting upon the night table by her simple bed.

A few fulms away, next to the table, was a familiar large black carbonweave bag.

As she limped towards the neatly made bed with its fresh linens she saw a change of clothes laid across the coverlet: a shift dress, soft cotton undergarments, and a simple leather corset. The attire was all elezen-sized; the dress would be a bit long on her but that was easy enough to rectify. 

The clothes were also in good repair, she noted, meaning they were either new or in as-new condition. The intent behind them was clear enough. Perhaps Miounne wasn’t a bad sort after all.

The Garlean allowed herself a small smile. She’d have to thank the woman at her next opportunity.

Toweling her hair dry, she slipped the undergarments on and the oversized shift, then sat down on the edge of the bed and unlatched the straps of her bag to have a look inside more out of habit than aught else. The assortment of vials and bottles and the small carbonweave belt with its set of steel tools appeared to be whole and in their proper places, not that she had particularly expected otherwise, but she was relieved to see that none of the bottles appeared to have been cracked or broken.  

An additional surprise lay nestled among the synthetic reagents: a small plain wooden box that was decidedly out of place among the piles of modern medical implements. When she lifted it a piece of half-crumpled scrap paper fluttered out of one of the corners to the bedspread, having been folded and tucked into the crack between the box and its lid with obvious haste.

Frowning faintly, she unfolded the note. The writing took some few minutes to read as the straggling shapes and awkward curves of the Eorzean letters made the words difficult to decipher.

Hello Lass. If your reading this then the Sd Seedseer gave you the feild kit like I asked. Sorry my letters arnt so good. Bryn added something to & says its in the Box.

If your ever in Limsa ask for me at the Winch. Badderon will let me know.

Good luck to you miss Arelia. Hope we meet again
Your Frend,
Cheerful Sparrow.

The hand holding the paper trembled.

Friend.

How long had it been since she’d dared to think of anyone as a friend, a true friend? She’d had her classmates of course, and her peers in the cohort. But they had been associates, not friends - such a level of intimacy was reserved for people with whom one felt safe sharing secrets and that was just not possible in the Empire, especially not in the capitol amongst her own kind. 

Not when her dreams and inner thoughts had ever ran so counter to that of the people she’d known.

Aurelia took a deep breath and opened the box.

The heavy, engraved silver pendant on its tarnished chain was one she knew all too well. When she slid her thumbnail along the groove to pop the catch that bound the locket shut, she found its contents exactly as they had been the day she had entrusted Sazha with it. 

On the left, the miniature daguerreotype portrait of her mother, safely ensconced beneath glass. On the right, a single pressed flower: the last of the Althyk lavender from her girlhood garden. A bloom she hadn’t seen with her own eyes in years.

It was all she could do just to clear her throat and blink back from her eyes the tears that threatened. He hadn’t forgotten.

Thank you, Sazha. Bryn, Sparrow – all of you. Thank you. Friends, all of them. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, she’d made friends in Eorzea already.

It gave her a small inkling of hope that maybe, just maybe, she had made the right decision after all.

Chapter Text

Only a handful of weeks later, Aurelia's solution initially appeared to present itself.

It had all started with a damp morning, the muddy pathways made more slippery with dew. Once again she had been relegated to the most menial of tasks while she put her leg through its healing paces (not that she would have had a choice in the matter either way; even could she use it the aetheryte crystal, broken beyond repair, had been disposed during her first sennight in the city).

On that particular morning it had meant the creation of field dressings from hempen bolts and the organization of the quickly dwindling alchemical supplies on hand within the Fane's storehouse. 

About her milled the Guild's grey-robed conjurers of varying ages and sizes and races, from Hearers to the greenest of novitiates to chirurgeons, and finally menial laborers and prisoners on work detail. Aurelia didn't really consider herself to be in their employ as a chirurgeon, given they had yet to actually trust her with a scalpel. 

Or, she thought wryly, perhaps there simply wasn't anyone in Gridania quite desperate enough to go willingly under the knife when it was wielded by a known enemy of Eorzea. 

Most of the townspeople simply made a point of ignoring her presence just as they did the others, clearly unhappy with the Seedseer's decision to take in imperial prisoners for the rebuilding effort but unwilling or perhaps unable to gainsay it. Her reception after that first day, when E-Sumi-Yan had introduced her to the others, had been about what she expected: cordial, but very chilly. 

It remained thus as she lingered about the far edges of the conjurers' notice, performing tasks that many either deemed beneath them or simply had not the time to complete. While Aurelia certainly did not find this state of affairs to be what one would call 'ideal', she supposed it was a measurable improvement upon having rocks thrown at her face by the surviving people of the city. 

So in the meantime, dressings it was. Dull work, but important all the same, and she was not like to be harassed or interrupted by hecklers so long as she kept herself relatively scarce from public sight. 

She'd barely paid attention to the robed figure hurrying past her station until a scant few moments later there came a yelp and the sound of breaking glass. A softly hissed "oh fuck me" was quick to follow on its heels, and with a frown she set aside her scissors and ventured out towards the source of the small commotion.

A young man in a novitiate's robes knelt on the ground, the expression he wore a picture of tragedy as he stared at the remains of a broken glass vial. His hands were bleeding from the glass shards but he barely seemed to notice the cuts. 

"Shite," he began with an audible gulp at the sound of her footsteps, "I'm so sorry , I wasn't-- oh, it's you."

The flat, faintly hostile tone stopped Aurelia in her tracks. 

"What's happened?"

"I've bloody broken the last vial of Azeyma rose oil we had on hand, that's what's happened, and Hearer Oswold will have my neck."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understand," she said cautiously. "If it's merely a matter of needing rose oil, there are-"

"Don't even finish that sentence." At her raised eyebrows, he let out a disconsolate growl and wiped his fingers on the grass. "Look, I'm sure you mean well enough, but a foreigner wouldn't understand. The number of calming ceremonies we've had to perform in the last two moons to keep the Greenwrath at bay - not quell it, mind, just to keep the settlements safe enough for basic survival - has eaten through our supply. And before you ask: no, it can't just be any rose oil, it has to be that kind, and most of the botanists' fields were destroyed in the fire."

"Might I be of assistance? Gardening was my hobby back home, you see, and-"

"This isn't going to be solved by hobby gardening , imperial. Were that the case I could walk up to any cosseted woman of means and just ask for-"

"If you would kindly let me finish?" Somewhat taken aback by the quiet retort, he fell silent before finally offering a grudging and sullen nod. "It's been my experience that in most instances the plants one needs for recipes, reagents, and the like can be found in the wild if needs must. Should your elementals insist upon a very specific type of rose for your rituals, then I would imagine surely that is the case here as well?"

"As it happens," he said slowly, "the Azeyma rose does grow in the wild. I'm told the sort grown by the botanists is actually cultivated from a type of wild quince, for larger hips and easier harvests. But the botanists have no one to spare to go seeking it in the Shroud. Nor do we for that matter."

"Of course you do. I'm certain someone else can be found to make field dressings in the meantime."

The expression on the young conjurer's face changed into some cross between burgeoning hope and consternation. 

"...Are you volunteering to go find it yourself?"

"I believe that is what I'm doing, yes."

"I thought you and yours weren't allowed to leave the city."

"Not alone, no, but that is easily remedied. You can come with me to fetch my escort if my intentions concern you. Either way, if you describe the flower you need, I should be able to harvest enough of what you need to create the oil for your ceremony, at the very least."

There was still a hint of lingering suspicion there as they'd gone in search of Keveh'to, but for the most part his attitude seemed considerably warmer when they parted.

==

Not a bell past, Aurelia found herself on the edges of the city with a large burlap crossbody bag and a pair of shears. The forest still bore an acrid burnt smell, but weeks of rains had dampened the scent and green had, slowly but surely, begun to overtake the ashes, with tree saplings and grass-blades poking tentatively through the deadfalls. While the damage was quite evident it was not so overwhelming that it provoked those gut-wrenching flashes of memory, for which she was quite grateful.

Her eyes scanned the undergrowth looking for the rose the man had described, her trail taking her closer to the creekbeds. She could feel Keveh'to's eyes on her and made sure to keep her movements slow and easily seen; all it would take for him to unsling his bow was an instant of suspicion and she'd have an arrow in her back. 

After a surprisingly short amount of time she saw the flower the novitiate had described. A small pink-red bloom, peeking shyly through a patch of weeds. There, she thought. That might be it. 

The thing she actually grabbed was decidedly not a flower of any kind. 

As soon as her fingers closed about the stem she heard a startled, high pitched squeaking and the sensation of something... warm and fluffy? flailing frantically at her searching fingers. The weeds rustled as loudly as though she'd disturbed a bird's rookery. 

"Kupopo?!"

Wincing, she immediately drew her hand back. The creature burst out of the bush in a shower of green leaves and small twigs. It was small and white with fluffy fur, leathery little black wings, and what she had thought at a glance to be the rounded, plump flower of a wild quince was simply a large, pink tuft of fur, dangling atop the animal's head from a slender stem of some kind. It was not a bird, or any kind of predator- but nor was it anything the Garlean had ever seen before in her life.

Aurelia set the small knife on the ground at her feet with the bag so as not to frighten it again, then held out her empty palms. 

"Terribly sorry," she said in a soft and conciliatory voice as if she were gentling a spooked animal, though she doubted it could understand her. "I... appear to have mistook you for a flower."

The creature didn't answer. It zoomed towards her face from one angle, then another, then just as immediately skipped out of her reach midair, its wings still fluttering wildly. It seemed curious, but still wary, taking her measure from top to bottom.

"Kupo," it huffed, and then swept away with the same surprising burst of speed towards deeper reaches of the forest.

"Miss Laskaris! Are you all right?" 

Keveh'to was running towards her, weapon drawn. With a slow blink Aurelia glanced back towards the copse where the small... mole? bat? mole-bat? had fled, but there was no sign of it now. 

"I heard something in the bushes," he panted. "A wolf? There's word that they've been preying on-"

She shook her head.

"No, not a wolf. I’m… not certain what it was, truth be told. A very odd creature. I've never seen its like before. This little fluffy thing with what looked like- bat wings, almost."

The expression he gave her then was the strangest look she'd seen from him yet: a slight narrowing of the eyes, then a guarded grin - as though he thought she was having a jest at his expense for some reason. "That must have been very strange indeed, Miss Laskaris," he smiled. "What did it say to you?"

Aurelia's eyes narrowed. He was definitely humoring her. 

"It wasn't really a word? Just a noise- then it flew away into the trees." She exhaled, sheathing the knife and folding it back into the bag. "I rather think I frightened it, actually."

"Well, there's all sorts of wild animals out this direction. It probably isn't safe to be wandering about too far beyond the guard station. Have you got that flower the conjurers sent you out for?"

"Unfortunately not. I suppose we could try the far riverbank and see if there's aught to be found."

There was not. 

Her foray into the east-central Shroud was a much longer affair and, for the next handful of bells, unfruitful. She didn't know the area so she didn't know what plants were native, what could be feasibly harvested and what was useless and where the roses they needed were wont to grow unchecked. 

As the sun climbed into the sky she called for a rest, and took the opportunity to lean against an elm tree to get her bearings. Once she was certain Keveh’to was not in hearing range, she cursed under her breath. 

Foraging and gardening were two entirely different undertakings, she thought--

The rustling sound emanating from a growth of nearby sumac caught her attention. With a thoughtful frown, she approached it on slow and careful footsteps. 

A glance at her back told her that her minder was still within sight, watching her with a curious tilt of his head. She was probably pushing her luck doing this. Even did he not become suspicious of her behavior, he'd mentioned something about wolves-

But she... heard voices?

Very small, high-pitched voices, but- no, she thought, 'twas no mistake. There were two of them. Talking.

"We shouldn't be out here alone!"

"You know we can't return empty-hand-"

"There could be Ixal or worse, kupo!"

Aurelia knelt, took a handful of leaves and brush in one hand, and pushed it back to reveal two of the small white bat-winged creatures she'd encountered before. Both of them let out cries of alarm and flew past her through the opening she'd made to flutter about the air in obvious panic.

"Ixal! We must flee!" one of them cried. "Flee for our lives!"

The second reached to its companion and caught it by its whisker, dragging it backwards. "She's a Hyur, not an Ixal!"

"She's not a Hyur, kupo! Far too tall! An Elezen!"

"No, she's not! The ears are all wrong!"

Aurelia could think of nothing to say so she said the first thing that came to mind. 

"Hells below, you lot can talk?"

Their argument cut off into abrupt silence at her (rather blunt and untoward) exclamation. 

Its fear quite forgotten, the first of the pair now spun about in tight and indignant circles mere ilms from her nose and waved its tiny paws furiously in her face. The rounded little sphere bobbed erratically on its thin black whisker as she shrank back, blinking in surprise. 

"Well! I never, kupo! That's a terribly rude thing to say," it huffed. "Of course we can talk! How would you like it if I said 'Goodness me, a talking Hyur!' You lot can talk, indeed!"

"And what of you and your friend, then? What are you?" Aurelia said, feeling rather a sense of whimsy in the vein of the absurd as she folded her arms over her chest in open amusement. "I met one of your, ah, people just this morning but-"

"Ha! See? I was right! I told you she can see us!" The second creature performed a delighted backflip. "Pleased to meet you! I'm Kupto Kapp, and this is Kapna Kugi! We're moogles, and most handsome moogles at that, kupo!"

She couldn’t quite hide her smile.

"I... see."

"...Don't you know what moogles are?"

"No, I come from a land quite far to the north. There's not any 'moogles' there, not that I'm aware, anyroad." She paused mid-explanation. "...Wait, what do you mean 'I can see you'? Am I not supposed to see you?" 

The pair exchanged meaningful glances but said nothing. Laughing softly, Aurelia raised her hands in mock surrender. 

"Never mind; forget I asked. I can pretend as though I never saw you, if you'd prefer it?"

"Quite all right, kupo!" Kapna Kugi chirped. "Did the Seedseer summon you to help fix the Twelveswood?" 

"Something like that. At the minute I'm actually trying to find Azeyma roses for the conjurers. Most of their fields were lost when-"

"The fires," Kupto Kapp mumbled, posture slumping forward for perhaps a single breath before he brightened with a cheerful wave of his tiny paws. "Oh! I think she's talking about the pretty pink ones that look like our poms! We know where you can find plenty of those, kupo! Follow us! This way! Watch your step!"

"All right. One moment..." 

She turned around, caught Keveh'to's eye, and waved, then motioned in the direction the moogles were already floating - it wouldn't do to get herself shot trying to fulfill this request - before adjusting the crossbody bag and venturing into the undergrowth by the riverbank.

Her first friends in the Black Shroud, Aurelia thought with a soft chuckle as she watched the pair dance happily through the air before her eyes. Very small and strange little friends (and she knew someone would probably have themselves a good laugh at the irony of a Garlean befriending what her people would have immediately designated as a beast tribe), but at this point she'd take any friendly overtures that came her way.

~*~

Alden Greene hauled another bucket from the back of the old cart and made for the debris-choked river. 

Truth be told, the middle-aged Midlander couldn't help his misgivings. The water smelled sulfurous and he'd heard talk from some of the other refugees that they'd seen the bodies of fish downstream, floating in the pools half-rotted and glassy-eyed ever since the fires that had ravaged the area over a moon past. But he was too exhausted and desperate to let himself be overly cautious. It had been days since they'd had fresh water of any kind and their food source had long since been reduced to the mealy, weevil-ridden hardtack from Resistance rations. 

They'd boil it, he thought. It would be fine.

Like countless others he'd taken advantage of the chaos in the wake of Dalamud's fall to slip across the border. While the Empire normally kept a close eye on Baelsar's Wall, even their warmachina couldn't be everywhere and there were rumors the XIVth had deserted Gyr Abania entirely, substantiated at least in part by the far leaner perimeter patrols in the fringes of the badlands as of late. It had been the perfect opportunity.

What he hadn't counted upon was the number of refugees in the Shroud itself, displaced by the destruction of their villages and as desperate for succor as he and his fellows. Most were on the road heading towards Gridania, though a fair number had spoken of leaving the forest altogether to seek solace in Thanalan. Ul'dah was a wealthy city and not as badly impacted; surely they would have opportunities aplenty. 

Alden didn't think there would be as many opportunities as some others wanted to believe, but he kept his opinions to himself and decided to try his luck with the forest folk. The last two hamlets they'd tried to shelter in wouldn't take them though- some rot about elementals and woodsin and the like that made no sense to him. 

Still, Gridania lay ahead and he'd heard they had taken in several families already. Perhaps they'd have better luck there. 

He shouted to Tilda to bring the stew pot and while he waited, he doused his grimy face and hands with the water in the bucket. A bath wouldn't be amiss either; maybe a quick swim in the creek was in order.

=

The first to sicken was old Edmund. The aged quarry worker was seventy-two winters, stooped and gnarled, already made frail from the rigors of a dangerous journey and a lung ague left to him from the unseasonably cold weather, so few thought much of it when he took to one of the wagons and was unable to leave it. 

Alden sent Tilda to tend him and did his best, in the meantime, to collect water and food for the others in the makeshift camp. They'd have to move on soon; there had been beastman sightings on the edges of the forest, Ixal no doubt lying in wait to harry their weakest remnant. The small handful of martially inclined still among them were watching the perimeter but it would not be enough if the birdmen made a concerted effort to attack.

Tilda wore a worried expression upon his return later in the day. The old man would take no water nor a scrap of food, she said, but his bowels were naught but liquid. She'd changed his bedding twice, and the reek had been enough to drive off all but the hardiest of stomachs, her own included. Only pity had compelled her to remain.

"Please, we have to break camp tonight," she begged. "He's taken so ill-"

"You think I don't have eyes, girl?" Alden growled, staring down at the half-eaten rabbit on its spit and not sure how much he really wanted another bite. Cursing softly, he flung the carcass into the fire pit and wiped at his lips with the back of one hand. "Aye, he's taken ill, all right. 'Tis the flux, no doubt. I've seen it before, at home and abroad with the army."

"But Da, I've never seen a case so bad. If we don't get him to a barber, and soon, he..."

He cut her off, voice a gruff rumble:

"He's like to die. I know."

Indignant, Tilda stood, wiping her hands on her apron and her dark eyes flashing fire. "How can you be so cold about it?! Over something so- so bloody unfair -"

"Because crying over one man's corpse won't save the rest of us!" 

Father and daughter glared at each other, shadows flickering against the backdrop of tree and cart. Tilda was the first to break eye contact, if only because she pivoted on one heel and stormed off towards their cart without another word. 

Alden watched her go before running a weary hand down one side of his face. 

His stomach turned at the thought of the dying old man alone and miserable in his own filth. The flux was a damned awful way to pass. He'd seen it sweep through entire villages if left unchecked. They'd have to burn the body, the sheets, aught that had been touched by its victim, and pray it wouldn't spread any further.

Shivering in the chill night wind, he drew his cloak tight about his broad shoulders and poked at the burning wood until the fire had died to naught but embers.

=

When they awakened in the morning, the old man had passed. Five others had fallen ill in the night, unable to leave their beds, and the worry among the refugees had become palpable. 

Feverish and ill himself, Alden shouted to the others to break camp, that they made for Gridania. As his daughter helped to load their meager possessions for the last leg of the journey south, he and two other men cleared the area around the dead man's cart and set it ablaze. They didn’t dare attempt to douse the flames until all had burnt beyond recognition. 

"Godsspeed, Edmund," he muttered under his breath. Imperial law had forced him to conceal his faith for so long that it felt strange to speak the words aloud again without fear of reprisal. His fingers grasped at the well-worn talisman of the Destroyer still laid under his homespun, warmed by his bare skin. "Twelve keep you." 

As epitaphs went, it was a piss-poor thing, but there was neither the time nor the resources to spare aught else. 

Still, pity speared him deeply. The old man had survived a fearful and trial-filled flight through the harsh and unforgiving climes of the Gyr Abanian badlands, had escaped to safety beyond the great steel wall-- only to succumb to such an ugly and ignoble fate in the middle of the Eorzean wilderness. 

Fate was a cruel mistress, indeed.

Unaware of what this new misfortune presaged, the Ala Mhigan boarded the weathered cart alongside his daughter and huddled trembling in his seat, hands weakly clutching at the chocobo's reins. Before and behind, the train of struggling men, women, and children made their way towards the city. The skies loomed over them, grey and ominous. Time was short; they must be away. 

Within a bell, the rains came and washed the detritus of the camp into the fouled waters of the river stream.

Another day had begun.

Chapter Text

What a bloody awful morning, Briallaux thought.

Another day, another downpour. The days were starting to blend together like the rain that fell from the patchwork sky.

He squinted into the grey curtains of water, soaking wet and bored to tears. The Wood Wailers’ perimeter patrol didn’t stop for such trivialities as inclement weather, but it was a miserable godsdamned time regardless.

“See anything?” he asked his partner. The other Wailer, a Hyur woman, grunted and offered no other response - not that he’d expected one. He had tried for the last two bells to strike up friendly conversation, to no avail. 

With a sigh he turned his eyes back to the mudwash that now passed for a road. There hadn’t been any illicit activity from beastmen or poachers to break the monotony, either. Just an endless sheet of rain, cold and unending as it had been for weeks. Like as not, the lancer thought with a sort of sour humor, the Ixal and Coeurlclaws all had enough common sense to stay inside and entertain themselves until the storm had passed.

“Say, what’s that?” his partner said at last. She’d raised her hand to point vaguely in the direction of the northern road. Briallaux couldn’t make out anything at first but after a few minutes had passed he saw the dark and heavy shapes dominating the road.

The two Wailers exchanged frowns. He tensed, reaching behind his back to grasp his lance-

-and the sound of voices -  a multitude of them - drifted into his ears. 

As the pair of sentries stood frozen and uncertain in their places, the caravan line of travelers staggered fully into sight through the silvered blanket of fog and rain. Briallaux’s shocked eyes counted at least fourscore: bedraggled and filthy, some limping on foot, others huddled shivering beneath what meager protection they could find in the pouring rain upon wagon seats.

However, it was clear no violence was imminent. This was no bandit’s ruse, merely a fresh influx of refugees seeking succor. Such sights had been commonplace; Dalamud’s fall had leveled entire villages and their inhabitants had no choice but to flee. By ilms the Duskwight relaxed his tight grip on the lance.

“Da,” a young woman’s voice rasped from the slow-moving carriage at the vanguard, and he saw her: a pretty Midlander girl with chestnut hair, one of her hands wrapped in the chocobos’ reins, the other clutching tightly at a pair of blanket-shrouded shoulders. They belonged to a man of late middle age, his face drawn and deathly pale, eyes glassy and fixed on some far-distant point.

Then, like a massive tree shorn of its roots by an Ixali logger, her tenuous grip on him came loose. He toppled forward out of the seat.

“By the Matron,” Briallaux swore, and took off at a sprint towards the carriage.

Ignoring the nervous kwehs of the draught animals, he knelt by the unconscious refugee to check for any injuries. The man fair radiated heat; it was like standing next to an active fire crystal.

A few fulms away his daughter stood before the chocobos, staring at him with stricken eyes even as she tried to gentle the frightened birds. He barely paid attention. His eyes fell upon the other sentry and gestured, then he pressed his fingers to the corner of his linkpearl. It worked less than half the time, these days, but they were close enough to the city that there would be a signal.

“Lieutenant?” he called to his superior. “Send word to the Quiver and the Fane.”

“What? What’s going on out there?”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the feverish man.

“We have a problem.”

=

Miounne glanced at the water drumming against the windows and shook her head before pouring another spoonful of boiled oats into the wooden bowl. No use worrying about the rising river water just yet; surely the Wailers would evacuate if they deemed there to be any threat to the city itself.

Determined to set her uneasiness to the back of her mind, Miounne picked up the two bowls, her gaze scanning the tables in the common area. They were unusually full for this time of day due to the poor weather; there was little hope of continuing work on the aetheryte plaza or aught else in this downpour. She wound her way through the patrons and the soft buzz of conversation toward the nearly empty round table in the back, near the entrance to the inn proper. The prisoner she’d taken in sat there alone, save for the presence of the Twin Adder bowman assigned by the Council to watch her.

“Sergeant Epocan. Miss Laskaris,” Miounne acknowledged, placing the bowls before them. “A good morning to you both.”

“Frumenty again, I see.” Keveh'to’s ears flickered. The Miqo'te looked irritable and bored. His Garlean charge had procured a quill and ink pot from somewhere or other and was writing something down on a piece of parchment. Aside from a slight lift of her free hand she didn’t speak.

“I’ve a kettle on for tea. 'Twill soon be ready, but in the meantime I thought you might like to break your fast rather than wait.”

He sighed.

“It’s been naught but frumenty for nigh on a sennight, Mother Miounne, where’s the rashers? The bloody eggs?”

“Not in the Canopy’s larder.” Outwardly unruffled but her patience frayed by days of complaints about the lack of rations, Miounne folded her hands neatly in front of her apron and fixed him with a polite smile that never once reached her eyes. “If you should like to go swimming in this storm to catch yourself a feral hog or to collect your own eggs, Sergeant, then I’d be glad to prepare them for you.”

The Keeper coughed.

“I… ah, no, that’s all right. I’ll take the porridge.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Though neither of them saw it, Aurelia stifled a grin behind her parchment.

“You’ve found something to keep yourself occupied, I see, Miss Laskaris,” Miounne observed, changing the subject with barely a pause.

“Hm? Oh, this.” She set the quill down and picked up a small piece of graphite. On the large page were several small sketches and matching paragraphs in ink, scribed in a painstaking hand. “Documenting the plants I’ve found in the Shroud.”

“I see. You’re an amateur botanist, are you, then?”

“Amateur gardener, more like, but I’ve been foraging on the behalf of the conjurers - with Keveh'to accompanying me, of course.” The Elezen glanced at the yellow-clad archer in momentary surprise. She hadn’t been aware the Sergeant knew aught of botany, though given Keeper traditions she supposed she shouldn’t be that surprised. “I should like to learn more about the forest in my own time as well.”

Keveh'to laughed at her, picking up his spoon.

“That why you started traipsing around the city, is it?” he managed behind a mouthful of porridge. “Here I thought all this time you were just bored, what with them setting you to work making field dressings for bells on end. Not that I’d blame you, mind.”

“It occurred to me that perhaps I ought to start weighing my options.” She stared at the words on her paper. “I do have a number of medicines and synthetic reagents stocked at present, but…”

Aurelia trailed off, noting the tolerant but only half-engaged expressions the two Eorzeans wore. They were listening, politely perhaps, but from personal experience she could tell at a glance when her conversation partner was or wasn’t interested in the particulars of medical practice.

Most people weren’t.

What she had meant to explain was that it had been years, literally years, since she’d had to craft her own potions. Basic mastery of pharmaceutical alchemy was required to sit the final exams from the Academy’s medical program, but in truth all of the actual production of most medicines to be found in the Empire took place in the capitol. From there, the mass produced alchemics would then be transported by air to the various castra throughout the provinces and doled out to the medical staff at each base.

Even chirurgeons in the provincial fringes had the option, nowadays, of requsitioning their refills from the capitol, so she had not given much thought to it until now - now, when that was no longer a luxury afforded to her.

That knowledge, Aurelia suspected, would be needful before too much time had passed.

Miounne tapped a knuckle thoughtfully against her chin. “The Botanists’ Guild is wanting for capable volunteers right now,” she said. “If you like I can pass word along that I’ve an adventurer with an eye for the trade. I agree that it wouldn’t hurt for you to learn more about the area - especially if you’ve a mind to start making your own potions. Folk who can do that are in short supply here.”

“That’s the idea. Do you know if-”

The loud snap of the front entrance door thrown open cut her off midsentence, and the graphite fell from Aurelia’s fingertips and clattered to the table. Three Wood Wailers, soaked to the bone, came striding in without a care for the water that dripped all over the floor. They wore their customary masks to hide their faces, but the grim set of their lips was unmistakable. Something was afoot.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” Miounne of course was the first to react, turning towards them with a polite bow (and partially blocking their view of Aurelia, who had not opted to wear her kerchief while her face was buried in her books). “Has something happened?”

“Aye, something’s happened, all right,” the tallest of their number said. He raised his voice, addressing the seated patrons at their tables. “Make your preparations; we’ll be needing all able hands.”

“Alfaut? What’s happened?”

“I’d rather not explain here, Mother. Just that we require aid at the Blue Badger Gate, with all haste.” The Wood Wailer hesitated, running his hands through his hair and shaking out a small waterfall onto the planks of the floor, and his voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “A runner’s been sent to the Fane.”

Hastily snatching her kerchief from where she had left it discarded on the table, Aurelia stood, rolling up the completed parchment to shove into the carbonweave bag at her side.

“Miss Laskaris, where are you going?”

“If they’re planning to summon conjurers,” she said, tying the kerchief about her head and concealing her third eye from view once more, “then there’s call for medical personnel, whatever the issue may be. I should report.”

Miounne answered firmly, “Not before you eat your breakfast.”

“But-”

“If you’re needed immediately someone will come and fetch you, and I am not sending anyone out with an empty belly. Eat. Both of you.”

That mulish expression reminded her, keenly, of L'haiya. Brow knitting, Aurelia exchanged glances with her minder, stared at the place setting… then let out a sigh and picked up her spoon.

~*~

One full fortnight later the rains had abated somewhat, but the influx of people had not - and nor had the sickness.

The hastily erected tents stretched well down the gate path towards the embrace of the devastated Shroud. Although they had taken pains to stage the quarantine area well clear of the river while keeping the roads open for travel, people milled about on the path anyway: running supplies, engrossed in hushed conversation, Wailers barking orders.

Above it all, the pained groans and the frantic sobbing of the ill and desperate. It was all far too similar to the immediate aftermath of Dalamud’s fall for Edwin Browne’s liking. 

He wiped another handful of water from his hair and shivered, pulling his heavy yellow coat tightly about him. He’d spent the last moon on assignment in the southern Shroud, having traveled directly from the Carteneau Flats to aid in quelling the worst of the woodsin. Like the others who had remained in the field as part of the Seedseer’s entourage, Edwin had expected at least some time to breathe when he had gone to deliver reports to Stillglade Fane.

Needless to say, his arrival in Gridania two suns past had not proven the respite for which he had hoped.

The lanky man in his Wailer’s leathers stood before him, patiently awaiting an answer. Edwin exhaled, sniffled, shook the water off his fingers.

“The flux has spread to outlying villages,” the conjurer said. His voice sounded flat and dull and barely audible over the din. “You’re certain?”

“On both sides of Baelsar’s Wall, so our scouts say. I suppose it’s small consolation, but we’ve reports the Garleans are likewise affected. Several of the Castrum Oriens garrison have taken ill as well.”

“It does cheer the spirit to know ‘tis not like we’ll have imperials to contend with on top of the bloody flux, but-” Edwin gestured to a small cluster of refugees waiting outside the opened mouth of a nearby tent, “-this lot is surely coming over the Wall.”

“Can hardly blame them, can you? I don’t imagine the Empire will raise a finger to help them.”

He didn’t answer. His eyes had caught on a familiar figure: tall, slim, and blonde, dressed in a simple dalmatica and slops but still unmistakable by her height alone - though last time he’d seen her she’d certainly not been walking.

“Sergeant Browne, sir? Shall I inform Master Lewin?”

Edwin shook his head. “I merely spied a familiar face,” he said. “Please do. The Wailers’ assistance may be necessary outside the city before all is said and done.”

The man saluted and quickly made his way up the path. That done, the conjurer wound his way through the throngs of civilians and soldiers idling near the tents to tap the prisoner on the shoulder. She gave him a bland stare in return before recognition dawned in her eyes. 

“Ah, Sergeant Browne,” she said, with a warmth in her slow smile that surprised him. “It’s been some time.”

“So it has. I see your injuries have healed.”

“For the most part, yes. Have you been here long? I’ve not seen you at the Fane.”

“Duties called me elsewhere. I take it you’ve been working the quarantine?”

“Aye, I have.” Her smile faded and her gaze broke away from his face to stare out over the line of hempen grey, edges blurred by the diffuse daylight. “We’ve lost nearly a dozen so far and people keep arriving every day. Anyone’s guess as to whether it’s the sickness driving it, or if it’s part of a general migration south, but…”

“How many in the last moon?”

“Near two hundred.”

“So many?”

“Gridania won’t take them in. But we can’t very well leave sick people outside the gates to foul the drinking waters so that leaves myself and a handful of novices to see to the issue, I suppose.”

“Would you like company? I’ve been asked to assess conditions in quarantine. The Council is concerned about this spreading to the townspeople-”

“What they need to do,” she said testily, “is send someone out to investigate the Shroud’s water sources.”

“Personnel is limited, Miss Laskaris. As well you know.”

“Then they should revisit their priorities! There has to be something fouling the waters.” Her eyes were unexpectedly bright; the sharpness in her voice uncharacteristic of what little he had heard of her thus far. Taken aback, he remained silent as she continued. “When should they take it seriously? When the townspeople begin to take to their beds?”

“You know that I agree with you, but what would you have us do? We’ve few options. I’m sure the Council has already advised that people boil their dr-”

“Boiling their drinking water isn’t enough. Even bathing in tainted waters can sicken a body.”

“The people here are not like to take it well if you tell them they cannot partake of the river’s bounty.”

“I should rather have people deal with the unpleasant taste of boiled water until the problem is resolved than to lose their lives. I assume this is hardly the first time their Council has faced such a problem, so they should know what needs to be done. I’ve no idea if the culprit is mundane or supernatural, but there are means enough to deal with the former.”

A chill gust blew a small burst of rainwater into their faces and the pair grimaced, each throwing up an arm to shield their eyes from the rain now streaming down at an angle.

“Seven hells, the tents will wash into the bloody river at this rate.”

“Here’s hoping not. The last thing we need is another crisis.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m about to do my rounds speaking to the new arrivals, if you’d like to do your investigation alongside.”

Each of the stories they heard was the same, in the end. An alteration of small details here and there, but in most cases the people spoke of hardship, of devastation, and now, of sickness. They had come from all parts of the Shroud, on both sides of the border wall, and now they huddled in thin tents and windbreaks, pressed against each other for warmth.

“By the Twelve,” Edwin muttered when they entered the final tent. It appeared all but empty, occupied by exactly three people. The first was a tall and lissome Elezen in conjurer’s robes, her gaze upon the trembling shoulders of a sobbing Miqo'te, and-

He heard the Garlean’s breath catch, in a soft and stricken oh.

Lying upon the cot, knees drawn up to his chest beneath his blanket, jaw slack and shaking, was a little boy - perhaps six or seven summers, at a guess. His hair fell in damp strings upon his flushed face and spilled over the meager pillow, and his ears lay flat against his head, tail twitching only the barest hint beneath his hempen coverlet.

“Sergeant Browne?”

This from the other conjurer, who had turned towards the entrance at the sound of the tent flap lifting.

“Ginette,” he said, nodding. “This is-”

“I know who the prisoner is. Why are you here? Why is she here?”

Edwin narrowed his eyes at the chill in the woman’s voice, but answered: “I’ve come to inspect the conditions in quarantine and Miss Laskaris was kind enough to consent to an escort.”

“Well, you’ve seen what the conditions are like, now get her out of here. This is going to be difficult enough as it is.”

“What harm can she possibly cause? She can’t use magic.”

“That’s not the bleeding point, Browne!”

Aurelia had heard that scorn but barely took notice; she had become used to the cool disdain of the Gridanians over the past few weeks, and all of her attention was fixed upon the small figure lying prone a few fulms away. While the two conjurers bickered quietly she slipped past them to kneel at the woman’s side. One of those small hands lay limp at the kitten’s side, so she took it in her own. It was dry and hot.

“I… m-miss? Who’re ye, then?”

The broad, lilting speech of Gyr Abania. Home.

Aurelia braced herself before looking into the woman’s eyes, but saw neither recognition nor censure. So she hadn’t guessed, then. “Pray excuse my intrusion; I’m here to assist the conjurers. This is your son?”

“Yes, miss.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“I… he-he was fine until we came through the damned forest and now… he can’t keep anything down but he won’t eat and won’t leave his bed. I-I don’t know what to do!” The boy’s mother let out another helpless sob, and even in the poor light she could see lamplight reflected in the woman’s golden eyes, dark with desperate exhaustion. “Please, miss, my other sons were taken by the army. I spent all the coin I had left to buy us passage across the Wall and he’s all I have left, I-”

Aurelia didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed upon that small, pale face, replacing it with another: a laughing emerald-eyed boy who had climbed trees with her, had learned his letters with her, let her drag him into all manner of pranks. Who had lain beneath the zelkova tree in her garden and-

She took a deep breath, dispelling the web of memories.

“What is your name?”

“Eh? I-…my name is J'nehda.” The other woman swiped at her eyes with her forearm. “Why?”

“J'nehda, do you think you could go speak with Sergeant Browne - that man in the yellow coat? Tell him I said we need water.”

“Aye, o’ course I can, but-”

“He’s in good hands,” Aurelia said, bemused by the calm and gentle tone of her own voice. “I promise.”

She placed her other hand over his, enfolding them as carefully as glass. Feverish. Cracked lips, sunken eyes. The next step if he didn’t take water soon, she knew, was organ failure, then death. He stood on the verge as it was. But if she could get him to take even a little water-

Pain lanced through her temples, a flash of white blotting out her vision for a good handful of seconds. Aurelia bit down on her lip so as not to alert the boy’s mother or the conjurers on the other side of the tent partition, and tasted copper on her tongue.

||Hear||

Oh hells not this, not now! Why does this keep-

||Hear||

“What do you want from me,” she hissed between clenched teeth, but there was no answer - not that she had expected one - and she had been blinded by its light. 

All she could see was white. White and an endless sea of faceted blue.

Her hands, clasping the boy’s, spasmed.

||Feel. Think||

Think. He stood on the edge of his mortality. Needed something to help his chances. Aether.

But she couldn’t, she-

“Imagine you are the water.”

This instruction, calm and soothing: neither her own thoughts nor that overpowering command. A voice, one that felt almost familiar. A memory. Like something

(someone)

she had forgotten.

”You must needs only imagine and believe. Once the will is applied, the creation becomes reality.”

But- no.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t use aether. None of her people could use aether. Centuries of hardship, of exile, of wandering from land to land, shunned and invaded and tormented by their neighbors, because of it. The one gift everyone else on the star had, except Garleans. 

They couldn’t touch aether, she couldn’t touch it, it lay beyond their-

Crystalline blue, rippling like a disturbance upon a pond surface once still like glass. White heat hissing through her veins, a frantic levin energy that surged like the tides within her limbs. It surged and gathered and had nowhere to go but out. She let it flow through her arms, her legs, her face, the tips of her hair and her fingers-

-and pushed.

Something cool (water? she thought distantly) prickled along the small hairs on her arms. 

She registered a gasp, unimportant, barely on the edge of her consciousness, and let the water in her fingers flow into the small body like a mountain spring trickling into a pool. A steady stream of cold, and blue. And.

Life.

Her name, less spoken than shouted.

Something in Aurelia’s chest seized with pain, something thick and hideous and stifling, as though an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed.

“No!” 

That voice again. Rough. Immediate. Panicked.

"Miss La- Stop! You can’t-“

Her heart stuttered.

The water kept pouring.

She felt the small fingers cupped within her palms twitch. 

Once-

Twice-

“Aurelia!!”

-then black swallowed the blue, and she felt nothing at all.

Chapter Text

OCCUPIED ALA MHIGO, 6AE 1564

The midday sun beat down upon weathered terracotta stones, the transparent shimmer of heat waves rising to the heavens from every street and every rooftop in sight. 

It was another sweltering high noon in the throes of a Gyr Abanian summer, and even the water that splashed into the stone walkway fountains of the Administrative District would be as warm as a drawn bath, and Aurelia bas Laskaris paused at the wrought-iron gate with her silk parasol poised overhead in one gloved hand while fanning herself with the other and squinting against the daytime glare down the incline of the street towards the city centre. She was panting softly, both from the unaccustomed exertion and from the unrelenting heat. The paltry bit of air that stirred from the motion of her hand wasn't doing much to offset her discomfort, in part because it currently clutched a linen handkerchief she had drawn from one pocket.

The girl dabbed at her cheeks with the neatly monogrammed square of fabric before wrapping it about the handle of the iron gate, so as not to scald her fingers when she opened it- although in truth, her first course of action was to glance nervously towards the reflective bank of the street-facing parlor windows to make certain no one had marked her arrival. She knew perfectly well it wasn't proper for a girl of her station to be out and about without escort, but Sazha had been missing all morning and the jaunt to the delivery station was so close that in her opinion it hardly warranted a chaperone.

Still, she reasoned, mayhap a different approach would be a wiser choice. Just in case.

Aurelia let herself through the gate and braced it so that it would swing shut quietly. The metallic rattle and the creaking of the hinges were stifled at least somewhat, but she barely noticed that once she caught sight of her garden. She grimaced; even the hardy Althyk lavender blooms looked pitiful and half-wilted, the tiny purple petals drooping for want of relief. 

Promising herself she'd water them once the sun was not so high, she hopped lightly in her kidskin shoes across the weathered garden stones in an idle and practiced manner that bespoke long habit. It was the cook's day off, meaning no one would be watching the kitchen entrance. 

The door was unlocked. Cook insisted on leaving the door open in the afternoons to let out the heat when she was working, but for now the large room was dark and cool, and silent - there was not even the soft and insistent click of the ceruleum pilot lights from the stoves.

Aurelia gathered up her skirts and slipped through the space between the cold pantry and one of the cabinets until she reached the pass-through door to the dining room. From there she could enter the parlor, deposit the mail, and be back to her desk and its stack of texts before anyone was the wiser. That was the plan, anyroad.

She paused at the door and put her ear to one side, listening for a creak of the floorboards or aught else that might indicate someone on the other side before she judged it safe to continue. 

Allowing herself a soft sigh of relief, Aurelia lowered her hand to the steel latch, slowly twisted the glass knob, and nudged the door open with the toe of one of her fine boots. It swung open on its hinges with only the smallest of creaks. She froze but no sounds arose in its awake, and with the same amount of care she let the door shut behind her, then slipped through the dark dining room and into-

"I should have figured as much."

Ah shite. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach and she let her chin tilt upwards, towards the staircase. L'haiya dus Eyahri was leaning against the balustrade, hands neatly folded over each other as always, tail slapping with a measured rhythm against the spindly wooden shafts. 

"Elle," the young mistress of the house managed. It came out as a very small and undignified squeak.

L'haiya released a most long-suffering sigh, though she didn't seem irate. "Honestly, Aurelia, I don't know why you must always insist on attempting to be underhanded. It doesn't suit you at all. You could have simply waited for me to return. I take it you've brought today's post?"

"I'm sorry, Elle, truly. I'd have sent Sazha, but he isn't here and you know how cross the postmaster gets when we leave missives overnight."

"What of it? The wheat-counters can take their dear sweet time snooping about your lord father's business before reporting it to the viceroy. You aren't to go out unattended; you know the rules."

"I wouldn't have been out alone at all if Sazha had shown his face." Aurelia folded the parasol, placing it neatly in its spot in the brass stand by the bottom of the staircase. "Honestly, if he wanted the day to himself he could have just said so." 

She could feel the woman's gaze on her back but barely paid attention as she flipped through the envelopes, scanning the names and continuing on her way towards the parlor. All of the mail, as usual, involved official government business. Father had a specific place he wanted the post placed when it was brought home each day. He'd take his documents down the side hall to his study later tonight and flip through their contents when she sought her bed. She'd seen less and less of her father as she grew older, as she became engrossed in her studies and he with legate affairs, and the already quiet house felt lonelier and lonelier with each passing season.

As she crossed the threshold into the parlor, she came to an abrupt stop. The small blue card that had been lying on the side table the day before was gone.

"Elle," she called over her shoulder. She set the post down in its basket for her father on the mantelpiece. "Did Sazha pick up his card?"

Silence. She made her way back towards the threshold and peered out of the doorway at the stairwell, wondering if her question had simply gone unheard- but that didn't appear to be the case. The woman's odd eyes were fixed on her face, their sunset colors strangely muted.

"Elle?" she pressed. 

For the first time since she could remember, L'haiya dus Eyahri could not immediately answer her question. Nonetheless, the Seeker stared at her charge, expression unchanging, and Aurelia... knew. She knew. A ball of ice settled in the pit of her stomach.

"L'haiya," she repeated, weakly. "Where is Sazha? Where did he-"

"Left at first light," L'haiya said. The words came slow, seeming to seep from her tongue like half-frozen molasses. "He reported to Porta Praetoria for processing. As he was bid."

Despite the heat of the day the parlor felt as though it had chilled to the dead of winter. She swallowed past the lump that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat. 

"He... he can't have... he would have told me. He would have..."

"Would have what ? What explanation do you believe you're owed?" L'haiya snapped. "That card amounts to a direct order from His Radiance. Sazha did no more than his duty. Should fate smile upon him he'll have his citizenship. You should be happy for him."

"But- but he can't just leave -"

"He can't leave without your permission. I see." Her eyes went flat. "And what do you think he should have done, then? Sat at your heels as your loyal hound forever? Ready to heel, or attack, or jump for you with a snap of your fingers? To go wherever you bid him? He knows the way of things here. 'Tis long past time you learned them yourself."

The girl paled, flinching from her governess' harsh words. L'haiya said nothing, remained still and stoic and silent, gaze flat and hostile. Aurelia was unsure if the Miqo'te's ire was meant for her or if Elle was upset about something else entirely, and at the moment she didn't care. She felt her own hurt and resentful fury welling up from a place deep within herself, where she kept it so carefully bound away. 

On impulse she bolted for the front door and flung it open, sprinting for the gate. 

"Aurelia! Where are you going?! Aurelia, come back this instant! "

Without even a brief glance backwards she ignored L'haiya's shout. She fled down the incline of the street towards the city, heedless of her path, nearly knocking aside a patrol on their rounds. Mostly conscripts, the cohort hastily deferred to her passage and all but leapt onto the promenade as one at their decurion's startled command.

L'haiya's voice, echoing against the stones: no longer angry, but frantic.

"Aurelia!!"

Her sides hurt. Her feet ached, bound as they were in walking shoes unsuited for the strain placed upon them. She kept running. Sprinting through the city center, through the marketplace, past the surprised and curious faces of onlookers.

At the southern wall she braced herself against terracotta stones and mortar, indigo eyes desperately scanning the high and wild loneliness of the salt flats. Wide and placid, Loch Seld shimmered like a queen's jewels against the sun and not a soul stirred beyond the city gates, even the water birds quiet and roosting to avoid the heat. 

Across the bridge on the far side of the loch, she knew Porta Praetoria awaited. But she already knew it would do no good. It didn't matter how far she ran to catch him. Sazha wasn't coming back. They'd send him to the far edge of the Empire to make sure he wouldn't run.

Her best friend was gone. Just... gone. Not a word to mark his departure, not a word to her in warning. 

She opened her mouth to take a breath, pain still stabbing at her sides from the run - and what came out instead was a sob. 

~*~

"Aurelia! Aurelia, open your eyes-"

Her chest seized, sharp and painful, darning needles driven between her ribs.

She coughed violently. Heavy limbs convulsed against hard-packed dirt. Aurelia cringed away from the hand that roughly shook her shoulder, and tasted something like metal on her tongue. Tasted like... crimson. Blood. She'd bitten it. Couldn't remember when.

A pair of arms snatched her from the ground. Her cheek pressed against something damp and cold and-

Yellow.

"Miss Laskaris. Are you all right?" the yellow asked. He spoke Common, in an accent foreign to her ears. The words were rapid-fire and loud, laced with an urgency she didn't understand. "Can you talk?"

It didn't make sense. The Garlean turned the question over and over in her head, still bemused by the sudden change in sensory impressions. Another city lingered within the annals of her mind and in the blazing heat of her skin: bright and punishing light, smell of salt and cardamom, translucent waves upon sunkissed terracotta. 

This place... was cold. Wet. Cold and wet. Petrichor smell and slick earth and the flickering impressions of leaves. 

She was shivering in earnest. Cold. She was cold. 

"Sazha," she croaked, the only word she could manage. Her tongue ached, swollen and sore. The word dropped graceless and half-growled from her lips. 

Yes, that was right. She’d been looking for him. He had left and she’d gone looking for him. But she couldn't find him because he

(couldn't come back. not now. not ever.)

wasn't here either, surely not. This place wasn't Ala Mhigo, it was-

She couldn't remember. But Yellow Arms looked familiar. 

It didn't make sense.

He stared at her flushed face, at the eyes black-blown and unblinking, and shouted at someone outside her range of vision. "Run for the Fane and get the Guildmaster on linkpearl! Tell him there's an emergency!"

"But-"

"Now!"

Retreating footsteps. Something lukewarm on her skin, pressed against her burning brow.

Water from the fountains? But there's water in the house-

"I've got you," Yellow Arms said. His voice was rough, anxious, his words tripping over themselves. He was casting some kind of spell, one she ought to remember, one that had been used on her before. Recently. "You're going to be fine, do you hear me? You're going to be fine."

Cold. She was cold.

(sazha where are you where is this why am i so c)

Aether weighted her frame into the ground like the base of a standing stone. Her brain kept moving in fits and starts, her words wouldn't come. She lay in a stranger's arms in a land that wasn't hers: silent and heavy and crumbling, like the ancient altars of desecrated mountain temples. Half-forgotten. Grasping for meaning and finding nothing.

The pall of memory dragged her back down into its sunless sea, and she drifted once again.

==

Time fractured, for a while.

She fell through starfalls and floods and the drop of a great red moon, punctuated with fitful moments of disjointed and tenebrous wakefulness in the bowels of a windowless room. 

Sometimes she was alone; other times there were figures that bent over her bed. The faces sometimes frightened her. She had no way of knowing who she would see when she opened her eyes. Most often they were strange to her, or vaguely familiar at best. An Elezen woman, peering into her face with worried eyes. A Miqo’te frowning closely at her, rounded pupils even larger for the lack of light. A boy with a calm countenance and rain-gray eyes as gentle as the hand on her brow, horns peeking through his sandy hair. 

Sometimes it was faces she knew all too well: Sazha, L’haiya, her father. A parade of classmates and relatives and superiors, berating her and listing her myriad failures in disappointed whispers. 

Once she jolted out of sleep with a name she didn’t know on the tip of her tongue, but the syllables receded into oblivion before she could speak them aloud. She tasted wet and salt: tears leaking into one corner of her mouth- 

-but she was already sinking under again, consciousness subsumed like shifting sands beneath waves. The last lucid memories she had were sensory: the chill of a damp cloth run over her limbs and a woman’s voice speaking in soft and solemn tones.

She slept on.

==

She awakened to the sound of birds and the sight of wooden rafters.

Aurelia’s eyes felt as though someone had replaced them with open sandbags; they were sore and raw and the act of shutting and opening was sluggish and painful, but she forced herself to do it anyway. 

She lay in something soft and warm and pliant. Sunlight streamed into the room through a double-paned window, spilling over a small vase of tea roses. The sound of soft and regular breathing caught her ear at about the same time as the sensation of something tapping against the mattress. A glance down showed her it was a tail. A Miqo’te tail.

She turned her head to follow the twitching tip to its source, driven by a small spark of hope that perhaps, just maybe , everything had been a dream. Maybe she was home, and Sazha was-

A deeply tanned man - who was not her childhood friend - dozed in the chair a few fulms away, wearing a familiar yellow overcoat. One of his fawn-colored ears flickered every now and again with his quiet snores.

The sight dispelled the last remaining vestiges of her confusion. This was Eorzea, not the Empire. Sazha was gone, she was a prisoner, and the man dozing at her bedside was there to ensure she wouldn’t attempt to escape her sentence.

Aurelia allowed herself a quiet and regretful sigh… and was promptly seized with a coughing fit, one that startled Keveh’to awake. 

“Miss Laskaris! Are you-”

“Water,” she coughed. He scrambled for the decanter on the side table and poured water into an earthen mug, all but thrusting it in her face before flinging himself to his feet. 

“Hold that thought! I’ll be right back. Mother Miounne said to let her know when you awakened.”

“Wait, how long have-”

Keveh’to was out the door before she could finish her question. 

She took a long sip of the water between small coughs and took in her surroundings. The room was recognizably hers - her black bag sat in the corner next to the mostly empty armoire alongside her mud-stained pattens - and at some point someone had disrobed her. She wore only a hempen shift over her smalls, the garment that passed for her bedclothes. It was one of the secondhand items she’d been given upon her arrival in Gridania with naught save the clothes on her back. 

Once she’d worn fine silk gowns and carbonweave-lined corsetry and furs; now she wore simple slops most like those donned by the Empire’s provincial smallfolk. There was a certain irony in it that might have made her laugh under other circumstances, but sitting alone with a mug of water trying to get her bearings was not really a laughing matter. She remembered heat on her skin, the scent of cardamom and her governess’ sachet, and felt suddenly and achingly homesick. 

There was a soft rap on the door. 

“Miss Laskaris?” a woman’s voice called. “Are you awake? May we come in?”

“Yes, by all means.”

Three figures came single-file into the room. Keveh’to had returned, and with him he had brought Miounne and the youthful-looking master of the Conjurers’ Guild. E-Sumi-Yan’s features were grim, his mouth set in a flat and worried line.

“Ah, Aurelia,” Miounne said, startling the Garlean with the use of her name, and her voice held a note of warmth that hadn’t been there before. Her hands held a tray with a teapot, a cup, and a bowl of lentils and wheaten bread. “ ‘Tis good to see you awake. I thought you might like to break your fast.”

She hadn’t realized she was hungry until the smell hit her nose and her stomach let out a loud and very unladylike growl.

“I take it that’s a yes. Well, then.” She set the tray on Aurelia’s lap. “I believe the Guildmaster wished a word with you in private, so I shall take my leave. Sergeant Epocan, come with me, please.”

“But I’m supposed to-”

Miounne cast him a sharp and meaningful glare. “Sergeant. Now.”

Grumbling, Keveh’to let her shove him out the door with an irritated flick of his tail, leaving her alone with the master of Stillglade Fane. 

He didn’t speak for long moments, and Aurelia felt absurdly small, as though she were being called on the carpet - although E-Sumi-Yan’s body language and expression did not speak of anger or even disappointment, merely deep concern. Unable to sit still beneath his scrutiny, she picked up her spoon in one hand and the bowl in the other. Her companion seemed content to wait until she had emptied the bowl; he did not speak until she had picked up her cup of tea and taken a tentative sip. 

“As Mother Miounne says, Aurelia, ‘tis good to see you awake. You had everyone quite concerned.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“You awakened on several occasions, but you were rarely lucid. You have lain in a fever for nigh on a sennight.” The Padjal sat down on the stool Keveh’to had occupied, folding his hands in his lap. His gaze was very, very direct, and Aurelia had to stare down into the contents of her cup to escape it. “Do you recall aught of what happened before your collapse?”

“There was a boy,” she murmured, feeling more than a little foolish to recall it. “He was very sick, and I… I don’t know what I did. It was a feeling like… water? I suppose? My apologies, but I’m not entirely sure what transpired. There was a pain in my chest and then everything went black.” 

His gaze fell to his hands for a few tense moments before it fell upon her again, but his eyes had softened a touch.

“I must needs offer mine apologies,” E-Sumi-Yan said simply.

“What? Why?”

“What ailed you was depletion shock. You used your own aether to power a healing spell and did not have enough remaining to fuel your own body’s functions.”

Aurelia swallowed. “I… I felt my chest…”

“Total depletion of one’s own aether is very rare in controlled environments, but when it occurs it is life-threatening - and often fatal, if not treated immediately.” E-Sumi-Yan appeared as though he meant to add something else, but thought better of it, clearing his throat instead. “I shan’t go into the details, but suffice to say, you were extremely fortunate.” 

She poured herself another cup of tea with shaking hands.

“In truth, I had a mind to lecture you most sternly upon the consequences of your actions before I realized that the fault could not be laid at your feet.” He shook his head. “Garleans, it is widely held, cannot channel aether.”

“Are… you saying that I-”

“You made a very common beginner's mistake. A dangerous one,” he said, the flat, grave expression returning for a brief moment. “But I cannot take you to task for it as I would one of our novices. The possibility you might harbor this particular talent did not cross my mind and that lapse in judgment very nearly cost you your life. For that I am truly sorry.”

“What- no, you don’t have to do that,” she protested as he bowed to her from his seat, nearly folding himself in twain. “Please, Guildmaster. Really, it’s quite all right. Naught but my own recklessness, for which I have paid well. I’m sure it shan’t happen again.”

“Once you have regained your strength I will personally see to the matter of your training.”

“But-”

“This is not a request, Aurelia. Our city has its rules for a very good reason, and I cannot allow you to roam about the Twelveswood with your magicks unchecked,” E-Sumi-Yan said firmly. “I shall have Mother Miounne send word to the Fane when you are ready to return to your duties, and we will speak of this matter anon.”

Long after the door had closed behind him, Aurelia sat in stunned silence.

After a few moments she set her teacup down upon the worn and stained surface of the tray in her lap and tilted her wrists upward. Her fingers unfolded to reveal her palms like day lilies at morning, and she stared at her opened hands. 

Hands that had channeled aether in order to heal.

Hands that had channeled aether.

She’d never touched so much as a mote of aether in her life so how could she do it now?  

“Seven hells,” she growled aloud, passing a hand across her eyes.

She set the tray aside at the edge of the bed, and on legs that felt decidedly unsteady, she stood and made her way to the armoire for something to wear. She could take the tray back to Miounne and stretch her legs, use the chamberpot, and hope she wouldn’t be sent back to her room with a lecture for being up and around so soon. 

But she needed to talk to someone about this, and that someone was probably and very realistically going to be Keveh’to, and she was going to need something much stronger than tea.

Chapter Text

Aurelia stared morosely through the only window in her bedchamber. The work on the aetheryte plaza had seen its completion a scarce sennight past, though its heart still bore no crystal, and an out-of-season cold front overnight had dusted the rough oak planks of the deck with a thin layer of snow. A small cluster of children, delighting in the rare sight, quickly discovered the novelty of tossing handfuls of the powder at each other while shrieking in raucous joy to the sky and the bared branches outside.

Outside, where she was currently not allowed to go. She envied them.

==

“What?” Keveh’to shook his head at her, laughing and dismissive, barely even setting his spoon aside. She felt her stomach drop in disappointment, realizing that he didn’t believe her. Not really. “Come now, that’s impossible. Everyone knows you lot can’t-”

“So they say, and apparently ‘everyone’ was wrong.” 

“Right. Well… what now?”

Aurelia stared into her teacup, the world spinning enough to make her feel sick, knowing she’d faint if she tried to stand on her own but unwilling to be sent back to her bed. 

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to do?”

Her minder’s response was a mere lift and drop of the shoulders, expression strangely unreadable. “You’re asking the wrong man; I just point and shoot. Mayhap the will of the elementals or somesuch-”

“Aurelia, you should not be out of bed!” Miounne was already wrapping an arm about her shoulders and lifting. “Back to the room with you!”

She’d protested. Or tried to protest. But the moment she tried to stand under her own power her legs buckled, unwilling to carry her weight, and the Elezen woman had scooped her into her own strong arms like a mother coeurl hauling a recalcitrant cub back to the lair.

==

Recovery had proven, thus far, to be a slow and tedious process. 

By and large, Garleans were a robust people and Aurelia was no exception. She had enjoyed the luxury of good physical health for most of her life, and the strength she had always taken for granted felt as though it had all but abandoned her in the first few days after that close call. 

Worse than the full-body weakness and fatigue was the confinement, as Mother Miounne soon saw fit to forbid her from leaving the Canopy until she was deemed fit for duty. Even as a child Aurelia had hated the many restrictions on her comings and goings, and the sense of helplessness combined with enforced indolence quickly turned her temper waspish. 

“Hells below,” she snarled aloud, glaring now at the window and its squared panes as though it had done her personal injury through its mere existence, “this is ridiculous.”

“What is?” 

She glanced over one shoulder to see her companion slouched in his chair, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. The sight somehow only served to annoy her further. 

“Must I remain ensconced in my bedchamber like some invalid in a poorly-scripted romance novella?”

Keveh’to - who had borne the brunt of her outbursts in the last fortnight, and was likewise at the end of his patience - merely shrugged and went back to the newspaper he was reading. She could see the lettering from here. The Raven, a small tabloid rag that had reported on the arrival of the imperial prisoners and the refugees alike with breathless aplomb (and no small amount of exaggeration). 

“Would you prefer a gaol cell to your current accommodations?”

The emphasis he placed on the word was not unlike an epithet. Aurelia scowled, and when he didn’t look back up, made a rude gesture in his direction, then pushed her chair back until there was enough room to stand. 

His ears flickered at the sound and he finally peered over the corner of the paper. “And where are you off to?”

“The common room.” The room spun precariously as she gained her footing. Grinding her teeth, Aurelia reached for the head covering that lay upon the edge of her desk- as sure a sign as any other of the invisible shackles upon her person. “If I am to slowly perish from boredom then I might as well do so in public.”

“Not without me, you’re not.”

“Well then, you had best make ready, Sergeant Epocan, because I’m not waiting on you.”

“Call me dense if you like,” Keveh’to grumbled as he hastily tugged his boots back on, “but I thought I was your minder.”

“My minder, not my gaoler.”

“Aye, well, I’m starting to wish I had told Commander Heuloix where to shove this assignment,” the flat fall of his boots were close behind as she thrust open the door into the hallway, “playing nanny to a spoiled, demanding imperial with all the graces of a screeching haaaeeello Mother Miounne, how do you fare this fine morning?”

Accompanied by a nervous chuckle, the hissed tirade at Aurelia’s back wound its way upwards, not unlike a teakettle removed from a stove just as it had reached its boiling point. They’d all but run face-first into the proprietress of the Carline Canopy in the midst of their hushed bickering as they traversed the hallway. 

“Ah… yes, hello, Sergeant,” Miounne blinked at the false note of cheer, “a very good morning to you too…?”

Aurelia covered her sudden peal of laughter with a discreet cough.

“Miss Laskaris and I were just about to take a morning constitutional.” Keveh’to’s ears twitched wildly, as did the tip of his tail. He nudged his snickering charge in the side with one elbow, glaring pointedly at her - whereupon the Garlean pretended not to notice, “Within the building, of course.”  

“Mm. I see that.” The Elezen’s attention turned towards Aurelia, the twist of her lower lip caught between her teeth to hide her smirk. “And how do you fare this morning?”

“I’m well, thank you. I should be better once I am allowed to leave the Canopy,” she ventured cautiously, “but I am well regardless.”

“Indeed. I take it you are feeling ready to return to your duties?”

She would like naught better. “I think I might be convinced to perhaps take the risk, yes.”

“Excellent. E-Sumi-Yan has been quite insistent in asking after you.” She was no longer hiding her smile. “I daresay he’s chomping at the bit for someone new to train.”

“Or a likely test subject,” Aurelia said wryly. 

“Well, if you think you can manage the journey to the Fane then I shall ring him on linkpearl ahead of your arrival.” Miounne’s smile faded, replaced by a vague sort of consternation. “Pray do not let me detain you.”

She hoped the woman wasn’t overly taken aback by her wide smile and effusive thanks. 

With a considerable effort, she restrained herself from bolting out the door into the cold morning air, for too much sudden movement still made her lightheaded. But the cold air was fresh and bracing and whispered pleasantly over her bare arms, and she could almost feel the lift in her mood as she took a deep breath and exhaled.

The trek to the glade that housed the Conjurers’ Guild passed in relative tranquility - though by the time they arrived at the narrow and winding path that led to Stillglade Fane, Aurelia was leaning upon her minder’s shoulder for support.

Except this time, she knew, it was not the lingering effects of aether depletion that ailed her. Beneath the bracing chill of the morning she could smell the fetid air wafting from the entrance to the guild’s headquarters as they drew close. Aurelia drew to an abrupt halt, heart pounding and stomach twisting in knots.

Keveh’to, seeming to realize it would do no good to press her, waited at her side, eyes on her face. She didn’t even glance at him.

Frowning, he wrapped an arm about her waist. "...Perhaps we ought to make our way back to the Canopy. Brother E-Sumi-Yan should be told you haven’t fully recovered.”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “I’ve made it this far; I think I can manage a few fulms to the bloody tree.”

“You know you’ll have to go inside, don’t you? Are you s-”

“Let’s… just get on with it.”

She wasn’t looking forward to this at all. She could do this, she knew she could, but the conjurers had finally stuck her with menial tasks when it became apparent that on most days she simply couldn’t bring herself to enter the Fane. 

“Mistress Laskaris?” he prompted.

Metallic taste on her tongue: blood and stagnant water and ceruleum, as ever. Her fingers dug hard into the meat of the Miqo’te man’s arm, enough that she felt him flinch under her grasp.

Beneath the impending sense of terror she felt a wave of frustrated anger that nigh overwhelmed her. Seven hells, it had been moons now since Carteneau, and every time it was still the same, every godsdamned time, the horrible sinking feeling, the foul taste in her mouth, the sensation of slowly choking on her own breath. 

Everyone else can ignore it so why can’t you, just get over it, Aurelia, get over it-

She wanted to take a fist to the nearest hard surface and curse her own weakness but knew of course that it would avail her naught, save perhaps a broken wrist for the sake of her display of temper. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said hoarsely.

The look he gave her was dubious. “If you say so.”

Their sojourn down into the bowels of the Fane was torturously slow: only a few minutes, but it felt like years. Each step felt as though it dragged her to her death and the acrid chemical stink in her nose was overpowering, and by the time they reached the bottom of the stairwell at the entrance to the ceremonial chamber, she could stand the roiling of her belly no longer. She staggered forward, ripped the covering from her head, and retched into the fabric. 

Keveh’to immediately reached for her, cursing under his breath. 

“Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea. Let me just call-”

“N-no,” she coughed weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I-I’m all right. I just… I need a moment, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie; she did feel a bit better for having emptied her stomach. She could still feel the sense of heavy walls in and over her, pressing down, and that rancid taste still tainted her tongue- but she could force herself to ignore it for a little while if she had to.

E-Sumi-Yan was awaiting them, standing alone upon the dais with his slender hands clasped before him, though his smile faded instantly at the sight of her, pale and trembling. “Aurelia,” he said urgently, “if you are unwell-”

“No, it’s… it’s not the aether. I’m all right. I swear it.” 

She stared dully down at the soiled fabric she still held, and with a grimace and a sigh, Keveh’to plucked it from her hands. 

“Right, well… so I’ll just… go take care of this, shall I? I hardly think I’m needed here. Please contact me when it comes time to escort the lady home.”

“By all means. Thank you, Sergeant.”

The Keeper grunted, his expression locked in a distasteful grimace. He stalked back towards the door, bushy tail lashing and carrying the item between a thumb and forefinger as if it were a piece of carrion, grumbling all the way. 

Aurelia turned away once he had exited to look at the youthful figure of the guildmaster. The Padjal was watching her with open concern. “If you are certain…”

“I am,” she coughed again, wincing at the lingering burn in her throat, “and even were I not, I daresay I should accomplish more good here than if I continue to languish in a sickbed. Please.”

After a moment he nodded. 

“Very well, but I would have us go outside.”

Aurelia almost laughed. Almost. After all of that-

As if he’d read her mind, E-Sumi-Yan said, “You look as though you could clean up and have a bit of fresh air. That aside, there are things I must needs teach you first and foremost, which are most easily done in the open. Do you require assistance to navigate the stairs?”

She wanted only to be shut of this stifling place, though she wasn’t about to say so - her problems were hardly his fault, after all. Still, she was not quite able to hide that enthusiasm when she smiled at him, the twitch of her lips small and trembling and relieved. 

“I will be fine, I think. Lead the way, Guildmaster, by all means.”

~*~

A year ago, had someone told her she would one day find herself able to access her body’s aether, she would have laughed at them. Of a certainty, she would have not believed that a beginner’s lessons in wielding aether would become the most enjoyable part of her daily routine. Her uncle had quickly killed what small pleasure she had received from her studies. 

But her mornings spent in the Twelveswood with Brother E-Sumi-Yan - and occasionally a small collection of youngsters - brought back the freedom and the joy of discovery she remembered feeling as a child. There was a serenity she could not deny, sitting in a sun-dappled glade beneath the dancing shadows of leaves and letting the whisper of the land sink into her bones.

Just as delightful was the practice of beckoning forth aether from her surroundings, able to make the intangible tangible for the first time in her life. Feeling power spill in soft, cool waves over her bare hands while silently marveling at the realization that this was something she could do now, that this was hers, brought with it a sense of genuine excitement.

Keveh’to was rarely far out of sight, watching her as he had been bid to ensure she did not break her bonds and run- but even he became more lax as time went by, and no longer felt so keenly the need to trail close at her heels.  

For this blessed handful of weeks, little was expected of her beyond healing and learning. Her nightmares had not ceased exactly, but they were fewer and farther between. While people in Gridania were still not precisely what one would call friendly, there were no more thrown bricks, and she supposed that was a measurable improvement.

As soon as she was able, the guild returned her to duties at the temporary shelter outside the city gates per the terms of her sentence. Although E-Sumi-Yan had forbidden her from using any healing magicks, she could yet render aid with her hands… for all that her work was largely menial, and involved barely any healing, for there were now not nearly as many in need of a healer’s attention. Either Edwin had passed along her concerns or the conjurers had found the source of the water contamination while she lay bedridden and recovering.

By all accounts, the worst appeared to have passed. Many surviving refugees, discovering there was neither employment nor succor to be had in the Twelveswood, had moved along down the road towards Thanalan to the south. The only souls left in the tents were those too ill to move or those given leave to remain, and most of the noise was little more than subdued chatter. 

One blustery morning she ventured down the worn stone path to the tents, huddled in a cotton-lined robe for warmth, bearing a crock full of frumenty from Miounne’s kitchen for the refugees. Most of those who were still in the care of the conjurers had long since run out of food, and although Aurelia had caught the Canopy’s proprietress casting worried glances at her dwindling larder the woman knew how to stretch a bag of oats when needs must. 

Some kind soul had already set up the stove for use and inserted the chips of fire-aspected crystal into the heating unit. Smiling, Aurelia set the earthen vessel down with a soft grunt, then began to pull fresh bowls and spoons from a nearby crate to stack on part of the open table space. Once those who could help themselves had come to get their porridge, she’d grab one of the other novices to help her distribute food to those still bedridden.

She leaned back with a sigh and pulled the coat around her torso a bit more snugly. 

“Miss?”

Aurelia blinked at the pretty face of the Miqo’te woman approaching the table in borrowed robes with a little boy in tow. More to the point, she was pretty and familiar, and it took her only moments to recall the woman whose son she had nearly killed herself to save.

“J’nehda,” she said, and watched her brighten with surprised pleasure. 

“You do remember!” J'nehda blurted, then faltered, her cheeks flushing. “...Apologies, miss, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t thought you would… not many of the city folk have had time or kindness to spare, and you were ever so ill…”

“A bit difficult to forget that day, methinks,” Aurelia said wryly. “Thank you for your concern. I am… not quite recovered, but I am much improved. The conjurers think there will be no permanent damage to my aether. And your boy? How does he fare?”

“J’yefah is well.” Her arms draped protectively about the little boy’s shoulders. He stared up at her with wide and watchful golden eyes perhaps a shade or two darker than his mother’s, clutching a small and tattered stuffed rabbit to his chest. The child’s ears had not moved in response to their voices, not even once. 

“This is the healer who helped you, Yefah,” J’nehda said to her son. “Tell her thank you.”

The lad nodded, then turned towards Aurelia. Still juggling his toy, he lifted one small hand and touched his fingertips to his mouth, then extended the hand down towards her, palm facing upward. His tiny face was a perfect picture of gravitas, ears flattened near to his skull. 

“Thank you,” he added, his tongue seeming to stumble over the words as though he did not speak them often. 

With a smile of her own, Aurelia repeated the simple gesture back to him. 

“Thank you, Yefah.” 

The boy’s solemn expression melted into a shy grin. His tufted ears swiveled immediately forward with a happy flicker she remembered well- before his attention wandered once more and he returned his focus to poking at the weathered eye-buttons on his stuffed rabbit.

Once she was sure he would not be able to take in the adults' conversation, Aurelia turned her attention back to his mother. “Your other sons. You said they were conscripted?”

“Aye, miss, that they were.”

“Then I am full glad you were able to cross the Wall.” She shook her head. “The Empire does not treat aan kindly. They-”

She almost elaborated and then thought better of it. The Garlean Empire was not wont to spare much kindness for the children of subjugated nations, and it afforded even less to those it considered unfit to serve in its legions. ‘Twas like to be the reason J’nehda had taken advantage of the chaos in Mor Dhona to flee, and Aurelia knew she had already given away far more information than she had intended about herself. 

Quickly she decided to change the subject. 

“...Have you chosen to remain in Gridania, then? Have the Hearers given you leave?”

“I don’t rightly know, miss. They keep saying it’s up to the elementals who stays and who doesn’t.” J’nehda sighed, taking the bowl and spoon Aurelia offered, then knelt before her son, whose grip tightened about his stuffed toy. “Yefah- Yefah, look at Mama- you can play with Aslan after you eat. Let me take care of him for a while.”

The boy pouted briefly, but let his mother exchange the toy for his breakfast.

“A good lad,” Aurelia said as they watched him traipse across the path, carrying his steaming bowl in his little hands, small tail twitching with vague irritation.

“He’s a very good lad. This journey has been hard but he’s taken to it with little complaint. I’m proud of him.” J’nehda crossed her arms. “...And I know that accent, miss. You hide it well, and it’s faded a fair bit, but you can’t fool my ears.” 

Oh shite and hellsfire, here we go. She let her breath leave her lungs in a slow and soft exhale, as she suddenly found the act of scooping frumenty into a bowl very interesting. 

“I know an Ala Mhigan lass when I hear one,” the Miqo’te continued, and Aurelia wasn't sure whether to sag in her seat with relief or laugh. Somehow, she still hadn’t been recognized… though her provincial accent, as slight as it was, certainly had been clocked. J'nehda must have only encountered conscripts, no one from the capitol.

Seven hells. She hated deceiving people, but she'd been told in no uncertain terms not to call attention to herself.

She forced a smile, passing the filled bowl and its spoon across the table. 

“Caught me out, did you?”

J’nehda laughed. “Aye, I did. Though it seems you’ve been gone a long while.”

“I left seven years ago, after my father’s death.” That much wasn’t a lie, though she cringed inwardly with guilt at the naked sympathy she saw in the woman’s eyes. “I’ve not been in Gridania very long, only a few moons. I came here right after the moon-”

“The red moon.” J’nehda turned her head and spat into the frost-rigid grass. “Godsdamned imperials couldn’t be satisfied with just taking our lands, eh? Had to set their eye on the whole of bleeding Aldenard. But I’m guessing that means you aren’t in any more of a position to speak to this lot on my behalf than anyone else.”

“No,” Aurelia said, “I’m really not. I’m very sorry.”

“Ah, don’t apologize. It is what it is.” She shrugged, smiling. “We have to look out for each other where we can- and you’ve already done plenty for me and my boy. I’m sure your da would be that pleased, knowing he raised a good woman like you.”

Left truly at a loss for words, she could only nod.

"Well,” J’nehda lifted the bowl in her direction, “I’m off before he gets hot oats all over the tent floor. Destroyer bless you, girl. And keep your chin up, eh? These storms are always darkest right before the dawn.”

Aurelia had to suppress, fiercely, the hysterical laughter that threatened to escape her lips even after J’nehda had gone out of earshot. Did she believe in such things, she would have called this naught save a cosmic jest, and a poor one at that. 

But long after she’d lost sight of the woman, she turned those parting words over in her mind.

‘The storm is always darkest before the dawn.’ An old saying she’d heard once as a child, though she could hardly recall the circumstance now - and in this case, imminently applicable. There had been so much hardship already, and with winter oncoming she suspected still more lay upon the horizon.

Always darkest before the dawn. She could only hope, for the sake of these people, that it would ring true.

Please--let it ring true. For all our sakes.

Chapter Text

Aurelia’s booted feet crunched through the thin layer of powder snow as she adjusted the bundle of fallen wood on her back. Given the conjurers’ tenuous peace brokered with the elementals, the city’s inhabitants were rationing: they were to collect only those things which nature had already shed, and that bounty in itself was limited. Despite the fact it was mid-morning, the Shroud was as still and quiet as an open grave. 

Winter had come to the wood, and with it, the hardships borne of poor harvests across all of Eorzea. 

The forest’s predators, deprived of their seasonal food sources, soon became a common danger on the roads, and with the Greenwrath so newly quelled the forest was still volatile and hazardous. The city council had done as much to prepare the townspeople and the land itself for the cold months as they were able in the time they had, but their efforts had still fallen short and the outbreak of flux among incoming refugees had strained Gridania’s supplies further. Many people had been forced to winter in unfinished houses or had taken up with friends and neighbors in what space was available.

J’nehda’s ‘storms’ had more trouble yet to presage, so it seemed. 

“Are you not cold, Miss Conjurer?” 

She glanced over her shoulder. Keveh’to was shivering visibly, his tail wrapped close about one leg when he wasn’t moving, looking quite put out indeed. He had also drawn his shortbow, though either of them had yet to see any game worth the marking. 

“Hm? No, I’m well, thank you.” She wore a fleece-lined doublet, leather breeches, a pair of old cotton gloves, and knee-high doeskin boots beneath one of Miounne’s traveling cloaks - along with, of course, the ubiquitous oversized head covering intended to conceal her third eye. Overall, it was far lighter attire than the heavy parkas and thick boots most Gridanians had donned. “Do you want to borrow my cloak?”

He squinted at her as though she’d asked him to wear one of her dresses. “I’m fine too,” he said, somewhat defiantly. “Just…  not used to the snow, is all. We rarely get it this far south.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Garlemald is very cold, I hear.”

“Yes, it is.” She bent forward with a soft grunt and dropped her bundle to the ground in favor of the medium-sized branch she’d sighted half-buried under snowfall and dead leaves. “We measure snowfall in fulms, rather than ilms. And it stays on the ground a good long while.”

“How long is ‘a good long while’?”

“Mmm... I should say usually around six, mayhap seven months- er, moons out of the year? ‘Tis longer on occasion, should the season prove particularly brutal.”

“Seven moons of winter?” Keveh’to echoed, horrified. “Seven moons of snow and ice--”

“Aye. And barely any light. And gales that could tear the skin off a gigas.”

“How do you survive it up there?”

“We almost didn’t.”

“By the gods, no wonder you lot want to spread out over the whole bloody star. I’d be keen on beachfront property myself if I lived in the depths of the fourth hell.” 

Aurelia began to laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

The Miqo’te’s consternation gave way to widened eyes and an embarrassed flush when he realized what he’d said. 

“Er. I- that... wasn’t the most, er... tactful... way I could have phrased that, I suppose. Sorry.”

She raised one booted foot and kicked the side of the branch. The blow dislodged a wet clump of white powder, shaking it onto the leaves below like confectioners’ sugar onto toast. 

“You’ve no need to apologize. The capitol is bloody awful. If I had my say I would much prefer Ala Mhigo. It’s hot as blazes in the summer, but at least you don’t run the risk of instant frostbite.”

“What is Ala Mhigo like? I hear the refugees talk about it sometimes when they think other folk aren’t in earshot. Curious. Like they don’t want none of us overhearing.” He fidgeted, hopping from one foot to the other, and she couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable or simply trying to ward off the chill. “...You don’t have to talk about it either, you know, if you’d rather not.”

“In truth, I’ve naught of interest to share.” Aurelia shrugged. “There is precious little I could tell that you wouldn’t hear from the refugees and you’d learn more of their native land from them than you would from someone like me. Ala Mhigo was my childhood home but I’m the first to admit I saw very little outside my father’s villa, and that was by design, I'm certain.” 

“Mm,” Keveh’to said, absently. “Mayhap you’re right.”

A not-insignificant part of her hoped he was simply attempting to make conversation. She was reluctant to face the censure she was sure she would see in his eyes did he chance to speak to the refugees as she had suggested, but what else was there to say? Most of her memories of Gyr Abania were very personal and very limited. 

“...We should be getting back.”

“Do you need me to carry that?” he asked.

“I can do it.”

“But-”

She cast him a brittle smile before lifting the branch and tossing it in the bundle with the others, then rearranged the hempen wrap so that the weight was equally distributed and none of the larger pieces would fall before folding the corners, grasping the fabric, and hoisting her burden back over one shoulder. 

They trudged back towards the city, the only sound to be heard the crunch of dead leaves and powder beneath their feet, before Keveh’to finally said, “Forgive me, Aurelia. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said. “I am sorry. Perhaps I do feel a bit nostalgic.”

“For this?”

“Of course not, but... “ She adjusted the weight she carried on her back and paused. “...there are things I miss. Small things, you know. Luxuries that one takes for granted.”

“Such as?”

“My garden, for one.”

“Your... “ He trailed off, but she saw the light go on behind his eyes when she glanced back in his direction. 

The laugh she granted him was a light and silvery thing, spilling across the snow like a sunbeam. “You heard correctly. I had a garden back in Garlemald."

Aurelia would have said 'home,' did the utterance of that word not stick so securely in her craw. Garlemald was many things, but a home had never been one of them.

"A proper garden, then? Like with roses and such?"

"Yes. It belonged to my aunt, really. But she would much rather look at the flowers than grow them herself. I feel a similar sort of… I don’t know. Peace? Serenity? As close as one can get to those things when I’m about the woods gathering.”

“...all right, now I get it. I thought it was passing strange you would be as interested in botany as you are."

"Mhm."

"But if you had a- ...but wait, how’d you have a bleeding garden ‘n all, if the weather’s like this all the blasted time?”

Aurelia shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “Magitek.”

“I don’t follow.” 

“There was a greenhouse on my uncle’s grounds. It had heat lamps set to cycle every eight bells, and an environmental control system that- …ah,” she stammered, seeing his blank and uncomprehending stare, “never mind.”

Keveh’to did not respond. Aurelia could feel his confused gaze still boring into her back as they continued up the hill onto the path. She flushed, thinking that of course her attempt at explanation would have made little sense to him.

Magitek was still a rare and fantastic novelty without the Empire’s borders, and Eorzea’s smallfolk most certainly would not have access to such wonders. Even in Garlemald a self-sustaining greenhouse to preserve perennials was very much a luxury, one afforded only to the wealthy: usually, albeit not always, peers of the imperial aristocracy. But she had loved her aunt Marcella’s greenhouse. Its unique heating system had originated as a student project, one of many annual exhibition entries at the Magitek Academy. Quite often, winning projects were put to practical use whether by the government or by the creators themselves, and in this instance the student's work had been noticed by her uncle. He had gladly improved upon his prototype for the commission. 

Her uncle Janus had bragged that the unit was one of a kind because the young man had elected to join the imperial army upon completing his studies, no doubt to build weapons for the legions afield. ‘Twas hardly an uncommon story, he had said with a shrug. There was more profit - and personal glory - in innovating warmachina for imperial conquest than in customizing heating systems for a rich man’s rose gardens.

Aurelia could not take comfort in his explanation, saddened as she was. That a man capable of creating daily wonders for the purpose of preserving living things would be able to turn his obviously brilliant mind towards such callous and violent ends - it defied her understanding. 

As was the case with most of her recollections of her years spent in the capitol, even the relatively pleasant memory of her aunt's flowers was bittersweet.

“I… I think I’m a bit chilled after all,” Aurelia lied. She plucked the hood of the cloak from her back and draped it over her head until the top half of her face was all but concealed from view. Frost spilled forth from her lips in a white cloud. “Let’s hurry along. I’ve a mind for some tea.”

She swallowed back the harsh lump she could feel forming in her throat, unwilling to grant it any further leave for expression.

~*~

Miounne was waiting at the staff entrance upon their arrival: wiping her hands in the fabric of her apron, eyes fixed upon the pair. Aurelia shrugged the heavy bundle from her shoulders as if it were feather-light and raised a gloved hand in greeting. 

“Welcome back, you two. A decent haul this morning?”

“Decent enough.” She lifted the first branch from the top of the pile and dragged it to the stump they had been using to roughly cut the scavenged tree falls for firewood. “I know we’re a bit late returning, but the Sergeant thought he saw something fit for the stewpot. We’ll have this set up for you in just a-”

“Ah… one moment, if you please,” Miounne said, and Aurelia’s outstretched hand froze in the act of reaching for the wood-axe. “I’ll get one of the lads inside to cut the wood.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Keveh’to frowned, dusting a thin layer of snow from his lapels, “but is there some reason why we can’t just go on and do it ourselves?”

“Your presence has been requested. Or rather, Aurelia’s presence has been requested. E-Sumi-Yan asked that I send you along to the Fane as soon as I could.”

...The guildmaster? 

Cautiously she studied the woman’s face. She didn’t trust unexpected summons of any sort, never had- but, she realized, Miounne was smiling. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that unpleasant. “Did he happen to elaborate?”

“No, but I don’t doubt he will explain himself in full when you arrive.”

All… right then. She glanced at Keveh’to. 

“I assume he’s allowed to come along.”

“Of course.”

Few souls had braved the outdoors this morning- owing largely, Aurelia suspected, to the snow. This part of Eorzea was quite temperate, more so even than Mor Dhona, and snow was a rare enough occurrence that people tended to take to their hearths upon the slightest dusting of white upon the stones. 

In truth ‘twas less the weather she found refreshing than the empty streets. In the wake of the increasing food shortage the people of Gridania - already rather inclined towards isolationist behavior - spared few quests and even less coin for Miounne’s adventurers while treating refugees and prisoners of war with barely concealed contempt.

But tension aside, the city was as quiet as the forest. No one accosted or addressed them as they made their way down the snow-lined paths. The only sounds were birds and the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the quiet crunch of their footsteps upon ice and loose gravel. 

Even the Fane seemed all but deserted. The sight of the tree filled her with the same dread it always did - but there was a measure of relief as well, for Brother E-Sumi-Yan stood before the entrance holding a neatly wrapped paper parcel in his youthful hands.

“Good morning, Aurelia. Mother Miounne told me she had sent the two of you on your way,” he said, beaming at her. “Come, let’s sit and take tea here by the brazier. ‘Tis a most bracing morning, is it not? I'm afraid all I have in my larder at the moment is chamomile tea, but I was preparing to break my fast. Both of you are welcome to join me if you haven’t already partaken.”

There was chamomile tea with mint, and spiced frumenty, and even- to Keveh’to’s undisguised delight- venison sausages. E-Sumi-Yan speared three onto each plate alongside a small slice of tomato and three coarse-cut pieces of wheaten apiece. 

“Twelve,” the Miqo’te said, his voice trembling, “that’s real bleedin’ honey, too.”

She felt her mouth water as she stared at the plating. It was as much food in one sitting as either of them had had all week, and she suspected the guildmaster had been well aware of it.

“Where did you...” Aurelia began. 

“From my own cold pantry, never fear. I rarely have guests and eat very little on my own, but seeing as this is a special occasion I can hardly be stingy.” He gestured to the unadorned smooth stones about the brazier. “Please. Sit. Eat. I have a matter I must needs discuss, and by its nature, it concerns you both.”

Gratefully she began to dig into the meal, with Keveh’to doing the same at her side. She ate neatly and carefully, trying to make it last. After so long with only a small cupful of oats a day, the Guildmaster’s spread was like unto the feasts at her aunt’s dinner parties.

Her minder - possessed of no such sensibilities - wolfed down the sausages practically whole, his tail slapping cheerfully against the ground.

“What did you wish to discuss, E-Sumi-Yan?” she asked, curling her fingers around the warm teacup after a long and contented sip. 

The fresh-faced Padjal - who ate as carefully as she did, his attention to social etiquette equally conscientious - likewise balanced his cup upon his knee. “Your basic lessons have progressed with remarkable speed,” he began. “In truth, you have taken more quickly to mastery of your own aether than many who have spent the entirety of their lives beneath the Twelveswood’s boughs.”

Aurelia flushed despite herself. How long had it been since she’d heard genuine praise from anyone that hadn’t seemed perfunctory, or given under duress?

“I... thank you,” she said, unable to meet his calm grey eyes, and hastily took another sip of her tea. “It has been no simple task, as you know. I am sure I have much still and more to learn.”

“I quite agree. But I think it is time you continued your studies- in the field. I’ve a mind to send you to the Arbor. There are outlying settlements there in need of our aid.”

“Truly? I had not thought that any of the current Hearers would be willing to, er...”

His answering smile was serene. “Take you on as an apprentice conjurer?” 

“....Well, now you mention it, yes, precisely so. I realize the rank and file would have no idea, but the Hearers must surely know the truth. I can't imagine any of them would take kindly to a Garlean woman as an apprentice.”

“You are, unfortunately, correct in assuming that few would be willing. However, the individual overseeing the region where I would send you has little choice but to accept you.” 

Keveh’to scoffed. “That bad?”

“Bad?” E-Sumi-Yan laughed. “You misunderstand, Sergeant. No, this is simply a matter of life events necessitating a change. His apprentice is due to be wed in the next two moons and he is aging out of the field himself, and at present I have no other novitiates better suited for the position. I would have you assist him with the villagers’ needs as well as those of the forest. He will require aid whether he is desirous of your help or not.”

Aurelia grimaced. 

“I need hardly say this does little to inspire one’s confidence.”

“I do not doubt you will face difficulties initially. That said, I think you will ingratiate yourself to them in due time. Our people are insular and often slow to trust outsiders to the Twelveswood, that much I will allow. But they are not so foolish as to ignore a helping hand indefinitely. No matter the form it takes.”

With a sigh she set the cup back in its saucer and placed it in the empty place sitting on her left. It made a soft, chiming rattle against the stone.

“You are asking me,” she said, “to subject myself to their likely censure.” 

“Yes,” E-Sumi-Yan replied. He didn’t bat an eye, nor appear the least bit sorry for it. “I think it will not be as dire as you fear. Truly, this might even be a valuable lesson for all concerned. Yourself included. And you will have Sergeant Epocan there if-”

This time it was Keveh’to’s turn to flinch.

“No offense, Guildmaster,” he said. “Due respect and all that, but... you know full well how most of your folk feel about Keepers.”

“It will be made clear to the Hearer that you are there on an official assignment,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. The Miqo’te’s shoulders hunched defensively, but he didn’t retort. “At any rate, preparations are being made. The Elder Seedseer has given her authorization and asks that you accompany Aurelia to her new position. If the powers that be feel she is not a flight risk, I see no reason to delay the process.”

The woman in question had turned her gaze to the snow-covered clearing, watching two small sparrows clean themselves in the powder with a flurry of their little brown feathers.

“Well,” the Garlean said at length, once she realized all eyes were upon her. “Suffice to say: I have precious little if any say in this affair, being a captive audience in every meaningful sense. So, I will keep any further observations to myself. Should you believe my current skillsets might be put to better use elsewhere, then that is sufficient and I will abide by your judgment -- and that of the Elder Seedseer’s as well, I suppose.”

His small brow wrinkled at her reply, noncommittal as she knew it was. 

“Aurelia, this isn’t the army. You do have some say in whence you go.”

“Again, whether or not I might mislike the assignment does not factor into such matters. You have my compliance regardless.”

“Be that as it may-”

“Guildmaster, your thoughtfulness in asking for my input is appreciated, but you and I both know it is unnecessary.” Her slim shoulders lifted and dropped, as if the outcome made no difference to her either way. “I shall await orders.”

“I will send word along when all is made ready,” E-Sumi-Yan said at length. 

He did not speak his reservations aloud. That he sounded none too pleased warranted no comment.

Chapter Text

She was not summoned the next day, or the next, or even the sennight after that.

Watching the growing anger and uneasiness of the townsfolk as rations continued to dwindle, Aurelia was reminded of that final, fatal summer drought just before her uncle had taken her wardship. Precious little of Gyr Abania was arable; it was a land with brutal and punishing summers, and dry, cold winters. That had ever been the state of things as far as she was aware, and her father said there had been little in the way of proper industry of any sort before the occupation. 

However, she recalled the drought and its fallout all too well. 

It had all started the year of her thirteenth nameday, when the imperial air dreadnought Agrius had set off on her maiden voyage into Mor Dhona’s skies. Legatus van Baelsar’s gamble had not seemed to be one at the time. After all, Eorzea was known to be a wild frontier with no real means to counter imperial might- but none had expected resistance to come in the form of Dravanian tooth and claw. 

Victory against the dragons had come at the cost of the Agrius itself and crippled the war machine so thoroughly that the survivors were forced to retreat back beyond Gyr Abania’s borders. It was not merely a defeat but a shocking rout, the consequences of which had a nigh-immediate ripple effect throughout the whole of the Empire. 

To offset his disastrous incursion into Eorzea and shore up the subsequent border wall construction, the viceroy had levied a hefty per annum tax upon the inhabitants of not only Ala Mhigo but every household in the province. Anyone who owned property had to pay the increased rate, even pureblooded settlers and wealthy landowning nobles like Julian rem Laskaris - who had, of course, grumbled incessantly about the drain on his family’s coffers. But as ever the lion’s share of the burden fell upon the aan, and few if any allowances were made for the lack of food and water even under drought conditions.

The Ala Mhigan people, never wont to labor willingly beneath the imperial yoke, had grown angry and restless in a manner very like unto this one. Riots in the aan districts. Stones and worse thrown at city patrolmen. A memorable - albeit failed - assassination attempt.

She doubted the unrest would be nearly so dire or so long-lived in Gridania as it had been there, for the Elder Seedseer was a much-loved figure and people here believed in the will of the elementals with a fervor that in some cases bordered upon open worship. So long as they felt the outsiders’ presence was accepted by the forest itself, Kan-E-Senna was in no danger. 

But Aurelia was not fool enough to believe that the better natures of man would serve as any sort of protection. Spring couldn’t come soon enough.

As she waited upon E-Sumi-Yan’s word she resolved herself - in between her work in the field kitchens and in the training yards - to make preparations where she might. Today she had chosen to complete the rest of the entry pages in her botany journal - it was an herbal, really, at this juncture, containing all the information she had added to her notes over the past months. 

...And it had really been months now, since Carteneau, she realized. She had once owned a wrist-chronometer, a graduation gift from her uncle (one that, so far as Aurelia herself was aware, had been lost in the barracks of the castrum where she’d been stationed). The Empire ran itself strictly on kept minutes and hours so such contrivances had been vitally important in the context of day-to-day life in the capitol. 

It felt strange, realizing she’d not missed that strictly scheduled and segmented existence. Time had passed all but unnoticed in the relative calm of a pastoral routine.

Aurelia swayed in her desk chair, musing over the notion. Copying her own shorthand into the empty pages of the book was soothing but tedious work and the relative warmth of the room and the quiet were making her drowsy. 

She paused, blinked furiously to dispel the doze that had come over her, and set the quill in its shallow inkpot so she could rub her eyes. Her hand was beginning to cramp unpleasantly as well, fingers protesting against the work to which she’d set them. Hells, what she wouldn’t give for a proper fountain pen about now, she thought, pressing the heels of her palms against her aching cheekbones. 

Maybe she should pause her work and give herself a break. Just for a moment.

She had only rested her eyes for what seemed like a few heartbeats when she heard a rap upon her door. Aurelia ignored it at first, hoping that her visitor might realize they had come at an inconvenient time- but the knock came again, and in a few moments, repeated a third time. Resigned to the interruption, she pushed back her chair and made her way to the door only for it to be shoved open almost as soon as her hand touched the latch. 

Keveh’to shouldered his way into the room without preamble, his tail lashing fitfully. What was he doing? He knew full well he was supposed to knock before entering her bedchamber-

Her angry protest died on her lips at the sight of his face: a taut mask of anxiety. “Grab that ruddy bag of yours and aught else you can carry,” he ordered abruptly, the words sharp as shards of broken ice. “We’ve got to get you out of here. Get your shoes on.”

“What? What’s going on? What about the Guildmaster?” Bewildered she fumbled for the book, shoving it in her pack before seeing to her pattens. “What’s happening?”

“There’s no time to explain! We’ve got a unit out there holding them back but four men won’t be any bloody use against a mob that size. Hurry!”

As if his words had prompted them, muffled and angry shouts drifted into her ears from the other side of the window glass. She could make out a heavy throng of people clustered about the half-reconstructed entrance of the inn, and felt a moment’s misgiving-- there were surely not that many people in Gridania-- and then there was no time left to ponder it. Keveh’to was grabbing her arm, dragging her out the door before she could do more than grab her staff--

They both froze in place at the bright, scintillating sound of breaking glass. The mob had breached the Canopy’s main hall.

"Go!" Keveh’to shouted. 

He shoved her towards the stairwell leading to Miounne’s larder moments before the crowd-animal surged into the common room, roaring and baying as one. Stones and bottles sailed across the room and crashed into the back of the bar with a truly appalling accuracy, and when she tried to look for her minder again she could no longer catch sight of him or his yellow surcoat within the surging tidal wave of the riot.

Wincing against the stitch in her side, she ran for the exit as she was bid, dodging stones as her feet crunched over broken glass and spilled trenchers. The stairs were strangely dark, the well descending deeper than she had ever remembered it. As she continued downwards the light behind her grew dim, and with each step she began to feel her belly clench with apprehension. 

Surely she should have arrived at the exit by now-

Black anxiety speared down her spine, sudden and instinctive, third eye’s proprioception yammering a primitive and frantic warning. Someone - or something - was in her space. 

She wheeled about to meet her attacker, only to lose her footing on the edge of a stair step, and would have tumbled down the endless stairs and into oblivion if the figure had not grabbed her. A gloved hand clamped with brutal force over her mouth before dragging her back into the shadows, and up against her attacker’s larger, cowled frame. 

Something heavy and solid slammed into the back of her head before she could make a sound---

==

----and with a violent spasm of her arms Aurelia wrenched herself back into wakefulness, hastily snatching up her papers as the overturned inkpot made a small and rapidly surging flood across the desk.

“Bugger,” she cursed, “seven swiving hells below-”

There was a rap at the door, then another when she didn’t answer.

“Damnit,” she grabbed a handful of discarded draft parchments and crushed them onto the desk’s surface in an attempt to staunch the ink before it could drip onto the carpet. A third knock. “Yes, yes, a moment, pray!”

“Aurelia?” Keveh’to’s voice, its note of concern obvious. “Is aught amiss?”

She was unable to stop herself from casting a furtive glance out the window, overcome with a strong sense that perhaps she still might not be fully awake. But there was no mob crowding the entrance to the Carline Canopy. The street was as empty as it had been most of the winter, dusted white and grey with half-thawed patches of ice. 

Relief blossomed in her chest and she allowed herself a soft sigh. 

“All is well, come in.”

With an effort she concealed her trembling hands; her heart still raced with adrenaline and half-remembered fear. Keveh’to blinked at her.

“The Guildmaster is on linkpearl asking after you- Twelve, what happened in here? Did that book of yours finally try to eat you?”

“Very funny. Can I have the linkpearl, please?”

With a shrug he deposited it into her hand. “You know how to-”

“I think I can figure it out.” It took a moment of maneuvering - the small device was fashioned for a Miqo’te’s ear - but she was able to hold the linkpearl to her ear with one shoulder and press the button quickly before returning her attention to the pile of soiled papers. “Hello?” she ventured. “Guildmaster?”

E-Sumi-Yan’s smooth voice. “Aurelia. I take it the Sergeant is there with you? Did you-”

“Keveh’to hasn’t debriefed me yet, I’m afraid,” Aurelia said, gathering handfuls of paper and shoving them in the small crate she’d appropriated as a wastebin. “Guildmaster, I appreciate the abundance of caution, all considered, but why not a summons?”

There was no response, but that was not so very unusual. E-Sumi-Yan was not a man to waste his words, a quality she knew her uncle would have appreciated. He would speak in time- once he had gathered his thoughts to his liking, as he always did. In the meantime she scrubbed at the ink on the desk, realizing as she did so that her efforts were largely futile.

Miounne will have my head, she thought ruefully.

Finally, there came a long humming sound on the other end of the connection and once again Aurelia remembered that lucid dream, this time with a sharp pang of unease. 

“At the moment,” E-Sumi-Yan began, “I fear it would be very unwise to summon you to the Fane even with your minder present. I am told this line is not entirely secure, but Commander Heuloix assures me there is little concern for eavesdroppers.”

“Go on,” Aurelia said slowly.

“There’s to be a town meeting at the plaza site tonight. I shan’t bore you with the details, but the people of the city are demanding the Elder Seedseer remove all foreigners - adventurers as well, just so you know - for the duration of the winter. If not permanently.”

“What? Surely they must know Kan-E-Senna would never agree to such terms.”

“She would not, no. Council or no, she ultimately abides by the word of the elementals as do all of our order. Unless they tell her the city can hold no more souls, she will take them in.”

“...I hear a ‘but’ in that statement.” 

The guildmaster sighed. “This morning, while you were about your rounds in the refugee encampment, one of your former comrades was injured on a work site. Someone in the street threw a stone and struck him in the head.”

“Oh, hells.” The ruined desk was all but forgotten. Aurelia threw the last handful of soiled parchment into the crate and adjusted the device at her ear. “Is he badly hurt?”

“No, the wound was mostly superficial. The Wailer on site called a conjurer to see to the prisoner after dispersing the crowd. He’s shaken, of course - very frightened to leave the Fane without an escort, but he has otherwise recovered. Which brings me to my business with you.”

She already knew what he was about to say. “I am to leave the Fane.” 

“Yes. I saw fit to reach out to Hearer Ewain in light of the news. The young man whom you are to replace shan’t leave his post for another few moons, but he confided to me that with the influx of refugees into other settlements the two of them are in need of additional hands. Sergeant Epocan will be escorting you to Willowsbend and will remain there with you until you are called back to the Fane. It’s a few malms out from Quarrymill, well off the main roads.”

 “I see.” 

“Under different circumstances, I would have bid you wait until the last snows have passed before attempting the journey, but after today’s incident I think perhaps the sooner the better.” A pause. “Can you make ready to leave at first light tomorrow?”

He’s worried about me, she realized suddenly. 

“I... yes. That shan’t be a problem. Aside from my medicines and my gear I’ve very little in the way of personal possessions.”

“Thank you, Aurelia. May I please speak to Sergeant Epocan?”

“Of course. One moment.” Keveh’to’s expression was quizzical as she passed the linkpearl back to him. “Your turn.”

“What,” he began, then hastily interrupted his query, “Ah, Guildmaster, I-... what? Tomorrow? But... yes. Yes, but the Commander will need to-... oh, he’s already... oh.”

Aurelia wasn’t privy to the other half of the conversation, of course. But it was hardly necessary. Even were she not staring at his face, she could watch Keveh’to’s mood by his flattened ears and the irregular lashing of his tail. It was souring by the second.

“The White Wolf postern gate. Yes, Guildmaster. Understood. Thank you.” The small pearl hanging from Keveh’to’s ear blinked blue to black as he cut the aetheric link.

“You don’t look well pleased,” she said wryly. 

He didn’t smile. An awkward silence descended as he stared at her, then the door, then back at her before he finally spoke. “You know I’m a Keeper of the Moon.”

“Yes...?” 

“Aye, well. Problem is, to a Garlean lass like you that don’t mean a godsdamned thing. I’m just another savage at the end of the day.” At her attempted protest he raised a hand, palm outwards. “Not picking a fight, mind, just... Well, that’s how far too many Shroud folk see us. Savages. Poachers who threaten the whole wood by just taking what we want when we want it.”

“Wait, but that’s not... I mean, I don’t-”

“I’m not done. See, the thing is... the Gridanians have their way of life. And that’d be fine, ‘cept they expect every bloody one else to abide by it too, and woe betide any who refuse. Lots of Keepers still, well, keep the old ways. They hunt and gather, take what they need, and the elementals don’t bother them. You can’t convince these people, though. They see me and think they know what I am.” 

“But you wear the colors of the Twin Adder.”

“That doesn’t mean as much as you might think. A goodly number of us are adventurers. And when a Gridanian notices it’s a Keeper wearing the yellow, you can see it in their eyes- the second they decide you aren’t worth what small respect they might have for the Grand Company. It’s like watching a door slam shut in your face.”

Aurelia hesitated, then reached out an ink-stained hand and squeezed his shoulder. “I understand more than you might think,” she said. “But not all of it. I’m sorry.”

“Villagers in my experience are insular fools. They’ll see you as an interloper and me as a craven thief. But I have my orders.” He shrugged, then smiled at her, a smile that did not meet his eyes. “I’m guessing you do as well.”

“So it seems. We’ll have each other for company, won’t we?”

“...That isn’t reassuring, Garlean.” At her saucy grin, he continued accusingly, “And don’t you smile at me like that, lass. The last time it was just the two of us, you threatened to singe off my tail hairs.”

“Aye, because you walked in on me while I was using the bloody chamber pot.” 

He laughed, finally, some of his irritation dissipating. “Well,” he said, “suppose I’d best go inform Mother Miounne we’ll be taking our leave of Gridania for a time on Guild orders- assuming she doesn't already know. If you haven’t already started packing your things, now would be a good time.” 

Without waiting on a response he turned on his heel and exited the room, the door-latch clicking softly shut behind him. Aurelia squared her shoulders and looked down at her hands, smudged with ink. 

She reached for her black bag, loosed its clasps, and took one last cursory glance of her stock. Most of the daily-use items at this point were long gone. The synthetic analgesics and anticoagulants, local anesthetics and antipyretics that were commonly used in the imperial army’s medical pavilions required reagents that one could not obtain in Eorzea. Short of raiding a castrum, of course- which she doubted anyone was willing to do. 

Carefully she put away the phials and refastened the clasps, then paused in thought before reaching for her travel pack and digging through its contents to produce a spare strip of linen. The imperial insignia with its scarlet-and-ivory tripartite links was clearly visible upon the strapping, and while she didn’t think anyone in a remote village would find it to be of any significance, it was best to be safe. 

Wrapping the fabric somewhat hastily about the strap, she knotted it in place, then set the bag next to her staff and began to tuck her few articles of clothing into the travel pack in tight rolls to make extra space. The journal was next, and she realized with some dismay that two of her draft pages had been ruined by the spilled inkpot before she could copy them to the leather-bound book. Naught to be done for it today.

She placed both bags next to the door, her training wand on top of the side table.

“There,” she murmured. She was as ready as one reasonably could be; might as well join Keveh’to in the main hall and take tea and an early supper. 

Hand on the door latch, Aurelia glanced over her shoulder and out the window one more time. Once more there was nothing to see.

Resolute, she turned her back on the desk and quit the room.

~*~

Grey shimmered at the window between the branches of the trees when the knock came on the door. She had already roused herself, donning her traveling clothes and tucking the wand into her sash before opening the latch- but it was not Keveh’to whom she saw when she opened the door. It was Miounne. The Elezen had a small cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands, and she was smiling ruefully.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as one truly can be, I suppose.”

“Good. Grab your things and follow me. Try to keep quiet. Most of my patrons are still abed and I'd rather not have them stirring before I can start the hearth-fires. Too many inconvenient questions.”

Aurelia blinked at her curiously but didn’t press the issue. They slipped out the exit towards the reconstructed plaza. 

“Keveh’to will meet you at the aetheryte. There’s a chocobo waiting for the two of you at the White Wolf gate. I’ve closed down the Guild’s leves and enrollments for a day or two,” Miounne said, a hand on Aurelia’s back between her shoulder blades to hurry her pace along. “There was an open meeting yesterday evening.”

“The town meeting? E-Sumi-Yan mentioned it when we spoke.” 

“He would not have told you, but it didn’t go well. Things are very tense just now; the townsfolk have worked themselves into a right fury over the lack of wintering supplies. They’re looking for anyone to blame for their woes."

“I know. They see us as a drain on resources.” Aurelia shook her head. She wasn’t surprised; she’d seen the hostile glares shot in her direction, after all. “It’s easier to blame outsiders, I suppose.”

“Yes, it is, which puts all of my freelancers at risk. And...” Miounne shrugged. “Well. I’ll let Sergeant Epocan explain, shall I?”

The plaza was as silent and empty as the Canopy’s main hall. Keveh’to awaited them as promised. The Keeper was fidgeting in place, his expression tense and his body language betraying his nervousness. It did little to set Aurelia’s mind at ease.

“You weren’t followed, were you?” he asked the proprietress as if Aurelia weren’t standing right there alongside. Her brow furrowed in momentary irritation, and Miounne scoffed.

“You worry far too much, Sergeant. This is hardly some daring midnight escape under cover of darkness."

"I simply don't want any trouble to come to you. If-"

"Too late to worry about that. But if anyone asks after my whereabouts, I was simply fetching my own firewood for the hearth for want of any strapping adventurers about.” She held out the package she’d carried with her when she had met Aurelia at the door of her inn room. “This is for the two of you. Eel pies for the road.”

The pair exchanged shocked glances. Miounne was famous in town for her eel pies, but many of the ingredients would have been very difficult to source this time of year. It said more than any words she might have uttered.

“What- Mother Miounne, you didn’t have to go to that trouble,” Keveh’to began.

“No, but I did. Now you mind yourself on the road, Sergeant Epocan. The guildmaster will have my head if you two don’t reach your new posting in one piece. And you,” she turned to look at Aurelia, “all the luck in the world to you. Matron keep you safe, girl.”

“I... yes.”  Unaccountably, she found herself flushing. “Quite.”

“Didn’t think I’d ever in my life find myself wishing an imperial well.” Miounne’s expression softened into a maternal smile. “But stranger things have happened - and you’re worth that much. There’s hard times ahead for all of us and folk will be starved for compassion as much as any rations. So don’t you ever let yourself lose that kindness of yours. All right?”

Aurelia nodded. Unbidden she felt a pang of sadness. It was true enough that the Elezen woman had not wanted to house an imperial prisoner under her roof at first, but she had been mindful to treat the Garlean woman as she would any of her adventurers.

Miounne looked as if she wanted to say something else, but whatever it might have been Aurelia would never know. Once she saw that they had accepted her parting gift, she pivoted swiftly on one heel and made her way back in the direction she’d come, toward the Carline Canopy to begin the day’s routine. It was just her and her minder. 

Keveh’to cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, “this way. We’ll want to be shut of the main thoroughfare as soon as possible.”

She followed him, shifting the weight of her two packs from shoulder to shoulder, free hand at the small training wand on her belt in case of trouble. No trouble came. The only soul that stirred other than the night watch winding down for the shift change was the odd woodland creature, and the sounds of birds stirring in the trees.

As Aurelia had been told, there was a chocobo awaiting at the north gate. The Duskwight man holding the reins of the massive destrier wore the colors of the Twin Adder just as Keveh’to did, and he acknowledged them with a slight tilt of his chin.

“Javier,” the Miqo’te said. “Thank you for waiting.”

The man’s expression did not change. “Pray send word to the Commander upon your arrival. The Wailer outpost has been notified of your reassignment, as has the Hearer overseeing the care of the region.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

Keveh’to yanked Aurelia’s packs from her shoulders and slung them over the chocobo’s broad back, lashing them in place with the heavy leather straps that dangled from the double saddle.

“How am I supposed to-” she began but faltered when the Keeper all but hopped into the saddle and held out one gloved hand. She slipped a foot into the stirrup alongside his and reached for him in return, and found her weight guided upwards with surprising ease.

“Hold on,” he ordered curtly.

Aurelia wrapped her arms about his waist. Keveh’to barked a short command and dug his heels into the chocobo’s sides. They were off, crunching through the powder snow and fallen leaves, the cold wind whistling in her ears. It was beginning to snow again, and powder flakes and ice bit at their exposed cheeks as they ventured deeper into the wood.

After a good quarter bell of tense silence, she deemed it safe to lean forward and tap him on the shoulder.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Well, what?”

“Why all the secrecy and grim faces? I’m just leaving town for a guild posting.”

“It’s not the posting itself, it’s…” Keveh’to growled, the tip of his tail lashing against her leg where it had curled around her calf. “...I don’t know how it happened and nor does Commander Heuloix. The Grand Company is investigating the source of the leak but-”

“Leak?” Aurelia said, feeling slow and stupid. “Leak, what do you-”

“The Wood Wailers had security present at that township meeting - to make sure things didn’t get out of hand, you know people have been on edge as of late - and someone in the crowd asked Brother E-Sumi-Yan why the Hearers are sheltering a Garlean. Not an imperial, mind. A Garlean. Someone knows about you. Or knows of you.”

“....Oh.”

“For a mercy no one said more than that. It might even be a rumor that happened to be closer to the truth than they realized. But we’re taking no chances.” 

She felt her belly clench. But I’ve been so careful. How could anyone have…?

“Cooler heads seem to have prevailed for the time being,” Keveh’to continued, “although Miounne will be facing a fair bit of spite, methinks, as will her adventurers. It’s just as well the guildmaster decided to have you shipped off to the Arbor early.”

“Wait, but what- what about the conscripts? I can well understand why the townspeople would be upset about me, but surely they aren’t...”

“Aught to do with you lot is classified knowledge, and it’d be beyond the likes of me. I was asked to mind you abide by the terms of your sentence until it’s done and that’s what I mean to do.” His jaw was tight. “The villagers won’t like me any more than they do you, but no use whinging about it, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” she echoed. 

“Hey.” This time he glanced over his shoulder, spared her a quick smile. “It is what it is, aye? We’ll make do. Mother Miounne can handle that lot. You worry about yourself.”

Sazha would have said the same thing, that one phrase that could sum up the entire situation, everything that had happened to Aurelia since the fall of Dalamud. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t ideal- but that changed nothing. 

It was what it was. All they could do was make the most of it.

A curtain of white quickly blanketed the forest floor, concealing the immediate signs of their passage beneath the Shroud’s winter-bared boughs. Within a bell, there was no sign to the casual eye that there had been travelers on the roads at all. 

Chapter Text

GARLEMALD, 6AE 1565

The storm's fury had not lessened in severity with nightfall. Ice spattered in fits and starts like grain scattered over stone, lashing against tempered glass and reinforced steel as the wind whistled around eaves and the sharp edges of decorative iron contrivance.

To have heard her uncle tell it, this was merely the first blizzard of the season; there would be many more to come. Winters in this part of Ilsabard lingered far into the spring months.

Aurelia bas Laskaris opened her eyes to stare at the patterns imprinted into the tin-plated ceiling for what must have been the tenth time in the past quarter-hour. This guest room her aunt had set aside for her - austere by the standards of the rest of the family villa - was despite its modest status still lavish, still enormous, and it made her home in the Administrative District of Ala Mhigo seem positively rustic by comparison. The canopied four-poster bed in which she lay, with its fine weighted sheets and soft down pillows, was large enough for three people. It was the softest, most comfortable bed she’d ever laid in.

She couldn’t sleep. 

She flung aside the blankets in one motion to push herself upright- and immediately had cause to regret the impulse. A bone-numbing chill, one that made the bitterest Gyr Abanian winter seem but a balmy spring breeze, prickled its way over her skin until her entire body was as one giant patch of gooseflesh. 

Shivering violently, she yanked one of the heavy quilts from the massive bed and drew it around her shoulders, then paused to allow herself a glance through the large window with its decorative panes. Earlier in the day as the transport had entered the capitol’s airspace, the city had still been visible, if only just. Falling snow had shrouded the massive sprawl of steel and stone, all of it backlit dimly by the magitek lamps on every street corner and the running lights that marked the outline of the imperial palace grounds: cold and alien and forboding. 

Even that had vanished once night had fallen. She could hear and see naught now save screaming wind and wicked white.

Aurelia chewed on her lip for a moment before sliding her feet out into the cold air and over the lip of the mattress, onto the stepping stool and down to the plush throw rug where a pair of hastily appropriated house-shoes sat waiting. If anyone asks, I just want some tea. Or warm milk. Something to cut this godsdamned chill.

She cast a furtive glance over one shoulder, as if L’haiya lurked in the shadows to chastise her for her unseemly language even in the relative sanctity of her own mind. But the room sat as empty as it had before. Save for the soft rhythmic ticking of the ceruleum-powered radiator’s valiant efforts to warm the room despite all odds - and the sound of falling sleet - all was silent.

The girl opened the door as quietly as she could manage and let herself into the hallway, padding along the cold floorboards on cotton-clad feet as she made her way towards the balcony that overlooked the main entrance. Black crepe draped in graceful loops over the banisters and the curtain rods: all done upon her aunt’s orders, preparations for her father’s memorial tomorrow afternoon. 

In the downstairs drawing-room, she knew, there sat an aged daguerreotype of her father. She hadn’t recognized him when she first laid eyes upon the picture until she had asked her uncle, for that picture was not of the aging tribunus militum of the XIVth that Aurelia recalled. The picture she’d seen boasted the grimly determined visage of a much younger man, freshly graduated from the military school both he and his brother were made to attend when they were of a suitable age. 

Looking upon that face, a man who was her father but one she had never seen in her life- that had brought with it a queer sense of displacement, the nagging sensation that she stood at the intersection and within the twin shadows of two entirely separate lives that could not be reconciled. As if by will alone the family patriarch had found a way to turn back time and ensure the last epoch had never transpired, that Julian rem Laskaris had never met his wife upon the player’s stage, had never fallen in love with her, had never married, had never left Garlemald for the distant provinces of the south.

To ensure that Aurelia herself had never been born at all.

You don’t belong here, that picture said. You are a blemish upon their perfect order.  

Her fingers twitched upon the railing. 

Pulling the edges of the quilt taut about her slim shoulders, she made to descend the carpeted stairs while trying to remember the layout her aunt had briefly shown her earlier that day - if the kitchen entrance was on the far side of the courtyard peristyle then she would have to go without. If her luck held then perhaps she could simply help herself to a warm drink and slip back into her room and no one would be the wiser. She’d managed it countless times over the years, after all.

Aurelia had barely taken two steps down the stairs when the sound of familiar voices caused her to freeze in place. A man and a woman, somewhere not too distant; the sound of it echoed strident and angry from the bowels of the foyer. 

Arguing about something. Arguing about her. 

“It’s criminal,” her aunt’s voice had lost its delicate fluted tones now that there was no need for a public show of ladylike charm, “absolutely and utterly unconscionable. I cannot imagine what your brother could have been thinking to deny his own child the fundamentals of a proper upbringing, let alone one that would befit a young lady of her station.”

“It is not within my power to gainsay His Radiance. Well do you know that.” 

“You should have petitioned the courts to grant us custody of the girl years ago.”

“If my brother was already granted permission-”

“Julian has done that poor child no favors,” came the hissed response. Aurelia could imagine her aunt: pacing to and fro just out of sight, her carefully coiffed blonde hair slowly coming unfurled from its confines. “None whatsoever.”

“Keep your voice down, woman! Do you want to wake her?”

“I just can’t fathom it! All those years letting her play in the dirt and doing as she pleases? She can’t sing, she can’t draw, she can’t arrange the flowers she grows, can’t make polite conversation, her penmanship is barely passable.”

“Marcella-”

“Dare I even make mention of her speech? She sounds like one of those dreadful Ala Mhigan savages every time she opens her mouth-”

“The girl is clever enough, Marcella. She can easily be rehabilitated with proper oversight.” Her uncle’s voice was a deep and forceful rumble that reminded her of summer thunderstorms over Loch Seld, the ones that had scared her when she was small. “Lord van Baelsar confirmed that she has qualified to sit the entrance exams to the Academy’s Valetudinarium, and that is no mean feat for a lass with no formal education.”

“And if she doesn’t pass the exams?”

“Then the army will sort her out as we agreed,” Janus van Laskaris snapped, growing irritation with his wife’s questioning laid bare. “You worry far too much. Given time and training she will be as polished as any of her peers.”

“That girl is not suited for a military career and you know it as well as I do. The one hope she has is to marry well, and that is easier said than done when-” The voices retreated down the long downstairs hallway, towards the master’s bedchambers. 

Aurelia didn’t even try to listen to the rest of their argument, the cadence of it becoming little more than background noise as she tried to breathe. She felt as though someone had punched her in the chest. 

Welcome home, her Aunt Marcella had said. But this wasn’t home. Home was zelkova trees under an endless expanse of starlit sky, the sounds of roosting water birds on the lochs, the Althyk lavender in her little garden, the cardamom and rose-hip scent of L’haiya’s hands as they brushed out her hair until it shone like gold in the lamplight. 

Home was not Garlemald; it was Ala Mhigo. L’haiya. Sazha. Even her father. She wanted to go home, wanted it so desperately the desire for comfort left her chest aching. Sixteen winters old, and Aurelia slept alone in a bed she didn't know in a house that wasn’t hers, legally the property of a family that saw naught of value in her. Only a wild animal in need of their taming touch.

Home was--

Home was an impossible dream and her father was dead. 

The harsh truth of it shook her to her core, and at long last, the grief she’d so carefully set aside for later consideration found its opportunity. Anguish reached its icy fingers through the dull, cottony veil she’d drawn about her mind for protection, grasped her by the back of her neck, and seemed to squeeze until her breath would not come and her stomach turned.

She slid down the wall with its flocked scarlet paper until she was sitting in the stairwell and drew her knees up to her chest, pulled her stolen blanket over her head. In the close darkness, once she was certain that her tears would not be heard, she gave voice to them in earnest.

Without her uncle’s villa the storm raged on.

~*~

Gridania was long behind them.

All around the path upon which the flightless bird ran, the South Shroud was a blur of white and stark grey, the bare branches of the trees like bony fingers in the pall of the overcast afternoon sky. A handful still bore browned leaves, clinging stubbornly to the branches in the last throes of the winter before spring’s green sent them to their final resting place.

Slowly Aurelia righted herself in the saddle, realizing she’d fallen asleep: lulled into lassitude by the still, cold air and the monotony of the road’s scenery. She lay half-draped over Keveh’to’s back as though he were a giant yellow bedroll. At her stirring her companion’s ears flickered, swiveling briefly in her direction. 

“Rise and shine,” he said with a note of false cheerfulness. “Did you know that you snore?”

“Mmf,” was all she could muster. She sat up a bit straighter and had to catch herself before she fell off the chocobo’s back; she’d drifted off to one side as she dozed. “Are we close?”

“Went through the Druthers and turned off the main roads not quite a half-bell past. I’d say we should be close, aye.”

With some effort Aurelia shook herself out of the remainder of her doze and craned her neck upwards. They were in a much deeper, darker part of the Twelveswood. The trees here were far taller and far older: cloistering the land beneath their boughs and largely away from the sun save for the odd patch of filtered late afternoon light that descended upon snow and bare earth.

“This place is strange,” she said softly, eyes fixed upon the interlaced branches of the canopy overhead. “It feels… I don’t know. Untouched, somehow.”

“Untouched? Well, could be you’re right. They say some of the trees in the deeper reaches of the Twelveswood were ancient back in the time of Amdapor, though who knows how true that is. Still- folk don’t venture far off the paths out here, and for good reason.” Keveh’to’s gaze followed hers upward. “You’ll find the depths and fringes of the wood very different from Gridania.”

She felt a sharp chill prickle the length of her spine, and shuddered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his chin tilt.

“Thought you said the cold didn’t bother you?”

“It’s not the cold.”

“Are you feeling poorly?”

They were being watched, she thought. It was little more than a gut feeling, a disconcerting something on the far edge of her own perception, but she could feel the hackles raised upon the back of her neck nonetheless. 

“No, it’s- … no. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He looked as if he wanted to press her, but seemed to think better of it, and shrugged. “...Might want to see to yourself, then, if you’re awake enough to manage it. That eye of yours needs to be covered before we’re too close.” 

“Would anyone in such a remote place have any idea-” 

“No idea if this lot has ever seen one of your kind before if that’s what you mean, but I’d rather not take the chance. We’ve little recourse if things go poorly with the locals as it is.”

Aurelia bit her lower lip and busied herself with covering her brow. It seemed imprudent to raise the alarum over something that could be easily attributed to her own anxiety. Still, it wasn’t until the crudely fashioned curve of a watchtower spire peeked through the foliage ahead that she could allow herself to relax. Almost at once, the sensation of eyes boring into her back disappeared, and she felt a palpable sense of relief. 

She had just finished raking her fingers through her tangled locks to confirm that her third eye was hidden, when the settlement came fully into view. 

At first glance there was little to distinguish it from the more densely populated townships she’d seen on her jaunts through the forest with E-Sumi-Yan and the other novice conjurers. A simple wall of wood and stone framed the perimeter, meant to deter bandits and beastmen from any notions of raiding the settlement. It appeared surprisingly old, the bulk of it a mossy white marble that could not have come from anywhere local- salvaged from ruins, perhaps.

A small handful of men and women in worn gambesons and leathers stood watch atop the length of the wall with bows drawn and arrows nocked, observing the two newcomers with watchful eyes and grimly set mouths - some of them wore the ubiquitous half-masks of the Wood Wailers, but some few did not. None of them looked particularly well-fed, and the shabby state of their armor and their cloaks bespoke a similar hardship as that which had beset Gridania in the wake of the crimson moon’s fall.

“Halt,” one of the Wailers barked, the note of command unmistakable. Keveh’to hastily drew in the reins and Aurelia kept her head bowed and eyes downcast as the chocobo’s pace slowed to a stop. “What business do two outsiders have here?” 

“Hardly a warm welcome,” her minder muttered, in a voice clearly meant for her ears only. “Not that I’d expected one. Stay here and let me do the talking.” 

He swung one leg out of the chocobo’s saddle and dropped to the ground with a lash of his tail to correct his balance, offering a hand to Aurelia without a glance in her direction. She could see his sour mood in the flat swivel of his ears, accepted his gesture in silence and managed to slide out of the saddle with something approaching grace. 

“Well met,” he said, with the selfsame note of false cheer she had heard before. “I am come on behalf of the Twin Adder, along with my companion here, at the request of your Hearer. Is he about?”

“That information is-”

“I'll take matters from here, Lieutenant.” A stooped old man in purple robes and a wide-brimmed felt hat shuffled forward, the gathering of armed villagers parting to let him pass. He leaned heavily upon the gnarled and well-worn length of his rosewood staff, the expression on his age-seamed face utterly neutral. “You and your lady friend must be Brother E-Sumi-Yan’s promised assistance.”

“Brother Ewain,” Keveh’to said, his tone almost painfully polite. 

Hearer Ewain was the oldest man she had ever seen. What little she could see of his hair glistened silver and white in the diffuse daylight, like new-fallen snow upon the forest floor. He smiled, but there was a shrewd sharpness in his faded blue eyes Aurelia did not miss. “That's Hearer to you, though you have my thanks for your timely arrival. And you are called…?”

“Sergeant Keveh’to Epocan. I represent the Order of the Twin Adder, Gridania’s Grand Company.” His hand fell upon Aurelia’s shoulder and squeezed, even as he nudged her forward.” This is my charge, Miss Aurelia Laskaris, a novitiate sent to you by the Con-”

“I know who she is,” the Hearer said coolly. “We can talk at further length in private. Come with me.”

“Hearer,” the Wailer began, “you know we have to search-”

“I'll vouch for them, Lieutenant. Let them pass, if you would, pray.”

For a moment he did not seem as if he meant to respond. The wooden mask was so unbending and the man’s eyes so deep-set that Aurelia could see no reaction in them, but after a heartbeat she spied the slight relaxation of his fingers in the fletching of the arrow. His lips pursed in a sort of displeased acquiescence, and he turned towards the figures standing ready upon the wall.

“Let them in,” he shouted. “Open the gate.”

Trying to ignore the suspicious stares boring into them as they passed through the open gates, Aurelia turned her attention instead to their fortifications. She couldn’t help but notice how much of the south wall had been recently replaced: there were visible seams where char met fresh-cut yew and salvaged stone and new mortar. Burnt timbers thrust upwards through the scaffolding in places like broken bones that could not be properly set. 

There was no stone set into the ground here as there was in Gridania. All of the paths that meandered through the town were dirt, long since turned to frigid slush and thick mud from ice and snowmelt. Her toes felt numb with cold even through the protection of the boots and hempen stockings she wore. 

The houses were wooden, their roof mostly made of thatched river-reeds or cut cedar shingles, and it was impossible not to notice the holes in the rows of houses like missing teeth.

“Dalamud’s fall reached even in this place,” she muttered. “Your people have rebuilt quickly.”

“We were given little choice. Most fled to Quarrymill, then to Gridania when Quarrymill would not have them.” The old man coughed, turned his head, and spat into a nearby puddle. “This way.”

The house was a modest affair, large by the village’s standards, half-cloistered from the main road down a path into a small ring of trees. A large grey dog lay in a listless doze upon the rickety front porch, paws twitching. Its ears, white-tipped like snow-dusted mountains, flickered at the sound and smell of the intruders but rather than growl or move at all, it cringed away making querulous and uneasy whining sounds at the newcomers - until their host gently nudged the animal’s flank with his staff.

“Get on with you, Aubin,” he said gruffly. “They’re with me.”

Aurelia squinted. ‘Aubin’ looked rather suspiciously like-- “Is that a wolf?”

“Aye, but he’s meek as a lamb. He’s just a weary old man like his caretaker.”

“There were some animals sheltered in the Fane, but most have been released back into the woods. Can he not survive on his own?”

“Might could be, but it’s doubtful. He barely survived the fires, and with those injuries, his hunting days are past him. He’s too feeble, wouldn’t last long in the Twelveswood without someone to feed him. So I’ve been caring for him instead.”

“I thought you had-”

“An apprentice? I do. He’s making the rounds as we speak. Here, you- what was your name again?” he asked her minder, who stiffened visibly.

“Sergeant Epocan.”

“...If you want to stand on ceremony, I suppose that’s your call. Hold the door so the lady and the old man can enter, would you, there’s a lad.”

Grumbling, he caught the door as the man carelessly worked the latch and flung it open, crossing the threshold without even a cursory glance to make sure he was being followed. The interior of the cottage was a single large space, with bedrolls tucked into one corner of the cabin and cabinets of food and medicines in another. A simple wooden tub clearly meant for washing stood on the far side, half-hidden behind hemp cloth draped over rope to make a crude partition. 

The corner just north of it was fully enclosed behind a partition of its own. “You’ll be in that back area over there,” Hearer Ewain said with a jerk of his chin. “It’s neither pretty nor large but it’s adequate.”

Aurelia and Keveh’to exchanged doubtful glances. 

“Not you, Sergeant. I know what you sorts get up to after dark and I’ll have none of it under my roof,” the old Hearer snorted. “The lady gets the guest bed. Now go and get yourselves situated and once you’re ready we can have a talk about what to expect. There’s a pot of stew on and I’ve got tea.”

Too uncomfortable now to spare another look at her minder, she made her way towards the worn cloth and tugged it open. Ewain hadn’t exaggerated: there was enough space for her, a cot with a thin straw mattress and homespun blanket, and one small cabinet and that was all. 

She opened it and tucked her field kit within, then sat down on the lumpy mattress. The enclosure made by the curtain didn’t even have a window, just an old wood-plank wall, stained with age. The arrangement made her simple room at the Canopy look like a luxury suite, and she realized just as she began to remove her muddy shoes that the floor was… well, there wasn’t one. The floor was dirt, and it was very cold. 

Shivering, Aurelia changed into a fresh robe and stockings, wondering what to do with her soiled clothing before giving up and setting them on top of the cabinet next to the earthen washbasin, then stepping out into the common area once again. Her new mentor was pouring hot water into a tin cup. 

Keveh’to (likewise very carefully not looking at her) was rolling out a pallet next to the other two in the opposite corner of the cottage. His yellow hat and coat both hung on two pegs near the tiny window, and his dirty boots sat by the door. 

“Not used to the way we savages live, are you, Garlean?” Ewain said bluntly, watching her pick her way across the room in stocking feet. “Your imperial capitol had big houses with heated floors and such, and fancy machina that did all of the washing for you too, no doubt- oh, don’t give me that doe-in-lights look, girl. You can cover that third eye of yours all you like, I already know what you are. Heard all the talk about your kind from the lads that make their patrols. I’m old, not ignorant. Now go get that wet cloak and them muddy shoes you came in with and you put ‘em by the godsdamned door where they bloody well belong.”

Flushing and embarrassed, Aurelia stammered, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Aye, you didn’t think, that much is obvious. The floor may be dirt but that’s no call for either of us to be slovenly. I’ll not have you tracking mud about my house- such as it is.”

Quickly she did as she was told, placing her boots alongside Keveh’to’s and grimacing at the chill that fair radiated from between the gaps in the wooden door. It was the damp sort of cold that quickly sank into the skin, and she realized as she hung her cloak on an empty peg that she was shivering.

“Much better. Now come sit and have some tea, lass. The fire will keep your toes plenty warm.”

A cup was shoved into her hands almost as soon as her rear sank into the well-worn dip of the wicker seat. Chamomile, and weak at that. She sipped it anyway, thankful for the heat.

There was no conversation, not even to ask about their journey, just the old man drinking his tea and periodically hobbling over to the pot over the fire to poke and mutter at its contents. After some indeterminable amount of time had passed she felt a rough tap on her shoulder as Keveh’to pushed a wooden trencher into her hands. 

“Now that’s my granddaddy’s recipe,” Ewain said. “Antelope stew. Not much other than meat in it this time of year, and I had to cook it down to get the meat tender enough. But something to fill the belly is better than nothing. You eat, I’ll talk.”

“Don’t you want to wait for-”

“He’ll be in when he’s in, girl. I told you he’s on his rounds. Won’t be back until late probably and you’ll go hungry waiting for him just to be polite. Eat.”

She looked down at the contents of the trencher in her hands. The stew didn’t look all that appetizing but it smelled wonderful after so many weeks on bare rations, and soon enough she found herself eating ravenously. Some of the broth burned her tongue but that wasn’t enough to deter her. Nor Keveh’to, if the way the man helped himself to a second bowl was any indication.

“Right,” Ewain grunted as he reached across the table to set the teapot back upon its crocheted trivet, “well, I suppose I might as well get to the point. I don’t particularly want you. Naught against you, mind. The Guildmaster talked you up but good before telling me he was sending you over, and he’s a good judge of character so I know that for a Garlean you’re like as not to be perfectly lovely. But being a conjurer’s more than just tending the needs of the forest. Being able to minister to the everyday needs of the people is just as important. For you to even start to do that part of the job properly, your flock has to know they can trust you.”

“You think she isn’t suited for the position,” Keveh’to said, his voice flat. “Say what you mean and have done with it, oldtimer.”

Unimpressed, Ewain responded with a derisive snort.

“Think you’ll shame me into softening the blow, Sergeant Epocan? Well, you’ll not. I don’t want you here and I don’t want her here, and that’s as plain as I can say it. An untested novice from the city is a poor enough choice, a foreigner who’s got little knowledge of magic and even less understanding of our people is a worse one. That may sound harsh, but it’s how I feel.”

Aurelia stared into her trencher as if she found the remnants of her stew fascinating.

“But what I feel is beside the point,” the Hearer continued. “Fact is, you’re what I have rather than what I want, girl, and that’s where matters stand. So first things first. You’re going to settle in here, and then starting tomorrow I’m sending you on rounds with the lad, and you’re going to be meeting every bloody man, woman, and child in Willowsbend, and after that I’m sending you out to the Druthers.”

“But-” 

“No buts. Not the village folk nor the Wailers are going to want to work with some foreigner they’ve never met. That’s just how things are done about these parts.” Ewain coughed and spat again, this time into the fire, which flared briefly at the spittle before subsiding once more. “Strongarm knows the score and he has his way of watching out for outliers like us that the city don’t care about unless it has to, so it’s important you earn his trust too.”

Abruptly she stood, her spoon rattling in its trencher. “I think I need some air,” she said. “Will your dog-”

“Wolf. Aubin.”

“Yes, wolf, sorry. Will Aubin be all right if I step outside for a moment?”

“Should be. Though he might think you’re there to feed him- in fact, let’s make that your first task, lass.” Ewain pointed with a gnarled hand towards the cabinetry with its hanging root vegetables and preserved leaves. “I usually have my apprentice give him his meal every night. The coney’s over there, or what’s left of it. You can just give him the bowl and take the other from him, he’ll not take your hand off while he’s occupied.”

She shuffled towards the corner and picked up the bowl full of bones and offal. 

“Aurelia, never you mind,” Keveh’to began, setting his own trencher aside. “That’s no work for-”

“Sit down and let her be,” Ewain snapped, startling the Miqo’te. “Under my roof she’s a conjurer first and a lady second. If she can’t make friends with an animal there’s no way she’ll be fit for this work. Leave your trencher here and bring back the bowl, novice. Your friend here can make himself useful and do the washing.”

Barely heeding her minder’s protests, she stuck her feet back into the boots and threw her cloak back on, then let herself outside. The cold struck her cheeks as she’d expected but this time the shock of it jolted her back into a sense of immediacy. 

Not moving for a moment, Aurelia stared dully down at the bowl in her hands until the whine from the far corner of the porch caught her attention. 

“Hello, boy,” she said awkwardly. “Hungry?”

The response was a flicker of the ears, a smack of the bottle-brush tail, a lick of the lips.

He continued to whine as she approached but didn’t run away. She set the bowl of scraps down on the wooden planks and true to her mentor’s word, the wolf’s muzzle was almost immediately buried in it. Careful not to distract him, she reached to his other side and retrieved the bowl, then took a few steps away to give him space.

On her way back to the door Aurelia decided she didn’t want to go inside just yet, and so she did what she’d have done as a child: she dawdled instead. 

There was a railing built along the length of the porch steps, and rather than return inside she leaned on it and stared up at the clusters of stars in the night sky, a small stray breeze ruffling her fringe. With the house far enough removed from the road that someone would have to make their presence known before they approached, she wasn’t worried about her third eye giving her away. She could hear dogs barking and someone up on the wall singing tonelessly, see the flicker of spaced torches, but otherwise all was quiet.

Once again her focus returned to the empty vessel in her hands as she tried, not for the first time in the last few months, to figure out just how the twists and turns of circumstance had put her here.

A year ago she’d been ensconced comfortably in the Castrum Novum infirmary, a junior medicus, just one of the rank-and-file organizing potions and treating mild ailments and assisting in the surgery. Secretly wishing her superiors would loosen the reins and give her an opportunity to lead instead of assist, show her mettle and skill as a chirurgeon. 

Anything to break the monotony of her life as an enlisted recruit in the imperial war machine. And now-

“Should have been careful what you bloody well wished for, Laskaris,” she whispered to herself, and had to fight back the angry laughter that threatened to escape her lips. 

The stars overhead, distant and impersonal, held no answers. She hadn’t expected one, and this was far from the first time she had felt alone and desperately homesick. Even the formal, chilly stateliness of her uncle’s villa would have been a welcome sight, and that was now beyond her too. No use wishing for things she couldn’t have. 

Suddenly she wanted to weep.

“None of that,” she muttered to herself even as her vision blurred. No crying. She refused to cry. She’d shed enough tears, wallowed in enough self-pity. Tomorrow would be better, she told herself. Morning would bring with it clarity and a sense of purpose, or at least the promise of a new routine. She was simply fatigued from travel and stung by Ewain’s open dismissal, that was all. She’d simply do what she’d done in Gridania, and forge a place for herself, and prove she had a right to be here no matter what anyone thought.

She was well accustomed to being unwanted, after all.

Resolutely she turned her back on the stars and went inside to face her new reality.

Chapter Text

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta. 

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevantioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience. 

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably  unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe. 

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof." 

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door. 

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon. 

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. 

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch. 

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth. 

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition. 

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day... 

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice. 

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip. 

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands. 

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevantioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel. 

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead. 

The morning wore on.

~*~

Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud. 

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud. 

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything. 

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old. 

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks. 

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself. 

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due. 

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him. 

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too. 

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule. 

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he’d so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.” 

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate. 

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

Chapter Text

Third Astral Moon, 26th Sun, Year 1 of the Seventh Umbral Era

He was painfully aware that he was the only man standing between the elementals and disaster. Their enemy awaited their arrival atop the craggy perch, his wicked gunhalberd brandished aloft and aimed at the hapless party still struggling to ascend the treacherous inclines of limestone and moss. The legatus’ chin tilted proudly upwards as he stared down his foes beneath his imposing helm, lips stretched in a wide rictus and his triumphant laughter erupting forth in great, high-pitched ringing peals to break the quiet of the forest. 

“I claim the Black Shroud in the name of the Empire!” 

Hugh Miller, intrepid guardian of the Twelveswood, would never have a better chance with his target so thoroughly distracted. His grip tightened upon his blade and taking care not to alert the mad general, he approached with slow and careful footsteps, took aim-

-and missed. The swipe only knocked the legatus’ winged helm from atop his head, sending it flying (well, not quite flying, he amended silently; fluttering was perhaps a better word…) to the ground several fulms below.

Hugh gulped, regretting his miscalculation as the fearsome legatus rounded on him with a scowl.

“Ha! You dare to oppose me?” 

For a moment he nearly faltered. His sneering enemy was a full head and shoulders taller than him, even without a growth spurt taken into account, and he had better reach with his halberd than Hugh did with his short sword. How could he possibly win…?

At that moment a chorus of voices erupted just out of sight:

“Get him, Hugh! You can do it!”

“Aye, clip his wings!”

“You got him right in his bleedin’ face, you can do it again!”

His friends, cheering him on. 

Hugh grinned, his courage returning. He adjusted the makeshift pot helm he wore and held his sword aloft. “The Garlean Empire will never have the Twelveswood, White Raven," he declared. "Not while this Wood Wailer still draws breath!”

“Very well,” Nael van Darnus growled, “then a fight to the death it shall be! Have at you, foul adventurer!”

Helmless but still well-armed and armored, van Darnus wasted no time in attacking, offering a brutal thrust of his wicked lance. Hugh spun to his left and made another swipe, this one glancing off the legatus’ breastplate but catching in his homespun shirt.

“Ow!” the legatus complained. “Come on, no fair throwing rocks, Cecilie!”

“All’s fair in love an’ war, Da said,” retorted a sharp voice, and Hugh himself had to dodge a volley of pebbles that came flying over the precipice. There was a small, feral roar, a flurry of skirts, and Nael van Darnus let out a most unwarrior-like yelp of surprise when he was tackled to the ground by another boy and two small girls brandishing long staves. 

“He’s down! Get him!”

“Ow! Hey!”

“Back, foul creature!” chirped the smaller girl. “Eorzea is ours!”

“You’re mages! You’re not supposed to hit him with your staff- OW!” the legatus cried. “No biting either, you cheaters!” 

“We are not cheating!” 

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too! Hugh, make your cousin stop hitting me--ow!! Get off me!!”

Hugh took advantage of the chaos to rip the halberd from their foe’s hands, push the girls aside, and pin the White Raven to the ground, straddling the legatus’ chest with the edge of his blade pressed to the man’s throat. 

“Do you yield, imperial?”

“Seven hells, four against one isn’t fair, Hugh-”

“Do you yield?” he repeated.

A long and extremely sulky sigh from the Legatus of the VIIth Imperial Legion.

“I yield,” Nael van Darnus grumbled, shoving the trio aside and beginning to remove his armor. “You lot can keep playing if you like. I was getting bored anyroad.”

“Oh, come on, Enguerrand, it’s not any fun that way. We can’t have a full group of heroes with only three of us,” Hugh began, but his friend was already standing up and plucking stray leaves and dirt from his sandy hair. “You get to be the party leader next now that I beat you, that’s the rules, right?”

“Why can’t your brother play?”

“I told you already, Mum sent Bran to help Miss Aurelia collect moko grass.”

Enguerrand made a face. 

“Again? She really oughtn’t be so trusting of outsiders.”

“Miss Aurelia isn’t that much of an outsider,” Hugh pointed out. “She’s still Gridanian.”

“Her? Not likely.” The Elezen boy let out a sullen grunt as he jumped down from his perch to a nearby lichen-crusted outcropping, then called out, “Da knows folk from the city, and he said she doesn’t act or talk like a Gridanian at all.”

“What’s that even mean?” Hugh retorted. “Your dad’s from the wood just like the rest of us. How would he know what Gridanians are like?”

“Are you stupid?” Enguerrand’s voice was laden with contempt, enough to make the smaller boy flush. “He has to travel to Quarrymill sometimes with his reports. Lots of Gridanians live there. And he said she doesn’t talk like any of them.”

Hugh considered this. He knew Miss Aurelia on sight now, of course; all the villagers did. She was very pretty and very quiet. Rather tall for a Hyur, in his opinion, but he hadn’t found her to be all that suspicious beyond the simple fact that she wasn’t from Willowsbend - something which, his mother had said sourly, was enough reason in and of itself for folk like his friend’s father to look askance at the poor lass.

“All right, fine. How does she talk? And what does it matter? She’s a conjurer, isn’t she?” 

“A novice, Da says. Not a proper conjurer.”

“Novice just means she’s training.” The taller boy grunted but didn’t say anything, just jumped down like one of Hugh’s barn cats to land upon the leaf-strewn forest floor below and reached for the helm that had flown off his head-- though in truth, it was little more than an old basket with a couple of stray dodo feathers stuck into the weave (and now looking decidedly the worse for wear). “Wait, where are you going?”

“Home,” he said flatly. “Come on, Cecilie. Da’s going to wonder why the shearing isn’t done if we aren’t back soon.”

“But I still wanted to play!” Enguerrand’s younger sister protested. Hugh felt the rock beneath them vibrate when she stamped one patten-clad foot upon its mossy surface in resistance.

“Fine. You stay here and I’ll do the chores myself.”

“Enguerrand,” Hugh began, but the boy was already stalking out of the clearing, back in the direction of the village. 

Cecilie placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let him go, Hugh,” she sniffed with a defiant toss of her long black curls. “He’s just being a sore loser ‘cos we all gave him a sound thrashing.”

“For the glory of the elementals,” he grinned, but his mirth wasn’t returned. Cecilie’s smile faded in turn.

“He isn’t all wrong, though,” she said. “Da did tell us to be wary of her. He talked to Conjurer Trevantioux, Hearer Ewain’s real assistant. And, well...”

“And what?”

Hugh never got to hear the rest of what Cecilie meant to say. The alarmed cry that echoed from the edge of the tree line shocked them both into silence.

“Cecilie!” Enguerrand’s howl arose from somewhere not too distant. “Hugh! Both of you go get the Wailers right now! And take Amicia and Larkin back with you!”

“What?” she shouted. “Why? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! Just hurry!”

The four remaining children stared at each other with wide, shocked eyes for a brace of seconds, then scattered from their “cliffside” like frightened mice to make a run for the gates.

~*~

Some few malms distant on the opposite side of the village, Aurelia was traipsing her way through the undergrowth near the creek with Ewain’s scythe to look for moko grass and lavender. The one was easier to find than the other; moko was a common weed and one Frieda liked to harvest to prepare its fibers for spinning. 

Presently she realized that she was alone. Her timid young assistant lingered at the edge of the tree line and stared at her with enormous dark eyes-- what she could see of them beneath his overgrown fringe. 

"All is well, Bran," she assured him. "There's naught in the forest that would do you harm while you're with me."

Doubt lingered in the boy's small face. Aurelia steeled herself for rejection - expecting yet again that his reluctance had to do with her outsider's status - and was surprised when he replied, "The adults won’t give none of us leave to go into that part of the forest, miss."

"Hmm? Why not?"

"We just aren't. 'Tis mooncat territory. And there’s bandits. And..."

She waited, patiently.

"....and ghosts," he mumbled.

“Ghosts?”

“Aye, Miss Aurelia. Them what’s in the ruins.”

Searing pain lanced through her temples, and Aurelia pressed the heel of one palm against her head with a soft hiss-

The mood of the gathered villagers is one of anger and fear, and all around is the stench of old leaves and burnt wood. From his perch atop his Da’s shoulders, Bran Miller, six summers and the third of four sons, leans into the comforting warmth of homespun and straw and sweat and the smell of the forest, and watches the adults.

He understands only that they are arguing about something. The wall. Something about the wall.

“By the Twelve, Rowland, have you lost what little mind you have?” Hearer Ewain spits contemptuously. “All who know about that ruin-”

“Aye, that’s the point, Hearer!” The Midlander Wood Wailer, little more than a boy himself, gestures excitedly. “That ruin’s naught but rubble. We can patch the wall with stone that’s come loose from the mortar. Surely the elementals won’t object as long as we don’t touch the ruin itself.”

"Enough, boy! I'll not hear another word of this utter folly. Have you any idea how much it took to protect this place from the Greenwrath? That was only two moons past!”

“And what else would you suggest?” the Wailer named Rowland snaps. Bran cannot see his face but the anger in the man’s voice makes him cringe, burying his face in his father’s hair. “Half the forest has burnt straight to the ground and the elementals won’t let us touch so much as a bloody sapling without a man feeling their wrath. We can’t just sit here out in the open, like, not with the Ixal practically knocking at our doors!”

“The elementals placed a curse on those ruins,” the old Hearer replies. “You know that full well. There’s a reason they’ve not been touched since Amdapor breathed its last-”

“Bugger them and their curse,” Rowland retorts, scowling. “The birdmen won’t wait for us to ask the forest’s permission, old man. We need to see to our defenses now.”

Wincing anew at the man's angry tone, Bran whispers just loud enough for his father to hear:

“Are the ghosts in the ruins going to come to the village, Da? If they use the stones?”

“Never you mind all that,” his father murmurs. “All this talk of ghosts and such. ‘Tis naught but idle chatter and I’ll not be having you or your brothers taking foolish notions over it.”

But he does not miss the way one big hand tightens on his knee, nor the way the other squeezes his mother’s hand, near-hidden alongside in the folds of her dress. The lingering stink of deadfall and woodsmoke winds its way into his nose beneath the green smell of leaves, alongside the ugly scent of fear, and Hearer Ewain and Rowland only get louder as they argue about something called Amdapor and whether or not the elementals will be angry if they touch even fallen rubble from the ruins.

Bran decides he doesn’t want to hear any more yelling. Ever since the red moon fell and destroyed part of the village, everyone has been so afraid of the Twelveswood. He hates it. He wishes the wall hadn’t burned down. He wishes the forest hadn’t burned and angered the elementals. He wishes his mother would stop crying over her distaff late at night, when she thinks Bran and his brothers are asleep.

He wishes things would go back to the way they had been before.

Beyond his limited perception the adults’ argument continues, unabated.

“....Miss Aurelia?”

Her hand dropped back to her side. She blinked to clear her swimming vision; the boy was staring at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. A strained smile found its way to her face. 

“Don’t worry about me, Bran. All is well.”

Well, she thought, that explains the wall. 

Bran must have been present for what appeared to have been a town meeting to decide their course of action. None of that explained why she’d seen what she’d seen, of course, but that didn’t shock her either. Her strange and painful flashes of occasional insight often as not bore no clear connection to current events. 

Still, Aurelia fancied herself a practical woman, and her first impulse was to dismiss talk of ‘the curse’ as little more than superstition, one the ruling Council of Hearers had a vested interest in reinforcing (although she would never have said so aloud). The Greenwrath was one thing, but she doubted the elementals would ever be so indirect as to levy mysterious curses upon half-eroded ruins. Not when they could turn the entire Shroud on the mortals within it if they so desired.

"I don’t think the elementals would lightly suffer restless spirits to dwell within the forest," she pointed out in as lighthearted a tone as she could muster, "if living people like you and I must needs petition for the privilege."

The boy’s brow knitted and his lower lip thrust outwards in indignation. 

"You're making fun of me," he accused.

"I would never do such a thing, Bran, I promise,” she replied with a straight face. “But for all the talk in the village of evil spirits, I have never come across a ghost in these woods myself, in the ruins or anywhere else. Have you?"

“No… but my brother said he’s heard voices out here before.” 

“Be that as it may, I don’t think we’re in any danger.” Perhaps rather more from the mundane than the supernatural- not that she was about to fill his head with a set of worries entirely too old for him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?"

“No, miss. I’m too afeared of the ghosts.” He shook his head. “I’ll stay here on this side with Mama’s basket.”

"Alone?"

"Mama lets me play here as long as I stay in sight of the house."

“Very well." There would be no convincing him, it seemed. "But you mind your mama and stay within sight. If I'm not back by sunset you go straight home, understand?”

“Yes, Miss Aurelia.”

She shouldered her bag and ventured into the undergrowth, feeling the boy’s gaze boring into her back. 

As ever there was a certain comfort in the haze of solitary and mindless routine: keeping her hands busy while her mind wandered, and before long she had left the clearing behind. 

Thorns tugged at her leggings and headwear as she worked her way through the underbrush, and ilm by ilm the sunlight crept lower on the horizon. Aurelia kept about her work, heedless of how far she had ventured until she reached to pull back the leaves of a large bush and her eyes met mortar and white stone instead of the tree bark she’d expected. 

A thoughtful frown knitted her brow. 

Slowly she released the handful of brush and stood, wiping her gloved hand on her thigh. The section of wall was difficult to see, mostly covered in moss and lichen and shielded by overgrowth and the deadfall of a massive oak tree, but she could make out the heavily rounded arch and part of a hefty column. 

Having spent some moons in this part of the Shroud now, she was well aware of the ruins scattered throughout the settlement’s vicinity. Most of it was rough-hewn stone visible within the large sinkholes that had opened up after shrapnel from Dalamud had impacted the ground. Ewain had said that they were part of old Gelmorra, an underground city where people had dwelt for long years in which the entirety of the Shroud was not habitable. 

The other was all that remained of a city so lost to the annals of history that no one recalled its name. Even Hearer Ewain only knew that it had been a part of the civilization of Amdapor, submerged in the great flood that marked the end of the Fifth Astral Era. Part of the story she knew from her own training in Gridania; according to the Conjurers’ Guild, the white mages that ruled Amdapor had overstepped themselves in their hubris and invited the wrath of the elementals, which had caused the flood in the first place. 

One of her mentor’s myriad duties was to aid the Wood Wailers in ensuring that the secrets of the Amdapori remained hidden. For long years that had been a simple task: much of its ruins lay so deeply buried beneath bough and root in this age that they were impossible to discern from any other part of the forest floor. Or they had been, until the havoc Bahamut had wreaked had uprooted portions of the old structures with the aetheric upheaval against the land. 

Her fingers lightly traced the lacy patterns of lichen over stone, the smoothness that two ages and a great flood had worn into their surface. Other than the calls of birds and the sighing whisper of wind through the tree leaves, silence reigned. 

There was nothing to be seen here. No wild creatures, no voidsent, nothing.  

All right, but you know that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything here-

“Oh, stop,” Aurelia muttered aloud in disgust. “Just stop it.” 

Four years more of living more or less alone in the middle of an enchanted wilderness serving this blasted labor sentence and she suspected she’d be as superstitious as any Eorzean who’d never left the Shroud. She removed her hand from the stone and adjusted the hand-scythe in its loop on her belt. Bran was going to worry if she wasn’t back before the sun-

A shocking chill prickled its way down her arms, enough to make her shudder, a sense that something was terribly wrong-

-and in the same instant a high-pitched, terrified scream split the air.

~*~

The sun sat low in the trees. He'd not have much longer to look over the area before duskfall rendered it unsafe and the others retreated behind the settlement walls.

Keveh’to knelt in a pile of wet leaves and rock, his lips set in a flat and unhappy line as he examined the body. The Elezen boy who’d found it - stumbled across it, really, he suspected - had been near beside himself with fear. Laurentius, the most junior of the three Wailers that regularly oversaw matters of village security, had at least had the good sense to guide the gaggle of children away from the site before they managed to clap eyes on the corpse.

Just as well, he thought grimly. No one needed to see this. He wasn’t sure he had needed to see it, truth be told. 

The Ixali scout had been dead nearly a sennight by Keveh’to’s reckoning; the stink was enormous and the gaping hole in his chest was already crawling with nesting maggots. His weapon lay a few fulms away, the obsidian refracting the light from the afternoon sky with a wink - which was how the lad had chanced to see it at all. 

A lanky shadow fell over his back, briefly casting the grisly scene in shadow.

“Have you found anything, Lieutenant?” Keveh’to asked. He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. The Wailers, displeased with his insistence upon viewing the scene first, had been stalking the perimeter like sullen wolves starved of their prey.

“Not that I understand all the fuss you’re making over one dead beastman,” the Elezen stated, his tone decidedly acidic, “but yes. I found an arrow in the ground nearby. Likely it’s what killed him. If you want to have a look for yourself, that is.”

“I would. Hand it to me, please.”

“Gladly.” 

Almost immediately Keveh’to came face to face with the bloodstained shaft of an ash arrow less than an ilm from his nose, as the other man all but shoved it at him. Annoyed, he blinked, plucked it from the man's fingers, and turned it thoughtfully over. "...This is of Keeper design."

"Yes."

"And? That doesn't strike you as even a bit strange?"

"If poachers are taking it upon themselves to keep the roads clear of Ixal, so much the better for all of us," was the blunt response. "Now if you please, I must needs have a chat with my son and daughter to find out why they were playing games instead of tending to their chores.”

Keveh’to watched the man take his leave, and saw the pained expression on the Elezen boy’s face, the look of one staring down his oncoming reckoning. He chuckled; he’d worn that same face a time or two at the same age, when he’d made some wayward decision and decided it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

His attention returned to the business at hand and his smile faded. 

Something was off, he thought. He couldn’t put a finger to why it might be, but something about this wasn’t making any sense. The hole in the Ixal’s chest was the cause of death; of that there could be no doubt, and there were no drag marks, nothing that would indicate the body had been displaced or thrown in the leaf-pile to rot. 

It was entirely possible, he thought, that someone might have shot down an Ixal scout that had ventured close to the settlement. Not likely, given the reclusive nature of his people, but not out of the realm of possibility either. The logging habits of the beastmen threatened Keeper hunting grounds even as it invited the wrath of the Twelveswood, and although the tribes didn’t maintain any sort of official coexistence with Gridania’s Wood Wailers it wasn’t unheard of for them to make targets out of birdmen who got a little too cozy and a little too zealous with their deforestation.

But this wasn’t that. This was something else. 

Keveh’to’s eyes flickered once again over the decaying form of the dead beastman, then at the arrow in his hand. The head and the shaft were both stained brown-red with old blood. Besides that obvious marker, there were no identifying marks other than the fletching. He ran his fingers over the notched wild bird feathers, admiring the pristine smoothness of them, and the arrow shape that told him it was made by a Keeper with some knowledge of traditional craftsmanship--

His eyes narrowed and his fingertip paused mid-stroke.

“Epocan,” someone called. “It's close to dusk.”

His grip upon the arrow tightened. He spared a brief glance over his shoulder, then at the assorted watchmen and Wailers on-scene before continuing as if he’d heard nothing. 

“Epocan!”

“Yes?”  

“Seven hells, man, get your wits about you! I said it’s nearing dusk. We need to dispose of the body before nightfall and we can’t do that until we get the children back to the village.”

He had to make a decision, and quickly.

“A moment, pray!” Acting on sheer impulse he untied the hempen scarf he wore about his neck, hastily wrapped the bloodied arrow in the fabric, and tucked it into his gambeson. The Miqo'te regained his footing with ease, wiping his hands on his breeches and offering the Wood Wailer a calm smile as the man drew near. He didn’t smile back.

“Are you satisfied now, Epocan? Can we finally burn the blasted body before it attracts half the vilekin in the Twelveswood? All we bloody well need on top of aught else is the creeping death.”

“Aye, right. Sorry.” Keveh’to assumed the most sheepish expression he could manage. “Not something we worry about all that much in Gridania these days, I suppose.”

“What were you staring at?”

“I thought I saw something else in there. Another arrow,” he said with a cheerful shrug. “But it was naught -- just a beetle, I think.”

“As if you could tell beetles from blowflies in that mess." The man's nose wrinkled with distaste. “Hells. I’m going to need a soaking bath tonight just to get the stench out of my linens.”

“Aye. Well,” Keveh'to grunted, dusting loam and leaves from his knees, “let’s get the little ones back to their parents.”

He’d be back, all right, he thought as he followed the rest of them in herding the children and onlooking adults away from the site. This was a matter that warranted closer inspection. Had he the authority he'd send a summons for the Twin Adder, but he didn't, and the Wailers were more likely to tell him to shove off and shut him out of the loop if he went to them. 

Perhaps he'd ask Aurelia along, could he convince the old man to spare her for the day. It'd be the two of them again, he thought, on an adventure of sorts for the first real time in five moons.

He grinned.

Chapter Text

”Help!”

The distressed cry shocked Aurelia out of her paralysis. Hastily she slung the bag of herbs over her shoulders and secured them, fumbled with the knife sheath as she tucked her tools away, running as fast as she could down the incline that led into the partially excavated ruins. 

Another roar, another dull cracking, another cloud of pebbles and ancient mortar showering her head and shoulders. She ducked and wove her way through the flying rock and soil as best as she could manage. In another moment she rounded the corner, wiping dust and sweat from her eyes with the back of one hand.

A second scream directed her gaze upwards to the source of the commotion: a young Miqo’te girl clinging desperately to the overhanging root system of an old-growth tree, her eyes huge and pupils blown wide with terror. Her tail lashed in sweeping circles while her feet made frantic and rapid kicks and found naught but empty air. 

The treant that had cornered the Miqo'te bellowed in rage, swiping at the small and compact frame. As Aurelia watched, the trapped child managed to curl her knees upwards and tuck them beneath her tail. It was all that saved her. She narrowly avoided a vicious blow that would have crushed her on impact; the treant’s open claw impacted instead with a portion of the stone wall which shuddered, crumbled, and fell to rubble, leaving a dirt and root-adorned crater in its wake.

The girl wailed, near mindless with fear.

Cursing softly, the Garlean loosened the strap on her belt where she kept her novice’s wand at the ready-- her heart thumped heavily in her chest in a way it hadn’t done since Carteneau as this was neither a combat simulation nor a lecture hall. Although she had mastered the basics of aether manipulation and control, she was painfully aware that her current skills with her wand were not yet sufficient on their own to appease a berserk woodkin. 

This initial point, however, dovetailed into the second: it couldn’t be helped. Unless she acted quickly, the girl would lose her tenuous grip on the exposed roots of the tree and fall to her death - and Ewain wasn’t here to dispatch the miserable thing, meaning the decision to turn the land’s magicks against a denizen of the forest would have to fall to her. She couldn’t very well run and leave the girl to her doom. Her skills, such as they were, would have to do. 

“Hold on!” she shouted at the girl. “I’m coming over there to get you! Don’t let go until I tell you!”

No answer: only hoarse screaming broken by great, whooping sobs. Aurelia wasn’t certain if she had understood or even heard the orders through the panicked fog that clearly had her in its grip. Seven hells take the bloody elementals if they had issue with it, Aurelia thought, and the Hearer could yell and lecture her behind closed doors all he liked later. Swearing under her breath, she held out her wand and reached with her mind’s eye for the aether in the air, then loosed it at the frenzied creature. 

Wind coalesced in a sphere and flew towards the treant in a small and contained explosion, slicing into bark and branch. It had the desired effect; the treant reared upwards with an angry cry, spindly appendages flailing as it roared its fury to the forest canopy. Leaves shivered and hissed, and the cursed thing barreled towards its new target. 

In response, Aurelia took several leaping steps backward out of range and lifted a fist. Debris rattled and swirled around her willowy frame, brought aloft by the manipulation of wind-aspected aether, rippling in smooth currents from the ring of trees growing in and around the ruins. 

She kept her control as steady as she could manage, watching as twin tendrils of air and stone wound themselves about her right forearm like a ribbon. Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. The treant was sweeping its arms -- what passed for arms -- wide to strike and had left itself open. 

With a flick of the simple ash wand in her hand, she hurled the projectile. The composite stone crashed into the treant’s branches, its trajectory bolstered with the force of compacted wind. Aurelia caught the scent of sap and the sound of snapping limbs; its roars were now laden with pain as well as anger. Clawing at everything within reach of its limited perception, it shambled forward to rid itself of its tormentor, gnarled roots scraping into old stone and packed earth like overgrown toes. 

But for all its size and ferocity, its movements were ponderous and slow, and she found it a simple enough task to predict its next attack and react accordingly. She tucked and rolled under its wildly swinging limbs and had already regained her feet to run for the trapped child before the fiend could change track. Sweat trickled into her eyes and distorted her vision but she did not pause. The urgency of their current situation had rendered both the irritant and its mirroring sting at her hairline unimportant.

“Now!” she shouted to the girl, lifting her arms. “Jump! I’ve got you! Jump now!”

The Miqo’te’s breath hitched audibly in her chest but she had stopped screaming long enough to watch the fight with wide eyes, and only hesitated a moment before she released her grip on the roots. Aurelia caught her before she could hit the ground, set her down feet-first, and grasped her wrist. 

“Run into the woods! Don’t look back and keep running until I say stop!”

“Miss-” 

“Don’t talk,” Aurelia barked, ”run!”

For the first two breaths the girl hesitated, then she got her feet under her and the two fled into the depths of the wood, crashing through bush and briar without stopping or sparing a glance at any possible pursuit. 

The treant’s furious yowling echoed once from the direction of the ruins, the leaves of the surrounding trees seeming to shiver with a dim reflection of its ire, but did not seem to have left the bounds of that clearing. Once Aurelia judged them to be safe her sprint slowed to a trot and then to a walk; she grasped a handful of the girl’s kurta to signal that they were safe. 

At her side, the Miqo'te first tilted forward to brace her hands upon her knees before she dropped into the dirt and dead leaves at their feet, panting. Her tail slapped with visible agitation against the forest floor.

”Hells,” she said, explosively. “That near ended poorly.”

Aurelia raised a brow at the oath that fell from those young lips; their owner couldn’t have been more than ten summers- though she allowed that she might be wrong, as Sazha had been small and spindly too. The look of the girl rather put her in mind of the wood sprites she remembered from childhood fairy tale books. She had a build a bit like Sazha’s had been, but it was less compact and more slender, with long and skinny limbs. Her skin was perhaps a shade or two darker than Keveh’to’s and her eyes a soft grey with large and rounded pupils. Brown ears the color of oak tree bark flickered idly, swiveling at each small noise that came from their surrounds.

“Yes, it did,” Aurelia said at last. More sweat trickled into her eye and she blinked again. “What were you doing in there?”

“Could ask you the same, miss.” The girl paused, carefully swiping at her face to clean it of her tears. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but they were clear and her expression was calm now that she was well out of immediate danger. “Though I’m full glad you were there, make no mistake. I was looking for something in the ruins.”

“By yourself?” Aurelia was immediately concerned. “Those ruins are no place for a child.”

An affronted scowl furrowed soft brows and crinkled that little button nose. 

“I’m not a child,” the girl declared irritably. 

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course not! I’m fourteen summers!” She paused, then added: “Well, nearly. I will be at the end of the season. How old did you think I was?”

“Ah… twelve, mayhap,” Aurelia hedged, unwilling to admit she had assumed younger. The girl appeared only slightly mollified.

“Mayhap twelve is naught but a child where you’re from, miss, but for me that’s practically grown.” She squinted, annoyance forgotten. “I saw that wand you were using. Are you a Gridanian?”

“No.” Technically it was true. “I learned my craft in Gridania but my homeland lies to the north.”

“Hm.” The Miqo'te girl looked her up and done once more as if coming to some sort of decision before she regained her footing, dusted the leaves off the backs of her legs, and thrust out a small, soiled hand. “Well, Miss Mysterious Conjurer, since you asked, my name is Vahne. Vahne Wolndara. Thank you for saving me.”

With a faint smile, Aurelia clasped the proffered hand and shook slightly. 

“Aurelia Laskaris. Pleased to meet you, Vahne -- I can call you Vahne, can’t I? What were you doing poking around a place like that? You know what it is, surely?”

Vahne shot her a slightly withering look as if to say ‘are you stupid? ‘ 

“Aye, I do. It’s part of the old city of Amdapor. Said to be haunted.” She crossed her arms, expression smug. “Your Gridanian conjurers aren’t the only ones who know about that sort of thing, you know. We Keepers have our own stories.”

Not about to allow an adolescent girl’s cheek to provoke her, Aurelia merely shrugged. 

“Well, if you know that much,” she said, “then one would assume you should have already known about the traps placed all over these ruins, not just by us but your own people. That treant shouldn’t have gone so wild as to attack you without cause. Unless you touched -- or stepped on -- something that was meant to be left alone.”

Vahne flushed, her expression equal parts indignant and embarrassed, and the veneer of self-assurance faltered beneath it. 

“I-I know that!” she sputtered. “I’m not stupid, I just-- I was worried, all right? I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking and I didn’t see the roots until I stepped right through them-”

Aurelia held up a hand. "It’s not a lecture; I only want to help. If you know as much as you say about these ruins, then I would think you also know they aren’t a place that most people would go unless they had a very good reason.”

The girl muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

Vahne sighed. “I said I was trying to find some lavender. And cloves.”

“Surely there are safer places to look.”

“Not as many as there used to be,” she said dismally. “Ever since last summer, it’s been much harder to find. It used to grow all over our hunting grounds but the fires destroyed most of it. You would think the Gridanians could spare some, but their bloody Wood Wailers-”

“Language,” Aurelia interrupted absently. The girl rolled her eyes.

“...all right, fine, blasted Wood Wailers are near as like to shoot at us as talk to us if we get too close to their settlements. The village folk think we’re all thieves and poachers so they won’t treat with us, but they won’t dare cross the ruins for fear of curses and ghosts and such.”

“So you thought you’d find those things in the ruins? Hardly anything grows in there other than belladonna and poison oak.” 

Vahne shrugged, grey eyes finding their study of the ground suddenly very interesting, and Aurelia felt the familiar twist of guilt in her gut. Dalamud’s shrapnel had set a large portion of the Black Shroud ablaze, and once the Greenwrath had been quelled along with the wildfires few if any of the people in the Gridanian settlements had spared a thought for the forest folk or their losses. Herself included. 

She stared thoughtfully down at her bag. 

“I think I might have some herbs I could give to you, but to do so would require a trip back to the village in order to obtain it.” At Vahne’s cautious stare, Aurelia added, “You would owe me nothing in compensation if that’s what concerns you.”

“No, miss, it’s not that, it’s… if my aunt knew I got anywhere near any of the Gridanian settlements she’d have my hide. We keep our distance for good reason. ...But you do have some? And you’ll let me have it?”

“Yes.”

“Might you also have foxglove?”

“That I cannot promise. Foxglove comes from Coerthas and their snows have killed most of the harvests. The rest I can get for you-- if you tell me why you need it so much.”

“Healing,” she said, perhaps a touch too quickly, and the Garlean raised her brows at the obvious evasion. “...What? Don’t look at me like that! I’m serious!”

“What sort of healing?” Aurelia pressed. “Lavender and cloves I understand, but foxglove can be quite toxic.”

“Just… you know… the usual sorts of things! Easing pain, and all that.”

Her gaze lingered upon the Miqo’te - rather pointedly - but the girl continued to stare at the ground in strained silence as she awaited a response. It was more than obvious she was hiding something but would offer nothing further without duress, and Aurelia knew better than to think she would have any luck coaxing her into breaking whatever personal code she held close to the chest. 

Not without compromising what fragile trust she’d gained, anyroad.

“Oh, very well,” she said. Whatever the girl’s secrets, she saw no reason to withhold supplies if they could be spared. “Follow me. You don’t need to enter the village. If you come with me as far as the wall, I’ll fetch what is needful and bring it to you.”

Vahne’s grey eyes came alight with relief. “Oh, miss, thank you, tha-”

“You’re welcome,” Aurelia said, not without a touch of wryness in her tone. No good deed goes unpunished, after all.

~*~

It was nearing dusk when they reached the treeline that stood on the far side of the creekbed from the village. Most of the wood already lay shrouded in shadows and visibility was so poor Aurelia could barely discern the path even once it became familiar again. 

She was relieved to see she hadn’t completely lost her way in their mad dash from the Amdapori ruins since she hadn’t exactly paid attention to where they had fled at the time, but her third eye afforded her a variety of advantages over most hyur, and one of those things was a reasonably good sense of direction. If the Twelve actually existed, she’d thank them for small favors. 

Vahne paused, hanging back in a stand of brambles, tail lashing and ears flat. 

“This is as far as I can go, miss,” she said, though not without a note of apology. “My aunt-”

“I know. ‘Tis all right.” She parted a stand of low-hanging ivy from an ash branch overhead and stepped into the clearing. “Stay here. I’ll be gone less than a quarter bell. Do you know how to find your way home?”

Vahne scoffed, and like that her confidence had returned. “Auntie used to tell me that a Keeper who couldn’t survive a night alone in the Shroud by the time she was able to string a bow wouldn't be a huntress worth the name. I’ll be fine.”

“Where’s your bow?” Aurelia asked, curious, and that flush returned.

“That stupid tree --”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

The creek was near full this time of year, the banks muddy and steep, but Aurelia had quickly discovered the safest place to ford it. She skipped from rock to rock and splashed across the water, adjusting the leather bag on her shoulder. A glance at her back showed no sign that she had been followed at all, which meant Vahne was probably hiding in the brush.

Ewain’s place, befitting a conjurer’s hermitage, lay one foot in and one foot out of civilization. It had been nestled behind the old palisade line along with the rest of the village but he had declined to rebuild his portion during the recent reconstruction, confident there was precious little in the way of threats that his link to the land could not turn back. The creek itself provided a natural border to his gardens, and the wall receded to little more than neatly stacked rows of stone. 

“Miss Aurelia!”

A small, sandy head, peeking over the stones. Aurelia exhaled, smiling. 

“Just the lad I was hoping to see. You’ve stayed in the village while I was gone?”

“Yes, miss. I was about to go home.” He shuffled from foot to foot, looking agitated, but making no move to leave her to her own devices. “Do you need me to open the gate?”

She didn’t but wasn’t about to say so. Just the fact he’d offered to do so without prompting was a positive sign; of all his family Bran had proved the most difficult to win over. “That would be lovely, Bran. Thank you.”

For a few moments he disappeared completely from sight, then there was a quiet creak as the small, low-slung gate - more suited to holding sheep than aught else, she thought - eased open on its iron hinges. She slipped through the opening and latched it shut at her back, then smiled at him. He stared at her with huge and solemn eyes, a frown creasing his brow.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said. “I’m sorry I took so long to come back. Have you taken your basket back to your mama?”

“Not yet, miss.”

“Pray tell her that I’ll be along tomorrow with her dried grass for the weaving once I’ve done my rounds.” Aurelia refrained from ruffling the boy’s hair as she might have done were they more familiar with each other. “Now go straight home, you hear?”

He was already halfway down the path to the main street before she had finished speaking. Amused, she watched him trot away and adjusted the leather strap of her gathering bag before crossing between one of the rows of cabbages Trevantioux had planted on her way to the front porch steps. Aubin briefly lifted his silvered muzzle in greeting, sniffed the air, then settled back on his haunches to doze again once he had determined the familiar scent. 

Scratching absently at her hairline, she rapped on the door only for it to swing open immediately; a man’s hand snaked around her wrist and yanked her across the threshold so abruptly she nearly dropped her belongings. Panic, bright and sharp like fire, sparked across her nerves for a split second before she saw the familiar outline of fluffy hair and ears. Keveh’to’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the cabin.

“Where in hells have you been? ” he demanded, his teeth flashing as he spoke. “You know you have a curfew! I was about to send a search pa-”

“That’s a bit dramatic of you, don’t you think?” Aurelia shook her head, pushing past him to make way for the herb cabinets. “As you can see, I’ve arrived in one solid piece and I promise I’ve been a very good little prisoner. In fact, I shall have you know I’ve not attempted to cross the border wall even one time today, which to hear Trevantioux tell it is quite the accomplishment.”

“Very funny. Perhaps you might answer the question with something other than sarcasm?” 

“For goodness' sake, Keveh'to! I was foraging for lavender and ended up near the old Amdapori watchtower. I would have returned earlier but I got a bit sidetracked, that’s all. And before you ask, I’ve already sent the lad home to his mother.” 

“Good. He needs to stay there, and you and I need to speak. Something’s happened.”

“Can it not wait a few moments? I've a quick delivery to make.”

“Delivery? Aurelia, you can’t go back outside. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“If you’d sit down for a few moments, I could tell-” His eyes darkened. “Twelve, you’re bleeding! ”

Keveh’to’s face, even in the poor lighting, had paled visibly. Aurelia could only offer a blank stare in return.  “...What are you on about?”

“How could you not have noticed? There’s blood all over your face.”

“What… oh,” she raised a hand to her hairline and winced at the stinging sensation she felt. What she’d thought was sweat was, she realized now, dried blood. “I suppose it must have nicked me.”

“What nicked you?”

“A treant in the ruins. I’m fine,” she said with perhaps a touch more impatience than she had intended. Without a pause, she brushed aside the hand on her arm and reached for the pinned bundle of dried lavender overhead. Removing roughly half the sprigs, she set it aside, then began to rummage through the cabinet for the cloves. “Get me that empty hemp bag on the hook, would you?”

Keveh’to had already handed the bag to her before he had formulated a response, but whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. She was already shoving the herbs in the bag. 

“As I thought. No foxglove,” she said aloud. “She’ll have to live with it.”

“You're being far too cryptic for my liking. Who are you talking about?”

“A girl whom I met today at the ruins. Feel free to come with me if you’re concerned for my safety for whatever mad reason, but I’ll not make her wait longer than needs must.”

“Aurelia, this is-” 

“She only needs some healing herbs and she’ll be off. I promise we’ll talk as soon as possible, but pray let me handle this one matter first. It won’t take but a moment.”

Keveh’to shook his head, frustration evident in the deep knit of his brows. "I see you’re not going to listen to me until I’ve done as you asked - and I'm not letting you out there alone.”

“A bit of a wait won’t kill you.” She swept past him to reach for the door latch. “Come on.”

Spring in the Black Shroud was waxing to its zenith and wearing on into summer, and the scent of late perennials and the reedy sounds of tree frogs hung heavy in the air. No other soul seemed to have marked their departure, Aurelia noted, as the pair slipped between Ewain's flourishing vegetable rows and back towards the gate.

“It’s oddly quiet this early in the evening,” she murmured. “Where’s Ewain and Trevantioux?”

“They’re at the Millers’. Talking to the children- look, I’ll tell you when we get back, but let’s hurry. I really don’t want those two listening in.”

“All right, all right, don’t fret. Hand me that bag.” He did, unlatching the low gate as he did so with a disapproving frown. “Stay here.”

“What? Where are-”

Keveh’to trailed off, watching her hop nimbly from one outcropping to the next down the creek bed as if she were born to it. In the winter months, a great deal of the water had slumbered deep under ice as the excessive rains had filled it near to its flooding point, and he found himself observing yet again that this small village had been almost absurdly fortunate. Few others had managed to escape the damage that had destroyed other settlements lying closer to Mor Dhona’s borders. 

Aurelia grinned back over one shoulder, trying to ignore her limp and the vague soreness in her leg; though it had largely healed it did still ache if she overtaxed it (which she had very much done, this day), then turned her attention back to the timber line.

“Vahne,” she called. “I have your herbs.”

For a long moment nothing happened. She frowned, wondering if the girl had perhaps lost her nerve upon seeing her companion, when a quiet rustle of the undergrowth below a nearby sycamore tree caught her eye and one small hand extended outward in an expectant silence.

“Let me see you,” Aurelia said.

Another rustle, then a displeased mutter: “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about me.”

“Keveh’to is a Keeper like you. He’ll not harm you nor will he give away your secret.” Reflective grey disks peered between the blind of leaves, looking at her, shuttering in a blink, then narrowed in a distrustful squint as they focused past her upon the Miqo’te man standing at the opposite side of the creek bed. “I’ve told him to stay where he is.”

Cautiously Vahne’s ears came into sight, swiveling and flickering wildly, then the crown of the girl’s head, before she stood completely upright. Her hand was still extended.

Aurelia held out the hempen sack. 

“Lavender,” she said, “and some of our cloves. I don’t have aught else to spare right now, unfortunately. There’s little enough to go ‘round since the ice storms overtook Coerthas last summer. I’m sure the botanists’ guild in Gridania will manage to get their hands on a seedling or three for cultivation but in the meantime, we all must needs make do.” 

She waited as the girl opened the bag and sniffed its contents, then made a satisfied nod and tied it shut.

“Thank you, miss.”

“It’s Aurelia,” she repeated. “If for some reason you do ever need help, you can come and find me here. Or if you can’t find me, look for my companion. His name is Keveh’to and he’ll be easy to spot, being as he’s the only Keeper in the village.”

Vahne cradled the bag close to her chest.

“I best be going. My aunt will be wondering where I’ve got off to if I’m not back soon, and there’s also-” She cut off abruptly, wincing, as if she’d nearly let something slip Aurelia wasn’t supposed to know about. “....Well, anyroad, cheers.”

“Be caref-”

The girl had already melted into the shadow with little more than a rustle of leaves before she could even finish her admonition. 

Aurelia shook her head ruefully. She had extended the offer suspecting the girl would have need of aid if she was truly this desperate for healing items, but doubted anything would come of it. Ewain had emphasized that there were Keeper tribes in the forests who refused “civilized contact” and would rather keep to the old ways than cooperate with Gridania, and Keveh’to’s accounts seemed to at least partially back up that claim. If the girl would rather keep to herself, then that was her right, and it was hardly the place of an outsider who knew nothing of Eorzean ways to deny it to her. 

You’ve done what you can here. Right. Time to go talk to Keveh’to about whatever it was he wanted to discuss with you before he has kittens.

As she turned her back on the forest to find her way back across the creek bed to Keveh’to and the Hearer’s cottage, Aurelia felt the sensitive skin around her third eye prickle, and a chill crawled up her spine. 

Yet again, she realized, they were being watched.

Chapter Text

The vague sense of disquiet and its physical effect -- levin and static sending fiery prickles along her arms -- did not fade. It persisted as she splashed into the waters and across the bank, as she approached the gate, as it swung shut at her back, and did not fade even when Keveh’to joined her on a silent and hurried return to the cabin.

Her heart pounded and her throat felt tight with anxiety which had neither a name nor a focus. 

This forest has eyes. 

“Right,” Keveh’to said without preamble as the front door shut behind them, “now would you like to tell me what in hells that was all about? You said you met her at the ruins?”

“Yes.”

“And you just gave half Ewain’s supply to her without a word to him?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder at you, Aurelia. I really do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that for someone who often seems so worldly, you are remarkably quick to take the people here at their word. She was hiding something, and not doing that great a job of it.”

Aurelia threw up her hands. “She’s naught but a child, and we have more than enough of the things I gave to her to spare. That disaster last summer didn’t just hurt Gridania.”

“Did she get a look at -- you know.”

“No, my third eye was covered. You might at least trust in my discretion.”

Keveh’to exhaled. She unslung her packs and draped them over the hooks by the door. 

“Now,” she said, “you can tell me what’s got you so excited it couldn’t wait until the other two got back-- what are they doing down the Millers’, anyroad?”

“I’m getting to it, trust me. I’ll make some tea while you wash your face- are you quite certain you’re all right? You don’t need the Hearer or Trevantioux to take a look at it?”

“Hells forbid,” the Garlean snorted. “Trevantioux would have me drink some awful concoction for his own amusement. No, it’ll be fine; scalp cuts nearly always look worse than they are in truth. It stopped bleeding a while ago.”

“Well, I’d wash it anyway.”

“I’m well ahead of you.” It wouldn’t do to have the other two men alarmed and asking inconvenient questions. 

Aurelia made her way to the small standing washbasin near the bath partition. The hempen covering was probably ruined. Maybe, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to wash blood stains out of clothing; perhaps she would try one of Ewain’s smelly lye soaps and see if that didn’t take some of the stains out.

She filed it away for later consideration. Washing her laundry could wait until after she found out what had her companion so excited.

By the time she had cleaned her face and returned to the sitting area the tea was ready. Keveh’to handed her one of the earthenware mugs, filled near to the brim with chamomile. “We’ve not much time to talk,” he said. “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She sat.

“Go on. I’m listening.”

At length, he said, “You know Whiterock, right? That little spot where the children play?”

“The one in that birch copse near the walls? Of course.” Aurelia smiled into her tea. “Little Bran Miller was in a fine spate of ill temper when his mother told him he had to help me with gathering her moko grass; he told me in no uncertain terms he’d much rather be playing with his brothers. Their games get quite intense, so I’m told.”

“Aye, well, ‘tis just as well the lad wasn’t there to see what the rest of them did today. There was a corse half-buried under deadfall -- an Ixal scout, by all appearances. Blood and rot everywhere. One of the other children all but tripped over it.”

She inhaled sharply. 

“Yes, I think it was good Bran didn’t see that. Did one of the village watch get careless?”

“They didn’t know it was there. He had been dead long enough for the forest to start getting at him.” Keveh’to set his mug on the low-slung table between them, then strode towards the door to rummage for something inside the pockets of his gambeson. “But something’s off about the entire thing- here, let me show you.”

As he frowned and muttered and searched his belongings Aurelia let her mind wander for a few moments. She was tired and sore and only half-registering his words, and her thoughts still lay with the young Miqo’te girl somewhere in the forest by herself. Hearing that a body had been found nearby did little to ease her worries; the disaster had left people bereft and desperate, and it was known that there were bandits in the wood.

I hope Vahne made it back all right to wherever it is she lives. I’d not forgive myself if-

“Ah,” the Miqo’te said triumphantly, tugging a hemp-wrapped bundle loose from the pile of armor. “Here we are. We collected this from the site where the boy found the body.”

She set aside her teacup and stood, then made her way to the door as he removed the hastily wrapped item, then winced at the sight. It was an arrow of somewhat simplistic make, the iron head and ash shaft stained a coppery brown. Old blood. 

“Ewain will not take well to finding something like this under his roof.”

“What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Keveh’to’s eyes gleamed almost amber. “Look at it. Can you tell me what doesn’t match here? You can touch it, it’s long dry by now.”

“I’m not certain what good my opinion will do. I’m hardly an inspector.”

“Well, what of it? You’re used to looking at these sorts of things when you’re trying to figure out why someone’s injured, aren’t you?”

Aurelia squinted at him, then held her hand out to take the implement from him. Gingerly she lifted the arrow by the shaft and examined it with a critical eye. At first glance nothing looked strange; the head was solid, albeit caked in dried blood, and the shaft and its fletching pristine. Were it not for the stains, she mused, one would have thought it to be--

Her lips pursed.

“One would expect to see the target’s blood in the fletching had it struck its mark, or some other sign of use had it not. This arrow isn’t a crossbow bolt, mind, but still. It looks…”

“Go on,” Keveh’to encouraged when she trailed off mid-sentence, though by his tone it was clear he already had an answer in mind. Aurelia tilted the arrow over and over in her fingers, the knitted furrow in her brow deepening by the second.

“...This rather looks as though it is not what killed your dead man.”

He looked pleased. “Aye. ‘Twould seem we agree.”

Aurelia studied him in turn, her gaze appraising. 

“You do realize,” she said, “that this would be considered official evidence? You shouldn’t even have this on your person, much less show it to me; last I checked, I’m supposed to be serving out a prison sentence.”

“That lot out there doesn’t give a damn because they think one dead Ixal only benefits them. You may be a prisoner,” Keveh’to replied, “but you’re the closest thing I have to a partner at the minute - and frankly I’m bored out of my bloody mind on wall duty. This gives us both something to do-”

“Implying I’ve not been run ragged on Ewain’s morning rounds.”

“Hang the rounds. Let Trevantioux do them.” Aurelia made a face. “I’ll make up some reason for you to come along with me.”

“He’ll complain that I’m shirking my duties, no doubt.”

“He can complain all he likes and so can the Hearer. This is important.”

“Well, put that away before the two of them get back.” She handed him the arrow. “You said Whiterock, right?”

“Aye. It’s not far from the wall. Nearest the Quarrymill road.”

Aurelia nodded thoughtfully.

“Meet me there at midday.”

~*~

The next morning was sweltering -- hot and humid and still. Other than the reedy noises of tree frogs and the odd bird call, little seemed to stir with the sunrise, and Aurelia was only an hour into the morning rounds before she’d sweat through her smallclothes and into her robes. 

A glance at the sour-faced Trevantioux showed that the Elezen man fared little better in the oppressive heat, though he was stoic as ever where it came to any indication of his feelings - at least in her presence. Many of the Elezen who dwelt in the Shroud seemed little inclined to bear the presence of outsiders in the first place, but he seemed to harbor a particular rancor. 

Any hopes Aurelia might have harbored that Ewain’s assistant might warm to her had been quickly laid to rest. The wedding originally set for the close of the winter months had been delayed until the summer, and rather than train her on his own and allow Trevantioux the freedom to court his bride and tend to his own affairs, the Hearer had insisted that his assistant stick to his usual routine - and, adding insult to injury by all appearances, he was compelled to allow Aurelia to attend him and observe him on his morning rounds. 

Internally she ground her teeth every time the man spoke to her - at least most of old Ewain’s saltiness seemed to owe to age and weariness - and reminded herself that this was an internship, one that was not like to last indefinitely. Once Trevantioux and his betrothed were wed he would be reassigned by the guild, doubtless to some posting that took him out of the village. 

It was small enough recompense, all things considered.

Her final stop this morning before joining Keveh’to was the Millers’ cottage: one of the few places in town where Aurelia nearly always enjoyed some degree of respite from the veteran conjurer’s constant criticism. Trevantioux didn’t particularly get along with its sunny-natured and wry-tongued mistress and was all too glad to leave Aurelia to tend to her while he saw to other house calls.

Aurelia for her part found instant appeal in Frieda’s quick wit and irreverent humor, and the sparrow-framed Midlander weaver had - despite her initial wariness of the outsider - likewise warmed to Ewain’s novice quickly. In the ensuing months, she had gone from polite civility to voicing her frequent appreciation for E-Sumi-Yan’s wisdom. Frieda liked Ewain well enough for all that she found Trevantioux incurably stuffy, but she seemed well pleased the guild in Gridania had finally seen fit to send a woman to Willowsbend.  

“Goodness, Aurelia, do you fare well?” she asked the novice conjurer now, frowning. “You look about to melt into a puddle right before my bed.”

Breaking from her brief reverie as she removed the herbs from her satchel and dabbed the sweat from her brow with the corner of one hem, Aurelia offered the older woman a rueful smile. “I might well be, at that. One could break a sweat simply stepping outdoors today.”

“Summer’s come upon us fast this year.” She shifted somewhat awkwardly in the bedclothes. “If you let me get up I can fetch you some water from the kitchen. Rauffe’s still working on the well, but I’ll not see a guest in my home go without-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Aurelia denied, the stern note of her response brooking no argument. “Never you mind a bit of sweat; I’ve a waterskin and plenty of shards to refill it. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh really now, Aurelia-”

“No.”

Frieda let out a thwarted groan. “I can’t simply be ordered to lie abed for the next two moons! There’s so much work to be done-”

“Well, you most certainly can, when needs must,” Aurelia replied briskly. “There’s hardly any need for all this fuss and bother, surely? It’s only until the baby arrives. Once you’ve recovered from the birth you can go traipsing about the forest all day if you like.”

A gusty and exasperated sigh tossed a puff of sweaty red curls from the Hyur’s brow. “I shall have you know I’ve done this plenty of times before,” she complained. “And I’m perfectly healthy-”

“Healthy enough to complain, most certainly.”

“You know full well what I mean, Mistress Laskaris. I don’t see why I should have to be confined to bed for so long over some puffy ankles.”

“I told you already. ‘Tis naught but a precaution given your history-” 

“A ridiculous precaution.”

“You're free to think whatever you like,” Aurelia countered, with the somewhat exaggerated patience L'haiya had so often used when talking to her childhood self in a fit of stubbornness, “but you are not just my friend. You are also my patient and as I have the care of you and yours, I bear responsibility for your well-being. As such, I would see you remain healthy and deliver a living child.”

“Aye, I know. But still-”

“I’m aware there’s plenty of work to be done. I’ve seen enough of your routine to know. But you’re hardly alone. Bran knows how to collect and dry the grasses for the spindle, you’ve two other sons of a goodly age to be helping about the house, and there’s Rauffe besides-”

“Rauffe? Rauffe won’t even mend his own smallclothes, never mind help with the spinning,” Frieda snorted. “If he gets a rip he’s like to just cut a hole in the arse end of his breeches and let in a stiff breeze - or out, depending on how much cabbage he had the night previous.” Despite herself, Aurelia let out an extremely unladylike cackle. Frieda offered a triumphant grin and relaxed at last, lacing her callused fingers over the curve of her swelling belly. “And what of Conjurer Trevantioux? I thought he was to be checking on me this morning, but I mark he’s dumped you on my doorstep again. It’s getting to be something of a habit, that.”

“He is as anxious to be shut of me as I am of him.” Aurelia reached for her waterskin. “Here’s hoping the bride's father doesn’t take ill again and delay their wedding a third time.”

“Is old Darien really doing all that poorly, I wonder,” Frieda mused aloud, “or is Noline just stalling?”

“I hardly know her well enough to have an opinion. But both Trevantioux and Ewain have been frequent guests at her home since my own arrival and the old man’s little other reason to visit as often as he does, so I can only guess is that there’s some truth in it.”

“Well, I had to ask. She’s his only child, after all,” Frieda continued. Aurelia shrugged as she uncorked the skin. She wasn’t really one to spread idle village chatter, feeling it somewhat beneath her and out of the scope of her duties besides. “Between you and me I suspect he’s having rather a difficult time letting go.”

“Mm.” She raised the waterskin to her lips for a draught. 

“And what of you and that handsome Sergeant Epocan?”

Taken by surprise, she sputtered mid-sip, coughing. By some miracle, water didn’t go everywhere, though it was a near thing.

“What- Heaven forbid! The Sergeant and I aren’t like that at all!”

“That’s not the word ‘round town.” The Midlander woman’s smile was quite shrewd. “They say you’re on a first-name basis with him. Keeper folk don’t let just anyone talk to them in such a familiar way, you know.”

Aurelia allowed a short, sharp laugh and set the skin aside, then tipped the rest of the ground medicinal blend from her mortar into the small glass bottle on the bed’s side table. 

“You really ought to tell the old women in the marketplace to mind their own business and stop asking such personal questions,” she said in a voice far more dismissive than she felt as she reached for a stopper. “I don’t suppose that’s asking for very much, is it?”

“Oh, sod those old crones! I’m asking for my own self, love."

"So the impertinence is your own? My, that certainly makes a difference, I suppose."

"Imper - well, it’s not as though I’ve aught else to do these days other than laze abed and keep my hands busy with stitching."

"Excuses."

"Aye, some fancy pants big-city chirurgeon gave me mad orders to rest and won’t let me break them. Mayhap you’re passing familiar with her.” 

Aurelia rolled her eyes, smiling all the while. “Right, I see how it is. Blame the outsider for your gossipmongering.”

“Only until I’m able to be up and about again,” Frieda retorted with a tart smile, one that lingered before fading somewhat. “...But what is he to you then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m… not really at liberty to discuss that.” Her face felt warm from more than just the day’s heat. “I’m sorry. If I could tell you I would.”

“Oh, very well.”

If only you could know the truth. “One of these days, perhaps.”

“No, no. Keep your secrets, if it please you, Miss Conjurer. By all means.” Frieda’s bright hazel eyes danced with mischief and amusement in equal measure. “But you know I’ll pry them out of you yet. Best be on your guard.”

~*~

Aurelia had taken the opportunity to bathe and find a change of clothing, thinking it would give Keveh’to ample time to finish his own obligations for the morning. He wasn’t at their meeting spot when she arrived, however. The clearing and the outcropping of bared stone were deserted, the barest breeze shifting listlessly through heat-curled leaves; even the birds seemed to have decided the day was too hot for their calls. 

A first glance showed nothing that seemed to be particularly out of the ordinary; there were no indications that anyone else had returned to the scene since the body was discovered, although she would have been very much surprised had that been the case. She lingered at the base of the rocks and examined the favored playground of the village children. The white outcroppings were partially covered in moss and lichen, but the rock was sturdy granite and she could see where the children had carved themselves footholds into the rocks for climbing. Signs of recent scuff marks from their shoes could be seen in the moss and dirt scrapes, and piles of leaves had been hastily raked together to act as a soft landing should one of them fall. 

This sort of place would have appealed greatly to her younger self- to say naught of her best friend. Aurelia’s slight smile turned faintly rueful. It would have been far safer than climbing the low-hanging zelkova trees that were native to Gyr Abania, certainly. (Although, she thought with an internal snicker, L’haiya would still have scolded her for getting dirt in her pinafore and leaves in her hair. She was not near fool enough to think that would have changed.)

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted what looked like an old basket someone had fashioned into a crude child-sized helm, lying a fulm or two away - something one of the children had dropped during their last game, no doubt. Slowly she picked it up, turning it this way and that-

“Aurelia!”

The basket fell from her hands to the ground as Keveh’to, trotting towards her, blinked in a sort of mild surprise. “Can’t believe I finally took you unawares,” he began, then frowned, “Is aught amiss? Did you find anything?”

“Just one of their toys, I think.” She picked up the basket by its well-patched handle and passed it to him. “Lying in that pile over there. The children might want it back.”

“I’ll return it once we’re done having a look about. Follow me - and watch your step.” Keveh’to pointed to a depression not far from the base of the rocks, one she hadn’t noticed until then. “That’s where we found him.”

“Any sign the body was moved?”

“None, but it was very late in the day before I had the chance to properly look. There’s always a chance, I suppose.”

Something about his tone stopped her in her tracks. “You didn’t tell the Wood Wailers you were bringing me out here.”

“Of course I bloody didn’t,” Keveh’to scoffed. “They’d have never allowed it - and nor would the Twin Adder have done if I’d told them. But this lot won’t do anything no matter how suspicious it all is, and I know you’re as bored out of your mind as I am, else you’d never have agreed to come with me.”

“Mind you, I’m not saying I disapprove, but you are wagering what little trust the locals have in you to investigate a matter you were told to leave to the Wailers. ‘Tis rather risky, you must admit.” Aurelia quirked a brow at him. “And with the likes of me, no less.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He paused to thread the basket into his belt. "You’ve all the demeanor of a harpy when it takes you and you’re stubborn as a goobbue but as a partner? You’re not half bad, Garlean.”

Recalling her earlier conversation with Frieda, she could only laugh.

“At any rate,” she said, “let’s get this done before we’re missed.”

They left the rocks behind and ventured a few fulms beyond, into the tree line, before the Miqo’te came to an abrupt stop. His tail thumped a slow rhythm against her calf as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“This is the place." He paused. "I think."

"You think?"

“The way they acted I doubt Aubaints or Daye looked further afield than this for that arrow. They found it so quickly, but there was little enough time to look over the scene before night fell. If there are others out here, I’m sure we’ll- here now, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That bit of soil over there. Something’s kicked up the leaves.” He pointed, and Aurelia followed the line of sight. The mark in the forest soil was half-covered by remnants of fallen detritus from the overhanging trees, but it was visible enough to have caught a hunter’s keen eye. “Wonder if maybe that’s where he found it?”

“This far away from the body? I doubt it, but let’s have a look.” 

Aurelia approached and knelt to examine the area, her knee sinking into moist soil and old leaves. Light from the sun only faintly dappled the forest floor even in the early hours of the afternoon- this far into the Shroud, most of the wood was shielded by the upper canopy- and she had to adjust her position so that she did not cast so much of a shadow she could not examine what little evidence might still remain. It was passing odd she hadn’t found the shape of an arrowhead by now; the indentation in the soil was quite a bit less shallow than she had-

Her index fingertip struck something rounded and smooth.

“Found something,” she called.

Carefully she slid her finger deeper into the soil, curled it around the object until she could get a purchase, and drew it out of the shallow hole in the ground until it rolled into her dirt-caked palm, the sheen of it winking in the dim sunlight. It was a small, slender piece of steel- one that her companion thought looked somewhat familiar, but it was strangely cylindrical and marked with soot on its flattened base. 

“There’s your arrow, Sergeant,” she said. 

Keveh’to frowned. How odd, he thought. It almost looked like the sort of thing he’d seen the Maelstrom’s volunteer privateers use in their flintlocks, but- 

“Twelve, that can’t possibly be a musket ball, could it?”

“So you have seen a gun before.” 

“Once or twice fighting the Empire. Some of the folk in the Foreign Levy were pirates sailing with letters of marque from the thalassocracy and a few of them kept sidearms.” He scratched at an idly flickering ear. “What I don't understand is the why of it. There’s no need for such weapons around here - might be one could use them for hunting, but if you ask me it’s not near as practical for that purpose as a good bow and arrow. I know I wouldn’t bother with it unless I were desperate. And I’ve never seen musket balls that looked like that.”

“Well, for one thing, this isn’t a musket ball.” She rolled it to and fro between her fingers. “It’s not even Eorzean.”

“But it couldn’t have come from anything else, surely?”

“Eorzean firearms discharge using aetheric means of combustion. The weapon that fired this used black powder. Look, you can see the scorch marks.” Aurelia poked the side of the casing. Steel glimmered dully beneath the patina of dirt that covered it. “This came from a gunblade.”

“...Imperial arms in this part of the Twelveswood? But we're malms from the nearest castrum. Are you absolutely certain?"

She gave him a very tired glance over one shoulder. 

“You asked me for my opinion as a chirurgeon earlier and I’m giving it now. I daresay I’ve dug out enough musket balls and gunblade bullets in operating theatres to know the difference.”

Keveh’to blinked at her, clearly taken aback. With a soft grunt, she clambered to her feet, dropping the spent casing in his hand before he could protest and dusting dirt from the backs of her legs.

“Here, hold this. I’m going to look about for something.”

“What are-”

“There won’t have been just the one-- no. There, look.” It was difficult to see but there was a small ring of discoloration in the bark of a nearby elm sapling, one that became more visible as Aurelia drew closer. She scraped her finger against the border of bark and bared trunk where a round had impacted and embedded itself deep into the wood grain. “Another one. Whomever it was, they fired at their target multiple times.”

He stared down at the dirt-caked metal in his hand, brow deeply furrowed. 

“...So as it stands we have a dead birdman with a bloody great hole in his chest, an arrow that was supposed to have been what killed him except there’s blood on it and naught in the fletching-”

“And at least two shots from a weapon that shouldn’t be here. And no other arrows save the one the lieutenant told you he found.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d have got a look at the body before the Wailers disposed of it. That would have been very telling.”

“Is that your professional opinion, then? So what’s the arrow doing here?”

“Either it was meant to be found, or the arrow is a red herring and has naught to do with anything at all, or we have a witness lurking about the woods.”

“I think we had better take this back to the Wailers immediately.”

“Agreed,” she said. “They will wish to impose a curfew until the matter is laid to rest.” 

Keveh’to opened a small pouch on his belt and dropped the casing inside. “They won’t take that notion kindly coming from us. But if the killer is willing to risk discovery so close to the village, they’ll likely not trifle to harm its people.”

Aurelia’s lips had tightened into a flat, grim line. 

“Also, it would not be taken amiss to check with the night watch and ask if they heard any strange noises. Gunblades are not quiet things. It’s quite likely someone heard something. If we can figure out when-”

“Sergeant Epocan! Miss Aurelia!” 

“Sergeant Epocan!”

A boy and a girl - both bedraggled and half-soaked - came crashing through the brush with all the grace of a bull griffin, Aurelia thought with an internal grimace. She recognized their faces on sight, as she did most folk these days. One was Cecilie Aubaints, the Wood Wailer lieutenant’s daughter. The other was Bran Miller’s older brother Hugh. 

“Sergeant Epocan,” Cecilie shouted, “there’s a Keeper girl outside the village-”

“Silence, you silly girl,” barked a familiar voice, “lest the entire forest know your business!”

The pair blinked at the children, then at the sight of a very exasperated Elezen man bringing up the rear in his conjurer’s whites. Trevantioux Roulemet was a Wildwood man of six and thirty summers and despite his relative youth bore a perpetually sullen countenance- one that was not inaccurate. He also bore what Aurelia’s father would have called ‘a certain inflexibility of thought’ where it came to any sort of change to his personal routine. No doubt he was displeased that he had been pulled away from said routine to fetch Aurelia from wherever it was she had gone, and her assumption was confirmed when he drew close enough for her to see the storm in his grey eyes.

“The Hearer found my note, I see,” she said blandly. “How does Noline fare?”

“Well enough, for all I’ve been dragged away from my visit to deal with this foolishness. What are you doing out here? The Wailers said this place was strictly off-limits even for us.”

“Never mind all that,” Hugh said a trifle impatiently. “There’s a girl who came looking for you while me and Bran and Cecilie were playing in the creek, and-”

“Hugh,” Cecilie hissed, and the boy flushed.

“Well, they were going to find out eventually!”

“All right, all right,” Aurelia said, “let’s not all get ruffled feathers over it. Where is she, Hugh? Is she at the Hearer’s house?”

“No, Miss Aurelia. I told Keeper Ewain she could go to my house with Bran and stay with Mama while we looked for you. She said she’d only talk to you and no one else, and Mama knows how to handle crying girls better than anyone I know.”

Crying. Anxiety lanced through her chest like a gut punch. She didn’t know Vahne well enough to say for sure, but she knew enough of Keepers from talking to Keveh’to to know if the self-assured young huntress had been rattled enough to cry in front of strangers, then something very grave must have happened to cause it.

“I’m going back,” she said. “Hugh, you come with me and the Sergeant. Trevantioux, take Cecilie home. We’ll go to the Millers’ first and meet you back at the cottage.”

“We were swimming,” Cecilie began to protest, but faltered under the older Elezen’s withering glare.

“In the creek,” he said acidly, “where you knew you weren’t supposed to be by yourselves?”

“We were just-” 

“Come now, along with you. You can make your excuses to your father.”

She watched Trevantioux march the protesting girl back towards the village, looking rather like a disgruntled hound shepherding a wet kitten. Under different circumstances, the thought might have amused her- but she knew she must have looked as worried as she felt when she caught Keveh’to’s quizzical expression.

“I thought you just met that girl yesterday.”

“So I did.”

“What do you think brought her here?”

“No idea,” she said. “Hopefully something minor.”

Chapter Text

The return to the village was a quiet one, Hugh sulking as he was all but dragged along with Aurelia’s hand braced against his shoulder in such a way that he knew escape was impossible. To be a twelve-year-old again, she thought distantly, with naught to bring care for summer days except whether or not one was allowed in a swimming-hole. 

The Millers’ small home was just as she’d left it not two bells past, now with a small army of chickens clucking and milling about the pathway to the front porch. They squawked and flapped as she and Keveh’to shooed them away, and swarmed the small yard for more feed as Hugh opened the door to let the three of them inside.

“Mum!” he called. “I’ve brought Miss Aurelia and the Sergeant!”

“Come in, everyone,” Frieda called cheerfully, and Aurelia let out an internal sigh; she was sure her orders had been quite disregarded the moment Vahne arrived on the woman’s doorstep. “Our new little friend is in here with me. Come have tea with us.”

Sure enough, when they entered the big room of the house, Aurelia saw Vahne sitting in a small chair with her hands clasped anxiously in her lap, looking visibly pale and distraught. Her oak-brown tail slapped the leg of the low table, skinny body tense, and her large ears flickered wildly at every stray sound. The lady of the house was not only not in her bed, she was waddling her way over to the fireplace to retrieve a tea kettle filled with boiling water.

Aurelia scowled at her. “For heaven's sake, Frieda! We just talked about this-”

“Oh, enough of your clucking, you great mother hen! I’ll not have a child sitting in here unattended while I lay about doing nothing. A spare few minutes to make some tea won’t harm me nor the babe.”

The Garlean’s eyes narrowed. 

“You do not get to be on your feet unless it’s an emergency, and tea does not constitute an emergency,” she said. “Hugh is well old enough to pour some tea without your assistance.”

“Aurelia-”

“It isn’t a request. Hugh, pray take the pot from your mother so she can rest.”

With a great and melodramatic sigh, the ginger-haired Midlander all but threw herself onto the couch next to her two youngest sons, Bran and Geoffrey. The two boys, six and four summers respectively, took almost no notice of their mother’s foul mood. They were wholly preoccupied with their strange visitor, and in watching every movement she made with open and wide-eyed curiosity- that in itself was hardly a surprise, Aurelia thought, as Miqo’te were few and far between outside the city. Meeting children close to their own ages was likely something of a novelty. 

Their gaping had been soundly rebuffed, however. Vahne was either making a valiant attempt to ignore them or - like a cat - simply had not deigned to notice their interest. 

“Mama,” Bran piped up hopefully, not taking his eyes off her, “since there’s a guest, might we have biscuits?”

“This isn’t afternoon tea, Bran,” Hugh began, but Frieda only smiled at the boy.

“Of course, love. There’s still that jar of gingersnaps in the cabinet. Why don’t you go help your brother find them? I’ll stay here while Mistress Laskaris and Sergeant Epocan have a chat with our friend.”

“No,” Vahne said hoarsely. “No, I-I only want to speak to Miss Aurelia.”

“Sweetling, there’s no need to worry. You’re as safe as can be here.”

“By myself, ma’am.” Her hands shook where her fingers lay knotted at her waist; it was obvious she was terrified and only barely hanging onto the merest threads of her composure. “I have to speak with her alone. It’s important.”

“Surely a bit of tea-” 

Firmly, she shook her head. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m not hungry.”

“Biscuits can come later.” Aurelia took the Miqo’te girl by the elbow and gently urged her to stand. “Let’s talk outside first, shall we? By the chicken coop around the corner.”

Her concern for the girl was enough that she barely took note of the stifling afternoon heat when the pair set foot back outside. She nudged aside Frieda’s hens with one foot and guided Vahne around the corner to find a patch of shade beneath the overhanging eaves of the coop before turning to her and offering a small smile.

“Goody Miller’s a very sweet lady and her offer was genuine, just so you know. But we’re alone now,” she said, keeping her words as quiet and gentle as she could manage. “What’s happened to bring you back so soon? Have you been hurt?”

Sniffling piteously, Vahne scrubbed at her eyes with her bared forearm and shook her head. The childish bravado of yesterday was quite gone; now she looked small and forlorn and frightened, and every ilm the Miqitten she was in truth. Not knowing what else to do for the moment, Aurelia opened her arms in the way L’haiya used to do when she was distressed. She was quite uncertain that the gesture would be accepted, and was more than a little surprised when a pair of wiry arms wound themselves around her waist and squeezed tight. 

The girl stammered, “I-I-I’m not here for me. I-”

“It’s all right,” Aurelia carefully smoothed her fluffy curls away from her wet eyes, “you can talk to me. Tell me what’s happened.” 

“...She doesn’t know I’m here!” Vahne cried. “I’m- she’s going to be so angry, I broke all of the rules and she’s going to- I’m so scared! But I-I couldn’t- he needs help, I couldn’t just let him-”

“Deep breaths,” she said. “Count to ten.”

“I-”

“I’ll count with you if you like.”

“N-no, I’m-” The small body pressed against hers trembled from head to toe for long minutes before the arms around her waist relaxed, and Aurelia let her go. Vahne took a slow, deep breath, then stared down at her feet. “I’m not supposed to be here. There’ll be the seven hells to pay once she finds out I’ve come to fetch you. But… there’s-” 

At her hesitation, Aurelia said, “There’s been an emergency?”

“I’m…. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Not even our friends know. But-”

“But?”

“I had to go find help. He’s like to die,” Vahne burst out. “I can’t talk about it here, but- he’s so ill and nothing she’s done is working! Not the potions or the conjury, none of it!”

“Vahne-”

“Please, I need you to come with me, you have to come back and help him if he doesn’t have help he’ll die- ”

“Vahne, love. Take a breath.” She braced her hands upon those thin shoulders. “You don’t need to explain any further. I’ll go.” 

“Oh thank you, thank-”

“First things first.” Aurelia's hands squeezed, as gently as she could manage. “There are some things I need to get from my house, and I need to let my partner - the Keeper man you met - know about this.”

Those eyes went huge with alarm. “You can’t tell him about us! People aren’t supposed to-”

“He won’t give away your secret. I promise. But he needs to know where I’m going so that the other healers don’t worry. Even if he just tells them I’m helping someone who’s sick outside the village.”

“B-but-” 

“I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I…. I can try.”

“I want you to stay here with the little ones for a bit while I talk with my partner. I’ll need to fetch my medicine bag from my house, and once that’s done you and I can go together. All right?”

Vahne’s expression was still skeptical, but after a moment she nodded.

“Good. Let’s get out of this awful heat. I’m sure Goody Miller will be happy to let you wash up.”

Frieda, predictably, was more than grateful for the distraction (and at least as curious as her youngest sons), and while Vahne took her seat once more Aurelia went into the parlor where Keveh’to was helping the boys retrieve the jar of gingersnaps on the high shelf of their mother’s cupboard.

“Sergeant,” she said. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “Take those to your mum,” he directed Bran, passing the opened earthenware to the boy. “Be careful not to drop it.”

“Are you and Miss Aurelia coming?”

“In a moment.”

Once he had judged the children to be out of earshot, he turned to her with a frown, his voice dropping near to a whisper.

“So. What’s got your new little friend upset?”

“There is someone in dire need of medical aid. I wasn’t able to get much out of her beyond that, but she was being secretive enough about his identity that I suspect her guardian would be in a great deal of trouble if it was widely known.” Aurelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, but whatever’s happened with your dead man, you’ll either need to continue your investigation alone or wait until I return.”

“Return? What do you mean-” The furrow in his brow deepened visibly. “...Where are you going?”

The Garlean stared at him as if he’d gone entirely daft. “Well, with the girl. Back to her home, of course. What did you think I meant?”

“What- you absolutely will not .”

“Keveh’to, I must. I’m a chirurgeon. This is my profession. No matter how much you mislike the decision, I cannot simply-”

“You would risk your standing with the Hearer- with the Elder Seedseer - for a girl you met by chance yesterday. A girl whose family is possibly harboring an outlaw? ”

“We don’t know what he is, only that she won't discuss him. ...Although I shall own that is most likely to be the case.”

“Ewain’s going to be furious with-”

“Ewain has yet to approve of aught I do. ‘Twould be a terrible pity to disappoint his abysmal expectations, especially if it means healing someone of whom he might not approve."

“You know very well what I mean! Trevantioux’s not in charge but he’s still Ewain’s assistant for now, and he’s of half a mind to have you punted back to Gridania as it is. If you go so far as to simply take off on your own like this, the Hearer might actually listen to him.”

“It falls to you to make sure that doesn’t happen, then, doesn’t it? Make excuses for me if you must, but I am going.”

His frustration was writ large across his face, and although Aurelia couldn’t help a sense of passing amusement at the sight - apparently even the good sergeant had his prejudices - her concern for Vahne’s predicament left her with little patience nor time to coax him into an agreement.

“Very well,” he sighed. “When? Tonight?” 

“As soon as I’ve gathered my things.” When he opened his mouth to object, Aurelia raised one of her hands. “I know, but I really don’t think it would be wise to wait on Ewain’s approval- Frieda!”

“Aurelia-”

“Yes, love?” came the response from the hallway. Aurelia ignored Keveh’to’s quiet string of exasperated oaths.

“Can you watch her for about a quarter bell? I’m running back to the house for some things and then our friend and I will be on our way!”

“Aurelia, we should talk about-” She pushed her way past him and opened the front door, Keveh’to trailing behind. “Damn it, wait for me!”

==

Trevantioux must have chosen to linger on his way home; the house was still empty when she threw the latch and slipped through the door. She hurried past the small partition that made up her room, reached into the plain cabinet by her cot, and retrieved the heavy standard-issue medicus’ field kit from its resting place for the first time in moons. 

From his spot in the doorway, she could hear Keveh’to tapping his toe impatiently. She reached into her leather satchel to search for her journal and her gathering bag, then shouldered her burdens and made her way into the main area.

“Surely you don’t plan to walk with all of that,” he said. 

“Why, Sergeant Epocan! If one didn’t know better, one might suspect you were concerned for my welfare.”

“Someone should worry about you. For a lass as quick-witted as you are, you are downright bleeding pigheaded sometimes, do you know that, Mistress Laskaris?”

“So I am,” she said, without skipping a beat. “Obstinate as a gigas, my governess used to say. ‘Tis the Garlean in me, you understand. As a race, we’re rather a stubborn lot.”

The scowl he wore trembled, the tiniest bit, into a smirk. She grinned.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” she said, “but I will be back.”

“That isn’t what I’d call reassuring.”

“Keveh’to, I have had any number of opportunities since our arrival here to attempt an escape. Please. I’m asking you the same thing I just asked Vahne.”

“Vahne?”

“The girl. I’m asking you to trust me.”

He folded his arms over his chest, ears flat and tail flickering unhappily.

“I do,” he admitted, gruffly. 

“And pray make my excuses to the Hearer. I know you’ll think of something believable.” 

Frustration gave way at last to resignation. It was the same sort of look Sazha used to give her when she’d successfully talked him into some childish scheme or harmless prank, and she felt a sharp and unexpected pang in her breast, one that she shoved down immediately as she brushed past him to open the door. 

She needed to go back for Vahne so they could be quickly along her way. Remorse could wait.

~*~

Vahne seemed both surprised and relieved to see her - though rather less pleased about carrying two of Aurelia’s satchels - and they were off as soon as their waterskins were refilled and Frieda had pressed extra biscuits upon them (never minding Vahne’s embarrassed insistence that she wasn’t hungry). The stiffness and tension flowed out of the girl’s shoulders once they entered the tree line on the opposite embankment of the creek bed. She had lost none of her anxiety; it lingered still in her furrowed brow, but she had stopped crying and even made a brief attempt at conversation as the two made their way through the forest.

“So how did you meet him?”

“Who?”

“You know who.” Vahne’s brow lifted beneath her fringe. “No one out here just makes friends with a Keeper.”

“And why shouldn't I? Keveh'to is an adventurer like myself. He fought the Empire as part of the Twin Adder. I met him when I first arrived in Gridania.” It was the truth, Aurelia thought, for all that it was rather broad and quite sparing of some few selective details.

“All right, so what’s he doing out here, then?”

“He was assigned out here and so was I, so we traveled to Willowsbend together.”

Vahne squinted at her for a long beat in silence, adjusting the strap of Aurelia’s herb satchel from one shoulder to the other before she spoke again. 

“I think you’re lying, miss.”

“And I think you’re being impertinent.”

Her young companion huffed, lower lip protruding outward with her sullen and sidewise glare. “Adults always say that when they don’t want to answer my questions.”

“I wonder why that would be.”

Vahne’s glare deepened into a fitful scowl and that was the end of the discussion. 

The afternoon wore on beneath the quiet crunch of leaves and the occasional snap of twigs, and they walked in a silence that continued unbroken with the exception of the occasional bird call in the distance. Aurelia stopped their trek long enough to rest and take some water and a light snack, and she could sense the fear and impatience coming off the girl in waves even to pause for such a basic necessity. As the pair made their way into the depths of the Shroud, the sun sank lower in the trees until the light grew dim in what little of the sky was visible beyond the canopy.

Aurelia was loath to admit to it, but exhaustion was beginning to run its treacly fingers up her legs, dragging her footsteps. They seemed to sink deeper into leaves and loam with each passing step. She’d long since fallen out of the routine of daily hard exercise that castrum life had imposed, and this was a longer trip than she had expected. Even half-emptied the field kit dug painfully into her shoulder, but there was little for it save to continue on and hope there was respite in sight.

As if on cue she felt a tug at the corner of her dalmatica.

“Up ahead.” Vahne adjusted the strap on her shoulder and pointed. “There it is, that’s my Aunt Rhaya’s cabin.”

She would have missed it if she weren’t looking for it. The small homestead all but blended into the background of birch and sycamore, a thread of peat smoke twining in a vague ribbon from what appeared to be a thatched roof half-covered in pine needles. 

Despite what must surely have been the welcome sight of her home, the Miqitten at Aurelia’s side did not move. She stood transfixed upon the path towards the clearing and stared in the direction of the cabin’s front door, her luminous grey eyes glassy and bright with newly formed tears.

“Vahne? What’s wrong?”

“My aunt, she…” Those thin shoulders slumped forward. “...Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s- she’s going to be mad at me,” she whispered. Her voice was small and tremulous. “Really, really mad. I don’t know… she might not let you inside.”

Aurelia tried to offer as reassuring a smile as she could muster. “Well, let’s not invite trouble before it appears, shall we? We can cross that bridge when it arises. I can take my bags back if they’re too heavy for you.”

“No… no, it’s all right. They’re not any trouble, really.” Vahne’s mouth arched downwards in a trembling bow. “It wouldn’t help, anyroad.”

A lantern light flickered fitfully in one of the windows, and as dusk descended upon the forest it became a beacon for them both, healer and huntress in training. Aurelia nearly startled when Vahne slipped one thin hand around hers and squeezed, tightly- but knew almost as soon as it happened that Vahne would be embarrassed should she remark upon it. She liked the girl and wanted to spare her feelings, so she only returned the gesture with a brief squeeze of her own as they drew near.

Something instinctive drew its fingers up her spine all of a sudden and Aurelia stopped, grabbed her young companion’s hand, and pulled her to a halt as the door was flung unceremoniously open. A handsome Miqo’te woman who looked very much like Vahne all but threw herself across the threshold, bow and arrow nocked and ready to fire. The expression on her pretty face, what Aurelia could see of it in the growing darkness, was grim and tight-lipped.

Vahne quailed at her side, half-concealed behind a nearby stack of lumber. The woman, who Aurelia assumed must be her aunt, did not seem to notice.

“Stay where you are! Don’t come any closer!” she snarled. The creak of wood was audible as her slender fingers pulled the bowstring taut, and Aurelia doubted she would hesitate if her bluff was called. “Get yourself back to the road, stranger, or I’ll see you buried in the forest.”

“Madam, please,” Aurelia began, “I’m-”

“You get one more warning before I let my bow speak for me. Your choice.”

That face could have been hewn from the white stone of Amdapor for all the softness in it- and in the next heartbeat, Vahne stepped forward and pushed her back behind the lumber pile, shielding Aurelia with her body before she could protest.

The woman’s eyes flared wide with surprise, and her grip on the bow relaxed.

“Vahne? What are you-”

“I won’t let you hurt her, Auntie,” Vahne burst out, flinging her skinny arms outward. “You’ll have to shoot me first!”

Vahne’s aunt was quick to recover, the angry set of her jaw returning in full force. 

“...Who is this person?”

“This is Miss Aurelia,” she replied, and after a rather more hesitant beat, added: “She’s a conjurer. She’s the lady who saved me in the ruins-”

“Where you were not supposed to be.” Those steely grey eyes, a shade or two darker than the girl’s, narrowed to slits. “...Vahne, so help me, if you went into Quarrymill to fetch her-”

The girl’s face had gone pale. 

“No! Aunt Rhaya, she… it’s just a little village, on the far side of the creek. I wasn’t- I-I was careful to make sure that-”

“ You know what we discussed! No one was to know about him, Vahne! No one!”

It was quite clear this impasse wasn’t going to be solved any time soon without her intervention. Aurelia cleared her throat and nudged the girl to one side, neatly sidestepping her extended arms, and both Miqo’te stared at her. 

“Good evening, madam,” she said, as politely as she could manage. “I hate to interrupt, but- I assume you must be Rhaya? Vahne has spoken of you before.”

Vahne winced, visibly, at the hostile glare the other woman gave her before turning her suspicious glare upon the newcomer- but her aunt nodded, slowly.

“Aye, I’m Rhaya Wolndara. And who’re you?”

“My name is Aurelia. As your niece says, I’m a conjurer and chirurgeon, and a member of the guild in Gridania. Now, I’m given to understand that someone in your household is in need of a healer. Is this true?”

“We don’t need help from the likes of you,” Rhaya said flatly. “I don’t know what Vahne told you, but no Gridanian is about to set foot-”

“Aunt Rhaya, please! He’s going to die if we don’t do something!” Vahne blurted. She stamped one foot in the dirt and the tears in her eyes overflowed, trickled down her cheeks, dripped onto her kurta. “I told you about her yesterday when I met her and you said it was fine and we don’t need her but it’s not fine, he’s dying!”  

“Vahne-”

“She wants to help! Can’t you at least let her try?”

Aurelia looked between Rhaya and Vahne, whose tears were clearly borne of anger and frustration, and opened her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Vahne has given me no details save that there was an emergency,” she said. “If you like I can come in, make an examination, and tell you what needs to be done and a decision can be made from there. But this is a private matter and I see no need to involve the Guild nor anyone else.”

“....You won’t tell anyone you were here,” Rhaya said, after a long and deliberate pause. “I have your word?”

“You have my word.”

The flickering candlelight from the lantern haloed the huntress’ lithe form in such a way that made her expression difficult to see, but after a pause, Rhaya lowered her bow and gestured towards the door with a jerk of her chin. 

“Shoes at the door. Follow me.”

Chapter Text

The interior of the cabin was surprisingly much larger than Ewain’s abode. There was something of it that spoke of years of hard work and improvements made over time. It wasn’t opulent, but she hadn’t expected as much. Familiar fragrances greeted Aurelia’s senses as she slipped across the threshold, lavender and chamomile and - to her surprise - the citrus sharpness of verbena. Rhaya seemed to have noticed her looking, for a humorless smile flickered across the woman’s face.

“We cannot rely on others to help us very often, so we are very self-sufficient out here,” she said, “as Vahne has told you, no doubt.”

“She did make mention once or twice,” Aurelia chuckled. She caught the worried frown on the girl’s face, tilted up to watch the two women like a little blossom searching for the sunlight, and patted her shoulder. “Vahne, if you would, I think I will need my bags back, please.”

Wordlessly the Miqitten nodded and shrugged the straps loose, passing them back in one small fist. Aurelia took them with a small smile and a word of thanks, trying to maintain some semblance of calm, even though the almost ominous quiet of the cabin had not escaped her notice. By all appearances, the only occupants of the house appeared to be Vahne and her aunt- but her tearful outburst back in Willowsbend had indicated in no uncertain terms that there must be at least one other person here. 

She cast a quizzical glance at Rhaya, whose scowl had not lessened even slightly since their uneasy truce, and at length, the Keeper huntress shut her eyes and sighed.

“This way,” she said gruffly. “I’ve made a temporary lie-in space down in the root cellar.”

Aurelia would have missed the crude wooden trapdoor if she hadn’t been seeking it. It was partially obscured by the hard-packed dirt of the floor, worn smooth by years of passing feet, adorned only with a large and clearly old iron ring which was itself half-covered in grime. Rhaya knelt with a soft grunt and lifted the ring. The panels began to rise, dust shuddering out of the cracks and grooves in the wood, then fell backward to the floor with a dull thud. A ladder was propped against a set of beams that ran just under the floor, descending into near darkness- save for one weak, flickering light.

“You can come down with me, conjurer, it’s all right. I replaced the ladder just last summer.” Swinging nimble feet onto the steps, she began to descend. “The worst of the forest fires missed this place, gods only know how, but I thank them. Vahne, take the lantern, there’s a girl.”

Before she could speak it was upon her again, the weakness and nausea, combined with the foul chemical taste of ceruleum and bile and the stink of stale water. An inhuman shriek of rage and triumph. The blazing heat of unnatural fire-

A man-made crimson moon cracking to splintered pieces of metal like an egg. She felt her gorge rise.

Oh seven swiving hells, not this again…!

“Conjurer?” Rhaya’s voice, the sound of it a distant echo, as if she were shouting down a well. “Are you coming down or not?” 

Aurelia’s hands trembled violently. She squeezed her eyes shut, drew one deep breath, then two, trying to dispel her panic and her frustration. 

That was done, she told herself. Carteneau was done. All of it was done, and over with, and for the gods’ sake what was wrong with her? There was no need to be so afraid, it was just a bloody root cellar. Perfectly sound, and people from Eorzea to Garlemald had been building them for ages. It wasn’t going to collapse and it wasn’t going to trap her, she’d be safe as houses down there, she-

When her eyes opened again she saw that Vahne was staring at her in frank concern.

“Are you all right? Have you overtaxed yourself? I must have pushed you too much. You can have the rest of my waterskin if you-”

“No,” she rasped. A wet sigh shuddered from slack lips. “No, I’m- ….I’ll be fine. Just a bit tired, I think.”

If her smile looked as false as it felt there was no way it was fooling anyone, but neither of them chose to question it, and fighting the cold levin prickles of panic crawling up her arms, Aurelia forced herself to descend the ladder. Whatever it was that had Vahne so upset, she knew it must be down here. She had to go.

“Vahne,” she said quietly, “I’m going to need you to pass down my big black bag to me. All right? You’ll need to be careful, it’s very heavy.”

All solemnity and worry now, the girl nodded and watched as Aurelia divested herself of her largest burden and began to descend the ladder. For all that her fear-weakened grip had been tremulous in places, she managed to make it down without slipping and was able to shoulder her bag again when Vahne passed it down. 

The lantern was next. Rhaya took it, then gestured with a tilt of her chin. “Over here. We keep pallets down here for sleeping in case there’s an emergency. Spent a near fortnight down here after the moon fell.”

The smell hit her first. It was one she’d encountered plenty of times before: the warm fecal stink of festering flesh, nigh-overpowering in such a close space. Aurelia coughed, lifting her forearm to press over her nose immediately and fighting to hold in the contents of her already unsettled stomach. Rhaya did the same but kept the lantern aloft in one trembling fist.

A Hyuran man lay upon the sleeping pallet, his bronzed skin greasy with a layer of sweat, cheeks rosy with color. Hectic warmth roiled in waves from his prone body as she drew near, much like the ceruleum-powered space heater in her old bedroom back in Garlemald, fighting against blizzards to keep the room comfortable. She saw filthy bandages and streaks of angry red and sweat-soaked linens.

Aurelia winced.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Two days. I sent Vahne out to gather herbs for a poultice. She came back with what you had given her but-”

“What I gave her wouldn’t have been enough to stop the spread of this infection.” Aurelia reached forward and pressed her hand gently against his brow, not that it was strictly necessary. She could already tell the poor man was running a fever and a high one at that. “I’ll need more light so I can have a look at the wound. Do you have more lanterns? I have fire shards if you can spare them.”

Rhaya tilted her chin at her, the suspicious furrow returning to her brow.

“What is it?”

“Thought Vahne said you were a healer. Can’t you just…”

“It won’t do him any good for me to use a curative spell if the sickness is still raging in his body. It would be a waste of aether.” And she hadn’t yet learned the spell that would let her simply excise the infection by magical means, though she didn’t say so aloud. Rhaya was skeptical enough of her presence as it was. “Lanterns, please. I need light. And a washbasin and fresh cloths.”

“But he-”

Rhaya stilled at the deep, cracked groan that issued forth from the man’s parted lips, whistling through them like the wind around the eaves of a house. Eyelashes fluttered, lids opened, and Aurelia found herself staring into irises the color of fresh pine needles, their sclera made glassy with pain and ill health.

“Imanie,” he whispered. 

Aurelia shook her head. “Not quite, friend.”

“Where is Imanie,” he attempted to push himself up onto his elbows but collapsed against the befouled bedding with a strangled gasp. “I can’t-”

“Lay still. Vahne, darling, can you fetch a clean bowl?”

Rhaya chewed on her lip for a moment, her dark gaze traveling between Aurelia and the sick man for long moments before she set the torch in her hand upon a nearby crate. 

“I’ll be back with another lantern,” she said. “And cloths and a bowl. Is there aught else?”

“If you have any spare pallets, that too will be needful. ‘Tis likely this one will need to be burnt. It’s beyond salvaging, I’m afraid- and I’ll need your help to change the bedding.” She shook her head. “All of this would be better done in the cabin, but he’s too weak to be moved up the ladder. We’ll make do as needs must. And Rhaya?”

“Yes?”

Aurelia grimaced. “Leave the door open for a while.”

She fought to control her own breathing. The air in the cellar was heavy and earthy and uncomfortably warm, and the reek of sickness combined with the crushing horror of her own memory made her want to retch. Only the knowledge that she’d put her patient at even further risk gave her the ability to power through her fear- although as the cooler air from above wafted into the room and began to dilute the smell and the close mustiness of the cellar, she began to feel a little better.

The man on the pallet barely seemed to notice her inner turmoil; he stared sightlessly at the wooden beams overhead, moaning that same name over and over like a mantra on the far edge of his own mortality. Rocking back on her heels, Aurelia reached for her gathering satchel, dug out a spare piece of hemp she sometimes used to protect herself from inhaling pollen from certain toxic plants, and tied it over her nose and mouth. 

“Miss Aurelia,” Vahne’s voice echoed from her back. The Miqitten had stuck her head through the trapdoor opening and waved a wooden bowl in one small hand. “Will this work?”

It wasn’t near large enough in point of fact, but beggars could hardly be choosers. “I’ll make it work.”

“Aunt Rhaya’s looking for the spare lantern but wanted me to give you these too.” A shuffling noise, then a handful of neatly pressed hempen washcloths were dangled overhead. Aurelia quickly moved to intercept them before they fell from Vahne’s hands to the dirt floor. “Do you need me to come and help you?”

“I’m managing just fine for now, but what I need from you is to help your aunt find some extra light.”

“All right! I think I know where it is. And the extra wicks if you need that too.”

“Excellent. Thank you, dear.”

Months after her near brush with death and after her own awakening, it was still something of a marvel to be able to work with aether. To be able to draw water forth from a crystal with a thought, then to heat it with another- these were small things the “savage” Eorzeans took for granted, things which were beyond the ken of most of her people, and had for many years been beyond her own. 

But try as she might she could not shake the association with the voice that had called to her in the depths of mud and fire and pain, trapped beneath tonzes of metal slowly sinking into the earth. Not quite. 

A chill raced down her limbs. 

(hear. feel. think)

With a bone-wracking shudder, Aurelia shoved the memory firmly into the back of her mind. Ruminating on the source of her newfound powers wouldn’t help her, and it certainly would not help the man whose life now lay in her hands. 

So thinking she reached in one satchel for the small bar of soap she kept on hand and set it alongside the bowl, then turned her attention back to the man on the pallet. Rhaya had removed whatever shirt he might have worn to examine and dress the wound as best she could, and she hadn’t done a bad job of it; Aurelia’s own healing experience made her think the woman must have had at least a basic education in field medicine if not botany. Which would make sense, if she had sent her niece into the forest to replenish her supplies. 

Taking extra care not to touch the reddened skin she peeled the dressing away and grimaced at what she saw. The wound looked as though it had been partially sealed at one point, possibly through cauterization, but it had ulcerated and was slowly leaking into the bandages and the linens beneath him. Aurelia could more easily see the streaks of angry red down his arm now. She could help him, but-

“Miss Aurelia?” She looked over one shoulder to see Vahne halfway down the ladder with her prize in tow. “I found the torch. Do you want me to light it?” 

“Please. And if you would, bring it over here and set it up on that crate.”

The Miqitten’s little button nose wrinkled in distaste as she ventured closer. 

“...What in the hells is that stink? ”

“Your friend,” Aurelia said wryly. “That is what it smells like when a wound goes bad.”

“Bad? Is… he’s not going to-”

“I’ll know more about his prognosis in a little while, I think.”

“What’s a ‘prognosis’?” Vahne asked, her little brow knitted with a frown that was for once curious rather than worried. She set a trimmed wick into the lantern and struck a match, and a third light flickered to life. “Is that bad?”

“Prognosis means how well I should wager he’ll recover from his injuries. Vahne, did your aunt seal his wound, by any chance?”

“What? Oh, yes. He was bleeding everywhere when Aunt Rhaya and I found him. All over his strange jacket and everything. She was worried he might bleed to death and that was the only way to get it to stop.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I… should she not have done that?”

“I think you and your aunt did just fine under the circumstances,” she replied, and that was true enough. “You might want to go back upstairs with her, though.”

“What? Why?”

“This is going to be very messy.”

“Messy how?” 

Another glance at Vahne’s face showed a keen interest in what her new conjurer friend was doing, rather than disgust at the blood and the offal smell. Aurelia bit back a laugh. She should have known the girl’s curiosity might overcome her distaste- she’d harbored the same kind of interest in these sorts of things herself at this age. 

“I have to reopen his wound and examine it. If your aunt has cauterized it and kept it clean-”

“She has! We both have!”

“-and it went bad anyway, then there may be something stuck in his body that’s causing the problem. If that’s so, I’ll need to pull it out. Once that’s done, I’ll have to drain out all the pus, and it’s going to smell very bad in here.”

Vahne’s nose crinkled. “It already smells bad in here.”

“Well, it’s about to be much worse,” Aurelia retorted briskly, reaching for the large black bag at her side. “If you have a weak stomach at all, I’d advise that you go back upstairs.”

That small jaw went tight with determination. “You’re going to need an assistant, right? Aunt Rhaya always has me help her when she takes care of things.”

“Vahne, I don’t-”

“I’m not afraid of blood or a few bad smells,” she declared, folding her arms across her thin chest. “I’ll stay and help you.”

Aurelia’s brows lifted nearly to the folds of the kerchief on her head. 

“If you stay,” she said, “I’m putting you through your paces and I will show no mercy. There’s no room in an operating theater for those who won’t work. Do you understand?”

Without hesitation, the girl nodded firmly.

“All right. First order of business -- wash your hands.” She passed her the soap bar and the bowl of water. “I saw an empty bucket in that far corner. Dump the water in there when you’re done and give me back the bowl.”

While Vahne busied herself with the bowl Aurelia opened the field kit bag and reached into the outer pocket for the small set of chirurgical tools. It wasn’t enough to run a proper operating theater but it had what she required for now. She removed a scalpel, a needle and thread, tweezers, and a set of shears and set them on the crate.

“Where do I put the bowl?”

“Right down there for now.”

Vahne’s eyes flared at the sight of the metal implements. “What are those?”

“As I said -- I have to reopen the wound first.” The penlight was in the back compartment, strapped in just above the reagent and tincture bottles. “If I give this little lantern to you and tell you where to point it, will you do that for me?”

“Yes, Miss Aurelia. How do I…?”

“There’s a little button on the side. Just press it and the light will shine.”

“What- wow! ” Her young assistant tilted the device this way and that, handling it as reverently as if it were some ancient and fantastic artifact. “How does this work? Is there a crystal inside?”

Aurelia had already refilled the bowl to wash her own hands. “Magitek.”

“Magitek?” Vahne’s smile faded. She set the penlight down, frowning at it suspiciously. “...You mean like the sort of thing the Empire uses?”

“The same.”

“Why do you have magitek?”

“It’s just a light. Machina are not always used for ill. Here, dump this out.” She passed Vahne the bowl and drew out several pieces of woven hemp and a long roll of field dressing from the bag next, setting it alongside her tools, then a set of opaque gloves. “So you’ve seen airships, right? Those use magitek.”

“Imperial ships.”

“Well, yes, but also regular transports for flight.” Aurelia shook her head. “Never mind. I need the bowl back.”

Vahne set it back down on the lip of the crate and watched in silence as another handful of crystals was used to refill it, then reheat, worrying at her lower lip with her elongated canine teeth. Distracted by thoughts of what she would need to do, Aurelia paid little heed to it, setting each of the tools in the water and leaving them to heat before reaching into her bag a final time - then recalled that she had an audience.

She paused. “Vahne?”

“Hm?”

“Can you be a dear and go take that bucket outside and empty it?”

Those soft grey eyes narrowed. “You aren’t trying to make me leave, are you?”

“No, but we can’t have buckets of dirty water sitting about. Once you’ve emptied and washed it, you can bring it back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Vahne heaved a sigh, the sort of exasperation that only young adolescents could voice in Aurelia’s personal experience, but she hauled herself to her feet and picked up the bucket, dragging it to the ladder as if it were tonzes heavier than it truly was. She could hear the girl’s grousing long after her erratically flickering tail was no longer visible over her shoulder.

There was another deep and rasping groan as the man stirred once more.

“Imanie,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have to warn them-”

She set down the syringe she’d drawn as soon as Vahne had quit the cellar and gently pressed her patient’s sternum until he lay prone once more.

“Save your strength, friend,” she said, lifting his hand and dabbing at his sweaty skin with a corner of hemp soaked in a solution of distilled spirits- not the most elegant solution to lacking an astringent cleanser, she would allow, but for the nonce it would be sterile enough for her purposes. “I need you to lay still.”

His head flopped slowly from side to side. Aurelia picked up the syringe and slipped the needlepoint into the contents of the one vial of sedative she’d drawn from her collection: a sickly greenish-tinted liquid that Vahne would definitely have found suspicious. Aurelia flicked her fingernail against the side, and depressed the plunger just enough to dislodge any air pockets. She would have to work quickly. A magitek penlight could be explained, but not a medicine that no Eorzean chirurgeon would have in their possession.

When she drew close to her patient once more his eyes opened and settled, unseeing, upon her face. They were a deep, dark brown, but even without her penlight, she could see they were dilated. His breath came in hot, uneven spurts, and his expression was twisted with terror.

“Rose,” he moaned. “Imanie.”

She slid the needle home and into the map of his veins and depressed the plunger. 

“You can tell me all about her later,” the Garlean murmured, gently patting the top of his hand where she’d administered the sedative. “Sleep.”

=

Vahne returned only minutes after she’d cleaned the syringe and tucked it away, and had started to cut away the old bandages. To the girl’s credit she did not flinch at the man’s cracked moans when Aurelia slowly and carefully wiped the site clean, nor at his strangled cry when the chirurgeon cut into flesh with her scalpel and blood had poured over his chest to soak into the pallet linens, nor the stomach-turning smell of pus. Draining a wound was necessary and disgusting work, and a task not easily done by those with a weak constitution. But despite a series of gagging coughs, the girl stayed. 

Aurelia was more impressed than she let on. There was magical healing and there was mundane field medicine, and few had the stomach for the latter. Vahne, she thought with some amusement, might not make a half-bad chirurgeon one day were she so inclined. 

“You can turn off the light,” Aurelia said at length. “Well done.”

Vahne exhaled and there was the soft click of the button before the penlight went dark. Aurelia let her gaze roam over the girl’s face, eyes glassy with fatigue but as intensely focused as they had been when she started her work.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“All of this.” She set the light on the crate and tucked a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Healing is hard work.”

“It is. But I enjoy helping people, and the world will always have need of healers.” Aurelia reached for the field dressing. “Why don’t you go ask your aunt for a stray pallet? This one will need to be burned. We can’t let him sleep in dirty bedding else the sickness will return to his hurts.”

“But-”

“I’m only going to use a bit of magic to help him along before I bandage his shoulder. You really aren’t missing anything.”

Once the girl had retreated back up the ladder steps, Aurelia drew in a deep breath and reached for the man’s shoulder. She still remembered what had happened the last time she had tried to heal someone badly hurt, but… she knew better now, what to do, and the anxiety was little more than a passing twinge as she drew from the land’s aether, channeled it through her own, and watched a soft and watery lambent glow suffuse his skin. He stirred briefly, then settled, and did not move again as she rolled the bandage over his arm and secured it. Despite her words, Aurelia wasn’t overly concerned; the man was young and looked quite healthy.

With a thoughtful frown, she turned to the small object she’d drawn from deep within his shoulder, quite close to the bone. It was a gunblade bullet, and while there was nothing about the projectile that by itself would have distinguished it from any other to her mind- 

There was one more piece of cloth left next to the bowl. She used it to pick up the bullet, folded the corners of the fabric to make a pouch it couldn’t escape and tucked the object in her small satchel. 

She’d have questions for him, once he awakened.

~*~

The night passed uneventfully. Rhaya had let her have a small cot that she had kept beneath Vahne’s bed, and although there was little in the way of spare bedding now it was comfortable enough. Aurelia slept through cockcrow for the first time in months and found herself sitting up and blinking as sunlight streamed through the front windows. She’d fallen asleep still in her kerchief and dalmatica, and felt rumpled and grimy.

Rhaya was waiting for her with a bowl of frumenty and grilled salted salmon and a mug of-- coffee, Aurelia thought with surprise, real coffee. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had aught but weak tea and water to drink.

“Thought you might want to break your fast before you see to your patient’s needs,” the huntress said. Her ears swiveled back, her tail flicked, and then she added: “I wanted to thank you too. And apologize for my behavior.”

“It’s quite-”

“We’re not… it isn’t that we aren’t hospitable, you know.” She was very pointedly not looking Aurelia in the eyes, turning back to the stovetop. “Gridanians don’t much see the difference between us and bandits, though. So when Vahne brought you back… well, I’ll not draw this out. Thank you for your assistance. I did what I could but it wasn’t enough.”

“You can hardly be faulted for trying to help him.” Aurelia cleared her throat, deciding to change the topic and save the other woman her blushes. “I’ll take him breakfast, but I think he should just have frumenty and some fresh water for now.”

“I’ll take it to him,” Vahne volunteered around a mouthful of salmon. “Want t’see what Miss Aurelia did to patch-”

“You’ll sit there and eat your breakfast first,” Rhaya countered. “Both of you will- unless you’d like to wash first, conjurer?”

She shook her head. “I’ll see to myself after I’ve checked on him.”

The man was awake when she descended the stairs, though it was clear he hadn’t been awake very long. His eyes drooped with fatigue but were no longer glassy, and Aurelia could see by the greasy patina of sweat that covered his skin that his fever had snapped.

“You are very lucky,” she said. “Your friends saw you were ill and the child decided to fetch help from the nearest village.”

“Who are you?” he croaked. “I thought the Keepers of the Moon didn’t like Gridanians.”

“They don’t. Sit up and I’ll feed you.”

He grimaced at the jostling of his wounded shoulder but did as she bid him, letting her tuck several pillows behind his shoulders and back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But I’m here because I have questions for you.” She tucked a spoonful of oats and honey in his mouth before he could answer. “Perhaps you might explain how you came by your injury.”

“Did my hosts not tell you? I was attacked in the woods-”

“I dug a gunblade bullet out of your shoulder. ‘Attacked’ is putting it lightly. You were accosted by an imperial patrol- and I do mark your accent.” He stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. “Are you part of the Ala Mhigan Resistance?”

“It wasn’t-”

Aurelia sighed. “Or did you perhaps desert your posting?”

He went very, very still, turning away from her spoon and staring at the patterns the lantern light made against the cellar beams. She paused, then set the bowl upon the crate.

“What is your name?”

“Sewell,” he said. “I swear to you upon my life, I mean them no harm.”

“Who is Imanie?” He froze, his expression suddenly not unlike that of a trapped animal. “And Rose? You were talking about them last night.”

“I can’t-”

“You can’t what?”

He swallowed, visibly, the apple in his throat bobbing up and down. “....I can’t tell you. It’s safer for all of you if you know as little as possible.”

“Will you at least tell me when or where you were shot?”

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She set the bowl down and went to stand. He caught her wrist. 

“Rhaya,” he said. “Would you- would you tell her I asked after her?”

 “Since I’m about to ask her to come downstairs, you can tell her yourself,” Aurelia said tartly, and made for the ladder before he could respond.

Chapter Text

“Just one more…”

Aurelia wedged the bucket carefully beneath the wide throat of the hand-pump and scratched yet again at the cloth on her head. Sweat trickled steadily into the rough fabric as she worked, making it increasingly uncomfortable to wear as the day wore on. It was another hot, still day, the only sounds to be heard coming from birds and a chorus of cicadas, and if Vahne hadn’t been dogging her heels for the last two days as she helped care for the Wolndaras’ mysterious friend, she’d have risked removing it just to get some cool air. 

But she didn’t dare do that. Too easy for a stray breeze to ruffle her fringe and reveal her third eye, and while Vahne might not care, she doubted she could say the same for the girl’s guardian.

Resolved to see this task completed at the very least, she turned back to the heavy curved iron handle. While it was a blessing that there was a large underground water source -- one Rhaya had said had kept them through the Calamity while so many others succumbed to flux -- it was certainly far less convenient than drawing from the river or using a water crystal. 

“Miss Aurelia! Is the bucket full yet?”

“One moment!” 

This time Aurelia threw her weight against it with a low, soft grunt. The handle moved perhaps a quarter ilm the first time, and the second time she was rewarded with the gushing babble of cool water spilling into the bucket. She eased off the handle and continued to pump until the bucket was filled, then lifted it back into its locked position and headed for the clotheslines she and Vahne had raised behind the house. The bucket thumped against her leg as she wove between the wet sheets freshly hung upon the washlines.

She rolled up her sleeves and dumped the fresh water into the spare washtub, ignoring Vahne’s lifted brows at her obvious clumsiness, and pulled up the washboard once more. The soap kept slipping from her fingers, and Aurelia cursed as the skin was grazed from her knuckles for the umpteenth time that morning. Shaking off the water and sucking on them gingerly, she noticed the girl was watching her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

“You aren’t using it the right way,” Vahne said after a moment. 

“What?”

“It’s going to take forever if you keep handling the linens that way. Here, let me show you.” All business, the girl came trotting over the grass towards her and took the cloth and soap from her hands. “You have to push down and scrub. Like that. See? Really get the soap into the cloth. Else it won’t wash out proper, and you’ll have to have another go.”

Aurelia watched Vahne work, the small hands surprisingly strong and swift. “You’re very good at this,” she observed. 

“Do they not have washtubs in that village of yours?”

“The Hearer to whom I’m apprenticed has a young lady named Noline take in our washing twice a week. I’m certain the villagers do their own wash otherwise.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You come from a rich family, don’t you? Had servants to do your wash and the like. Am I right? I wager I’m right.”

Aurelia could only laugh, as much at herself as the absurdity of it all: without realizing it, her young friend had guessed correctly. 

“Yes, I come from a well-to-do family. Was it so obvious?”

“Well… yes, it was, actually. Just ‘cause… you don’t know how to do some things I thought everyone knew and it’s a bit strange, that’s all.” Vahne’s brow crinkled. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Such as?”

“Laundry, for one. The way you wash dishes. You can’t cook-”

“What? Of course I can cook. I can make a pot of tea,” Aurelia protested. “And boil eggs.”

“That’s about it.”

“...Do you talk back to all your elders like this, or am I just especially lucky?”

The girl’s answering grin had regained much of its cocksure brashness, and she looked more now like the prickly, self-assured child Aurelia had rescued from the ruins. “You’re not special. I’m like this with everyone.”

“I see that.” She reached for one of the sheets to set in the wringer, the way the girl had shown her. “Rhaya must have had quite the time with you.”

“She’s used to it. I’ve lived with her since I was six summers old.” 

“Six summers? That’s a very long time.”

“She’s had the care of me since Mum died,” Vahne shrugged. “Where’s your parents, Miss Aurelia? Do they still live in Gridania?” 

“Oh... “ Aurelia hesitated. “Well, that’s… no. I don’t have any parents. I mean, I did, but they’ve been gone for a long time.”

The girl looked some mixture of sad, surprised, and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, abashed. “Aunt Rhaya always tells me I ask too many questions.”

“That’s all right.”

“You’re an orphan then. Just like me…” Vahne’s nose crinkled and she paused in her scrubbing to scratch the tip with one soapy finger. “After helping us out, I bet she’d be happy to have you if you ever just wanted to come and visit and eat with us or tell stories or… something. If you have the time and all.”

“Perhaps you can show me how to properly do my wash.”

“And I can teach you to cook. No offense, Miss Aurelia, but I’m worried you won’t be able to feed yourself if all you know how to make is tea and boiled eggs.”

Aurelia laughed. 

“Ah, you raise an excellent point. Well! I suppose I can find the means to submit myself to another teacher. Provided the Hearer is amenable.”

“What’s ‘amenable’ mean?”

“It means if he likes.”

“Or you could not worry about what he thinks and just come visit me anyway,” Vahne retorted with the cheeky cheerfulness of the very young. “Here, give me the soap. When you’ve put the rest of the sheets through the wringer, we can hang them to dry.”

I do believe, Aurelia thought with amusement as the girl continued to chatter, that I have been adopted. 

~*~

Keveh’to Epocan sat belly up to the bar, morosely turning the faceted glass in idle circles. He’d long since drained its contents and now he was deciding whether or not to chance asking for a refill and thus calling attention to himself. At the moment he was the only Miqo’te man in sight, and while none of the few patrons huddled over their tables with their food and ales seemed to care overmuch about the presence of a Keeper - which surprised him a touch - old habits died godsdamned hard, and so did the anxiety that always arose under curious stares. 

That said, he was just inebriated enough not to pay it as much mind as he would have at any other time. 

He tilted his head forward to rest against the wooden surface. Like the rest of the building it was still very new; the twin scents of tree sap and fresh varnish tickled his nose. He was supposed to have returned from his rounds a bell past, not that he supposed Mariustel Aubaints would give a damn one way or another. Laurentius Daye too often came to the Druthers, and he was far from the only one.

Buscarron’s Druthers - like many other places in the Twelveswood - had been born in the wake of the Calamity out of a need that had not always existed. Once this place had been naught save a single cabin just ahead of the lumberline, serving as both a rest stop and a watch station for travelers passing south into the marshes. There was a need for more eyes on the road in places where the Wailers and their reduced numbers could no longer venture and that had given way to business opportunities, and Buscarron Stacks had taken it upon himself to retire and open a bar.

Some had criticized him for it, lamenting the loss of the familiar watch, but Keveh’to personally found Buscarron’s decision to be a sound one. Running a tavern was just as good a method of information gathering as sitting in a cabin by the road - probably better, in fact. Drink had a tendency to loosen the tongue and relax the mind, and not all of the patrons of the ex-Wailer’s new watering hole were what one would call on the right side of the law. Most were trappers and hunters and the odd adventurer, and rural Wailer units on patrol, but Keveh’to’s keen eye had spotted one or two faces here that had been peppered across wanted posters in Gridania and nearby Quarrymill ever since the takeover of old Boughbury. 

“Another?” 

“Please,” he mumbled. “Bowl of walnuts too if you’ve got ‘em.” No sense in drinking himself stupid and paying for it the next day. He’d be expected on wall duty regardless of how miserable he felt.

His thoughts circled back to that piece of metal, burning a hole in his pocket.

Fumbling at his belt he fished around in the small pouch where he’d hidden it until his fingers, made somewhat clumsy with the whiskey, were able to safely retrieve it. He squinted it in the dim light, turning it over and over and all but enthralled by the way the curved cylinder caught the refracted bits of prismatic light from his tumbler and-

“Wouldn’t be flashing that about if I were you, mate.”

Keveh’to jumped, nearly losing his tenuous grip on the- what had Aurelia called it? A casing? He managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. Steel winked at him from his fist, curled half-open- and when he looked up, he saw Buscarron, the proprietor, grinning at him. 

“You’re the new bloke, right? Sergeant… Evocan. No, Epocan. Got assigned to- where’s it, the Willowsbend outpost? Out there on the old Sentinel road?”

“That’s me.” The man slid a small wooden bowl full of shelled nuts towards him and reached for the decanter behind the shelf. Keveh’to watched the liquid spill into the glass, his ears twitching. “I don’t know that we’ve ever spoken but I’ve been in-”

“-a couple of times before. Aye, I saw you with young Laurentius, as I recall.” Buscarron’s lone eye twinkled at him, but there was something not quite mirthful about his words nor his demeanor as he slid the refilled glass over the varnished surface. “You take care ‘round him, you hear? I’ve known him since he was a young lad, and he don’t always think twice about judging the character of his friends while he’s about making ‘em.”

“I think there’s no danger of any close association.” Keveh’to picked up the glass. “I keep my business and my personal affairs separate. Try to, anyroad.”

“Probably for the best. Is this a personal visit, then? Or business?”

“It is, but…” Hells, he might as well get on with it. “...Might as well make it both.”

“Ask away,” Buscarron said, reaching for a cloth and a soapy glass. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere for the nonce.” 

“I take it that you recognise this?” Keveh’to opened his hand. The casing lay in it still, lantern-light winking cheerfully back at the pair, and the Hyur squinted at it thoughtfully, the sun-wrinkles in his face bunched behind his eyepatch.

“Seen it once or twice. That ain’t from any Eorzean weapon.”

“That’s what my partner said too.”

“Your partner sounds sensible if you don’t mind me saying so. Where are they?” 

“She’s tending to an urgent affair elsewhere,” Keveh’to said glumly, “or I’d have brought her with me.”

Buscarron’s brows arched, but he made no comment.

“I see,” was all he said. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you want to know if I’ve seen anything.”

“Have you?” 

“I don’t think I’ve personally seen any imperials about these parts, but you understand I’ve been busy with the ales and spirits as of late. Short of one of ‘em walking in and asking me for a drink, I doubt I’d have had the opportunity to meet any of His Radiance’s finest.”

Keveh’to sighed, but the Hyur held up a hand. 

“That isn’t to say I don’t want to help you. You might consider asking some of these folks hereabouts if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“If any of them will talk to me.” 

“Oh, ask around and be patient, and you’ll get a bite from some soul or other, I guarantee it. Might’ve actually worked in your favor, comin’ out here without your Wailer mates,” Buscarron observed. “Them what’s most like to have seen any wanderin’ ironcoats about the forest surely won’t be telling the law about it. Not if they think it’ll end with ‘em warming a space in a gaol cell.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted, but it did make surface sense. Even five years ago he’d associated the attention of the Wood Wailers with harassment at best, wrongful accusations at worst. “You have my thanks for the advice. And the drink.”

The tavern owner let out a dry cackle. 

“Don’t thank me now, lad,” he took the emptied glass, brows lifted in amusement across the weathered canvas of his face. “You haven’t got what you’re after yet.”

One bell later he had to admit, however grudgingly, that Buscarron’s warning carried some weight. Most of the responses he received were blank stares or simply a hostile, stony silence as he tried to explain himself. Some few souls said they would like to be of help but had no idea what object he was even holding, and others thought he was having them on. He needed another few bells to ask around the entire rest stop in all honesty, but he knew he didn’t have them to spare. The day was wearing on towards late afternoon, and he would be missed if he weren’t back by dusk. Resigning himself to the fact that his inquiries had proven fruitless, Keveh’to made for the chocobo paddock. 

He was reaching for the braided reins to loosen them from the post when a sharp prickle ran its way down his spine and gooseflesh spread over his forearms. He froze in place, one hand still on the reins and the other on his mount’s flank, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw four Hyur in dark leathers with their faces covered. They had fanned out around him, and looking over their shoulders he watched four more put down what they had been doing to stand and grab a weapon where each had had one concealed among their tools.

So that’s how it is. As ever, the thought was barbed with cynicism. Same shite, different pile.

The Miqo’te bit back an exasperated sigh and his fingers closed around a dagger he’d concealed behind the saddle, just over the strap that held the blanket in place. “Right, gentlemen,” he said without turning around, his muscles already tensing in preparation to dodge a blow aimed for his back. “If you’ve come to ask for a dance-”

“Hold your weapon, Wailer,” one of them interrupted, the flow of his baritone like creek water, cool and unhurried. “We’ve not come to fight. Just to talk.”

“Have you now?”

“Aye, we have.” The man’s tone didn’t waver even once. He was in charge of this encounter and it was clear he knew it. “Boss said he wants a word with you.”

The boss, he thought. That sounded suitably ominous. 

For a brief moment he gave idle consideration to the idea of fighting his way out, but it was just that: a flight of fancy and little else. It was obvious these men had orders to detain him, and he had no doubt they were likely to drag him off his chocobo and force him to do what they wished if he attempted to escape. Keveh’to was no coward and could well hold his own in any fair fight, but didn’t rate his chances against eight fully armed men, all of whom carried themselves with the casual swagger of battle-hardened veterans. 

Those cold eyes locked with his, the faintest hint of a smirk tilting those smooth lips. No, he didn’t rate them at all.

His hand withdrew from the blanket to fall at his side.

“Well,” he said with forced cheer, “you’ve got my attention. Lead on, gentlemen.”

=

Buscarron didn’t even glance at Keveh’to upon his re-entry to the tavern, and he suspected that was by design, for this time he entered as a sort of vanguard’s spearhead, followed by the four men who had accosted him in the paddock. They led him past the bar without pausing and towards a small, round side table where a middle-aged Midlander in leathers sat alone, his lance leaning against the wall as he perused a book and sipped a cup of black Thanalan tea. 

The entire scene was so incongruous that he might have laughed did he not know better; any of the men at his back could cause him undue harm or simply kill him, and he knew why they didn’t. A mild sidewise glance upwards, and hazel eyes locked with rain-grey. The man’s expression relaxed into a smile that was friendly enough, for all it was quite bland and didn’t reach beyond the curve of his mouth. 

“Well. A Keeper! Don’t that beat shite all.” He folded a small corner of the open page, shut the book cover, and set it aside. “I didn’t think the Wailers recruited your kind.”

There was no point in lying to him. “They didn’t. Not exactly.”

“What’re you called?”

“I’m called Keveh’to Epocan. In polite society, anyroad.”

The man let out a delighted guffaw into the spine of his book. “Seven hells,” he cackled, “finally I get one with a sense of bleeding humor. So, if you keep company with Wailers but you ain’t a Wailer, then who do you work for?”

“A Grand Company. I’m a sergeant with the Order of the Twin Adder in Gridania.”

“We found him about to leave town,” one of the men began, but fell silent at the lift of a hand. 

“Sure the good sergeant can speak for himself. Go on, this is a private matter.” Out of the corner of one eye, Keveh’to watched the men exchange surprised glances, but they shuffled away and left him to speak with their leader alone. “Have a seat.”

Keveh’to sat. The act brought him face to face with the most nondescript-looking Midlander man he had ever met: sandy hair going to silver at the temples, rheumy hazel eyes, and absolutely no distinguishing features whatsoever. He could have passed this man in the street any number of times without having any idea who he was looking at.

By design, of course. 

“I guess there’s no point in pretenses,” he said. “I’ll assume you’re the leader of the Redbelly Wasps.”

“One of many. But I see you’ve heard of us.” The bandit leader inclined his chin. “We’re an informal lot- we don’t much stand on ceremony. But if you need a name, you can call me Arthur. Keeps things friendly, like.”

“Well met, then, Arthur,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt his chances to be polite. He gestured at the half-cleaned plate at his host’s elbow. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all. I like to take my time with my meals,” Arthur said. “Sit back with a bit to read and watch the comings and goings ‘round these parts.”

“You’re a regular here?”

“I am. We’ve a deal with ol’ Busc, see. He knows all about our little feud with Gridania, but he wants this place to stay neutral and it’s in our best interests too. So we don’t bother no one while they’re here, and in turn, they don’t bother us.” Arthur smiled. “It works the same way for you and yours, Sergeant. A two-way road, you might say. You don’t call your Wailer friends to haul us off to rot in a gaol cell or swing from a gibbet, and we don’t send you back in small pieces to whatever hole you crawled out from.”

“A good system,” Keveh’to agreed mildly. He knew a veiled warning when he heard one. “So what was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“You’ve been showin’ a bit of steel about the tavern today, so I hear. Can I have a look? I know it’s in that pouch of yours.”

“Mate, you have eyes in this tavern waiting for me to draw a weapon just so they can put a dagger in my back. I’m not that much of a fool.” 

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “Come now, Sergeant. I know you aren’t about to shoot me. We’re friends for the next quarter-bell at least, which means I’ll not raise a hand against you. You’re safe and all. Go on.”

Keveh’to’s eyes narrowed at the man, but he wasn’t about to accuse him of lying about their truce- and Buscarron’s reputation, at least, he did trust. His fingers eased loose the leather knots of the pouch and drew forth the spent shell. It rolled into his palm, winking steel and brass in the flickering lights, and he held it out to Arthur.

“Open your hand,” Keveh’to said, and when the Hyur did so, he rolled the shell into his waiting hand and watched as he squinted at it. “That look familiar? Something that one of your people might’ve seen recently?”

“Imperial ordnance,” Arthur mused. The fingertips of his other hand drummed a slow and constant rhythm against the surface of the table. “Where’d you find this?”

“In a copse just outside Willowsbend.”

“Willowsbend, eh…” 

“You know the place?”

“I’ve got a couple of men with sweethearts in that very same village. Off near the old Amdapor ruins.” Arthur rolled the piece of metal in his palm. “Funny you should mention, though. One of ‘em said something about hearing what sounded like a gunblade discharge a few nights past while he were out making sport with his lass. Multiple shots, he said.”

“And he said it was gunblade fire? You’re sure?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sergeant, but we don’t just feud with the Wailers. The Garlean Empire wants the wood too, and their fancy magitek makes them far more of a threat than your lot with your bows and arrows.” Arthur squinted at the metal in his hand. “We’ve all of us got in skirmishes with imperial scouts here and there- though this is the first in over a year they’ve ventured out this far from their castrum. Could be they’re about to take another tilt at us, could be they had some other reason for being out here. You ask me, it’s probably the latter.”

Keveh’to’s brows arched. “That’s not much to go on.”

“That’s what I have.”

“Care to tell me who the girl is or did your man say?”

“You maybe could talk to her yourself if you’re so inclined? She heard the sound too, he said, and she’s one of your villagers. Makes it easier for all concerned - and I trust you’ll not be sendin’ your friends to set a trap for my man, now I’ve told you what we know? Fair exchange of information and all that.” 

“I’ll not breathe a word. And the girl...?”

“Oh, aye, I can give you the girl’s name right enough,” the bandit leader said with a smile and a shrug, holding out his hand to pass the gunblade shell back to Keveh’to. “It’s Noline.” 

~*~

The sun had long since fallen below the trees, and the sky had darkened to a deep, rich blue, limned with the brilliant pinks and orange of sunset. It seemed to cast the timberline in an otherworldly glow, and Aurelia found herself admiring the view while she hoisted the basket of clean linens to take inside. She missed the dramatic skyscapes of Gyr Abania and even Garlemald, but the skies over the Shroud held their own mysterious allure that she couldn’t deny. 

With a distant sort of amusement, she imagined how her aunt and uncle would react if they could see her as she was now. Filthy and tired after a day spent on her knees scrubbing dirty linens on a wooden and copper-plated board until her slender fingers had gone red and raw. 

Aunt Marcella would have conniptions, that’s what. A rueful grin lingered upon her face as she nudged the door open with the flare of one hip and her mind turned back to the night’s tasks. 

She would set the basket in the hall for Vahne to sort, then go back out to get water from the well pump to wash up and find a meal. Once she’d eaten it would be time once more to check on her patient’s vitals and change out his bandages. After that… well, chores or no, there was precious little to do whilst overseeing a single patient’s recovery so long as there were minimal complications. A cup of tea might not go amiss, and she could perhaps make some new entries in her journal tonight. 

Cheered by the thought, Aurelia made her way into the hallway, set the basket on the floor, and plucked a washcloth from the pile. 

“Ah, Mistress Aurelia.” 

She paused. The voice had come from the direction of the stove, and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Rhaya Wolndara ascending the ladder.

“There’s stew in the pot,” she said. Her demeanor was still somewhat stiff and mistrustful, but she had seemingly decided to stay her judgment upon Aurelia for the time being. “I had a haunch of venison that needed finishing off before it went over. Since we’ve got four mouths to feed right now, that should be no issue.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said, and meant it. “I realize I’m an imposition here.”

Rhaya sighed. “I’ve no children and no particular desire to have them. Vahne is the closest I’ll get, and she’s… young and prone to thoughtlessness. And she seems to trust you, despite having known you for less than a sennight.”

Aurelia said nothing at the woman’s pointed words.

“Surely you have other patients. Why would you disregard them to help us?”

“Because that’s what I do,” she said simply. 

“With no expectation of payment in return, I suppose.”

“Perhaps Vahne misunderstood or did not explain. I am not the conjurer in charge of the village where she found me, but rather the conjurer’s apprentice. I have a roof over my head and meals provided to me.”

“A novice.” Rhaya’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you seem to have a very thorough knowledge of field medicine.”

“I was originally a chirurgeon by trade. Before the-”

“Aunt Rhaya! Aunt Rhaya!!”

The panicked cry startled them both, as did the immediate slamming of the cabin door. Vahne’s fingers fumbled at the locks as she threw the big bolt, and the sounds of her rapid, heavy breathing filled the small space. 

“Vahne?” Rhaya emerged fully from the root cellar, her brow indexed with a deep frown. “What’s happened? Are there wolves near the coop again?”

“N-not wolves,” she gasped and bent over to cough from her exertion, “bandits.”

“What do you mean, bandits?” Rhaya said, in a sharp and incredulous voice, and Aurelia watched her jaw tighten at the news. “That isn’t possible. Are you sure?” 

“Yes! I was putting up the feed when I saw- they’re all hiding in the hay fields. They’re wearing that strange black stuff so it was really hard to see them, but they’re out there.”

“Did you see how many were out there?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Vahne panted. “I didn’t see how many there were. I thought they might grab me if I didn’t run away fast. But-but they didn’t follow me so I don’t think they know I saw them.”

Rhaya was already halfway across the common room in search of her bow, growling, every hair on her violently lashing tail standing on end. “Those lying bastards,” she spat, slinging her quiver over her back. “There’s not supposed to be any bloody Wasps out there.”

She sounded so certain that Aurelia frowned.

“I was under the impression that bandits don’t much care whether or not they’re trespassing.” 

“You wouldn’t understand and it’d take too bleeding long to explain. Let me get these bastards off my property first and then we’ll-”

Aurelia never heard what Rhaya had intended to say. Her senses were overwhelmed by a preternatural, primitive flash of warning that snapped through her soul seemingly out of nowhere, and before she could even question it she had grasped both Miqo’te by their shoulders.

“Both of you,” she shouted, “get down! Now!!”

She threw them to the ground and dropped to join them just as she heard an all too familiar explosion and one of the window panes shattered. The gunblade’s bullet drilled harmlessly into the wall where Rhaya had been standing only moments beforehand.

Vahne screamed.

On its heels came another shot fired, then another, and another. Aurelia turned her face to the ground and made sure her body was blocking the girl’s, lying unmoving beneath the sensation of broken glass and wood chips pelting down onto her back. After what felt like an eternity but must only have been half a minute if that, the fields went silent. The stink of black powder rankled in her nose and she coughed.

From the other side of the broken windows, a heavily accented male voice barked:

“Sixth Cohort Velites, hold your fire!”

Aurelia Laskaris felt her stomach drop through the floor.  

Vahne cowered beneath her, shaking and crying and awaiting another barrage of gunfire. On her other side, Rhaya’s pretty face was livid with fear and fury, her ears laid flat against her head as she spat foul curses beneath her breath. Aside from shredded curtains and broken glass and chipped furniture, all else appeared as it ought. They hadn’t hit the lamp that sat in the front window, though perhaps that had been by design rather than providence.

The only other sound in her ears was the chime of broken glass dangling from newly emptied panes in the night breeze like cracked teeth and the crunch of multiple footsteps. The imperials were approaching the door.

A gauntleted fist crashed against the panels, once, twice, thrice, and Vahne jumped beneath Aurelia’s protective arm.

“We have come on behalf of the XIVth Imperial Legion,” came the shout from the other side. “We have evidence that a deserter is being sheltered upon these premises and have come to arrest the criminal, as is our right by law. Surrender this traitor within the next five minutes and we will consider clemency. Be warned that any show of resistance or lack of response will be taken as a tacit admission of guilt in aiding and abetting a fugitive-”

“Piss on your swiving Emperor! This isn’t one of your provinces, you tin-plated whoresons,” Rhaya howled at the top of her lungs. “And if you don’t clear off my land right now, I swear by the Twelve you’ll live to regret it!”

“Miss Aurelia,” Vahne whispered, her eyes wide as saucers. She was trying to wriggle out from beneath the arm that pinned her to the floor. “Aunt Rhaya, what are they shooting at us with? Are they bandits?”

Aurelia struggled to sit up. Her head covering had been knocked askew by the last-moment dodge and only barely kept its perch, tilting so far forward that it covered her eyesight. 

“No,” she said, her voice flat and grim. “Definitely not bandits.”

“This is your final warning,” the disembodied man’s voice shouted, now tinged with no small amount of irritation. “Present the deserter that you have been illegally harboring or prepare to face the consequences due for your defiance. You have five minutes. Choose wisely.”

“Bugger it all,” Rhaya hissed. “If it were Wasps that’d be one thing, but imperials?”

It was difficult even to hear her own thoughts over the relentless thumping sound of her heart in her ears. Outside there was the sound of shouted orders over the thrum of cicadas and the calls of birds - clearly, the soldiers were not bluffing, although she supposed they ought to be thankful for any sort of warning.

“We’ll have to drive them off if we can,” Aurelia whispered at last. “But first things first, that trapdoor-” 

Rhaya reached for the bow and the arrows, which had scattered when they had dropped to the floor.

“Vahne, go down with our friend. Shut the trapdoor behind you and stay down there- and keep quiet.”

“But-”

“No buts. This isn’t a job for children.” Vahne opened her mouth, then shut it, seeming to realize an argument would be futile. “You’ll help me best by remaining out of sight. Go down into the cellar and shut the door behind you, and don’t you open it until one of us tells you it’s safe. Do you hear?”

“Yes, auntie,” she mumbled. Aurelia watched her go, spindly legs and still-awkward gait and all.

“It’s just you and me, then, conjurer,” Rhaya said. She grimaced at the broken glass all over the floor. “Damn it, this glass cost my grandmother a fortune- ”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Aurelia stood, and the moment she did the kerchief on her head fluttered loose and fell into her hands. She stared at it, chewing on her lip… then a slow and wicked grin stretched its way across her face.

Rhaya gave her a blank sidewise stare. “What’re you smiling about?”

“Pray tell me, Mistress Wolndara,” she said without looking up, still grinning, “might you show me where you keep your leatherworking reagents?” 

~*~

Never expected I’d ever miss Ala Mhigo, Argas rem Canina thought to himself, but here we are.

The observation was silent for necessity’s sake, as he didn’t want the inhabitants of the cabin overhearing any orders he might have had to pass along, but he was miserable. They were coming into what locals called the dog days of high summer now, and though it was more temperate than the city where he had been posted for so long, that wasn’t to say it was more hospitable. Even did one discount the humid and sweltering heat, and the bandits, and the beastmen… well. Carbonweave might be effective at preventing death by immolation but it was utterly useless against midges, and the Eorzean variety were both vicious and plentiful.

Vicious and plentiful, he thought. Just like everything and everyone else in this godsforsaken forest - even after having a blasted moon dropped on their heads.

Eorzeans, he was starting to realize, were an annoyingly resilient lot.

“My lord,” a voice muttered at his shoulder. Phoebus pyr Cinna, lips set in a cold and angry line, already reloading his gunblade - like the other frumentarii the pilus prior had handpicked for this mission, the man was an officer, albeit a junior one. “It’s been nearly five minutes by my count. Your orders? Do we take the door down?”

Argas took a moment to consider his next course of action. He wasn’t accustomed to fieldwork any longer and he knew it showed. He’d spent the last three years behind a desk- but by His Radiance’s Will, some things one never forgot. He still knew how to track down defectors, and that was why Fabian rem Corbinus had entrusted him with the task of leading a squadron of velites on his retrieval mission. 

This one was worse than most of the criminal rabble that deserted their posting. Usually, the bastards were found again within days’ range of the castrum they’d fled, with naught save the clothes on their backs. But just turning tail and running away hadn’t been enough for him, Argas thought sourly.

At the very least, the Crow seemed to want the deserter either retrieved or dead and wasn’t terribly minded as to which solution they sought.

Pale hazel eyes tracked over the facade of the cabin. One of the others thought she’d seen movement inside earlier, but aside from the single lamp still burning in the window (and somehow untouched by their opening barrage of firepower), all remained still. He’d seen the child running through the fields to the house so he had no doubt the owners of the cabin were still present, likely hoping they might be left to their own devices if they remained silent.

He sighed aloud in disappointment. He’d heard tell that the primitive folk of the Black Shroud worshipped forest gods and in return held the power to turn the wood to their very whims, but there appeared to be nothing to such tales after all.

This didn’t promise to be much in the way of sport.

“My lord?”

“We've been more than lenient. Let's-"

Something came flying through one of the broken windows to crash at their feet with a tinkle of shattering glass. Its contents splashed against their carbonweave leggings, and as one the squad staggered backward, coughing -- the reek was enough to fell a behemoth.

“Seven hells,” came Phoebus' choked voice from behind him, and that was when the rock struck him in the chest and knocked the breath from him in a great gust.

Taken by surprise, Argas had little chance to defend himself. The force behind the wind gust that followed took him off his feet and sent him sailing clear of the porch to land at the foot of the steps, slamming against the stone and mortar lip of the nearby well. 

“Open fire!” he snarled, over the levin shocks of pain radiating into his right arm from his side. If a fight's what these savages want, then a fight is what the bastards will get! "They've got him! Take them down!"

An arrow whistled through one of the broken windows, aiming at his face. Argus took hasty evasive action, rolling to the ground and covering his head with his arms, and the projectile struck the wooden panel bare ilms from the space his throat had so recently occupied. He heard another pained cry as a second arrow struck true, then the sound of a gunblade clattering to the ground. Another gust of wind punched into his back and cut tiny paper-thin slivers into the exposed edges of his tabard, near blinding him with tiny splinters and the tattered corners of leaves.

“Phoebus!” Argas shouted. “Don’t just sit there, smoke them out!”

His second immediately scrambled to obey. Between wild-fired shots with his gunblade, the other man fumbled at his belt until he unclipped a small device, pulled the pin with his teeth, and tossed it at the cabin. It crashed through another windowpane and with a tight, flat bang smoke began to billow everywhere, in the cabin and along the length of the porch runner. Eyes watering, Argas coughed and covered his mouth with his forearm.

There was a slam and then a loud cracking sound as the door was kicked open to slam on loosened hinges against the outer wall. Two female figures emerged through the smoke, their noses and mouths covered in cloth: one a wiry auburn-haired Miqo’te with eyes that burned as balefully as ghost-fire, the other a tall, blonde, and willowy Hyur. 

The Miqo’te threw herself off the steps and lunged at his other two operatives. Behind her arrows came more flying stones and sharp bursts of wind; the force sent her targets crumpling to the ground with a groan. At his side, Phoebus pyr Cinna took aim and fired at the woman. The smoke obscured his sight, but the lack of response was enough to indicate his second’s bullet had missed its mark.

Grinning mirthlessly, his second opened the revolving chamber of his gunblade to reload--

“Take your hands off your weapon,” the quiet command drifted through the smoke plumes that still billowed out of the cabin door, “and keep them where I can see them if you please.” 

They had forgotten the Hyur woman. Her voice was dulcet, clear- and, the pilus prior thought, her accent was immediately recognizable. There was something in it of Ala Mhigo, but she was no more an Eorzean than he was.

Another deserter, he thought in silent dismay. Hells below.

Argas watched Phoebus’ hand freeze in place along the hilt’s trigger guard, heard coughing and swearing from the others, then his gaze traveled from his second to the young woman who now towered over them both. She held a glowing wand at the ready, a simple leafless branch with a small corona of light at its tip, and he had no doubt by the look on her face that she was willing to use it.

“Have your optio drop his weapon, my lord,” the Garlean woman repeated. “Tell your subordinates to stay where they are and keep their hands in sight.” 

Phoebus was already baring his teeth. 

“We don’t take orders from-”

“Do as she says, Cinna, you damned fool,” Argas snapped. His second continued to glare at the woman, but placed the gunblade flat against the ground and raised his hands in the air.

“Cease fire!” he shouted.

For a few moments, silence returned to the clearing and the sounds of the forest intruded once more. Full night had fallen, and the smoke made visibility poor besides, but the tall woman was close enough for him to see her face from the point of light gleaming ominously in the small stick she bore in one hand. Something on her brow, just beneath her hair, caught the reflection from the aether that cast the visible half of her face in a lambent blue glow. 

Argas craned his neck up, squinting- 

-and she kicked him roughly onto his back and planted a slender, pattened foot against his chest. The edges of his broken bones ground together beneath its pressure upon his sternum in a way that left him gasping and breathless.

“You dare to treat an officer of the imperial army in this manner-" A pained and very undignified moan escaped his lips as she leaned her weight into the foot on his chest, the pressure on his ribcage inexorable and, increasingly, unbearable. He spat a mouthful of dirt to one side, panting. "You will regret your insolence, madam. Mark my words.”

“Mark mine first, pilus: there are over two hundred bones in your body, and I know precisely where and how to break all the ones which would leave you able to answer my questions." The woman’s mouth was set in a tight line. "Who are you?”

“Argas rem Canina,” he managed. “And you are-”

Her foot bore down once again, and the pilus prior’s query ended in a howl of pain and a string of Ilsabardian vulgarities which she proceeded to ignore. “Why did you fire upon civilians with no prior warning?”

“He’s a deserter,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Harboring deserters and defectors is a violation of imperial law and the penalty-”

“I’m well aware of the provincial statutes, my lord, and none of them apply here. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Eorzea is not an imperial province.”

A shout caught their attention, followed by the sounds of cursing and grunting-- and the sharp bark of a discharged gunblade.

“Rhaya!” his interrogator shouted. Her attention turned towards her companion, all thoughts of questioning forgotten.

The moment he saw the window of opportunity, Argas took it. He unhooked the flash grenade from his belt, pulling the pin as he did so, and tossed the activated projectile at her feet.

The world exploded in white, blinding all of them; he could hear only the keening high-pitched sound of a magitek detonator-- but it had the desired effect. The pressure on his chest evaporated as she fell back. He felt arms fumbling around his shoulders to pull him to his feet, slapping his weapon back into his hand.

“We should press our advantage, my lord,” Phoebus hissed in his ear. 

“No,” he winced, coughing and clutching at his hurt side. 

“But--!”

The weapon in his hand felt as though it weighed tonzes; his fist remained tightly closed about the grip, for it would be inviting courts-martial if he lost it - but his arm trembled violently, weakened by the debilitating pain in his chest; the very act of breathing felt a torment. Argus knew he could not continue to fight if pressed, and with at least one other of their number wounded that would leave the others at too much of a disadvantage.

There was naught else to be done. He ground his teeth in frustration. 

“Damn you, do not countermand my orders!" Argas snarled. "We withdraw!” 

He could feel the resigned slump of the shoulder against his own. 

“Velites!” Phoebus pyr Cinna shouted in the direction they’d last seen the others, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation. “Fall back!”

And under the cover of smoke and artificial light, Argas rem Canina and his comrades fled.

Chapter Text

As quickly as it had all started, it was over. 

Aurelia sat in the tilled soil of the Wolndara homestead, heart only now beginning to slow its hectic beat and her hands caked with dirt, and blinked furiously, eyes watering from the blinding flash of light from the Garlean grenade. 

Once the spots in her vision had cleared - for the most part - she took silent stock of what she could see, attempting to assess the damage. Smoke still belched out of the front door, and the eye-watering ammonia stench from her own makeshift grenade seared her senses even with the kerchief tied about her nose and mouth. Most of it had been done to the house. Aside from small scrapes on her palms where she’d caught herself after losing her footing, she was unharmed. 

Rhaya, however-- 

Rhaya sat in the grass cursing. 

“Those buggering -- !” 

“Don’t move,” Aurelia called. She regained her feet, coughing heavily. “Hells, but we’ve got a mess to clear out. Are you all right?”

“One of them shot me,” Rhaya answered, and now Aurelia could see the dark outline of blood soaking into the Miqo’te woman’s sleeve, just above the clutching grip about her upper arm. “If the bastards value their skins they had best stay gone!”

“Rhaya,” she coughed. “Sit still and stop thrashing about-- let me look at your wound.”

Still growling, ears flat and every hair on her tail standing on end, Rhaya’s hand fell away from her arm. Aurelia gently tugged at the torn threads of her hempen shirt, careful not to apply too much pressure. Restless tension thrummed through the smaller woman’s body, a stray current looking for an outlet. 

“It's superficial," she said at last. "Just a graze. Let me take care of it and we’ll go inside and clear out the smoke bombs and check on Vahne.”

A stiff nod. 

Aurelia gently placed her open palm over the injury, concentrated, and a steady stream of water-tinged aether flowed from her fingers. The bleeding stopped and the flesh began to knit beneath the cool glow. It wouldn’t require a bandage, she thought, although the shirt was like to be a total-

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Aurelia froze at the flat, matter-of-fact question; her chin snapped up to look into the woman’s eyes, and it was clear by the hostility in them that she would not be able to make any excuse which would satisfy. Rhaya knew. Somehow, she knew. 

Silence hung between them like an invisible curtain until finally, the huntress let out a sound that was something between a sigh and a bitter laugh.

“I knew it,” she said. “I bloody knew it. You were playing us both for fools.”

“Rhaya-”

“You aren’t half as clever at hiding yourself as you think. I saw that bag of yours in the cellar- the one with the symbol on it that you tried to cover.” Her tail thumped angrily against the ground. “Tried to tell myself there must surely be some good reason why a conjurer from Gridania would be carrying around something like that. But it seems to me like the simplest explanation is like to be the most obvious. ‘Specially when you and him started speaking in tongues.”

She sat still, bewilderment creeping up her spine and dread twisting her stomach. 

When had she lapsed into Ilsabardian?  

“You didn’t think a couple of stupid savages would figure it out, did you?” Rhaya bared her teeth, and she saw in that moment that she’d lost all of the trust she’d gained in aiding Vahne. “When were you planning to tell us? Before or after those men nearly killed us?”

“Rhaya, please. I can explain if you would just--”

The huntress's hands planted themselves in the center of her chest and shoved. Aurelia fell back, sprawling into the dirt. “Keep your filthy hands off me.”

Unable to think of anything to say in her defense, or to bear the censure and fury in the other woman’s eyes any longer, her head bowed and her gaze fell to the ground. The Miqo’te wasted no time in standing up, brushing the soil off her legs as she did so, tail still lashing from side to side. Her utter contempt settled like an invisible weight on Aurelia’s shoulders.

“When he’s able to leave that cellar,” she said, her words tight and clipped, “I want your bags packed and I want you gone. And I had best never see you anywhere near my lands or my niece ever again. Or you’ll see exactly where my mercy for your kind begins and ends. Garlean. ”

Rhaya spat the word out of her mouth as if it were something that tasted foul. 

The huntress stomped back towards her cabin. Aurelia didn’t watch her go. She listened to the receding footsteps and slamming door, swallowed back the sudden tide of frustrated tears that threatened, and stared up at the stars’ cold fire until the urge to shed them had passed.

==

The stew had gone cold. Vahne passed it silently to her while she dried her cleaned hands on a piece of spare hempen weave and the pair listened to the dull grinding roll of the spent smoke bomb as it went over the threshold and out the front door. The girl looked unhappy and quite subdued, her eyes averted from Aurelia’s - clearly Rhaya had spoken to her when she’d told her it was safe to come out.

“How does he fare?” 

As ever, it was easier to simply concentrate on matters of work for the time being. She’d deal with her own emotions later.

“He’s awake,” Vahne whispered. “What happened? Auntie says I’m not to talk to you.”

“I thought as much.” Aurelia patted the girl’s shoulder with her free hand. “Go help her clean up the glass. She doesn’t… that is, I need some words with our friend either way.”

“Is there aught I can do? I can talk to her if-”

“Don’t place yourself in the middle of this, Vahne, love. Please. Your aunt and I had an argument, that’s all you need to know for now.”

Vahne worried at her lower lip with her teeth but stepped beyond the partition into the common room, and in a few more moments Aurelia heard the sounds of a broom sweeping up glass. The stew was hearty but she barely tasted any of it. Her emotions felt like the bottom of an old jar, scraped out for its contents and left to molder.

Except for her anger, of course. That was still in fine working order.

She stared at the closed trapdoor and shook her head and reached for the ladle and a spare bowl. Tea would have to wait. 

Aurelia had half-thought she might have to rouse her patient but she did not. Sewell was awake, watching her descend the ladder with a bowl in one hand. He still looked weak - his cheeks bore a faint flush and the rest of him was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - but his eyes were clear and alert and tracked over her face as she sat down on the stool at what accounted for his bedside. He was well out of danger, she thought, and there was little doubt now that he would make a full recovery.

The spoon and bowl rattled on the crate as she set them down without ceremony.

“I’ve brought your dinner,” she said, unable to keep the tight, clipped coldness out of her voice. “Tea will have to wait until I’ve changed your dressings. Eat.”

He said nothing, but picked up the bowl with his good hand; Aurelia could hear the slow-paced clink of the spoon as she reached for her bag. 

She dragged her burden from the foot of the pallet to the close side of the crate she'd been using as a makeshift side table and started to remove tools, one by one. The piece of cloth she had wrapped hastily about the strap back in Gridania had fallen away - the knots must have loosened over time with use and exposure to the elements, she thought. Not that it mattered now. Rhaya knew what she was, and presumably so now did Vahne.

The scarlet-and-ivory tripartite links winked in the dim light, mocking her. 

No matter how far you travel, no matter how much you might try to deny us, they said, you will carry us with you to the ends of the star, and beyond it.

Every time she thought she’d passed that obstacle, the black anxiety of being set adrift and rudderless in a foreign land, every time she thought she’d found friends and a place to set her feet- it came back to haunt her again. Always.

And it was always, always, down to this.

After all, you cannot outrun your own blood.

Her jaw set. She neither needed nor wanted the reminder.

She set out the bowl and ran fresh water into it, and by the time she had found the antiseptic salve she’d sought, she heard him set his bowl of stew aside. It was only half-finished.

“My arm pains me still,” Sewell admitted at the questioning tilt of her chin. “It will be some time, I think, before I am able to eat at the same pace.”

“Once I’m done I’ll help you.” Aurelia reached for her shears and leaned forward to examine the bandaging. She held aloft the shears, adjusting by eye until the old linens lay betwixt the blades, and slowly and carefully began to cut. “You’ll need to finish your meals to regain your strength. The sooner you do, the sooner you can leave.”

“...You seem vexed with me.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “I am.”

“Why? What have I-”

“Don’t you dare finish that question,” she stripped away the soiled fabric as swiftly as she dared and dipped one of her instruments into the jar to spread over the exposed area, still in the process of healing, “You know precisely what you did.”

“If you’re talking about that commotion outside tonight, I warned them not to take me in. They were under no obligation-”

Aurelia tossed the depressor to the top of the crate where it rattled against the bowl alongside her shears. Sewell started at the sound, then let out a strangled yelp when she grabbed a handful of his undershirt and hauled him into an upright sitting position. She did not stop until his face was mere ilms from her own, her cheeks flushed not with fever but with righteous fury.

“Look at me,” she snarled. “Look me in the eyes, you craven, and tell me you bear no responsibility for what has happened this night.”

“I warned them not to do it!”

She shook him hard enough that it jostled his hurts, and he choked out an alarmed groan. “Upstairs are two people who did you a kindness and they nearly lost their lives for it. You could at least have the bare decency to appreciate the risk that they’ve taken for your sake!”

“I do appreciate it! What sort of opportunist do you take me for?”

“Your cowardice does not affect only you!”

“What do you-”

Aurelia shoved him angrily back against the pallet, ran the fingers of her left hand beneath the borders of her blonde fringe, and raked the handful of golden strands back to her hairline. The man’s eyes went huge and his jaw slack at the sight of her third eye, laid bare.

“Oh hells,” he said weakly. “Oh hells.”

Her throat felt tight again and her eyes burned, but she managed this time to keep her voice steady, fueled entirely by her rage given an immediate outlet. “I’ve seen retrieval squads before, Master Sewell. I served in the VIIth Imperial Legion under Nael van Darnus, and if you know aught of the White Raven’s reputation then you know we had our share of deserters and defectors. All of whom were dealt with severely.”

“Then you know the penalty for desertion is death,” he muttered.

“Yes. I do. I helped Mistress Wolndara to drive them off, but it was a temporary measure. If we remain here she and her niece will be placed in unacceptable danger. Those soldiers will return in short order, with wheat-counters to reinforce their numbers.” Aurelia dropped her hand and let her mussed hair fall back into place. Her anger had faded to something manageable, though her gaze upon him remained icy. “And I suspect they will not only have come for you.”

Sewell stared at her, still deathly pale, still frightened and astonished--- but shame had begun to creep into his eyes as well. She sighed.

“You have naught to fear from me,” she said. “But the very least you owe your hostess is an honest explanation as to why she has risked her home and her life. Tell me everything that happened up until you came here.”

His eyes fell shut and his expression twisted in something very like pain.

“You asked me before,” he began, “who Imanie was.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I had best start from the beginning.” He plucked listlessly at a stray thread on his coverlet. “Imanie was my best friend from the village where we grew up - Ala Ghasti. You’ll not have heard of it - and when we were of a goodly age, or good enough for the Empire to see us as grown, we were drafted along with a number of our mates. Most of them were sent off to other lands. Imanie and me were the only two who ended up in the viceroy’s legion, her for signal corps at the Velodyna outpost up in the fringes, and me... well, I'm just an infantryman they didn't pack off to Othard along with the others. Anyroad... we all had linkpearls and the like, of course, and we had each other’s shells, but we fell out of touch. 

“Well, about a moon ago, I got a message from Imanie. Couldn’t make nothing out of it - bad connection, I thought. Static bursts and the lot, but I didn’t think much about it. Communications have been more difficult through anything that isn’t official army channels ever since the moon fell. But she said she was going to be in Ala Mhigo in a fortnight’s time and she wanted to meet me. I thought she was allowed leave and wanted to catch up, so of course I agreed to it.”

“I take it things did not go as planned.”

“Not so much, no.” Sewell allowed himself a quick, humorless smile, one that ended in a grimace as Aurelia pulled the bandage taut and began to roll it in place. “She looked bloody awful when I saw her. Haunted. Like she’d seen things no one ought to see. Told me she had something important she’d come across. She wasn’t making much sense, though- kept repeating the same thing over and over. Something about a flower.“

“A flower?”

“Aye. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.” His brow knitted in a deep frown. “...She kept calling whatever it was--- aye, I recall now. She kept saying ‘black rose.’ But there ain’t no such thing as a black rose, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware. One would have to engineer a flower of that color, and I doubt very much the Empire is interested in horticulture.” Aurelia's fingertips tapped against the edge of the crate in thought. “...Perhaps she was speaking in some kind of code? Some classified project or other? You said yourself she worked in research and development.”

“Maybe. Don't suppose it matters now. She wanted me to come out to the lab with her and…” Sewell hesitated. “This bit’s where everything went tits up.”

“I’m listening.”

“It wasn’t far away, the place where she was stationed. I recall thinking it strange that there wasn’t hardly anyone about when we arrived. Couldn’t be they’d all gone on leave, but Imanie didn’t want me to wait outside. Said it’d be too suspicious. So she uses her pass card to get me inside the gate and through the facility doors, and then we get to the lab. 

“Imanie says ‘wait here’ and comes back out with what looked like a tiny tomestone on a chain about her neck. She hides it under her shirt gives me that look again- the one like she’d peered into a hole and seen all the seven hells stare back- and says ‘Let’s go.’ We got as far as the gate, and there were-” 

Aurelia paused as he took a long, shaking breath. 

“There were armed men, in full battle armor, blocking the way out. They says, ‘Hand it over.’ She says ‘Hand what over?’ and they says ‘The information you stole.’ They knew she was going to take whatever it was she took-- they’d laid a trap for her. There’s no tomestone any longer because it was destroyed when they opened fire on her. Shot her down in the road like a godsdamned rabid animal. I guess as long as there wasn’t anything to take back to anyone like she wanted, her secret dyin’ with her was just fine by them too.” 

He stared into space. Grief and pain etched deep lines into his face, and though he was only a scant handful of years her senior, he appeared in that moment old and haggard. 

“Whatever it was they were doing in that place, it must have been bad. Bad.”

She could hardly belabor that, speculation or not. After all that she’d seen for herself at Castrum Novum, Aurelia had no doubt that he was right.  

“How did you escape?”

“I bolted for the gate while they were... occupied. They weren’t off their guard long; I felt a couple of shots whip right past me before I was able to get on the chocobo and get out of range.” Sewell swiped at the tears trickling down his beard-scruffed cheeks with his good hand. “I didn’t know where else to go so I made for the Twelveswood. I knew they’d kill me if they caught me, and they’d certainly kill me if I went back to Ala Mhigo.”

“They would have,” she said simply. “You were fortunate.”

“Aye… I traded the bird to one of the bandits smuggling folk across in exchange for passage. Most of ‘em were headed for Gridania but that road passes too close to the Oriens garrison, so I went with the caravan long enough to make it across before heading south. I guess I hoped maybe it would take them longer to find me than it did.”

She set down the last of her gear, dipped her soiled hands in the water to clean them, and gave him a long and steady look.

“You didn’t, by any chance,” she said, “venture near a village on your way out here, did you?”

“Don’t rightly know, my lady. I might have. Truth be told, I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going. I was just running. I kept seeing my best friend, the girl I’d known since we were children, cut down by gunblade fire. Blood everywhere. Her head--” 

The hands that lay on the bedding began to tremble. 

“...I knew I’d deserted my post and I knew the penalty, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Imanie. How she’d wanted me to live. So I ran. I knew they’d find me eventually. And on the third day out, about a sennight ago, they did.

“There’s a man in Castrum Oriens they call ‘the Crow,’ and a more ruthless scoundrel isn’t to be found in the entirety of the XIVth Legion, they say-- save, mayhap, the man to whom he answers. But he’s the one who sends out the retrieval squads. And they might fetch you back to the castrum to face a courts-martial - if you’re one of the lucky ones. They ain’t above killing their targets, as you’ve seen.”

“No. No, they’re not.”

“And they’ve more reason to see me hang than most. When they caught up with me on the other side of that creek-- I still had my lance. One of them was blocking my way out, and when he wouldn’t move, I put the business end through his chest and ran.”

“You killed a frumentarius?”  

“Not on purpose. I wager I only managed to escape because they thought I’d surrender rather than run from them. They started shooting at me once the shock passed. I thought for sure I was a dead man. One struck true, the other three went wild. It hurt like anything, but I was worried if they had even the slightest notion where I was and a good clean shot to take, that would’ve been the end of me. I managed to get across the creek and spent the rest of the night wandering through the forest. Finally stopped under a tree to catch back a second wind, and next thing I knew I was lying on a pallet inside this good lady’s root cellar. She tried her best to patch up what she could, but then the wound started going bad…”

“And so that’s where I came in.”

“Aye. ‘Tis obvious they were able to track me here.” He reached for the bowl again, fixing her with a pleading stare. “I know you’re angry, my lady, and you’ve every right to be. But you have my thanks, anyroad, for keeping me alive long enough to tell me what a coward I am.”

She stared at him for a long moment and picked up the spoon she’d slammed onto the crate. 

“Pray accept my apology for calling you a craven,” she said. “I was angry, but that was unkind of me.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.”

“I’m not anyone’s lady. My name is Aurelia - just ‘Aurelia,’ if it please you. I’ve little reason to use my family name these days and even less use for a rank or a title.”

He opened his mouth and she spooned stew into it. After a moment of chewing, he asked, “And what’s a lass like you doing in the middle of the woods patching up deserters?”

“I was but one of many who were taken prisoner at Carteneau, in the aftermath of the eikon attack.”

His eyes flared with astonishment. “You saw the moon fall?”

“I don’t recall much of it,” Aurelia lied, “but after everything that Legatus van Darnus had wrought upon this realm, the Eorzeans were out for blood. They were like to make an example of me by letting me swing from some gibbet or other, did I not acquiesce to their demands to formally defect. As part of that bargain, I relinquished my rank, and...”

“And?”

“Suffice to say my presence here is not what one would call welcome, but I certainly can no longer return to Garlemald even if I wished it. It’s not important, I suppose.” The naked sympathy in his eyes made her feel uncomfortable so she quickly changed the subject. “...What is of paramount importance is getting you back on your feet so we can get you up that ladder and out of this house before the retrieval squadron comes back. I judge you’ll be fit to travel again in a day or two, as fast as you’re mending.”

“But there’s nowhere for me to go either.”

“I know where we can start. I’ve a very clever partner, and I promise you that between the three of us we’ll come up with some sort of plan.” She patted him on the hand and lifted another spoonful of venison and gravy. “Now open up.”

~*~

Their departure from the Wolndara homestead three days later was without preamble. Rhaya’s reception remained chilly, though she was somewhat warmer towards Sewell, and she would not pass a moment in the root cellar while Aurelia was there - which was just as well, for Aurelia’s unease never once lessened each time she set foot on the ladder. She passed the time helping with makeshift repairs of the windows, and tried to let nothing of her regret show each time Vahne shot her a sad and questioning stare. 

Thus it was with surprise when, on a cool and foggy morning, Vahne led them out to the small chocobo paddock at the edge of the property. Two modestly sized sacks of goods sat at the gate, alongside a large and placid-looking bird.

“Aunt Rhaya’s payment,” she said simply, “for your aid. I’ll come with you as far as the ruins and take him back with me, but she says Master Sewell is in no condition to go so far on foot.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said. Vahne’s eyes didn’t lose their mournful cast, but now was not the time to discuss it. She adjusted the strap on her bag, and the new linen covering she’d placed over the imperial seal. “Master Sewell, you go first. I’ll ride behind.”

With some effort they were able to get him astride the bird, and Aurelia clambered up behind him with her arms about his waist. Vahne patted a handful of fluffy yellow feathers, then took the reins in hand, and the three were off.

The journey was slow and careful and tedious even on chocoback. It was late afternoon by the time they reached the ruins where Aurelia and Vahne had first met. They lay still and silent now, save for the wind rustling in ivy creepers and tall stands of belladonna, and she thought to herself how strange it was that so much seemed to have happened in such a very, very short amount of time. It had been all of a sennight since she had met Vahne Wolndara, and it felt as though it had been months. 

She sighed aloud as Vahne clicked her tongue at their mount and pulled him to a stop. The girl continued to watch with that sadness in her eyes as the pair dismounted and began to collect their things before she finally mustered the wherewithal to speak.

“Miss Aurelia?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about… what happened.” 

“So am I.”

She could tell by the uneasy way the girl kept shifting her weight from foot to foot that something else was bothering her, and it was only moments before the truth came pouring forth, like a flood gate that had been released.

“I keep asking why she’s so cross with you,” Vahne blurted out. “She won’t talk about it. She just says you’re not welcome back and that’s the end, and I shouldn’t keep asking her so many questions when there’s work to be done.” 

Aurelia said nothing. Vahne chewed on her lip, staring down at the ground before lifting her chin so that her gaze met the Garlean’s. “You aren’t going to tell me either, are you?”

“I’m afraid not, darling.”

“Why?”

“Your aunt’s disagreement with me is not something you would be able to set to rights. And-” Aurelia put her hands on those small shoulders and squeezed. “...Vahne, you are going to be grown one day. You will have to learn how to make judgments about people independent of your aunt’s opinions. This is a very large star, and there are many, many people on it. And you will meet good and bad in the course of your life.”

“I won’t meet that many. Unless I leave the forest. And… and I don’t know if that’s what I want. Not yet.”

“Of course you don’t have to leave the forest if you don’t want to do that. But I think you will be a great woman no matter what you decide to do, or where you go in life.”

Wiry little arms wrapped about her waist. She gently combed back the wild hair between the girl’s flickering ears with her fingers. 

“I don’t want you to go back,” Vahne sniffled. “I never had so much fun washing clothes.”

Aurelia laughed. “You were a very good teacher,” she said. “And I am quite certain I shall be in need of further instruction.”

“...Can I still come visit you sometimes? If that’s all right?”

“Of course, Vahne. I would be happy to have you.”

“And the villagers won’t mind?”

“Goody Miller certainly won’t. Some few might, but I think given time and familiarity they’ll come around just fine.” 

Vahne stepped back, swiping furtively at her eyes. They were still red-rimmed, but no longer wet. She took the chocobo’s reins, set one small foot in the stirrup, and leveraged her weight onto the beast’s wide back. Aurelia’s brows arched into the fabric of her head covering.

“You’re going to ride him back?”

“Why not? Old Fred knows the way back. We’ve had him forever- Master Buscarron gave him to her as thanks for being one of his road scouts a long time ago.” Vahne grinned. “Besides, I’ve been riding him about the fields since I was eight summers.”

“Fair enough. Be careful going home.”

“Be careful going back to the village. Those awful men might be out here.”

Aurelia only nodded. Vahne gathered the reins and hesitated, looking as if she meant to say something else but thought better of it. Instead she clicked her tongue twice against the roof of her mouth and dug her heels into the chocobo’s sides, and with a soft kweh the aging bird began to saunter back towards the direction of the road. She watched the pair go until they had disappeared into the trees once again, then looked at Sewell.

“Guess it’s you and me now,” he said.

“So it is. We’d best get going if we want to make it back before nightfall,” she said. “Follow me.”

~*~

“We must report. When you-”

Argas rem Canina barely heard his second’s suggestion, as all his concentration was fixed upon the sharp and sudden pains lancing from his side in hot spikes into his shoulder and hip with any sudden movement. It felt as though he’d been stabbed with a handful of darning needles.

“Shite and hellsfire!” the pilus prior swore, sputtering out the mouthful of merlot he’d just taken. It spilled down his chin and the front of his undershirt, staining the linen a deep violet-red. “Damn it, Salvitto, can’t you be a bit blimmin’ careful?” 

“Broken from the look of things, my lord,” Lavinia jen Savitto interrupted blandly, enduring her superior’s ire with the patient air of a mother bringing a stubborn toddler to heel. He groaned again when her fingers brushed over his bared side, winding a linen field bandage about his torso. 

“Salvitto--”

“I am taking as much care as I can, my lord.”

“Well, take more care. I’m not a godsdamned rack of lamb to be sold at some farmer’s market.” Her expression remained carefully neutral. Argas gave in with an exasperated sigh. “And I can’t very well lie here like a gormless lump when there’s work to be done. Can they not be set?”

“By the look of the injury, there is little to be done save wrap them and otherwise leave them to heal, my lord. I’ve alchemics that will speed the process, of course, but I must strongly advise you against strenuous activity for a sennight.” At his derisive scoff, she added: “The bones will need that much time to knit.”

He waved an impatient hand. 

“Get on with it, then.” Argas watched the medicus excuse herself before he turned his scowl upon his second. “And what has Lord Fabian to say?”

“He asks that you contact him with your report.”

“What report? There’s nothing yet to report.”

"Nothing at all," Phoebus said drily, “save the entire operation was undone by two women and a jar of antelope piss, you're injured, Caelius quo Merula's got an arrow in his gut, and Blackthorne was most likely able to escape with-”

“I am doing my bloody best,” Argas snarled, “to capture a criminal while deep in enemy territory with minimal resources. If you or his lordship believe you can do better, then I invite you to try.” 

Something ugly flashed through Phoebus pyr Cinna’s eyes - the belly of a trout surfacing for just the barest second - before it was submerged once again beneath a layer of ice. “Be that as it may, the tribunus militum is still expecting a report, and we must needs have one ready for his review. You know how he is when he receives bad news.”

Argas set the cup on the side table with a clumsy clatter and dragged himself upright despite the pain it caused him.

Wheezing, he spat out, “The transceiver is in my belt pouch.”

“My lord?”

“Bring it here. I might as well get this done and over with.”

“Of course.”

Despite his air of annoyed impatience, he knew the queasy and unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach was due to anxiety, not pain or irritation. He stared down at the module Phoebus had deposited in his hand, then snapped, “Go and close the door behind you. Let Salvitto know I am meeting with Lord Fabian first.”

His second snapped a perfunctory salute and quit the small room. Argas watched him go, eyes narrowed. There were words he needed to have with Cinna- but that could come later. Girding himself with what courage he could find, he thumbed the switch that would patch him through directly to Fabian rem Corbinus’ personal line.

Five minutes, a burst of static, and an indeterminable number of dial tones later, a gruff voice crackled across the transceiver.

“Who is this?”

“Argas rem Canina, my lord.”

“Mm.” A pause. “I see you’ve received my message.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cinna tells me your team discovered the whereabouts of the traitor Sewell oen Blackthorne. By chance were you able to capture him alive?”

He hesitated.

“Well?”

“No, my lord. There were... unforeseen complications and oen Blackthorne is still at large.” At the lack of response, he continued, “We tracked him to the location of a safe house not far from the town of Quarrymill, but we were met with resistance and I and one of the others were injured. As we realized that we faced an unknown number of enemies and had no reinforcements with which to subdue them, it was my opinion that we stood to lose additional personnel-”

“Then you retreated.”

“… Yes, my lord.”

“You had all the resources that you requested, including two tracking experts at your disposal, and you could not capture one criminal. One unarmed savage.”

He swallowed and wiped his sweating palms on the coverlet.

"With all due respect, my lord, you don't understand. This circumstance is extraordinary; we did not expect to fi-"

"Methinks it is you who lacks understanding. I have no interest in excuses ." The tribunus militum’s barked words, as biting as they were precise, halted Argas mid-sentence. "You have been tasked with retrieving the blackguard by any means necessary. Pray tend to those orders with due diligence, lest I am given further cause to reconsider the calibre of those under my command."

"Requesting permission to speak, my lord," he began.

"Permission granted."

"We have good reason to believe the local population within this region of the Black Shroud has granted succor to at least one other defector. A Garlean woman." Once again there was no response forthcoming, although he knew the man was listening behind the small bursts of static that marked aetheric interference. "My lord, the Empire cannot be thought to fear a handful of unarmed savages living amongst the trees. There are consequences for harboring imperial fugitives in defiance of the law, but without tangible support, we cannot-"

"Yes, yes, I’m aware. You needn't quote the officers' handbook at me, pilus.”

“Yes, my lord. I apologize.” 

“On the other hand, I suppose it would be rather unseemly of us to leave this woman you mention to run about the Shroud unchecked.” Fabian rem Corbinus sighed. “Very well. You have authorization to request what additional resources and personnel you may need, and further to take whatever measures you deem necessary for her arrest. I will draft the paperwork so that the praefectus at Oriens knows all is in order-"

"Thank you, my lord."

" -but do not forget that the primary objective is to neutralize Blackthorne. If you find the woman, take her into custody by all means, but I want his head, Canina.”

“Yes, my lord. I won't forget-” 

"It will be your head if you fail,” the tribunus militum interrupted, the words flat and matter-of-fact. “Do I make myself clear?"

Argas rem Canina swallowed with a soft but audible click in his throat. "As glass, my lord," he said.

"Excellent. I’m so glad we understand each other. Feel free to return to the castrum for your reinforcements.”

“You have my thanks, my lord,” Argas said, relieved--but that relief was short-lived: 

“As you are injured, Phoebus pyr Cinna as your second has my express authorization to obtain information upon the deserters’ whereabouts in your stead until your recovery is deemed complete."

His stomach clenched unpleasantly. “My lord, I don’t think that--”

“Are you questioning my orders, Canina?”

“...Not at all, my lord, of course not-”

“Good. I expect a timely postmortem report.”

Before Argas could protest further, the connection had lapsed into hollow static.

Chapter Text

Nightfall was approaching and that meant it was time to set aside the day’s work.

Frieda Miller set aside her knitting needles and sighed, flexing her cramped hands before rubbing absently at the swell of her growing belly. She had hoped that the Hearer might countermand some of Aurelia’s orders, only to discover much to her chagrin that the old man’s advice was even more stringent. As tempted as she was to simply disregard it - she had four children, after all! - she wearied of lectures. If it put the conjurers at peace and left her the management of her home at least, she supposed she could play along until the babe was born.

But Frieda wasn’t one to simply sit about waiting for something to happen, and in the meantime, there were some things she could do even from early confinement. 

The rickety whirr of the spinning-wheel made her smile. She pushed herself carefully upright, stretching her stiff back as best she was able. 

“Bran,” she said, “you can stop for today, there’s a good lad.”

Her second-youngest looked at her with wide eyes. He was a solemn and softspoken boy, bless him, more like Rauffe than any of their other sons--more prone to thoughtfulness than his brothers by far and strangely conscientious for a child of but six summers. Hearer Ewain had once said that he had an old soul, and she believed it without any shadow of a doubt.

“Is it time for dinner, Mama? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, love. Your Da will be back soon enough to take the pies from the oven as he promised. Why don’t you go wash up and see if he’s coming down the lane?”

She smiled as she watched him go. Aye, she thought, a good dutiful lad.

The sounds of water splashing into the basin by the door filled Frieda’s ears while she busied herself with examining the cloth and yarn spools Bran had worked according to her instructions. His first few attempts had been as disastrous as she had expected, but he was patient and stubborn in equal measure and by all appearances, he seemed to be taking her lessons to heart. She was pleased to see that the spool of hempen yarn he’d completed looked fit for use. He’d make a good weaver, if that were of interest to him.

“Mama,” Bran called.

“Yes, my love?”

“Miss Aurelia is at the door.”

Frieda paused. “She’s come back? Did she bring that little girl with her?”

“No, Mama. There’s a man with her. Can I let them in?”

“Of course, darling.”

Frieda had expected to see Sergeant Epocan shadowing the novice conjurer’s heels -- despite her vehement denial that there was anything between them, she suspected that if Aurelia Laskaris gave the poor man half a reason to think he had a chance he’d take it in a heartbeat -- so she was very surprised to see instead a tall, dark Highlander ducking into her doorway. The man looked pale and exhausted and his right arm was immobilized in a sling.

“Well, come in, Aurelia! You know you’re always welcome here. Though I hope you didn’t come by to check on me before you did anything else. The sergeant says you’ve been out in the field on business for the Conjurers’ Guild.”

“Yes. Frieda, I’m so sorry to impose. I know it’s late-”

She grinned. “All you’ve interrupted is my boredom, love. Who’s your handsome friend?” 

“This is Sewell, a patient. I’ve been treating him for the past sennight. He’s a refugee from Ala Mhigo and he’s got nowhere to go, not even any clothes.” Aurelia hesitated. “I need to confer with Sergeant Epocan, but in the meantime, I was wondering if you knew anyone with a spare bed that might be able to take him in? It would only be a temporary measure, of course- no more than a sennight at most.”

“...In the village? Probably no one. But since it's you doing the asking, I could find room.”

A mixture of surprise and distress flared her eyes wide. “What? Oh no, Frieda, I couldn’t possibly ask you to-”

“To what? Do a small favor for my favorite conjurer?” At Aurelia’s helpless stare, she smiled. “I see he’s only one good arm at the minute, but he’s got two good feet and I can use them. What do you say, Master Sewell? I’ll have my husband lay a pallet here in the common room and you can help me with my weaving until Conjurer Aurelia and her friend can figure out something a bit more permanent. If you’re willing to have a woman and a little boy as your taskmasters, that is.”

“Ma’am,” Sewell said, dipping his chin. “I’m not looking to impose. If it’s too much-”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m bound to my bed until this little one decides to arrive and there’s work still to be done, so extra help will be welcome in any way I can get it. Pull out those pies I’ve got in the oven before they burn and you can have one.” She squinted critically at what remained of his linen undershirt, tattered and stained with sweat. “And we’ll see about replacing that rag you’re wearing while we’re at it.”

“Ma’am,” he protested, “there’s no need for that-”

“Hells, not another one! Don’t you start with that bleedin’ nonsense,” Frieda scoffed. There was a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye as she added, “Mistress Laskaris always says she ‘can’t possibly accept’ this or that and I make her accept it anyroad. You might as well save your breath.”

Aurelia hid her smile behind one raised hand.

“Mama, do we get a guest for dinner?” Bran piped up. 

Frieda beamed at her son, her mood as sunny as Aurelia had ever seen it. “We do, darling! Master Sewell will be helping us with the weaving for a few days. Could you put an extra chair at the table for him and go wake up your brother?”

She exhaled with relief as the little boy all but bounced away, smile stretching her lips so wide it almost hurt. In her near-sennight of navigating Rhaya Wolndara’s reserved civility (and later the woman’s icy fury), she’d half-forgotten the cheerfully loud and rambunctious chatter of the Miller household-- never mind that of its benevolent mistress. The village’s master weaver, for all that she had her faults, had proven a true friend.

“Thank you so much, Frieda,” she said. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s naught to repay. None of that.” The older woman’s wave was dismissive. “Now go find the Sergeant. He’s been moping all over the place with you gone, so I hear.”

==

Keveh’to almost thought he was seeing things. 

Wailer Lieutenant Aubaints had been less than impressed when he had reported nearly two bells late back from the Druthers, and after dressing him down for making a drunken disgrace of himself he’d been posted to back to back wall duty shifts the last three nights. Thus it took him long moments to react at the sight of a familiar crown of kerchief-bound golden hair, even as the Garlean looked at him with a tired, rueful half-smile that didn’t meet her eyes. He bent nearly in half to look down from the lip of the stone and mortar scarp, blinked furiously, and squinted again.

“They’ve put you to the grindstone, I see,” Aurelia called, hands braced upon slim hips. 

Keveh’to barked out a sharp laugh, his lips stretching in a grin. He vaulted his way off the top of the wall on his way down to meet her, heedless of the startled exclamations from the two villagers already on their way up to relieve him. 

“You’ve come back!”

“Of course I did. It was so dreadfully boring without you that I couldn’t bear it.”

“Boring without me there for you to bully, you mean,” he said. Aurelia scoffed, but despite her smile he could see something worrisome lurking in her dark blue eyes. There was nothing of that sunny brightness in their depths, and his own grin faded to see it. “I’ve a lead on that scuffle near the village a fortnight ago. Seems there was a witness after all.”

“Oh?”

“You’re never going to believe who it is.” He hesitated. “Can we get somewhere quiet? Where we won’t be overheard?”

Aurelia eyed him. 

“I’ve someone you need to meet, at that,” she said. “At the Millers’ place - but as it’s something I don’t know that I want the village to hear either, the creek will be as good a place as any.”

They made their way back towards Ewain’s cottage in an unhurried quiet. Most of the villagers had retired for the evening to their stew pots and their beds, but some few milled about the main thoroughfare yet, and a few even lifted their hands in a wave of recognition. It struck her then, how much friendlier everyone in Willowsbend had become - even towards Keveh’to - and how it had taken a sennight away from the town to see the change at all.

The creek burbled softly within its banks as he opened the low-slung gate for her and followed behind, and with a sigh, she dropped onto the cool grass.

“What a bloody week,” she muttered.

“That doesn’t half describe it. Do you want to go first or should I?”

“By all means.”

Keveh’to nodded and dropped to the grass at her side. The tip of his tail twitched next to her hand, but he was staring into the growing darkness of the forest on the far side of the creek.

“The witness is Noline,” he said suddenly. 

Aurelia gaped at him, jaw slack. “What- wait. What? Noline Brassard? The laundress who’s engaged to Trevantioux and has moved their wedding date back three times? That Noline?”

“The very same.”

“Does that mean that Trevantioux- ”

“No, I don’t think he’s a witness.” Keveh’to grimaced. “...I was in the Druthers, asking around to see if anyone might have seen imperials in the area. The Redbelly Wasps have a couple of henchmen with lovers in this village, as it turns out. But unless the Hearer’s assistant is leading a very colorful double life, I think it far more likely that his fiancee has been seeing a bandit behind his back.”

“Hells below.” She let out a long sigh. “I never thought I would ever say this about him of all people, but poor sod.”

“Now you see why I didn’t want to tell you. At any rate, I’m trying to think of a way to question her about that night in the-”

“I don’t know that it’ll be necessary. I said I have someone with me you need to meet, right?” Aurelia grinned at him, a hard and mirthless thing. “He told me what happened. The whole thing. That Ixal scout may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time-- it seems there was a unit of imperial soldiers that came through here chasing a deserter. One who somehow ended up in the care of two Miqo’te, one of whom was in the Amdapori ruins trying to gather healing herbs when she accidentally drew the ire of a forest guardian.”

“Thal’s balls, are you having me on?”

The corners of her lips remained drawn and tight. “Did I mention that I ran afoul of them myself? They came to the girl’s house looking for him.”

“They didn’t- I mean are you-”

“I’m fine! Obviously we drove them away, else I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now. As it happens, I found a novel use for one of the most disgusting leatherworking reagents you can imagine.” She tore a handful of grass from the dirt and sifted it between her fingers. “They’ll all have to withdraw to their castrum or else stink like an overfilled field privy for the next fortnight; ‘tis only what they deserve.”

“So that’s why you came back? Where is he now?”

“At the Millers’. Frieda took him in- you know how she is.”

“He can’t stay here. It’ll put the entire village in danger.”

“I know. We’ve got to get him moving again. If there were a larger settlement where he could claim sanctuary, they wouldn’t dare come after him. I thought about Gridania, but the elementals are too likely to refuse him a-”

“What about the Twin Adder!”

“What about it?”

“If he’s got fighting experience, he can join a Grand Company. We’re short on people in all the rebuilding efforts even with the prisoner labor. I can put in a good word for him and let my superiors know he may have current information about the Garleans’ movements. Did he tell you why he ran?”

“He was about to end up with classified information, I gather, but the whistleblower who meant to give it to him died before that happened and the evidence was destroyed. He fled into the wood and killed one of his pursuers while trying to get away.”

“...and that’s where the casings in that clearing came from.” 

“I imagine so. My guess is that he’ll never be left alone. He killed an officer, so they’ll either shoot him on sight or make an example of him with a tight noose.”

“Well, he’ll be safe with the Adder,” Keveh’to said firmly. “Let me get in touch with my captain and have him go up the chain of command. These things have to be authorized- but I’ll wager it won’t take more than a day or two for that to happen. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime?”

His smile was as rueful as hers. “Speaking of Noline,” he said, “her gifting is at the end of the week and the entire village is invited. There’s a party we’ll be asked to help prepare- the Hearer will bless their upcoming union and request the well wishes of the forest, and then there’s a feast and gifts for the betrothed to start their new lives. As Ewain’s apprentice, it’s most likely you’ll be expected to attend.”

“Are you mad? We can’t just let them go ahead with this if she’s-”

“Yes, we can.” At her incredulous stare, he frowned. “...Don’t look at me like that. You know full well it’s not our place to say anything to Trevantioux about his personal life.”

“I would want to know if my future wife had lovers behind my back!”

“And he will find out, I’m sure, but until he does we keep our mouths shut,” Keveh’to snapped. “Seven hells, Aurelia, you’re not the saviour of the godsdamned realm! You can’t just walk in and turn everyone’s lives upside down. We are outsiders here. If Trevantioux asks I’ll be more than glad to tell him, but neither of us were supposed to have been involved enough to come by this information in the first damned place!”

“If he finds out--”

“Tell me: if you were still at home and you knew the Emperor was being unfaithful to his wife, would you let her know?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, but that’s not the same at all!”

“It is exactly the same.” Unexpectedly, he took her hand and squeezed. “Please, Aurelia. Let’s not stir any more pots than we must. We’ll get your deserter to safety and let the Grand Company deal with any imperial incursions, but this- I’m not in the business of sticking my nose in other people’s bedrooms.”

“I think it’s a mistake not to say anything,” she said. “But I don’t suppose there’s a good way to tell him.”

“Don’t worry yourself about Treventioux, all right? He’s a pompous fool, but he’s one just clever enough to know when it benefits him to be used.”

She sighed, feeling the rough warmth of his hand withdraw.

“I hope you’re right.”

~*~

It had been a near sennight since Miss Aurelia and Master Sewell had left, leaving Vahne and her aunt alone once again. And in that space of time, it had taken precisely a day and a half of relative solitude for Vahne Wolndara to decide she hated it. 

She was dreadfully bored. 

Not only was Vahne bored, which at the tender age of not-quite-fourteen summers was quite nearly the worst thing she felt one could possibly be, she was furious with her Aunt Rhaya for sending away the first real friend she had ever made on her own. Her chores were quiet, the cabin was quiet (save for the crackling of the wax paper at night when the wind blew in from the north), dinner was quiet, everything was quiet. 

She hated being quiet. But she wasn’t going to give her aunt the satisfaction of breaking her silence saying thus, and so it went: a cold and stifling impasse that went on and on, and Vahne was determined that she would not be the one to blink first.

On the evening of the fourth day, over an uncomfortable and - of course - silent dinner, Rhaya finally set her fork on her plate.

“Vahne,” she said, “I am not going to ask you again. Eat your mashed popotoes.”

Vahne gave a noncommittal grunt but did not answer.

“If you want to keep throwing a tantrum over a matter that doesn’t concern you that’s your choice, but you should know that woman was not who she told us she was.” When Vahne still didn’t speak, Rhaya sighed. “That’s the way of life, you know. People will find ways to disappoint you when you blindly trust them. You’ll learn when you’re old enough--”

Vahne glared at her.

“You never wanted to trust her in the first place,” she accused, cheeks flushing as her brow knitted in a scowl. “You never trust anyone .”

Rhaya’s eyes narrowed. “Miss, you are walking a thin line.”

“Don’t ‘miss’ me! You know it’s true! You didn’t like her from the start. Just because she’s an outsider--”

“She’s not just an outsider!”

“You never trust me with anything!” Vahne exploded. Her eyes burned with angry tears and she hated herself for it, for wanting to cry like she would have when she was much younger. “I can’t even have any friends because you won’t let me. You always want to act like I’m a baby who doesn’t know any better. Well, I’m not!”

Rhaya slammed her folk on the table with a loud clatter that startled her ward into silence.

“I have sacrificed more than you will ever know,” she said, in a low, tight voice. “I don’t have friends either, Vahne! Do you know why? It's because I’ve spent the last eight summers raising you and keeping this roof over our heads!”

“Fine! If you hate having me here so much, then I’ll leave,” Vahne shouted. “That way you won’t have to worry about me ever again!”

“Go seek your bed,” her aunt hissed. “You are banished from the table for the rest of the night.”

Vahne shoved her chair back from the table so violently that it fell over when she stood and stormed down the short hallway. There was the sound of a slamming door, then silence reigned once more. Rhaya ran her fingers through her hair, then buried her face in her hands. 

I made the right choice, she told herself again, angrily. I know I did.

Her only answer was the night wind, crackling the wax paper she’d put up in the emptied panes with each self-sustained gust. 

Hells with it. She’d speak with the girl once the washing was done.

With a grunt she stood and began to clear dishes from the table to the scullery tub, knowing the sound would be audible throughout the cabin. The sounds of running water filled the space, and in due time she began to busy herself with the soothing repetition of washing and drying. Quite often, Vahne’s way of trying to make peace after one of their arguments was to venture back out - against Rhaya’s instructions - and help her with some chore or other. It didn’t always work, especially if her niece was upset enough to make a point of avoiding her, but it was reliable enough that she thought it worth the attempt. 

The crackling rustle that came from outside some few minutes later brought her idle scrubbing to an abrupt halt. Rhaya went very still, her ears swiveling back and forth, flickering as she listened for the sound again, and felt a chill creep slowly down her spine. Her great-grandmother had built this cabin, had fought literally tooth and nail to keep the lands around it against repeated incursion by Gridanians, by poachers and bandits and birdmen, and Rhaya had kept the land as her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had, fought for it as they had-

-and she had never, until now, felt uneasiness at the knowledge that she was alone. Ever since those godsdamned imperials had arrived a sennight ago for the man who'd been lying in his sickbed, hidden in her root cellar-- and now she was going to have to see to the source of that noise just to give herself some peace of mind.

She exhaled loudly, feeling angry all over again.

Her bow and quiver were not close enough to reach but that didn’t mean she was entirely unarmed. Rhaya hung the dishrag with great care over the lip of her scullery, reached for one of the knives slotted neatly near her cutting boards, and slipped on quiet feet into the common room, tucking it as best she could in her right hand. Save a single light in the window, the room lay semi-dark and silent.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Nothing at all-

-save the creak of an errant floorboard.

She froze mid-step, tail lashing in agitation.

“...Vahne?” she ventured. It was possible the girl had decided to come in the room and sulk where she could be seen-- not likely, but possible. But there was no response. 

Rhaya’s grip, clammy with cold sweat, shifted on the grip of the knife. She reached for the door, threw the bolt, and opened it the barest crack.

The loud and familiar yowl she heard from the field made her sigh, her shoulders sagging as the tension flowed out of them and her incipient fear turned to a flood of relief and disgust. Twelve’s sake, she thought, it was just one of Vahne’s barn cats. Hunting mice in the wheat sheaves, no doubt.

“Go find your dinner, Shadow,” she muttered, moving to shut the door---

---and a large hand clad in a scarlet-trimmed black gauntlet thrust into the space between the door and its frame.

A gasp rattled from her throat as fingers curled about the edge of the door and slammed it open, then hoisted her into the air by the front of her dalmatica. Rhaya retaliated in the next instant, lashing out with the knife she still held securely in her grip. She heard a deep voice cry out, cursing as the blade slid through carbonweave and into flesh, but her assailant didn’t drop her so she sawed into the offending limb again. This time he made a sound much like the cat had: a high and piercing yowl. Hot, liquid crimson ran in rivulets from his sleeve and soaked into her shirt and down her bare forearm.

“One of you help me get this bleedin’ door down!” the man screamed. "Take her down!"

The Miqo’te’s foot shot out sideways, lodging herself in the door frame so that there was no possibility of entry, withdrew the blade, and prepared to slide it just beneath his armpit. One deep stab in the right place would pierce the lung--

A metal-clad foot connected with her knee in a heavy, brutal kick.

The pop and wet snap of the joint and bone as both collapsed beneath that force reached Rhaya’s ears even as she screamed, a combination of agony and rage. In her thrashing in the man’s grip, her fingers - already soaked in her first attacker’s blood - slipped from the wooden handle. Her only weapon hit the floor with a loud rattle. 

As the big man fell back clutching at his arm and swearing, his accomplice dragged her out the front door. Her leg felt as though someone had dipped it in molten pig iron: nothing but white-hot burning from her hip to her toes. She scrabbled desperately against the man’s grip, trying in vain to free herself. The foot on her unhurt leg kicked wildly, aiming for where she thought his ankle might be, but the impact of a wooden patten had no effect on the armor that protected it.

Yet another voice shouted something that she didn’t catch - some order or other. Her stomach gave an unpleasant twist of dread as three, four more black-and-scarlet clad soldiers skittered into the house like shadow-clad insects. Twelve, how many did they bring with them...?

Alarm, tinged with horror,

(!!!!! oh gods no Vahne---)

flashed through her mind like the fin of a trout breaking water. 

Someone waved, shouting in heavily accented Common: “No use, my lord. They’ve already cleared out. We even checked in the root cellar. It’s empty.”

She heard the frustrated growl moments before the imperial soldier clamped his arm about her throat. 

“Where are they,” his guttural voice snarled in her ear. It sounded strange -- faraway, thin, and shallow, as though someone were speaking through a can. 

Rhaya Wolndara let out a strangled sob and did not reply, renewing her struggle. Her blood-soaked fingers were too slick to give any purchase, and her nails began to warp and bend beneath the unyielding outline of the decorative brass gilt. It shone with a dull light from the waxing moon, the light blotted in places where blood had stained the chasing.

Her captor shook her so violently she could hear the chatter of her own teeth.

“Blackthorne and the Garlean woman,” he repeated, slow and icy and deliberate. Her cheek met cold steel and tempered glass. “I know you know where they’ve gone. Where are they?”

“Go to the seven hells,” she bit out, gagging and coughing. His free hand closed about her blood-soaked arm. Pinching metal and a heavy grip wound about her wrist. 

“You should know that your deserter friend made a most excellent point,” he said blandly. “And if you won’t tell me what I want to hear--”

Rhaya yanked her hand towards the weakest part of his grip with all her might, but that resistance only made him bear down. Steel edges dug into the meat of her palm and she froze, heartbeat racing in the tips of her ears, flattened against her head and flickering with every burst of speech and static from that faceless helm.

“--I think you shall see that I find myself quite willing to take her advice until you do.”

All it took was one single, violent twist. The sound of breaking bone was consumed in her agonized shriek, flung into the night wind like a wolf’s howl. 

“Reduced to the beast you are in truth, and so quickly. What a pity- yet I doubt that will be sufficient.” Unable to speak, the huntress writhed when the Garlean’s inexorable grip tightened, sobbing and still kicking in an attempt to free herself. Still squeezing, he twisted her hurt arm behind her back and up.

“Mm. Another, then?”

She felt her fourth digit pinched between the Garlean’s thumb and forefinger like a rabbit caught in a trapper’s wire.

“Perhaps I should have my subordinates flush out the child. Surely that would make you pliable.” 

Rhaya near felt the blood curdle in her veins; so frightened was she by the prospect of this man getting his hands on Vahne that her struggles stilled for a brief moment. 

“Tell me where they are.”

“Leave her alone! She’s only a--” 

He bent and twisted and the bone snapped like a twig beneath his fingers. Rhaya’s answering scream came at a pitch and a volume so piercing it could have shattered crystal, her one good foot kicking wildly. 

“Madam, these people are criminals. Why are you protecting them?” 

“I told you I don’t know where they went! They left nigh on a sennight past. That’s all the information I have, now leave the girl be!”

The Garlean had moved to her ring finger, grasping it by the joint. Her eyes had gone the size of saucers, watching him do it. She knew what was coming, and she had already begun to tremble violently in the vise of his arm. Her pattens rattled against the steel plate of his armor.

“You are bringing all of this pain on yourself, savage,” he hissed in her ear. ”Now tell me. Where. They have gone. Otherwise, I promise this will go very, very badly. For both of you.”

“No no no no please by the Twelve I swear I don’t know, I don’t know,” the pain had reduced her to a shrieking mantra, she could feel him twisting, pulling, the joint grinding and displacing and she no longer cared for her pride, sobbing under the weight of the pain and in horrible anticipation, “I don’t know I don’t know I don’t bloody know oh gods please don’t--”

“Lord Cinna!” someone shouted. “Over there! Ten o’clock!”

Her eyes tracked the sharp snap of her captor’s chin and caught the flash of a white linen shirt: A small and spindly figure on swift feet, sprinting away from the house. Streaking into the fields and toward the deep forest beyond, with the single-minded determination of a barn cat in sight of its prey. Her tormentor released her, his attention successfully diverted. 

Rhaya Wolndara fell to the hard-packed earth, curled about her hurts and coughing from a bruised throat as she took small sips of air. Her chin swiveled in the direction she’d last seen her young niece. Shadowed and helmed figures in black and scarlet reared upwards from their hiding places in the fields, like fell and ancient ghosts baying upon the heels of a soul marked for their ferry-boats.

Voice hoarse from her own screams, she cried out, the sound of it thin and cracked:

“Vahne, run!!!”

~*~

The moment she heard running water, Vahne had known her aunt was clearing the dishes.

Aunt Rhaya hadn’t wanted children, but she’d got one, and she’d tried to raise her sister’s only child as she’d been raised. One of Vahne’s first memories was trying to show off to her aunt how fast she could run from the front of the cabin to the end of the fields. She had instead tripped and fallen in the dirt and skinned her knees and cried. Instead of noticing her swiftness, her aunt had yelled at her for ruining her pinafore.

That was the first time she had shut herself in her room and refused to come out. Until she heard the sound of water in her aunt’s scullery and the clink of dishes, and had felt guilty, and had crept out to join her with a washcloth. They hadn’t spoken, just washed, and by the time the chore was done together she had felt calm enough to forgive her aunt for yelling. Thus it had gone, in the years since. 

Cleaning the dishes was always Aunt Rhaya’s roundabout way of asking Vahne for a truce. Or it had been, in the past. But this time Vahne’s anger kept her firmly attached to her bed. She sat stoic and still upon the mattress, fingers digging into the coverlet as she heard the clatter of dishes, willing herself not to go. Aunt Rhaya was wrong, and Vahne didn’t want to mend things with her. Not right now. Once, she thought angrily, just once, her aunt could come to her, instead.

That was when she realized the clatter had gone silent and the water stilled, far too soon. She frowned, ears flickering with curiosity even as she stubbornly kept her attention on her book of adventure stories. I’m not going in there, she thought. I’m not telling her I’m sorry because I’m not. 

I’m not sorry for what I said. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

The creak of the front door.

I’m not--

A man’s shout, the sounds of a scuffle, and a high-pitched scream of pain in what was unmistakably her aunt’s voice-- followed by the sound of footsteps clattering over the deck and spilling into the common room. 

Her heart started to pound and fear clenched her stomach. 

Someone was in the house. A lot of someones. And by the sound of things, it was unlikely that her aunt had even expected them, let alone invited them inside.

Rhaya had raised her alone, amidst the constant threat of someone or other attempting to take the land for themselves. Some were friendly enough, all things considered, though Vahne had suspected as she grew older and saw and understood more that her aunt was likely paying a portion of their goods to some of the stronger gangs for the promise that they would leave the homestead alone. 

But her aunt wasn’t stupid. She knew better than to trust bandits and poachers, especially after what had happened to her younger sister. When Vahne was seven summers, Aunt Rhaya had taken her aside to give her strict instructions.

If anyone ever comes inside the house and I didn’t invite them, she remembered the long-ago lessons, you know what to do. You get in a hiding place and stay still and quiet until I come and get you myself---and if you think I can’t keep them from finding you, you get out through a window and go find help. Do you understand?

Yes, Aunt Rhaya.

Someone shouted from the front of the cabin. They’d found the root cellar--

--and someone was heading down the narrow hallway. Her heart took a terrifying leap into her mouth. There wasn’t anywhere to hide in her room, nowhere that would keep her from being found. Vahne jumped onto her mattress and her hand flew to the window latch. 

She only had a few moments, she thought, fiddling frantically at the small mechanism.

“Hallway clear,” a voice called, in a funny accent she didn’t recognize. “Checking the back. Anything down in that root cellar you found?”

“Nothing,” someone else shouted back. “Once you’ve checked that room go report to Lord Cinna. He’ll get the woman to talk one way or another.”

“Understood.” 

There was a creak as the doorknob began to turn.

The latch gave under her fingers and the window slid open, blessedly silent. Vahne planted her foot on the sill and wriggled through the small opening, her tail lashing to ensure that she kept her balance, and jumped down from the sill into the hard-packed dirt. 

A small shock of pain lanced through her ankles at the landing, but no one was waiting outside to grab her. She didn’t waste any time in hiding, immediately darting behind the nearby midden and trying to ignore the smell of it. One tense moment passed, then two, but there was no shout to raise the alarum. Her escape had - thus far - gone unnoticed.

Screams and frantic pleas drifted into her ears and fear ran icy fingertips down her spine. Vahne had never heard her confident, self-sufficient aunt sound like that before. Ever. 

She crouched all but paralyzed behind the pile, her mind racing as she tried to decide what to do. She couldn’t stay here all night, she knew. They’d find her eventually- and it sounded like they were about to do something really bad to her aunt. Even if Vahne was still mad at her, she couldn’t bear the thought of her hurt or… or worse. 

Like Mum had… like what had happened to Mum. She had to do something.

Go find help, her memory echoed. Do you understand? Go find help.

“Miss Aurelia,” she whispered.

Aunt Rhaya! Look at me! Let me show you how fast I can run! Are you watching?

Soil kicked up from her heels as she darted across the yard from the compost pile and into the endless waves of wheat. She heard angry shouts from the strange people in their strange clothes, the sounds of the crickets and the birds, the distant rumble of thunder--

--and above it all, her aunt’s cry,

“Vahne, run!!”

She didn’t dare look back. She sprinted between the gaps in the rows and tore a path through the wheat as if the hounds of death themselves snapped at her heels, straight into the waiting and depthless black arms of the wood. Willowsbend. She had to get to Willowsbend, as fast as she could. She had to find Miss Aurelia.

She had to save her aunt.

==

Argas rem Canina exhaled as they watched the small figure flit past them into the forest, her simple white shirt fluttering like the wings of a water bird. The first leg of the plan had been successful. Time to open the link and relay orders. 

He pressed the switch next to the helm speaker.

“Operation Gold Finch has commenced,” he said. “Bird-watchers: you are to track the target to her eventual destination and confirm the presence of one or both deserters. Follow at a safe distance and do not attempt to apprehend or engage. I repeat, do not apprehend or engage. ” 

“And the prisoner?” Phoebus pyr Cinna asked. There was an icy note in his voice, one that hadn't abated since they'd set out on this raid, and with a frown Argas made a silent note to document and discuss the man's attitude with Lord Fabian very frankly once all was said and done. It wouldn't do to allow insubordination, subtle or not.

“Bring her. Let’s keep all of our cards ready to play if need be - we may need her for leverage.”

Static crackled over his helm's internal speakers with the man's sigh. “If I may remind you, 'twas your request that we be granted the freedom to levy harsher penalties against these savages. Whatever else she was, the woman was harboring-”

“Did I say we wouldn’t make an example of her, Cinna? Burn the house,” he said flatly. “And the fields. Leave a cleanup detail to make sure the fire remains controlled and does not spread to the surrounding forest. For the moment, I think that will suffice.”

“Understood.”

"Understood, what, pyr Cinna?"

"...My lord."

Satisfied that the reminder had been made, Argas told himself these measures were necessary even as another part of him recoiled at their cruelty. The woman had brought it on herself. She and her deserter associates had had their chance to cooperate, and instead had caused him injury and nearly killed one of his subordinates. Such defiance was unseemly and not to be countenanced- and she was quite fortunate he had been inclined towards mercy. He knew plenty of others who would simply have hanged her from the nearest tree they could find.

The imperial presence in these wild lands might be a sleeping tiger, but it was still a tiger. It still had its fangs and its claws, and it would bare them both when necessity required it to do so.

Phoebus pyr Cinna does work quite fast, he thought. I must grant him that much. Very efficient. A repugnant man, really, but very efficient.  

Fabian rem Corbinus clearly liked him, a great deal more than Argas himself. Small wonder he now stood in jeopardy of losing his command of the mission.

Within moments he watched threads of flame and smoke commence their ascent towards the cloak of the night sky. 

He toggled the switch on his helm and tugged on his medicus’ arm. Lavinia jen Salvitto stood, helping him to his feet, and the pair made their way towards the wide dirt path to wait on the optio and his prisoner as the fields, too, began to burn.

Chapter Text

Aurelia had to admit that despite her misgivings, Noline looked radiant. 

The Elezen wore a simple blue dress and a crown of baby’s breath, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers as she stood upon the dais with her hands clasped in those of her betrothed. There was nothing of her perfidy in the softness of her smile, but Trevantioux wore his heart in his eyes as surely as he wore a floral wreath of his own. It was difficult to stomach, in truth, and she was glad that no one would care to see her disapproval of the proceedings. Aurelia knew what it was like to have a marriage arranged, to be promised to another out of convenience rather than love, and even though she didn’t like the other conjurer she could not help but pity him.

She stood at a respectful distance behind Ewain as he spoke the traditional betrothal vows that would bind them together in the eyes of the Matron, Nophica. She wore a long and simple robe and leggings and pattens just as Ewain did, the elm-wood crook strapped to her back a real weapon meant only for show.

Aurelia did not care to admit how long she had stared into his mirror, adjusting the flower wreath she wore upon her head for countless turns: careful to ensure it covered her fringe in such a way that seeing beneath it would be impossible. The sting of Rhaya’s scorn lingered still, silent thorns to prick at her conscience-- and what else could she do? She had not a doubt in her mind that most if not all of Willowsbend would react just as poorly to the sight of her third eye. No, she decided. Best not to take the chance for now. 

Resolute in her desire not to allow her melancholy to ruin the evening, she turned her attention back to the rumble of the old man’s voice and the soft murmurs of the gathered villagers. With a certain fondness, she recalled the one spring festival she’d been able to sneak away to experience with Sazha. She had worn red and yellow gerbera daisies in her hair like a crown of scarlet and gold, and he had drunkenly told her she looked like a princess (only to claim he had forgotten the entire thing the next morning). 

Life had seemed… simpler, then. Perhaps only in the sense that her responsibilities were fewer and loss did not sit so heavy upon her shoulders as it did now, but she missed those days. She missed her childhood friend- though her memories of him, she realized, were beginning to fade and turn sepia-toned- and L’haiya, and Father- and strangely enough, she missed her mother. She’d been gone for long years, of course, but it felt like just another reminder of a home she could no longer claim. 

Hells, I am certainly in a mood this evening.

On impulse she’d taken her mother’s memento mori from her belongings to wear tonight. It lay tucked securely beneath her robes, a pendant to hold the last vestige of connection. A press of her fingernail and the locket would open to reveal the portrait on the one side, and the small pressed flower and small curl of faded red hair on the other - her mother’s hair - bound with a small and faded organdy ribbon. 

She’d made Sazha promise to give it back to her when the time was right, and so he had- though it had not happened in the way either of them would have liked.

We were children, she thought. I was foolish and so was he, but we were children. 

Now she was older, presumably wiser, and infinitely sadder. But if she had gained nothing else from this--

“And by Her grace, and the power entrusted unto Her servant’s poor hands,” Ewain called, “do I join these souls. May no force tear asunder what the Twelve have seen fit to unite.”

A cheer went up from the assembly, and Aurelia compelled herself to smile and clap. Her borrowed cane sat heavy on her shoulders, heavier than the pendant about her neck. It wasn’t right, none of it felt right, but Keveh’to was also correct -- wasn’t he?

“Or hunger!” called the aging father of the bride, scratching idly at his beard. “Let’s eat!”

The applause turned to laughter and the crowd began to disperse, slowly and casually - some for the table and trenchers, others to find friends as the few who could play music found their seats. Twin notes of lyre and flute drifted upon the air alongside the scents of shared bounty, and the firefly motes of torchlight cast a soft glow upon the proceedings. 

Keveh’to raised a good point -- she’d not seen smiles on most of these faces in all the months she had been posted to Willowsbend. There was a certain sense of catharsis in the air, a sort of relief. An acknowledgment that they had all stood in the shadow of a great tragedy holding their breath in the hope it might pass them by and in a sense, it had. Many people had died, many towns had been destroyed, but this remote little place had kept its feet and its inhabitants had remained steady in the face of floods and cold and heat and everything in between. 

Perhaps it was as much a celebration of their own perseverance as anything else. In that sense, she supposed, she could take a softer stance.

~*~

“Wait up, Hugh!” Cecilie complained.

Hugh Miller barely paid notice. He’d sat still through the entire ceremony (which he personally thought was boring and pointless) and now it was time to turn his attention to the feast table.

“Last one to the table gets all the mustard eggs,” he said, a golden-crusted pie already halfway to his mouth. Cecilie’s nose wrinkled.

“This isn’t an excuse to eat, you know."

“Tha’s where you’re wrong,” Hugh said around a mouthful of venison and leek, “i’s no’ juth a’ ethcuth to ea’--”

His best friend rolled her eyes.

“At least leave some for the rest of us,” she grumbled, reaching for a plate. Hugh had already piled on two more of his mother’s pies, three of Goody Ackerman’s custard tarts, a huge pile of mashed popotoes, and enough gravy to drown the village. “Where’s the rest of your family, anyway?” 

“Mum’s home and in bed and she’s got Bran with her.” He took a bite out of a honey muffin, swallowed, and made a vague motion with one hand. “Clive’s around… somewhere. Probably with Da and Geoffrey, talking to Master Trevantioux.”

“About what?”

“Who cares?” Hugh heaped another plate full of tarts, ignoring Cecilie’s disapproving stare. 

“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you when you’ve got a sour stomach,” she began, but turned when she caught sight of a familiar face. “...I thought you said Bran was at home with your mother?”

"Of course he is. Mum didn't want him to-" He blinked. His younger brother was running towards them, waving his skinny arms. “Bran, what’s wrong?”

“Mum needs Miss Aurelia-”

Hugh's eyes scanned the crowd until he saw a familiar crown of golden hair. Mistress Laskaris wasn’t difficult to spot; at just under six fulms she was quite comfortably the tallest Hyur woman in the village, and she was standing next to her Keeper friend, chatting and smiling along with all the other grownups. He pointed.

"She’s over there. What’s wrong?”

But the boy was already off again without a second glance. The pair stared after him as he wove his way into the crowd.

“Should we go after him?” Cecilie asked.

At length, he shook his head.

“We’ve also got Mum’s guest at the house to keep an eye on her,” he said. “Like as not she’s about to have her baby, but even if she is there’s no point in going home."

"What- why?"

"We’d just be told to get out, anyroad. That’s what the Hearer did when Bran and Geoff came. If something's happened, I'm sure Miss Aurelia or Hearer Ewain or even Master Trevantioux will have it all in hand, and they'll tell the rest of us in due time- but knowing Bran, it could just be something else entirely.”

"You aren't worried in the slightest?"

"Course I am. But what good's it going to do Mum to worry after her, if it's a problem no one save the conjurers can help?"

She looked doubtful. Hugh was already balancing the plates in his hands again.

“Come on,” he said, though his grin didn't touch the spark of concern in his eyes. “Time to go back to the barracks like proper Wailers, and feast! ”

~*~

Vahne’s chest heaved with her ragged breaths as she stumbled onward through the damp and green-smelling darkness of the forest. She had stopped at dawn to rest and take water, had managed perhaps three bells of broken sleep before forcing herself to continue on. Once or twice she thought she had heard footsteps at her back, but when she had turned to call out to them there had been no one and nothing, and she had forced herself to press on. 

She kept hearing the sound of her aunt’s screams and the scrape of metal against the wooden floor. Meaning to do Twelve only knew what to Vahne herself, if they caught her. 

Enough of that! Aunt Rhaya is depending on me. I’ll save her. I have to.

It was nearing dusk when she heard the sound of rushing water. Heedless of any bridges she crossed the creek, splashing through the little currents and the cold water, and dragged herself up to the low-slung gate. She remembered it from the day the little boy had taken her to his home. She’d been crying then too, but she was far too consumed with worry over her aunt to be disgusted with herself. 

Her hand hesitated upon the element-worn wood, then reached over the side and pulled the latch open to let herself through--- and she stopped as soon as she had got to the other side. Torches lined the main thoroughfare, casting a soft and warm glow upon the white stone of the wall, and the flowers and ivy rustled in a cool, lazy breeze. The entire village seemed to be out in the streets, milling about and talking and laughing softly. 

She stood in front of the gate drenched and filthy, her shirt stained with mud and her hair a ruined tangle of leaves and branches and her hands scraped from multiple falls and her eyes deep-set and red from crying. No one seemed to have noticed her.

Vahne swallowed and tried to wipe her sore and muddy hands on her stained shirt, feeling small and frightened. The air was awash with the sounds of idle chatter and soft laughter, and everywhere she looked she saw smiling faces-- but not the one she was looking for. 

Miss Aurelia, the panicked yammer in her head cried. Find Miss Aurelia!

But where was she supposed to look? It was full dark out and with only the wall torches to light the way. Between the gathering at the big feast table and the dais with its hempen canopy, few of them seemed to notice how out of place she was. There were a few other children in the crowd, laughing and yelling and weaving their way in and out of the tables and people while they played some game or other. Vahne fancied herself rather too old for such games, but it kept her passing more or less unnoticed.

She was beginning to despair when she sighted the lazy swish of a fawn-colored tail. Her ears twitched, swiveling forward, as she remembered her friend’s words.

If you can’t find me, look for my companion. He’ll be easy to spot, being as he’s the only Keeper in the village.

Vahne lunged forward and grabbed the Miqo'te's tunic. When he didn’t turn around, she grabbed him by the hand, and a pair of startled grey eyes perhaps a hue or two darker than hers flickered downward. For a terrifying moment, she couldn’t remember his name before memory supplied it.

“Keveh’to,” she gasped. “You’re Keveh’to, right?”

He blinked, slowly. His cheeks were flushed and he had the vague wheat-and-bitter smell about his breath.

“You-”

“Miss Aurelia,” she said, not giving him time to puzzle out who she was. “Where’s Miss Aurelia? I need to talk to her. Do you know where she is?”

“I’m sure she’s about somewhere. Might be at the Millers’ place.” Keveh’to squinted at her. “...Wait, what’re you doing here? Aren’t you that girl from out in the woods? The one with-”

Thoroughly out of patience, Vahne swatted at his hand with her fingernails, hard enough to break skin.

He yelped, flinching back and cradling it protectively, staring at her as though she were some feral beast. “Hey, what was that-”

She scowled back, muddy and wet, tear tracks still on her cheeks, and stamped her foot.

“You’re in your cups,” she said, her voice so sharp and accusatory as to have made her Aunt Rhaya proud had she been there to hear it. “I don’t have time to make you believe me. My Aunt Rhaya’s been kidnapped by those men in red and black, and-”

Miss Aurelia’s Keeper friend seemed to forget all about his hand, appearing in that moment quite sober indeed. His ears flattened and he grasped her by the shoulders.

“Say that again.”

“I said my aunt’s been kidnapped. Miss Aurelia was there, she’ll-”

“Don’t stop to talk to or look at anyone else,” he said grimly, taking her by the wrist and pulling her through the crowd. “We’re going to go find her right now.”

~*~

“Salvitto.” 

“My lord?”

Unable to take a more active role in the mission, Argas rem Canina crouched alongside his medic in an overgrown stand of sumac with the small transceiver module pressed to one ear. The leaves rustled one against the other in a soft and soporific susurrus. Were it not for the night’s grim goal it might otherwise seem tranquil. 

He bit back a cough, grimacing at the ache he still felt. “Would you happen to have a willowbark tincture on hand?”

Lavinia jen Salvitto reached into the heavy black field kit on her shoulder and fumbled through its contents with her penlight until she found the small cork-stoppered brown bottle. 

“Permission to speak, my lord.”

“Granted.”

“You should have stayed behind at Oriens when we returned. You are still too injured to fight and it will make you a liability if something goes awry.”

“Nevertheless, I am here.”

Her expression one of open disapproval, she passed the bottle without another word.

“My thanks. Salvitto, do you ever-” Argus popped the cork, tilted his head back, and emptied the contents into his mouth with a grimace. “ ...Hells , that’s vile. Do you ever wonder what leads them to do it?”

“Do what, my lord?”

His gaze turned to the night sky, visible in small patches under the forest canopy. She looked up alongside him, one ear tuned to the soft conversation and static, to behold a sea of black, pinpointed with a spray of diamonds. 

“Deserters,” he passed back the empty bottle. “I was wondering why they do what they do. Some are rank opportunists, I don’t doubt that for a moment, but-”

“Who can say why criminals do anything, my lord?”

“Surely they aren’t all of a criminal bent.”

“My lord-”

“I only wonder at their reasons, that’s all. Something must make them decide the risk is worth it.” He shrugged, somewhat uneasily, the gesture barely discernible beneath the bulk of his armor. “It seems so mad to me.”

“Careful that pyr Cinna doesn’t hear you,” Lavinia said wryly. “He’d relay it back to Lord Fabian, and that sort of talk will get you transferred from your office to a gaol cell.”

His laugh was soft and expansive. 

“Perhaps. ‘Tis just a passing thought.”

“Might I ask what brought this about, my lord?”

His gaze traveled to their prisoner, lying fettered and unconscious at the medicus’ far side, and even in the pallid illumination of the full moon she saw something like guilt flicker behind his eyes.

“All of this,” he said. “I’m tracking down Blackthorne because he slew one of our people, but his motives for any of it are a mystery. Not to mention the other one.”

She looked at him, surprised. 

“You weren’t told why he ran?”

“We were briefed only upon what was relevant to the mission.” Slowly he shook his head side to side, the outline of his helm glinting its reflection this way and that. “This woman was sheltering them, but… I have to wonder if she knew any more than we did.”

Rustling of leaves preceded a small, cracked moan.

“Is she awake?”

Lavinia pried one of the prisoner’s eyelids open with one thumb and squinted. The pupil contracted at the sudden influx of light, but she did not stir. “No, my lord.”

“Good. That will make this easier-”

The speaker crackled. “The bird has entered the settlement,” a brisk voice said. “Awaiting orders.”

Argas rem Canina felt an unbidden chill rolling from his spine to his fingertips, a moment’s alarmed misgiving, and shook it off.

“There we are,” he said. “Let’s hope we can retrieve them and be done quickly. If-”

The sound of a gunblade hammer drawn into its firing position stilled the words on his lips.

~*~

“I’m telling you, Aurelia,” her patient said, wincing, “you’ve gone and worried yourself for no reason whatsoever. ‘Tis but practice pains. I had them with the other four too.”

“Aye, well, the ‘practice’ is happening too frequently just now for my liking.” Frieda flopped back onto her pillows with a loud and irritated sigh, one the conjurer resolutely ignored. “You’re fortunate that Sewell and Bran were here. Now lie back and try to relax.”

“Bloody easy for you to say.” Frieda released a long and self-pitying sigh, one that was decidedly petulant. “The first proper celebration the village has had in over a year and I’m stuck in bed!”

“I’ll have one of the boys bring you a plate from the feast, but you’re not moving.”

“Oh, fine. Can you at least describe Noline’s dress to me? Did she wear the blue cotton? I made it for her when Trevantioux first asked for her hand, you know.”

“I mark you changing the subject. If you had half-”

A fist pounded on the door. 

“Aurelia!” It was Keveh’to. “Are you in there? Is your patient with you?”

She stood from Frieda’s bedside. “Don’t you move from that bed. If you need something then Sewell or one of the boys can fetch it for you when they come back from their errand.”

Instructions given, she picked herself up from the stool she’d dragged from the common room, smoothed out her robe, and made her way towards the front of the house - where she nearly tripped over her own feet in astonishment. Keveh’to was standing by the door waiting, and the small figure with him-

“Miss Aurelia,” the girl gasped, stumbling forward on legs that trembled so violently it was a shock they could still bear her weight. Aurelia’s eyes flared in alarm, taking in her wild and disheveled state. 

“Hells below, Vahne, what’s happened?!”   

She knelt at the girl’s feet and lifted a corner of her robe to clean her cheeks, but found herself rebuffed when Vahne caught her hand and busied herself with picking leaves out of the girl’s tangled locks instead.

“Those men in black and red that came to the house before.” The hands in her hair had stilled, but Vahne didn’t seem to notice as she tried to scrub at her face. “They came back. And there were more this time, lots more. They took Aunt Rhaya--”

Keveh’to hissed a breath through his teeth. His partner glanced up at him, then cast her attention back to the girl. 

“They burned our house down,” she whispered, and Aurelia enfolded her in her arms and pressed her cheek against the crown of that small head. 

“Vahne. Can you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Wash your face and hands, and go keep Goody Miller company until I get back. She’ll not be half glad to see you again. If you’re hungry I reckon she’ll tell you to help yourself to one of her pies. She’s made enough to feed all of Eorzea.”

Vahne nodded. Once she had washed herself and disappeared into the back, Keveh’to turned his attention to Aurelia, his jaw grimly set. 

“Where is Master Sewell? Do you know?”

“I sent him with the boys to put out another round of Frieda’s pies while I examined her.” She stood abruptly; the motion knocked the garland in her hair slightly askew. “We need to find him right away. I don’t doubt that Vahne was followed.”

“I’m on it.”

“Keveh’to, make sure you don’t say anything to her about--” 

“Sewell oen Blackthorne!” a voice bellowed from without, bellicose and heavily tinged with the accent of the capitol to Aurelia’s ears. “You’ve nowhere left to run!”

Upon the heels of that challenge came the scuffle of running footsteps and the sharp report of a gunblade bullet. 

The chatter and laughter outside turned into frightened screams. A thunderous crash all but shook the house’s foundations, followed by the unmistakable crack of shattered earthenware, and a glance between one of the half-opened shutters revealed that the revelers had knocked over the tables and their contents in an attempt to flee. 

Another series of shots, screams, and then silence.

“They must have come in the way she did,” Keveh’to hissed. “Stay here. I’ll--”

Aurelia’s eyes squeezed shut, then slowly opened again.

“No,” she said.

“If they see you--”

“It’s far too late to worry about that.” Her words seemed to come from somewhere very far away as if someone else were speaking them. They sounded very calm. “They’ve come here for me, after all, so I’ll deal with them.”

“By yourself? There must be at least half a dozen men out there!”

“Keveh’to! I am not asking for your permission. Now listen to me: I need you to grab whoever you can that knows how to wield a weapon. Wailers, militiamen, anyone . Take the door through the privy-- that big side panel’s come loose and I don’t think Rauffe has fixed it yet. You’re small enough to slide through without attracting too much attention.”

“Aurelia-”

“Go! If you find Master Blackthorne, tell him to remain out of sight.” She was already slipping her pattens on. “I’ll keep them entertained long enough for you to muster the village, and then I'm going into the woods to look for Rhaya. My guess is they'll be holding her prisoner, somewhere close by.” 

His last sight of her as he made his way down the hall was, as ever, the proud cast of those straight, slim shoulders as her hands gripped Ewain’s old cane.

~*~

Phoebus pyr Cinna scowled as he looked over the small throng of villagers. Most of them cowered around and under the overturned table, surrounded by bland-faced carbonweave-clad men and women with weapons drawn, intending to deny them any hope of escape. The settlement’s defenses were laughable, relying in part upon the natural barrier formed by the creek and its embankment. That would have been all well and fine for them, had the fools not been too concerned with making merry to hear the sounds of the cohort coming across the water.

He would have preferred better conditions; the relative darkness made identifying Blackthorne or the female deserter by sight a difficult prospect, but that was all right--they still had control over the situation. Some few had fled the scene upon their arrival, but Phoebus was confident they couldn’t have gone far.

“Sabinus,” he barked. “Falco.” Two of the soldiers glanced at each other before leaving their positions to approach at his gesture. “Take three or four others -- I don’t care whom you choose -- and start investigating these shacks. Drag every man, woman, and child out of those holes and see that you deal quickly and harshly with any that resist. I want these villains found .” 

“Do we bring them to you, my lord?”

“Yes. Mind you, we take the woman alive-- Lord Corbinus’ orders.” We’ll see what a stay in a castrum brig and a fortnight of Frumentarium interrogation does for her ladyship’s haughty airs. “If you catch sight of our primary target, bring him to me. Should he offer any resistance, kill him and anyone who aids him.”

“Yes, my lord!”

He watched the two men scurry away to collect their fellows, satisfied with his initiative. The Crow would be well-informed in the postmortem brief as to which one of them had done all of the real work, the real bloodletting, and Phoebus was confident he would be rewarded for it.

Torchlight gleamed like cleansing fire upon the surface of his helm, and beneath it, Phoebus pyr Cinna smiled.

~*~

The small space in the lean-to behind the guard station was close and stifling, even for a gaggle of seven children, and Hugh Miller was spending most of his energy trying to keep his younger brothers quiet. Bran - ever softspoken and stoic - was doing well enough but Geoffrey was only four summers, not a year out of diapers, and the strident, loud shouting and the screams and sobs of the adults had left him in a panic.

“I want my mama,” he wailed, clinging to the skirts of Hugh’s best friend Cecilie, whom he’d managed to grab in the ruckus. She ran her fingers through the little boy’s thick red curls. “I want to go home!”

“Hush, Geoff,” she whispered. “We mustn’t make any noise.”

“Who are those men?” came Amicia’s voice, thin and frightened. “Where did they come from? How did they get past the watch?”

“They’re Garleans,” Enguerrand whispered.

“What? All the way out here?”

“That yelling man - the one giving orders - was in one of those suits of armor from Da’s pictures. And that weapon they use. That sword thing with the musket on it.” His voice trembled. “It’s war, isn’t it? The Garleans are invading the Twelveswood, aren’t they? First it’ll be us, then the Druthers, then Quarrymill--”

“Oh, hush,” Cecilie snapped. “You’re scaring the little ones! Do you want those men to find us here?”

“But-”

“And why in the name of the Twelve would the Garlean Empire start an invasion of Eorzea with a place like Willowsbend anyway? We aren't half important enough for-”

The scrape of a footstep froze them all in place, gasping and close to panic. Enguerrand fell silent and Hugh looked slowly from one sibling to the other, then to the door beyond. None of them spoke.

There was a soft rap of knuckles against the wood.

“Cecilie?” called a familiar voice. “Hugh?”

Despite her show of annoyed bravado, Cecilie’s shoulders sagged in relief. 

“Sergeant Epocan,” she whispered back, ignoring the furious gestures to keep quiet. “We’re stuck in here. There’s Garleans everywhere- ”

“I know. Keep your voices down, but have any of you seen any of the watch? Or the Wailers?”

“We haven’t seen Da since all this started.”

“I see.” There was a pause from the other side of the door, then a sigh. “I need extra hands to help muster anyone in the village who can fight, but without the Wailers it’s going to-”

Hugh stepped forward. His heart was pounding, but he held his chin proudly high. 

“No need to worry,” he said. “I’ll go. Why should we be afraid of a few stray Garleans? They don’t even have any machina with them.”

“Hugh, this isn’t a game-”

“I know,” he said. “But I can help, I swear it. I brought my slingshot with me. And there’s some… other things in our stash here. I know how to take someone’s weapon too if it comes to that.”

“If Hugh’s going,” Amicia said suddenly, her lower lip sticking out, “then so am I.”

“And so am I,” Larkin piped up. 

“And me, of course,” Cecilie said calmly. Enguerrand stared at them, then at his sister, and slowly shook his head.

“Cecilie, no. As your older brother-”

“-you have no authority over me.” She looked at her best friend and a wide, devious grin stretched her lips. “The intrepid captain of the Wood Wailers can’t very go into danger without his lieutenant at his side. Right?”

“You’re all mad,” he said, but Hugh was already shoving the door open, beaming at her. She turned towards the older Elezen and nudged Bran and Geoffrey toward him.

“You’re strong and clever enough to keep them safe,” Cecilie said. “Get them home as quick as you can. Goody Miller will be frantic.”

“Cecilie--!”

She shut the door behind her without looking back. 

Sergeant Epocan was waiting, staring at the small group of village children doubtfully, but at length he said, “Exactly how well do the lot of you know the village?”

“Like the backs of our hands,” Hugh said, and the other three nodded. 

“Good.” The Miqo’te’s sharp canines flashed in the dim light. “Now, I can't have you along with me, you understand. Your parents would have my tail if I made you fight, so I’ll not be asking you to do what the adults should be doing. Get yourselves home, and don’t confront them directly, it’s too dangerous."

"But Sergeant, you just said-"

"Aye, get on home. It would be a terrible shame were you lot to find a way to make a bit of mischief on your way back...”

The four children looked at each other and exchanged grins that were positively feral.

"What's a bit of harmless mischief if it drives away the Garleans? I was going to show off my spells at the end of the night," Cecilie said, nudging her best friend in the side, "but mayhap I should do it now. For our new guests, you know."

"A capital idea, Lieutenant Aubaints," Hugh said. "Sergeant Epocan, I think it best that you go round up the others. My elite unit here will give the imperials a, um, display of our finest orders!"

"Ordnance," he corrected.

"Aye, that's what I said! Ordnance."

Not willing to gainsay him nor look this sudden boon askance, Keveh'to allowed himself a small grin in response. "As you wish- but mind you be careful, Captain Miller."

"And you also, Sergeant. Don't go getting yourself killed tonight." Hugh held out a clenched fist to bump. "Now. Let's be about it, Wailers!"

~*~

Aurelia’s heart thumped in her chest as she stepped out of the door and latched it shut behind her. She hadn’t been noticed yet; the Miller cabin was close to the festivities but not so close that it was easy to see comings and goings in such poor light.

Before, she had been driven by adrenaline and anger. She was no less angry now, but an awful realization crept its cold fingers up her arms and neck and back down her spine: 

These were her countrymen. 

She didn’t want to think of her people like this or see them in this light, even knowing the truth. But their actions laid it bare before her and yet again, Aurelia knew she could not simply look away and refuse to see as she had done so many times up until Carteneau. These men were brutal and sadistic and saw everyone here as less than the dirt under their feet, and they would kill them to get to her if they had to.

Because she had raised her hand against them and that was---

That was imperial justice.

That was the way of it. This brutality was the expected result, handed out freely to any who defied the Empire, including its own.

And just what did you think was going to happen, girl? a part of her sneered. Did you think you were going to be able to just sit and watch from the sidelines indefinitely? Assuage your tattered conscience by waggling your fingers over a few sick refugees? 

A shuddering sigh escaped her lips. She wiped her sweating hands on the robe. Beneath the fabric she felt the full weight of the memento mori against her chest and about her neck, like a lodestone.

You were going to have to pick a side eventually. So, now that time has come. You can run away and let this village burn or you can confirm you are an enemy of the Empire. The choice is yours but make a choice. You can’t hide from the world forever.

She could not deny the blood in her veins any more than she could deny her own name, but--

My blood is not what makes me. 

“Wait!” she shouted. 

Heads from beneath the table tilted upwards, and the faces of the soldiers guarding them turned in her direction. 

No matter where I go--

Aurelia heard her pulse throbbing in her ears. She slid her fingers under her fringe and lifted, exposing her brow. The half-coronal curve of her third eye caught the flickering firelight and refracted it back, like a precious jewel.

--I shall still, as ever, remain myself. Neither the Empire nor Eorzea will ever define who I am.

“You have what you want,” she said. “Let these people go. Your quarrel is with me.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the villagers, like a small wave of water lapping upon rock. She couldn’t look at them. She didn’t dare. 

“Take her,” a voice barked. Thin and reedy, meaning whomever their commanding officer was, he wore a helm with a built-in speaker. They had come prepared for resistance. 

One hand fell on her shoulder. She turned towards the man and gently pushed him back, her fingers brushing the length of his carbonweave jacket as she freed herself, then looked over his shoulder at the officer in charge.

“That will not be necessary, my lord. I’ll come to you.”

Footsteps crunched in the dirt and gravel of the road at her back as she made her slow and stately way forward, back perfectly straight, stride graceful and defiant, chin held aloft. She hadn't felt this way since she had been twenty summers old and in the season between terms, forced to attend various balls and teas and soirees at her family's behest. Perhaps from the outside, her demeanor was a show of pride and elegance, but in truth it was nothing more than a lingering artifact of a temporarily embarrassed debutante's old charm lessons. Lessons she had taken to appease Marcella het Laskaris, as the woman threw suitor after suitor at her niece in the vain hopes of a betrothal.

At least they’d been good for something, Aurelia thought. She felt the absurd urge to laugh.

They were fanning out around her, closing in, attempting to keep her from running. She came to a stop only ilms away from the tall Garlean officer, flexed her fingers from their hidden positions deep in her voluminous sleeves, and craned her neck up at him.

“Well,” she said, “and now you have me. Let them go.”

A short, harsh laugh rasped through the speaker. This was not the man whose ribs she had broken, she knew that much. Too tall and by the sound of him, too young.

“You are in a position unsuitable to make demands.” Steel-clad fingers grasped her chin and pulled up until she was looking into a blank and featureless plate of frosted and tempered glass. “Tell me your name.”

Her response was cool and steady.

"Aurelia Laskaris," she said. "I formerly served under Legatus Nael van Darnus in the VIIth Legion's medical corps. Currently, I am a novitiate of the Gridanian Conjurers' Guild. These people have nothing to do with your goals; your quarrel is with me and the man you seek."

"Then you know oen Blackthorne. Where is he?"

“I think you shall have ample time to interrogate me in a holding cell once we reach Castrum Oriens, my lord.”

His grasp tightened painfully and Aurelia fought to keep herself from flinching as cold metal dug into the softness of her skin. “Who were you, in Garlemald?” 

“No one of importance.” It was the truth, though she doubted he would believe it. 

“I know highborn airs when I see them, my lady. Surely you were not some rank and file legionarius.”

“I’m afraid you shall be quite disappointed, my lord. I was merely a field medic, one of many,” Aurelia denied with a small shrug. “When I say I was no one of importance, I meant it.”

That steel grip relaxed at her words and she saw in his body language alone that he believed her words. Ah. Of course. The so-called gentler sex, came the sardonic thought. For all that women were allowed to join the imperial army, Garlean men had certain attitudes with which Aurelia was all too familiar. He sees me and thinks 'she is only a woman, after all.'

“A medicus.” 

“A chirurgeon, yes. You see-”

Midsentence, Aurelia let loose the blast of concentrated water aether she had concealed in her left hand. Cursing in surprised anger, the Garlean stumbled backward with its force, ankles so mired by the perceived heaviness of sediment and undercurrent that he could not easily move.

While he was distracted her right index finger snapped through the tab on the flash grenade she’d stolen from his subordinate’s belt. The pin slid smoothly out, dangling from her knuckle. She tossed it to the ground from within her sleeve and shielded her eyes as the world went white.

What happened next, however, took even Aurelia entirely by surprise.

“Now!” a boy’s voice shouted at her back, and a volley of pebbles crashed into pot helms and carbonweave jackets. The assembled soldiers flinched, raising hands and weapons and shields to protect their faces, their original objective all but forgotten. Aurelia gaped in astonishment, finally able to make out the familiar face directing slingshot fire atop the eastern wall. 

“Hugh Miller?!” 

“Cecilie!” he yelled as if she hadn’t spoken. “Cast Fire!”

The face of a pretty Elezen girl popped into sight alongside that of Goody Miller’s second son, grinning a feral grin and brandishing a loaded slingshot with--

“Seven hells!” Aurelia cursed, rolling to one side. The spinning firecracker missed her entirely as it screeched through the air and caught one of the soldiers full in the face. He yowled in shock and pain, dropping to the ground and clutching his face, his weapon hitting the ground with a clatter.

Do I even want to know how they got their hands on firecrackers--

Now was not the time to consider it. She regained her feet, reaching for the cane strapped to her back, and wind aether blasted from her fingers to buffet one of the nearby soldiers. 

Cacophony ensued. 

As if on cue, the villagers, sensing that the pendulum of control had swung back in the other direction, lost their fear. They rose up as one, a growling mob-creature, the imperials the target of their ire. Bullets whined through the air, drilling into wood and ricocheting off eaves, and there was a scream as half the crowd tried to flee and the other half threw itself at the assembled soldiers with a collective shout. 

Another firecracker whizzed overhead.

“Run, Miss Aurelia!” Hugh shouted, his grin ear-to-ear in a face flushed with excitement. “Plenty more where that came from! The village won’t let them catch you, so run! ”

She didn't need to be told twice. She ran for the gate.

~*~

“Report,” Phoebus spat, crouched behind what was left of the smoking pavilion, as one of the deployed cohort came for him, ducking and weaving around flying stones and spitting firecrackers. “Have you lost your hearing along with the rest of your senses? I said,  report.”

“Yes, my lord. Er, the riot-”

“I’m not interested in the savages! I can see well enough what they’re about.” Beneath the pot helm, the legionnaire’s lips twisted and his posture wilted. “I sent you to flush out Blackthorne. Has he been found?”

“...My lord, let me-”

“Well?” his commander pressed.

“I- no, my lord. That is,” he amended with haste at the guttural growl that snarled from the helm’s speaker, “we’ve been searching the houses. He’s nowhere to be found. There’s a couple we’ve not checked yet but with this business happening we can’t-”

In the barest breath of that moment, the optio lifted his gunblade and fired before his subordinate could finish his report. The man’s body shuddered with the impact, crumpling into the dust, the fixed look in his eyes as the life left them one of incredulity. The two subalterns who had sheltered with him alongside stared aghast at the dead man, then at each other.

Phoebus pyr Cinna sheathed the gunblade.

“Excuses of any sort,” he said coolly, “will no longer be tolerated as of this moment. Nor will incompetence. We came here for a purpose and we are to fulfill that purpose and see the mission completed. Am I clear?”

“Yes-” one of them stuttered at an elbow in the side from his fellow, “yes, my lord. Understood.”

A flutter of movement near the village’s periphery- a white robe, a flash of gold in firelight, slipping through the creek gate-- what was left of it; the wood hung in splinters from its hinges, cast aside by the retrieval squad like a broken toy-- and into the black wall of the forest beyond. The woman. 

His teeth bared.

Blackthorne was here somewhere, he knew. Hiding his cowardly face amidst this rabble, assuming he hadn’t instigated this peasants’ revolt at the behest of this Aurelia Laskaris whom - it was clear now, in his mind - was his accomplice. By His Radiance, he’d have at least one of them brought before him to face justice. 

Before the night was out, both Blackthorne and Laskaris would die. It was a matter of 'when,' not 'if.'

He'd catch them even if he had to burn the Shroud down around their ears to do it, and the Crow might be displeased at the loss of the woman, but surely it would be a fit of passing anger at best. As Argas rem Canina's plan had failed spectacularly, I discovered that I must needs see to matters myself, he rehearsed his postmortem report in silence. The woman killed him in the midst of the fighting and I was forced to put her down for the danger she posed to the rest of us. I had no choice, you see. 

Yes. That would do nicely.

“Both of you,” he said, “gather any others you can, and follow me.”

“My lord? What of the deserter? I thought-”

“Yes, yes. I think those engaged here can handle a few peasants in due time." He felt his lips curl into a cruel smile, one they could not see but could hear in his voice. "I've taken a notion, you might say.”

~*~ 

Her feet splashed through the creek, slipping on mud and wet rocks as she entered the forest. Darkness swallowed the path, obscured her sight, half-blinded as it still was from the flash grenade and the lights from the village perimeter. She cast her gaze this way and that, trying to--

There was a sound. The crack of a footstep.

She dropped into a crouch, in a stand of old-growth elderberry. The sound was gone now; she heard nothing save the rustling of leaves in a faint breeze--then after a moment, a soft murmur. One low, one high. Slipping on slow and quiet feet from tree to tree, hiding in the long shadows beneath the canopy, there was only the sound of crickets. 

Until there were voices. Ilsabardian voices.

And the strident and angry voice of Sewell Blackthorne.

"Keep your filthy hands," it snarled, "where I can see them."

Chapter Text

Once again someone was knocking on the Millers’ privy door. 

Vahne’s fingers tightened about the larger hand that she held, but the returned squeeze from the woman in the bed didn’t bring her much in the way of comfort. Her sense of unease increased with each sound Goody Miller made, pained or not. It was so hard to sit still and wait. She kept hearing the sounds of her aunt’s screams in her ears. 

And those sounds outside. Screaming. Running footsteps-- 

Her stomach twisted with alarm and guilt in equal measure. The sour and unpleasant taste rising in the back of her mouth was so sharp and overwhelming that for a moment she feared she might retch across the coverlet. They only came here because I did, she thought. The whole village is in danger because of me.

The lady of the house, her brow glowing with sweat, pushed herself upright and reached for her bedrobe. “By the Twelve,” she groaned, “what is happening out there? What’s all the bleeding racket-”

“I’ll go see who it is,” Vahne said quickly, standing up and reaching for the water pitcher. “Maybe they have news.” 

“Chance’d be a fine thing.” Flushed and sweaty, discomfort carving lines of pain into her face, the weaver nonetheless gave her a kind smile and patted her hand. “Thank you, dear. You’re a good girl.”

The front room of the Millers’ cabin felt ominously quiet, made more so for the chaos that reigned without its walls. The wood stove made a low and steady ticking as it cooled just like her aunt’s, its final batch of pies delivered to the feasting tables a good half-bell past. She slipped past the tables of drying grass and the still-warm hearthstones towards the side entrance that opened between the stables and the privy.

What if it’s those soldiers? Her thoughts spun on an unstable axis. What if they’re just waiting for someone to let them in?

An old floorboard, loose and warped with age, creaked beneath her weight. Vahne froze in place, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, her tail lashing violently and her ears flattened against her head.

“Missus Miller? Is that you, ma’am?” 

It was a boy’s voice, she realized, exhaling. There hadn’t been any boys with those soldiers. She crept closer to the wall that braced the privy entrance. 

“Hello?” Another rap. “Anyone there?”

“She’s abed,” Vahne said as loud as she dared. “Who are you?”

“I’m Enguerrand Aubaints. Who are you? ”

“I’m Miss Aurelia’s assistant,” she retorted, the lift of her chin defiant (although she knew the newcomer could not see it). “State your business.”

“Oh, for... listen, I’ve been trying to open the privy door to get in but it’s locked and I have children with me. Now will you please let us in?”

She half-fancied that it had all been a ruse and the moment she threw the bolt, the door would fly open as it had at her aunt’s cabin, and hard-faced soldiers would swarm the entrance like termites- but the voice on the other side of the door was only a boy after all: an Elezen somewhat close to her own age. Two young Hyuran boys hugged his legs, and Vahne recognized them as the children who had stared so curiously at her the first time she had come to Willowsbend. 

"Took you long enough,” the boy - Enguerrand - grumbled. One sweaty lock of brown hair tumbled into his eyes as he shut the door at their backs (and reset the latch, much to Vahne’s unspoken relief). “Is Mistress Laskaris here?” 

“Miss Aurelia and the Sergeant both went outside right after all that noise started. What’s happening out there?”

“Garleans,” Enguerrand shook his head, a solemn cast to his dark eyes. “They came in the middle of the feast. I didn’t catch all of it but it sounds like they’re looking for someone.”

“Goody Miller needs a healer. I hope Miss Aurelia comes back soon.”

“From the sound of things I don’t think she’ll be back for some time,” he said. “You should fetch the Hearer. Or Master Trevantioux.”

“I would," Vahne retorted, "if I knew what either of them looked like. Why don’t you go?”

“Because someone’s got to watch these two, and besides, babies are girls’ wo-… um. I mean.” He faltered at the sight of her icy glare, and she could see clearly the wheels turning behind his eyes as he struggled to walk back his words. “...That is, I mean… I’m not… I’m not a conjurer b-but they could help, easy.”

She glanced first at the curtained window, then down the short hallway and the closed door at its end before she released a resigned sigh. “What do they look like?"

"Huh?"

"What do they look like," she repeated, her voice loud and slow. "Your conjurers."

"Oh. Um... the Hearer is old and Master Trevantioux isn't. They're both in long robes and big gray pointed hats. And they have walking sticks."

Vahne was no less worried or frightened than she had been before, but now she had come to a decision, and she felt all the better for sensing it to be the right one. She sat down on a nearby stool and began to wriggle her sore feet back into her weathered pattens.

“If Goody Miller asks after me, tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can. And make sure to lock the door behind me.”

“You're going out there now?”

“Well, when am I supposed to go?” Vahne huffed, exasperated. “Do you think they’re going to put down their weapons and say ‘oh pardon us, we didn’t know your friend’s mum was having a baby, we’ll come back and burn down your village at a better time’?”

“What? I’m not saying don’t go, I’m just saying that it’s not-”

She reached for the latch, threw the bolt, and stepped across the threshold with a decisive crack of her soles against the floor. 

“-safe,” Enguerrand finished, somewhat lamely.

“I’ve seen worse. Just keep an eye on them,” she ordered with a toss of her hair. “I’ll be back to help with the ‘girls’ work’ soon enough.”

She didn’t miss the rosy cast to the Elezen boy’s cheeks as the door shut behind her.

~*~

The fletching of yet another nocked arrow zipped through Keveh’to’s knuckles as it plunged into the fray below. 

Although individually most of these soldiers were no more or less a threat than any other on the star, the danger of the imperial army lay in its discipline. Its personnel were extraordinarily well-drilled. The attackers had quickly regrouped in the confusion as the riot began in earnest, and in their efforts to suppress the furious villagers they had drifted towards the ceremonial dais in a singular large formation. It put the Keeper in mind of a malevolent cloud of summer wasps that had emerged from their jostled nest. 

And it was working. The villagers were brave and morale was good, but farm tools and fists were no match for gunblades or even sword and shield forged in mass-production, and they were losing momentum quickly. 

“We can’t keep this up, Lieutenant,” he shouted at the Wood Wailer a few fulms to his left. “Another half-bell and we’re done. We need reinforcements.” 

“We’ve not the manpower to spare. Otherwise, I’d send for help from Quarrymill. Or even the Druthers.” Mariustel Aubaints raised his voice, shouting in the direction of two volunteers who had holed themselves up in a break in the wall: “Stay on them! Throw whatever you have!”

Keveh’to gathered his aether for a quick shot, and another spray of missiles peppered the enemy. Three of them stumbled back in haste and one folded in half like a puppet with cut strings- but it wasn’t enough to rout them. The ranks held firm and there was a cry from below as two more men from the village fell back. 

It was only a matter of time, but if they could just hold out until-

“Sergeant!” 

The young voice took his focus from the dais. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hugh Miller waving him down. “What is it, lad?”

“Cecilie’s out of spells!” Hugh shouted. “We have more back at our barracks, but I don’t know if we can get to them from here!” 

The boy’s excited grin had long since faded, replaced with the over-bright shine of genuine fear. Keveh’to suspected that the novelty of taking part in a real skirmish with imperials - an actual fight with real and very deadly stakes, and not a product of a childish imagination - had worn off once Hugh had realized that he couldn’t simply call the game off when things started going badly for him.

“They’re about to fire at us again,” he shouted back. “Stay put with the others and for the Twelve’s sake, keep your heads do-”

The crack of a gunblade shot rang through the air. 

Keveh’to could only watch with horrified eyes as Cecilie Aubaints stumbled backward with a cry of pain and collapsed to the ground. The slingshot in the girl’s hand went flying across the wooden planks, skittering somewhere out of sight in the darkness. She curled in on herself like a hurt animal, and the strangled sound she made was like a punch to the gut - along with Hugh’s cry of her name.

At his side, he watched all of the color drain from the Wood Wailer’s face. The Elezen made to stand but Keveh’to caught the man’s arm and forced him to remain in place. 

“Let me go, Epocan.” Mariustel’s snarl was muffled beneath the confines of his mask, his hand shaking with rage as it tightened about its grip upon his longbow. “I’ll have the heart of every last one of them. Miserable whoresons-”

“You need to stay here with the others.” Keveh’to slung his bow over one shoulder. “The longer we keep the enemy occupied, the longer we can hold this position.”

“I should be the one to go.”

“No. You’re the leader. If that lot down there manages to get themselves out of that kettle, that’s all of us done for.”

“That’s my daughter they shot, damn it all! I can’t just sit here-” 

“Aye, and if you get yourself killed and they overrun us, what do you think will become of her? The Garlean Empire isn’t known for its mercy.”

He wanted to argue, Keveh’to thought, and who could blame him? If it were his daughter who’d been injured, he knew he would have been no less insistent. But he also knew he was right, and he knew Mariustel knew it too. 

The man gave a heavy sigh. “If I need to run for a healer-”

“Never you mind that. I’ll do the running.”

The short stretch he had to traverse to reach Hugh and his friends was treacherous. The Garleans couldn’t move but they were still able to concentrate their long-range efforts upon that section of the wall. Another gunblade shot narrowly missed Keveh’to’s face; its trajectory was so close that the current in its wake snagged at the collar of his overcoat like briar thorns. A third chipped at stone and mortar, ricocheting wide with a high-pitched whine. 

Cursing under his breath, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the distance to the children. Hugh was in frantic tears, half-crouched over his friend’s body to protect her from any more incoming projectiles, and Keveh’to could hear dry whimpers echoing from the small form. The curtain of her hair spilled across the ground like discarded ribbons.

“The Garleans shot her,” the boy sobbed. “They shot her!”

“I see that, lad. Move aside.”

He was frozen in place with fear; Keveh’to had to shove him out of the way in order to take a closer look at her hurts. Cecilie was clutching at the meat of her left thigh. He found himself staring into eyes that were wide and terrified.

“Sergeant,” she gasped. He tucked a stray bit of her fringe behind one pointed ear. The small hands on her injured leg shook visibly. 

“Cecilie, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m sorry.” Her voice shook but held steady. All told she was doing a sight better than her Hyur friend at maintaining her composure. “I only stood up for a moment-”

“All right. Lie still, lass.” Crimson spilled through her fingers and stained her leggings; it was quickly soaking through the fabric to patter onto the wood and seep into the grain. She looked clear-eyed enough, but even he could see she was losing an alarming amount of blood.

“I just wanted to check if we had any spells left. Just for a moment. I didn’t think-” Cecilie stammered, her chin wobbling, “I thought it would be all right but it wasn’t-”

Anger and self-recrimination left a dull ache in the depths of his chest. Hugh and Cecilie and the others were bright and brave, but for all their courage and wit, they were still children and had no place in a fight like this. He should have sent them straight home when he had the chance instead of encouraging them, he thought.

It was his fault the girl was hurt. But he kept his peace; it was far too late for regrets now.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, crying openly now. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault-”

Keveh’to shunted his guilt aside to offer her a smile he hoped was reassuring. “It’s all right, Cecilie,” he said gently. “We’ll take care of this. You’re going to be just fine.”

“It hurts so much--”

“Aye, lass. I know.” He reached into his belt for a length of leather cord, casting about their immediate surrounds for something he could use as a fulcrum. “I’m going to do something that won’t feel very good, but it’ll slow the bleeding. It’s only until we can find the Hearer or Master Trevantioux and get them to make you good as new.”

She nodded blindly. “Or Miss Aurelia?”

“Or Miss Aurelia,” he agreed. 

He reached for a nearby piece of debris and began to wrap the cord around Cecilie’s leg. One stray glance below, peeking between the newly made cracks in the mortar, showed a half dozen more soldiers in the main street shouting to the group near the dais and gesturing to the walls. 

“All of you, listen up,” he said briskly. “Once I finish up here, we’re all going to have to move down the wall and find shelter on the ground. I’m going to need your help.”

Hugh struggled to his knees, pulling Amicia and Larkin up alongside as he went. The two younger children stared at him with eyes the size of dinner plates but by the expression the Miller boy wore, he seemed to have regained a certain degree of calm- or he had passed into a state of shock sufficiently profound that there was little difference to be had between the two. 

“What do we need to do?” was all he said. 

Keveh’to knotted the leather cord and began to twist it around the piece of elm plank he had found, watching the blood begin to slow in its course down her thigh and onto the walkway. Cecilie whimpered in discomfort and her fingers bunched in handfuls of his greatcoat, but otherwise, she let him work without complaint.

“We need to find a quick way down. A ladder, rope, anything. What I’m doing here is just a temporary measure. We have to get Cecilie to the conjurers as soon as we can manage it.”

The boy nodded, his face pale but still almost eerily composed. As he opened his mouth to reply, the sounds of shouting arose from the main gates.

~*~

Vahne had expected to see disarray of some sort once she moved beyond the relative safety of the Millers’ house, but what she saw was pandemonium. The villagers were crowding a group of soldiers, shouting angrily, the feast tables were overturned, and the food and festive decorations were mostly trampled into the dirt. Some few still crouched behind whatever shelter they could find, but most who had not chosen to fight the invaders appeared to be hiding in their homes. 

Right. I have to find one of the conjurers. She cast her eyes to and fro, looking for the figures Enguerrand had described (Miss Aurelia was nowhere to be seen, as much as Vahne would have preferred to find her). 

Her eyes scanned the small cabins and their darkened windows and she thought of her aunt’s house, of the expensive glass windows and the wraparound porch. It was a mistake; she felt the worry she’d managed to suppress begin to claw its way up her spine all over again.

Not now, she told herself. Not now. Concentrate on this problem first.  

The sound of a door slamming open from a nearby cabin interrupted her train of thought. 

Vahne hastily took cover behind the closest large object she could find: a large barrel that had been overturned in the villagers’ flight. She was not a moment too soon, for only a few yalms away she saw a tall, pretty young Elezen woman in a soft blue dress fall into the dirt with a cry. At her heels was a big man in that scarlet-trimmed black. He dragged forward an old man - scruffed like a kitten by the collar of his kurta in one hand - and carelessly tossed him across the threshold to tumble down the steps and into the road. In his other hand, their captor bore a long blade with a strange-looking hilt.

“Father!” the woman cried. 

"Noline," he rasped. "You should have run-"

Seemingly heedless of her predicament, she crawled through the mud to reach the old man. Blood glistened upon his temple and cheek, dark enough that it appeared black in the dim light. She grasped his shoulders and pulled him away from the soldier, her smooth brow knitted in a defiant glare.

The soldier lifted the sword in his hand until it was pointed at Noline’s father. 

“Those who aid and abet fugitive criminals are accessories to their crimes,” he purred. “Without exception. There is but one punishment for treason by imperial law.”

Noline raised her chin to look him in the eye. 

The flower wreath she wore on her head was in a pitiful state, half-wilted, its petals torn and its leaves shredded and the hair it sat upon a wild and filthy cloud matted with dirt and debris. Even in such a disheveled state, she looked like a proud young queen as she faced down the invader without flinching. 

“If you know what’s good for you,” she said with a toss of her long hair over one shoulder, “you’ll take your friends and be gone from this place.”

The soldier’s laugh was harsh and brittle, cutting through the background noise like the steel in his hand. 

”Make as many idle threats as you wish, savage,” he sneered. “You chose the wrong allies.”

“And you’ve trifled with the wrong village,” Noline shot back. The grin that split her bloodied lips was one of barely controlled rage, a triumphant and half-wild rictus. “You’ll be sorry soon enough that you dared lay a hand to me or my father or any of the others. I swear it.”

From her hiding place, Vahne stared at Noline and her ailing father and the Garlean soldier with his blade pointed at them both, hardly daring to breathe.

A massive burst of earth aether cracked the space between them. The soldier staggered back with a startled curse and his weapon spun out of his hand to fly into the darkness and parts unknown. Pressing the advantage, a tall thin figure lunged toward the soldier as if the forest had sensed danger and somehow summoned a rescue.

She caught a glimpse of pointed ears and angular cheekbones and that was all: the Elezen barely paused to take a breath as he sprinted past, flower crown flying from his head and one hand still outstretched from the spell he had cast. Brandishing a heavy-ended staff, the Elezen man gave it a mighty swing, bellowing like a Limsan marauder. The blow struck true, with enough force behind it to dent the man’s pot helm.

The soldier collapsed into the mud with a strangled groan and lay still. 

“Trevantioux,” Noline said weakly.

The man dropped to his knees and threw his arms around her shoulders. “Noline,” he wheezed. “Thank the Twelve. I thought he was going to shoot.”

With a trembling laugh, she replied, “So did I.”

“You’re bleeding, are you-”

“ ‘Tis only a split lip. I’m fine. Better than Father, he’s hit his head.”

“I’m fine,” the old man grouched. “He didn’t do half the damage he thought he did.”

Shaking with reaction herself, Vahne stood on wobbling legs from her hiding place to make her approach. Noline’s father caught sight of her and nudged the younger man with one elbow, a jabbing gesture of his index finger, and a slightly louder-than-necessary clearing of his throat. Frowning, the conjurer followed the pointing finger to see the Miqo’te girl fidgeting in the middle of the muddy road. 

Vahne bit her lip. 

“Are you Conjurer Trevantioux?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The man squinted at her. “...Do I know you?”

She shifted from foot to foot and forced herself not to stare at the ground. 

“Well, no. My name’s Vahne Wolndara. I’m- I’m a friend of the Millers’.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. “Miss Aurelia left to look for my aunt and told me to wait for her until she came back, but Goody Miller is having pains and they’re getting worse and I don’t-”

A great shout swelled at their backs.

“What in the hells,” the old man began, but trailed off mid-sentence as they watched the undefended gate swing open. Half a dozen archers in dark green leathers, their faces concealed by red cloth, spilled into the street with bows at the ready. 

“Wasps!” a man’s voice roared out of the din, “Attack! No quarter to the imperials!” 

Vahne, Trevantioux, and the old man stared at each other in collective confusion as the bandits rushed the dais, but Noline--

Noline was smiling. The hem of her skirt fluttered in the evening breeze, whipping around her legs, and her slim hands braced upon her hips as her narrowed eyes left father and fiance entirely in favor of the archers and their prey. Unlike her companions, the Elezen woman didn’t appear a whit surprised by the presence of the masked men.  

Trevantioux stared at the woman he was to marry as if he had never seen her before. 

“...You knew,” he said slowly. “How did you know?”

It wasn’t a question. But if he had expected denials or self-defense, he would be disappointed. She turned back to look at him, chin tilted in a birdlike way, and patted his cheek with a fond smile as if he were a child. A smile that never reached those hard eyes. 

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. 

“Oh, darling,” she said, voice as placid and serene as a pond in summer, “don't ask so many questions. It's tedious. All you need to know is that everything is going to be fine. Now run along and go tend to Goody Miller.”

Exasperated by the delay, too young still to understand what had passed between the two adults, Vahne grabbed his wrist and pulled. 

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “You can talk to her about it later. We need your help now.”

Trevantioux let himself be dragged along the thoroughfare towards the Millers’ yard and their privy entrance, but he looked over his shoulder as they went. His eyes lingered upon Noline’s slim, proud form until it was no longer visible.

==

“Who in the seven hells invited them,” Mariustel Aubaints growled.

Keveh’to wasn’t normally one to criticize a sudden influx of good fortune in such a dire situation, but the timing of it was serendipitous enough to make one wonder. 

“I don’t know, but you can be sure I’ll find out once I’ve got Cecilie to the conjurers.”

“If you come across aught of significance, let me know.” The Wailer sighed and dragged one hand down his cheek. “I’d best gather the others. The Wasps will only shoot at the Garleans until there’s none left to shoot, and after that-” After that, Mariustel didn’t say, who knows?

“Papa,” Cecilie whimpered. “Papa, I’m scared.”

Distracted from the bandits and their suspiciously timely arrival by his daughter’s distress- at least for the moment, Mariustel smoothed back some of the sweat-damp hair stuck to her brow. 

“I know, love,” he said, “but Sergeant Epocan’s going to take you to the healers and they’ll see to your hurts. Be brave for me, all right?”

She nodded slowly, as if the act required a heroic effort, and slumped back down in Keveh’to’s arms once her father was out of sight. Her face was pale and cold sweat beaded her brow - whether from pain or shock, he wasn’t skilled enough in field medicine to tell. Aurelia would know, of course, but gods knew where she was right now. 

At his back, Hugh piped up, “Sergeant, I have an idea!” 

Keveh’to turned around to regard the boy. He had apparently taken a second wind, and by the conspiratorial looks on his friends’ faces, the trio had been mired in some sort of discussion. 

“And what idea is that?”

“You can use the stairs to get Cecilie down,” he said, and Larkin and Amicia nodded in affirmation alongside. “It’ll be much faster than the ladder.”

“Easier said than done, lad. They’re not done building them yet.”

“No, not those stairs. The ones that lead down to that little side door-- the one that comes in the watchtower from the forest. Da and the others were using it to haul up rocks when they were fixing the wall--”

“Wait. Do you mean that scaffold?”

“Yes! That!”

“Hugh, it’s dangerous.” 

“Usually there’s guards but they’re probably gone now. We can unlock the door from our side and let you and Cecilie in,” Hugh continued as if Keveh’to hadn’t spoken. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Lark, Amy, come on!”

“Wait-” 

His warning had gone entirely unheeded; the trio was already halfway down the ladder. Keveh’to sighed. 

The watchtower was as empty as he had expected. He nudged the back door open with one foot to the rickety wooden cage that sat along the wall and quickly saw the reason why the watch hadn’t bothered to remove the stair: it was clearly fallen into disuse. Large holes were visible where the planking had rotted out from the bad weather earlier in the year. It should have been removed and dismantled months ago as much for the hazard it posed as the security risk, Keveh’to thought. 

Here’s hoping this godsdamned thing doesn’t collapse under us.

Fortune was with them both, however; the steps, while noisy and dangerously flexible under his feet, held their weight long enough for him to descend the wall without incident. He jumped over the last two steps, which were rotted and splintered, and landed on his feet in a soft crunch of leaves to begin his slow walk of the perimeter.

For all his careful investigation Keveh’to nearly missed the door, set as it was into a less visible section of the wall. He kicked at it with one foot - and was met with the sound of a loud crash, a pained groan, then silence.

“Hugh?” he called. “Hugh, is aught-”

The grunt he heard from the other side of the door was not the sound a boy of twelve summers would make, but he heard the series of clicks as the door unlocked. It swung open on rusted hinges to reveal Hugh and Larkin and Amicia, huddled behind a hunched figure in conjurer’s greys. At the old man’s feet lay two unconscious Garleans.

“Not much of a plan, Sergeant,” Hearer Ewain observed, tucking the staff back into the strap on his shoulder. “You’re fortunate they didn’t have troops waiting outside.”

Keveh’to was far too relieved at the sight of the man to be irritated at his criticism. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“Happenstance,” he grunted, shoving one of the limp figures away from the door with one kick of his pattened foot. 

“Happenstance?”

“I’d no intention of cowering behind a barricade, so I went in search of wounded. Their commander had sent part of his squad to start dragging people out of their homes door to door. I heard the children shouting, saw two over here, and-- Twelve preserve, is that Lieutenant Aubaints’ girl?”

“Yes. I did what I could to stop the bleeding, but-”

Ewain clucked his tongue and held out his arms. The Miqo’te handed her over and fought back the sigh of relief he felt, even as the old conjurer stared into the pale, sweat-slick face of his injured patient. “Stupid girl,” he chided, although his tone was gentle. “You and your friends should have gone home.”

Hugh gave the old man the fiercest scowl in his arsenal. “Cecilie isn’t stupid!” 

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

“She’s brave and strong. Anyway, aren’t Wood Wailers supposed to defend the Twelveswood from Garleans?”

“She isn’t a Wailer, boy,” was the Hearer’s blunt retort, “and neither are you.”

The scowl wobbled for a moment. 

“Will Cecilie… I mean, she isn’t going to...”

“Your friend will recover and be none the worse for her foolishness, or yours for that matter,” Ewain said. “Sergeant Epocan acted quickly enough, though I’ll need to remove this contraption as soon as I can manage it. Now. Your cousins are going to come back to my cottage with me and help out with some of the others who’ve been hurt, and you’re going to go on home and mind your mother, Hugh Miller.”

“But-”

"No buts, boy. I’m not in the mood to explain to any of your parents why they’ll need me to say rites over your coffins.”

“How are you going to get back with the fighting like this?”

“I’ve lived in this village longer than any of you have been alive. Do you think I don’t have more than one route back to my house?” Ewain harrumphed at them, but his stooped back had lost some of its slouch as he squinted at his newfound charges. “Come along, all of you.”

Keveh’to was silently grateful that the bossy old man had chosen to take the welfare of the children upon himself. All told, they were at least as safe with the old Hearer - who was, after all, a powerful conjurer - than they would be with him. 

He turned to make his way back to Mariustel and the watch and paused mid-step. 

A tall Duskwight man in Wasps’ leathers stood before him, blocking his path back into the village. The lower half of his face was hidden from sight, but the eyes that peeked over the hem of the scarf were as hard and unyielding as diamonds.

“Is it true?” the man asked.

“Is what true?”

“The rumors about that lady conjurer who’s been working in the village,” came the man’s cool response. “Some of the villagers are saying she’s a Garlean herself.”

Keveh’to scoffed.

“Don’t know who told you that, mate,” he said with as dismissive an air as he could muster. “But you should know better than to heed idle villagers’ gossip. The lady came with me from Gridania by order of the Conjurers’ Guild, if that answers your question.” 

Something ugly and hostile moved behind those eyes for the briefest of moments before they were blank and placid once again. 

“Two of my men saw their commander fleeing into the forest with some of his men. If he’s got a brain in his head, he’ll bring back enough friends to kill any who resist.”

“And if he doesn’t? If they stick it out until they get what they came for? Garleans are a treacherous lot. I’d wager their leader still has a nasty trick or two up his sleeve somewhere.”

“Having run afoul of the XIVth before? I’d wager you’re right.”

Beneath the scarf, the man’s lips shifted upwards. He was smiling, but there was something about it that Keveh’to didn’t like. 

“Mind, the Wasps would be plenty willing to keep our eyes open on your behalf. A more permanent arrangement, like,” he continued. “If the town’s willing to pay for the privilege, of course - we don’t come cheap, and tangling with the Empire is risky. But this is a nice peaceful place. Be a real shame if they torched and salted it.”

“It’s not my place to make a decision on behalf of the village,” he said. “Mistress Laskaris and I represent the interests of the Grand Company and the Conjurers’ Guild, not the settlement’s nor the Wood Wailers’. I’ll do what needs must to protect my own, but I’m not interested in being your errand boy.”

“If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is. But it’s a formal offer from the Redbelly Wasps. One I’d give a bit of thought, were I you and yours.”

Though he kept his tone as cool and level as he could manage Keveh’to felt the fur on his tail bristle from base to tip. 

“Is that a threat?” 

"Just a friendly suggestion, Sergeant.” 

“It didn’t sound very friendly.”

The Duskwight offered a laconic shrug. “The Black Wolf knows a chink in his enemy’s armor when he sees it,” he said. “And so do we.”

With that he brushed past, drawing an arrow from his quiver as he ran to join the fray, leaving Keveh’to alone to mull over his words. 

Bandit or not, the man was right. But even if the Empire left them to their own devices, he also knew the opportunistic Wasps would be happy to move in on the settlement. Gifts like the boon they had provided tonight did not come without a price, he knew, and the village might be saved from imperial invasion, but it might also find itself saddled with a debt it could ill afford to accrue. 

Worry nestled itself deep into the dark corners of his mind like worms tunneling through soft earth. And as he turned towards the opaque black border of the Shroud buttressing the far side of the creek like a fortress wall, just before the cries of alarm reached his ears, Keveh’to Epocan realized that he smelled smoke.

~*~

The first time Aurelia jen Laskaris had ever seen the Twelveswood, it had been through a tempered glass window.

The assortment of chirurgeons and engineers had been nestled in the belly of an Aurora-class transport vessel as it tracked its way towards the landing pad at Castrum Novum at day’s end. The sun was still visible only by the barest sliver of light and sinking fast behind the foothills of the western mountains, and all she could see was a vast and ominous sea of trees completely covering the ground for malms in any direction. 

One of the decurions had offered a grim smile at the sight that lay below them through the portico. That there’s the Black Shroud, he had said. You’ll not be wanting to get any closer than this and if you’re lucky you never will. Got a right nasty reputation, that place.

Even the most obstinate antitheist knew better than to venture beneath the Shroud’s boughs (without well-armed company, in any case). Nearly every infantryman in the VIIth Legion had some sort of story to tell about former comrades who entered the forest on some mission or other only to be sent back to Garlemald in a coffin if they came back at all, from Frumentarium’s forward scouting squadrons to the conscripted legionnaires running castrum perimeter patrols. Worse things than angry Eorzeans lurked in its darkest depths, and it very much did not want the Empire’s presence anywhere near it. 

Tonight, armed only with her aether and her wits, that healthy caution felt well-earned indeed. The settlement walls were ablaze with torchlight but they illuminated nothing past the embankment leading to the creek bed, and there was no moon by which to mark her path. It would be easy to trip over an exposed root or turn her ankle in a warren run, and so Aurelia moved as quickly as she dared. It worried her that Sewell was nowhere to be found, but she couldn’t let herself be distracted worrying about a former imperial army soldier who - even still recovering from his wounds - would be able to fend for himself at least for a time. 

Should she find him she’d bid him run for the Druthers and fetch help if she could. Right now, Rhaya Wolndara was her first priority. 

She stood with a soft grunt, bracing one hand against a nearby oak tree, and tried to get her bearings. 

Now. If I were their commanding officer, where would I be holding her? 

This cohort had ventured beyond the safety of its castrum for one purpose and one purpose only and that was capturing deserters by fair means or foul. That man - rem Canina - would not have been so foolish as to leave her behind to call for help but neither would he have brought her into the village if he planned to use her as a bargaining tool. It would have to be somewhere nearby, she thought. Close enough that Rhaya could be fetched at a moment’s notice to serve her purpose, but not so close that she could be easily rescued without attracting--

“Keep your filthy hands where I can see them.”

Sewell Blackthorne stood mere yalms away, brandishing a gladius in one hand; he must have pilfered it from the small armory in one of the wall watchtowers. He wore no armor and the ill-fitting linen undershirt he did wear stood in stark contrast to the darkness of the trees. Coupled with the wild sheen in his dark eyes, he looked like a malevolent forest spirit. 

“I thought I might find their godsdamned leader out here,” he said. “Aye, in the forest, watching and waiting and biding your time while poor ‘savages’ like me do the dirty work for you.”

Cautiously Aurelia ventured closer to the three and now she could see two figures in cermet-plated armor kneeling before him, heads bowed and gauntleted hands raised in surrender. Neither of them wore their helms and disarmed and unmasked they seemed far less intimidating than they might be otherwise. 

The Black Wolf’s hounds, she thought, brought to ground by their own quarry. 

“Blackthorne-”

“They’ll have no choice but to withdraw. Isn’t that right?” His bared teeth flashed white in the darkness like levin arcs across a cloudbank, bright and brief. “You lot are naught but jackals: if I kill the leader, it scatters the pack.”

“Killing me will gain you nothing,” a man’s voice rasped, the heavy accent of the capitol one she recognised, and she put two and two together. It was Argas rem Canina, the Garlean officer whom she had injured at the Wolndara homestead. “Put down your weapon, Blackthorne.”

Sewell’s response was less a laugh than a bark. “I no longer have to take orders from your like.”

“If you would but let me speak-”

“I told you not to move. How many others are there?”

“It’s just us.”

“Like hells it is.”

A stray twig snapped beneath Aurelia’s foot and betrayed her position. She watched the muscles in his arms bunch and summoned a small sphere of wind aether to her fingertips- just enough light for Sewell to see her face and recognize it before he did anything he might regret. 

“Master Blackthorne,” she said, in as low and soothing a voice as she could manage and still be heard. “Don’t.”

His expression remained unyielding and furious, but his lips pursed and she saw the tension flow out of his shoulders. 

“I came out here to do this myself,” his eyes were as bleak as the night he had recounted his friend’s death to her, and she understood what was happening: the mere presence of the soldiers had put him back in the thick of his own tormented memory. "They’re your countrymen. I thought if-”

“I know what you thought,” Aurelia said. “You’re wrong.”

She took another step forward and he flinched. The small, controlled sphere ruffled her loose hair. Its erratic light flickered along the curve of her third eye, half-concealed as always beneath soft gold fringe. “I can only guess why he isn’t involved in the raid with the others. Injury alone wouldn’t preclude him from taking part unless he perhaps insisted on accompanying reinforcements.”

Sewell’s jaw twitched.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he said. “The Empire is all too happy to resort to deception whenever it suits them.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said a soft, fluted voice. It came from the Elezen woman kneeling at rem Canina’s side. Her angular features - thin mouth, high cheekbones, pointed ears - stood in stark relief under the glow of wind aether, and despite the clear disadvantage at which the pair of imperial defectors held her and her superior officer, she appeared quite calm. She was staring at Sewell with something like faint reproach rather than any sort of fear. “Now if you would, please sheathe your weapon. I am not armed and I have two patients under my care at the moment.”

Slowly, almost grudgingly, the Ala Mhigan lowered his sword.

Upon closer inspection, Aurelia realized that the pilus prior was clutching at one arm. There was a circular tear pockmarked into the carbonweave, and above and below she saw the neatly stripped winding of field bandages. Argas rem Canina’s expression was as composed as that of his medicus, though he looked pale and drawn.

Then the other must be...

A rattling groan and a stir of leaves drew her attention to the much smaller figure lying at the medicus’ other side. Aurelia caught a flash of auburn hair and the twitch of a set of familiar ears.

“Rhaya,” she gasped. There was crusted blood on the woman’s lips and chin, an ugly bruise along her cheekbone, and-  “What in the seven hells did you do to her?”

The medicus shook her head. “Lord Fabian--”

“Who?”

The hitch in the woman’s shoulders betrayed her hesitation. At her side, Argas rem Canina let out a weak, resigned sigh. 

“Tell them, Salvitto,” he said. “It doesn’t make much difference if they plan to kill us.”

His note of command was unmistakable. The woman’s eyes shifted uneasily from the grim set of his mouth to Sewell Blackthorne’s unyielding and furious visage before she finally replied, 

“The acting head of personnel retention. Lord Fabian rem Corbinus.”

Sewell’s derisive scoff made his opinion more than evident. “ ‘Personnel retention,’ “ he repeated. “You mean Frumentarium’s rat catchers. Deserter squads.”

“If you like.”

“Why are you hiding in the woods like a craven, anyroad? Shouldn’t you be down there with your men making sport of the village?”

“Phoebus pyr Cinna - my second, the man you likely encountered in that village - is their leader now.” The man struggled to sit up, pained breaths rasping from his lungs. “He was only supposed to act in my stead in the instance that I could not do so myself, but-”

The pain was upon her again, pain and a bright light to blind her vision---

*

The verdant fingers of the Black Shroud spread in all directions, deep and dark and alive with its own primeval sentience. He crashes blind through thick undergrowth with three subordinates at his heels. His mind roils with rage and a sense of urgency and something very akin to panic.

This was not his plan. Were it not for desperation he would never consider it, but extraordinary circumstance calls for extreme measures. 

It's gone wrong. Somehow, it's gone wrong. He doesn't want to admit it to himself or to the cohort, and certainly not to Fabian rem Corbinus, patiently awaiting his success back in Castrum Oriens. Not after everything he promised. Not after he swore he would do what Argas rem Canina could not and bring them back flush with their victory. 

Once again the mission stands in very real danger of failing. Not only has Sewell oen Blackthorne managed to somehow elude discovery once again, but his mysterious Garlean accomplice has prevailed once more, against all odds. The savages in this pathetic backwater should have been cowed beyond any hope of defiance, should have been too hostile and afraid of everything her true identity represented to do aught save leave her to her fate and let them take her captive. 

Certainly, he had not expected her defiance to prove enough ammunition to spark a revolt. 

But all hope isn't lost, he tells himself. Not yet. He saw the Garlean woman flee into the forest. Canina and the Miqo'te prisoner are still there where he left them, and he has no doubt that Blackthorne is skulking about somewhere nearby. 

Phoebus pyr Cinna knows exactly what must be done. 

"What are you doing?" he snaps at a nearby decurion. The man, an Ala Mhigan like their prey, is staring into the forest, his skin blanched pale. "Get over here before we're seen."

"My lord, I don't think this is a good idea. The forest- that is, it's not wise to-"

Seven hells below, must he do everything himself?  

He wraps his fist in a handful of the man's carbonweave doublet and hauls him forward, staring through the tempered glass of his helm's visor into terrified eyes. Satisfaction dulls the razor edge of his anger, if only for a moment.

"You aren't paid your coin to think," he snarls and shoves the hapless Hyur forward. "Take these others and gather as much kindling as you can."

Bewilderment knits the legionnaire's brow into a confused furrow, but after what happened in the village square he knows better than to question this man’s orders. He sketches out a hasty salute and scurries into the tree line with the others. 

Phoebus reaches for one of the small ceruleum tanks on his belt and upends it over a stand of nearby underbrush, then picks up a fallen branch. There has been little rain as of late, and even the slightest spark will catch. 

He remembers a dry autumn day from his own boyhood on his family's estate in Dalmasca, the cold beginning to creep back into the desert at night, his father ordering him to watch while the servants plugged meerkat burrows until there was only one run left open and setting each of the ceruleum-wrapped rags ablaze. Watching the colony burn alive, its survivors driven out to suffocate and die in the sand. Staring at his father's cold smile.

Phoebus snaps the small lighter open. 

The sound of the flint wheel rasps in his ears as the small flame flickers to life. He only has to hold the tip of the branch against the lit wick for a moment before it catches and he can shut the lighter to tuck back into his belt. Light flickers from the fiery tip, curling it to black as the flame consumes more of the dry wood, limning steel in orange and red. 

Fire will kill anything, Seleucus kir Cinna had said. Remember that, Phoebus. Fire will kill anything.

He remembers. Oh, he remembers. He is his father's boy, after all, and he has learned his lessons well.

He lowers the branch towards the fuel-soaked dry grass and deadfall without touching anything. Touch is not necessary, he knows; it is the fumes from ceruleum that ignite, not the substance itself. 

Smoke billows into the night air as the leaves catch with a breathy thwump, and he laughs.

When she opened her eyes again the forest was once more shrouded in darkness and the unlovely chemical reek of ceruleum lingered still. 

She grimaced, inhaled, and something acrid seared her throat and watered her eyes. The air surrounding them was no longer clear; a vague and ominous haze had settled over everything like a fine film. Twigs snapped and leaves rustling overhead as a flock of birds burst forth from their roosting place, wings buffeting the air and warning cries breaking the tranquil warmth of the summer evening.

So it was real, then.

Sewell Blackthorne had one arm wrapped about her waist to hold her upright - just as had happened in the camp infirmary all those months ago, Aurelia had all but collapsed when the light blinded her - and stared at her with blank and bewildered eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pushed him away with one hand. Her throat ached and her head throbbed, whether from the vision or the fire she wasn’t certain.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine. But we have to go.” Her voice sounded rough in her own ears. She glanced at the bewildered Sewell, then the Elezen woman, then at the grim-faced Garlean commandant. “Your underling is having his men set brushfires somewhere along the embankment. I think he’s trying to flush us out.”

A deep and curious frown knitted the man’s brow but before he could ask any questions Sewell exploded: “Is he mad? He’ll set the entire godsdamned forest on fire!”

“I doubt he cares. And the Shroud is large enough that without knowing exactly where he is, there’s no way of stopping him,” Aurelia said. “He’ll have this entire area ablaze before we have any idea where to even start looking.” 

“Then what the hells are we going to do?”

Rather than answer him, she turned her attention to the Elezen woman sitting at the Garlean’s side. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“It’s Lavinia. Lavinia jen Salvitto.”

“Lavinia it is, then. You may call me Aurelia. Can you get your commander up and moving? I’ll take Mistress Wolndara.”

“Why are you helping us?” Argas rasped as he took Lavinia’s hand and struggled to his feet in his heavy armor. Sweat stood out in a cold band on his brow, misting about his third eye. “After all of this. After everything-”

“My lord,” Lavinia began, but he plowed on ahead. 

“After everything we’ve done, after the orders I’ve given, you still choose to aid us. Why?”

Aurelia thought of her own desperation in the aftermath of Dalamud’s explosion, clawing through mud and dirty water with broken bones to escape a slow death beneath the press of cermet and reinforced steel. She thought of Sazha, most of his face a ruined mess, the rattle in his chest when he had passed, barely recognizable. Of wounded lying in vast lines within and without tents not equipped to hold them, of a close shoulder-to-shoulder press in a cold, wet gaol cell.

“I would be a poor example of my profession were I to leave any man to die, no matter his crimes against me or others.” 

“Not a sentiment I would expect to hear from the likes of a deserter.”

“You needn’t pretend we’re friends, but I do ask you to try and trust me.” She coughed into the fabric of her sleeve. The silver locket beneath her robes now felt uncomfortably warm against her skin; sweat stuck the hemp to her shoulders and chest in damp patches. “With all due respect, pilus, we can discuss comparative morality when we aren’t in immediate danger.”

The Garlean inclined his chin; his expression was solemn and very focused, as though he was digesting her words. Aurelia slid her arms under Rhaya’s limp form, heedless of the woman’s cracked and semi-conscious moan, and slowly bore her weight aloft until she was on her feet with the Miqo’te in a bridal carry. There was one place she knew could provide them temporary shelter.

“I need someone up here to help clear a path,” she said.  

It was Argas rem Canina who stepped forward. The pilus prior held a mailed hand against one side but his gunblade was unsheathed, angled low in his grip. 

One look into his eyes told her he knew as well as she did that this fire was meant to smoke them out. It was a common enough tactic, one often used in Ala Mhigo to flush out bandits and smaller Resistance cells in the mountains, and Aurelia had no doubt this cohort employed it now-- but better to take the risk and spring the trap on their own terms.

“My lord,” Lavinia protested, “you can barely stand.”

“A passing weakness and naught else. I have enough in me to swing a blade.”

Aurelia’s expression was as doubtful as her fellow chirurgeon’s; Argas didn’t look at all well, but there was no time to argue. The hiss and crackle of flames were audible now as they began to move, just at their backs and still in the periphery, but spreading with a disconcerting swiftness. 

“Master Blackthorne can assist,” she said. “Let’s go.”

It was slow going; the underbrush was brittle from lack of rain and mostly overgrown brambles besides. The effects of aether imbalance from last summer’s disaster lingered in the forest still, and as Argas and Sewell chopped away at the offending plant life Aurelia fancied she could feel something heavy and ominous in the air. Cold invisible fingers trailed their way down the length of her back, like some eldritch lover beckoning her to its bed, and her stomach twisted in knots. 

The forest, Aurelia realized, her heart pounding. That’s what this feeling is. The elementals.

She could sense an immense and ancient fury pulsing through her newfound connection to the land -- aether roiling just under the surface of the earth. And there was nothing she could do about it, save to forge on and hope the Shroud would not rise in indiscriminate fury against them before she had seen them all to some kind of safety. And the farther away they could lure the Empire’s hounds from the village, the better.

With a gentle touch, she shifted her grip upon the injured woman in her arms and followed the narrow clearance the two men had cut.

==

There was no angry treant to greet their arrival this time, and Aurelia couldn’t decide if it was an unexpected boon or an omen of the worst sort. The tumbled stones of Amdapor lay as she had left them a fortnight past: cold and still, ivy creepers and belladonna black against the white stone in the depths of the night’s shadow. Empty and broken remains of gracefully arched windows seemed to gaze down upon the eclectic party like malevolent eyes as they scurried down the sloped path and into the half-excavated city. 

As she paused to get her bearings Argas rem Canina drew to a pause at her side and squinted into the darkness. The Garlean was breathing heavily, though whether from exertion or exacerbated injury was unclear. “I certainly hope you and Blackthorne were not expecting reinforcements to await you in a tomb such as this.” 

“A tomb, mayhap, but hopefully not ours,” Aurelia replied curtly, eyes scanning the crumbling buildings. The oppressive weight of the Greenwrath hissed through her veins with each pulse as it sank into the aether around them, making it difficult to concentrate. “Do any of you have anything we can use for light? I need both my hands to carry her.”

Sewell was already moving to lift Rhaya from her arms. “I’ll take her. Do what you need to.”

“Your shoulder-”

“Is healed enough to carry weight for a little while. What are you looking for?”

“A partially excavated antechamber,” she said absently. “The Wailers had plans to convert part of the ruin for their use but the project was abandoned nigh on two summers ago. It should be sound enough to serve as a firebreak if it gets this far.”

“Seven hells. I’m almost afraid to ask, Mistress Laskaris,” his expression was decidedly pained now, “but why was the excavation only partial?”

She gave Sewell a wan smile over her shoulder. “The elementals wanted it undisturbed. So I’m told.”

“A haunted ruin,” he muttered. “Brilliant.”

“The theoretical existence of restless spirits is preferable to death by immolation, I think.” A few moments of perusal revealed the ingress she sought. She pointed to the door that stood ajar. “After you.”

Argas narrowed his eyes at the sight. “Are you certain this is wise?”

“Does it matter? We can’t outrun the fire. Certainly not with injured parties to tend, unless you’ve a better idea.”

“My lord,” Lavinia murmured, “we are not in a position to be choosy. The safehouses can’t be trusted now-”

“-and the nearest settlements are malms from here. If our luck holds, Phoebus will waste valuable time trying to find us.” Argas shook his head. “Unfortunately I suspect this is the first place he’ll look. We surveyed this ruin months ago and he has the maps and the intelligence-”

“We’ll worry about that when he arrives,” Sewell interrupted, grabbing his unhurt arm. “Do as the lady says.”

Glaring, Argas obeyed.

Other than a cool draft whispering from the crack in the door the space was blessedly unoccupied, save a few musty crates situated in front of a collapsed pillar. While Sewell struck flint to make torchlight, Aurelia dragged the remains of the heavy door shut as much as she could manage, even as her stomach roiled and her limbs trembled. 

Full darkness fell upon them, so complete that nothing was visible. She could taste ceruleum and stagnant muddy water and damn it, no, she thought angrily. There wasn’t time for this. She would simply have to bear it. 

She bit back her sigh of relief as the first torch flickered to life.

“Someone should stand watch at the door,” Argas grunted as he leaned against a pillar. “It’d be wise to make certain we won’t be ambushed.”

“Might as well be me.” Sewell removed the last unlit torch from its wall sconce and touched it to one of the others. The dry wood caught immediately. “Go on, Aurelia. Tend to Mistress Wolndara; I’ll let you know if I need you.”

With an effort she swallowed back rising bile and turned her focus upon Rhaya’s still form, lying next to a pile of rubble. 

The woman’s pulse was a bit quick for her liking, but it was strong enough not to worry her overmuch. She stared at the bloodied, bruised hand in hers with its misshapen fingers and swollen forearm and let her anger flash through her for only a moment before she closed her extended palm and dismissed the sphere of wind she had held. Gently she placed her hand upon Rhaya’s forearm and taking pains to keep her actions slow and deliberate, poured aether into the fractured bones little by little just the way she’d been taught by Brother E-Sumi-Yan. 

Aether trickled from her fingers in a slow and steady stream, like refilling an empty ewer. It wouldn’t be a panacea, but the curative spell would regenerate new bone more quickly. As long as the arm was properly set and Rhaya did nothing to aggravate her injury for at least a fortnight there would be no lasting ill effects. 

A soft sigh escaped the Miqo’te’s lips, and the stark lines on her face began to smooth. 

“Phoebus pyr Cinna questioned her personally. Looking for you and Blackthorne,” Lavinia said. She was wrapping Argas’ arm in field bandaging as she watched Aurelia work. “Lord Argas had nothing to do wi-”

“Let it be known I am supremely disinterested in any excuses on your superior’s behalf.” Aurelia didn’t bother to look at the other chirurgeon nor remove the contempt from her words. She carefully examined one of the ruined fingers on Rhaya’s hand; the woman’s whimper cracked into the darkness, wordless recrimination. “He could have put paid to his subordinate’s cruelty at any time and instead he chose to say and do nothing. And so did you.”

Lavinia bowed her head and did not answer. Aurelia was grateful for the brief silence while she set Rhaya’s fingers and reinforced the hasty field splints. She had nothing to say to either of the imperials that would be civil, let alone kind.

“What made you do it?”

Aurelia paused in the midst of securing the field tapes. “I assume you mean defect.”

“Yes. Surely you must have known-”

“I was not given a choice in the matter.” She let her aether spread over Rhaya, enfolding her like a warm blanket to ensure she would rest. “But I think even if I had the choice, I would have made it anyway. Garlemald does not-”

“Aurelia!” Sewell’s voice was fraught with tension. “I need you!”

Without pause, she pushed herself onto her feet. “I’ll be right back. Keep close watch over her,” she instructed Lavinia. “Let me know if her condition worsens for any reason.”

The Ala Mhigan peered through the cracked door, attention so wholly focused on the far side he didn’t even look up at her approach. In only a moment of listening, she caught the sound of voices: a number of them, shouting to and fro, growing closer. Beneath the shouts were footsteps crashing through the underbrush outside. 

“They’re here,” he said. 

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t see as well as I’d like, but I’d know those pot helms anywhere.” His eyes were wide, flickering like frightened animals to and fro as he stared through the fissure. “A dozen at least.”

“Then we’d best do what we can to keep them away from here,” she said, grasping his arm in her hand. “Let’s go.”

~*~

The Twelveswood burned, a pyre to bear the remnants of Amdapori folly. 

It looked like some ominous illustration from a book Aurelia had owned as a child, depicting one of the seven hells. All around was the hungry crackle of flames and the frantic cries of birds fleeing the destruction of their roosts, their wings stark against the night sky. Smoke billowed in great clouds into the air, which had taken on a hazy orange cast. 

Upon this stage spilled scarlet and black carbonweave, a swarm of angry insects. 

Aurelia covered her mouth with her sleeve as she took in narrow sips of air. Her temples pounded with her pulse and her breath rasped harshly against the back of her throat with each suppressed cough into her elbow; she grasped Ewain’s staff in her right hand, and in the left palm balanced a sphere of wind-aspected aether. At her side stood Sewell Blackthorne, crouched into a readied fighting stance with his weapon in position. His expression was bleak and cold and, she realized, resigned. He fully expected them to die here. 

Watching the remains of the cohort press towards them in a wave, weapons held aloft, she could hardly begrudge him his fatalistic determination. Beneath her feet, the forest seemed to growl and strain against its fetters: a great and ancient beast stirring from its uneasy slumber.

The morass of red-trimmed black fanned outward in a semicircle before drawing to a halt mere fulms away from their position. The soldiers did not move to attack- there was no need to do so, not yet. Their maneuvering had cut off any avenue of escape for Aurelia and her allies that the fire did not cover. 

“Aurelia, we can’t do this with just the two of us!” Sewell hissed. “The moment either of us drops, the other dies.”

“We have to defend this position.” 

She had gone from a faceless member of the imperial army’s rank and file to raising her hand against them in a year’s time. Perhaps last summer, she could reasonably have argued that her defection was by circumstance rather than choice, as she had told Lavinia not a quarter-bell past. That was of a certainty no longer the case.

The crunch of sollerets against lichen-crusted stone echoed through the air, slow and steady, and the black and scarlet parted like a dark wave for its steel-and-magitek clad vanguard. The man wore the bronze-trimmed tabard of a low-ranking officer and his helm, protecting himself from the fires he had set. Although Aurelia could not see his face, she could sense the mocking leer that lay beneath his armor as he pointed his blade at the pair.

“Now I have you both,” he breathed. “You’ve nowhere left to run.”

Aurelia tensed, backing towards the antechamber door by ilms as the man drew short and unsheathed his gunblade. 

“We will see to the rebels who aided you in due time, but first we must needs deal with you.” The sharpened edge pointed first at Sewell, then her. “All of Eorzea will see what comes of those who defy His Radiance’s supreme will. For your crimes-”

“That will be quite enough, Phoebus!” a voice at her back shouted. “Lower your weapons and stand down! All of you!”

Argas rem Canina staggered out from the door to stand between them, his gunblade at the ready. A shocked murmur rippled through the remaining soldiers.

“You stand with the very criminals you were tasked to hunt?” Phoebus pyr Cinna sputtered. “Lord Fabian will have your head for this, you old fool.”

“And the Black Wolf will have yours for mutiny, once he hears of what you’ve done.”

“Mutiny? This mission should have been mine from the start,” Phoebus raged. “Had I had been entrusted with the retrieval effort, we’d not have lost good men due to your blundering about. We had Blackthorne to rights in that miserable hovel a fortnight past but we lost him because you’re too bleeding soft!”

Argas lifted his blade with a pained grunt and thumbed back the hammer along the hilt.

“You were right about one thing,” he said. “I was a fool. A wise man would have had the sense to do something about you long ago.”

“As you’ve thrown in your lot with criminals, Canina, you can die like one. Velites! Forward!” 

But the soldiers did not move. Uneasiness crossed several faces as their former pilus prior set his right foot forward in a battle stance, and it was clear that their erstwhile leader did not have as absolute a mandate as he had believed. Enraged now beyond any semblance of rational thought, Phoebus pyr Cinna screamed, 

“Don’t just stand there, you godsdamned cowards! Kill him! Kill them all!”

*

||Hear||

A spark of intense pain flashed across her temples and into her third eye, but for the first time since it had awakened her from a dreamless unconsciousness in the Carteneau Flats, Aurelia did not collapse beneath the force of it. 

Everything - her pain, her consciousness, even her very sense of self - dwindled to insignificance: replaced with the giddy sensation of feeling near overfull with aether. She didn’t know where the surge came from. Only that it seemed to well up from somewhere deep within: a bountiful, boundless fountain of power that blossomed from her very soul and into every last part of her, until even the very edges of her hair felt static and alive. 

She had felt this only once before. 

The day she had healed that boy.

She could

||Hear. Feel||

use the staff now. Easily. Her hands seemed to rise of their own accord into a fighting stance, in a space of time that must have been mere seconds but felt as eons. 

Earth and air coalesced at her fingertips, winding and twining like vines about her arms. She knew where their strikes would land before they even had the chance to make them, and danced nimbly this way and that, stones and cyclones flying from her fingers to dispatch her opponents with absurd ease.

It felt far less like fighting people than making strikes against the inert training dummies nestled in the groves surrounding the Fane.

||Think||

Her chest seized. She coughed and floundered in a heartbeat’s space of panic before E-Sumi-Yan’s words came back to her, and along with it the training he had so patiently drilled into her during the cold months before her arrival in Willowsbend. 

In that moment she bent her will to the land and drew from it. Aether rushed forth at her beck and call, and her strength began to replenish itself once more, and -- as Argas himself had once hoped to see -- she turned the land itself upon her enemies, confounding them with water and earth and air and the heaviness of sleep.

The imperials gave ground again and again before her magicks and her allies’ blades until at last only their commander remained standing and able to fight. 

Panting audibly, it was now Phoebus’ turn to back away as Aurelia advanced. The wildness in his eyes had long since soured to hatred, but now held something of fear in them. He had expected defiance. He had not anticipated this, and she supposed she could not well blame him for that, as it was beyond anything a pureblooded Garlean should have been able to muster.

That supernatural fount of strength was like a brightly burning candle, however- it was not meant to last for long periods of time, and she sensed it was close to guttering.

He wouldn’t know that, though.

She took another step forward, staff at the ready, and the Garlean visibly flinched.

“Abomination,” he spat at her. “Anathema.”

The words stung, but she was careful to keep her expression neutral when she spoke. Her voice was rough from the smoke. 

“You are outnumbered, centurion,” she said. “Your men are not dead but they can no longer aid you, and the fire will soon summon the Wailers from the Quarrymill barracks if it has not done so already. Should you set foot outside this ruin, you must contend with them- and so long as you remain, you must contend with me.” 

“This isn’t over.” 

“It is, Cinna.” Argas’ voice was flat both with hostility and pain. The Garlean had fought his own men despite clinging to the edge of collapse; she could see the wavering tremor in his posture. “She’s right. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

“And what of it?” His chin snapped from one to the other- Aurelia, Argas, and Sewell. “What will you do? None of you have the strength to finish me.”

“It’s over,” Argas repeated. “Lord Fabian will not accept your failure any more than mine, and well you know it. Depending on what you promised him, mayhap even less.”

He lowered his gunblade. 

For a moment, Phoebus pyr Cinna stood in stunned, tense silence. And then a deep, enraged cry welled up from the man’s chest, emerging through the helm as a mad shriek. His attention turned not upon Aurelia or Sewell but upon his former superior.

“You," he screamed, barreling towards Argas with terrifying speed. 

Aurelia and Sewell moved at the same time to intercept him but she had less distance to close, and reached him first. She threw her arms around the pilus’ shoulders and pulled him out of their enemy’s path with all of her strength. Argas staggered and fell from the lack of counterbalance, his gunblade clattering upon the cracked stones as he hit the ground with her weight atop his. He uttered a muffled groan, but the crash she had heard was not from his fall. It had come from behind them, somewhere a few yalms away from the antechamber opening.

The choked gasps she heard at her back stopped her breath in her throat.

“Master Blackthorne?” she said, her voice low. There was no reply. Slowly she tilted her chin to her right, looking over her shoulder to the place where Sewell had stood. 

The long, slender steel of a standard-issue imperial gunblade had impaled him through the chest, its edge stained crimson with his blood-- but the mortal blow had not been without cost to the blade's owner. The simple gladius Sewell had pilfered had found the chink between the base of the centurion’s helm and the seams of his carbonweave, and neatly punctured his throat.

Arterial blood crested over the hilt and spilled over his fingers like a waterfall. Sewell kept his grip and leaned forward, grimacing from the pain of his own wound but forcing himself to endure it. Phoebus lifted a hand to wrap around Sewell’s wrist, fingers plucking weakly in a feeble attempt to dislodge the sword that had struck the killing blow.

It was a futile effort; his once-formidable strength had left him. 

“It means nothing,” Phoebus sputtered thickly. “In the end, Eorzea will fall.”

With open contempt, Sewell Blackthorne flung the offending hand aside with his own. “You lost," he spat in the man's face. “Have the grace to accept it.”

His only answer was a choked gurgle. Pinned to the ancient wall like a displayed insect, the dead man’s body sagged over the sword and his gunblade hand fell away from the weapon to dangle over the stones, dripping blood. Sewell released his grip and let gravity finish its work; his knees buckled as he fell. Phoebus pyr Cinna’s gunblade followed, its hilt striking the ground with a metallic rattle.

Aurelia clambered to her feet and closed the distance on trembling legs. She could hear Argas rem Canina follow suit, his footsteps dragging and faltering at her back, but barely paid it mind as she dropped to her knees at Sewell’s side. 

The Ala Mhigan shoved her hands away before she could attempt to tend him. His blood, a deep, dark red, left a long crimson smear down the front of her robe.

“No sense in that, miss medicus. Wastin’ aether... on a dying man,” he croaked. His smile was a small and joyless thing. “...You were brilliant. Never... seen a healer fight before. Not like that.”

“Sewell,” she reached for him again, trying to pull his tunic aside to see to the damage. He caught her hands once more and his head lolled from side to side. "Please," Aurelia said. It was a plea. She knew the tears that burned her eyes were not sentiment for a man she barely knew. It was for the understanding between them: the frustration and futility that came of knowing she couldn't save him.

No sense wasting your aether, he'd said. Sewell knew as well as she that the wound was mortal, and as she'd done at so many other bedsides, all Aurelia could do was keep watch until he passed.

“Just… tell Rhaya I’m sorry. For all of it.” He grasped the hilt of the gunblade still buried in his chest as if savoring his victory. “Imanie an’ me… we’ll be watching you.”

The vigil was brief and quiet. Like a candle, the light in his eyes faded into emptiness.

Slowly, more from ingrained training than aught else, Aurelia reached for his still face and closed them. She looked up at her unlikely ally and in silence the pair stared at each other with dulled eyes, both of them pale and exhausted and not quite able to believe the swift and brutal conclusion of the night’s affairs.

Shouts of a different and no less familiar sort echoed against the stone, followed by a sound that had become lately familiar: nocked arrows and multitudes of bowstrings, drawn in tandem.

“Wood Wailers!” a voice bellowed. “Put down your weapons!”

The last vestiges of the presence that had spoken to her during the battle withdrew itself entirely and all of the giddy energy that had kept her on her feet drained from her body like the running waters of the creek. 

On its heels, the depletion of her aether hit body and mind like a dropping meteor. 

Aurelia crumpled forward as the world began to spin around her, feeling suddenly as if each of her limbs were tied to lodestones. She would have collapsed across Sewell’s body had Argas not caught her in his arms. The memento mori she wore seared her skin, metal heated by the surrounding aether. It burned, but her mind felt so many malms away that the pain seemed to be happening to someone else.

Footsteps shook the ground beneath her prone body. Heat on her cheeks, searing and intense. Beneath half-closed lids, she stared blankly at an orange sky. 

The red moon, she thought. Dalamud keeps getting closer and closer. Any day now, it- or did that happen…?

She smelled ceruleum and blood and thought of cold water and the close tomb of a reaper, but she knew this wasn’t Carteneau. Still Eorzea, but it was somewhere different. A forest. Large and dark and watching-

“Sergeant!” another voice called. It felt malms away: oceans, entire continents. “It’s Mistress Laskaris! She’s alive!”

Her thoughts moved in a slow and confused jumble even as she caught a scent that she knew well. The familiar someone was lifting her out of Argas’ lap and into a carry, but she couldn’t open her eyes to see who it was. 

“Two more, Sazha,” she muttered, unable to raise her voice. She was tired. She was so tired. “Look inside. The antechamber. Rhaya. Rhaya and-”

Her lips were too sluggish to form the words. Tell Rhaya I’m sorry. For all of it.

It was the last thing she remembered before the world faded-

-but the long night was ended at last.

Chapter Text

((||Feel||))

Aurelia sank into darkness so deep and vast that time had no meaning. It might have been minutes, hours, days of wandering aimlessly, set adrift in a fathomless ocean stretching malms past any known horizon. 

And as she drifted, she dreamt. 

Snatches of memory caught at her mind’s eye like errant flotsam curling in eddies about her soul.

She saw herself at a dying man’s bedside, a Roegadyn woman weeping inconsolably while watching her kiss him goodbye, unable to save him.

She saw the parting of clouds as black as pitch as Dalamud descended over the fields of Carteneau, a terrible secret locked within its flaming belly.

She saw her adolescent self curled upon the carpeted steps of a cold marble staircase in the middle of one of Garlemald's eponymous blizzards: shivering beneath a coverlet she'd dragged from the bed hastily made for her, trying to weep as quietly as she could while her new guardians fought over what they felt should become of her. 

She watched broken shards plummet to the earth from the heavens, bathed in brilliant fire. An impression of white and gold, sobbing both in rage and in heartbroken agony. Tears seeped into the fabric wrapped about her fading form like rainwater into soil. 

(don’t cry. don’t cry, I’ll save you---)

The trail of fire twisted this way and that before it faded into the background of an intricate vine pattern she recognized. Green brocade wallpaper imported from Thavnair. This was a memory from her early childhood. 

Aurelia stood silent in her parents’ bedchamber as if she were a neutral onlooker rather than reliving her own memory. L'haiya’s strong hands were braced firmly upon the shoulders of her younger self, expression flat and stoic and sunset-colored eyes dark with grief. They fell upon the dying woman who lay in the bed: a great four-poster carved from Eorzean mahogany.

The figure weeping over that wasted frame, clinging to a pale and withered hand, was likewise one she knew. Julian rem Laskaris, begging his wife not to die and leave him alone. Promising he’d save her if only she’d try to stay with him a little longer.

If only.

If only-

As soon as she thought about her mother the scene was gone entirely. She was, instead, lying in the grass in the middle of a garden she recognized by scent if not sight. Sunlit warmth spread like a gentle embrace over her skin and into her bones, and dappled patterns like leaves rustling in a breeze beneath the summer sun cast their soft furred impressions behind her eyelids. 

A burbling noise caught her ears and she listened for a few confused moments before she realized what it was. The fountain, she thought. Of course, that sound was the little fountain with the Doman koi in it. Father had had it installed in the garden as a conversation piece for visiting officers. It sat among the beds of lavender Elle had helped her plant when they’d pulled out the weeds. Althyk lavender, a rare variety and the only kind that would grow in a place as arid as--

Gyr Abania. 

Something high and yearning rose in her. Home. She was home.

A cool, dry breeze fluttered in small wisps through golden forelocks that had escaped their confines. Wrapped snugly in her favorite grass-green pelisse, feet bare beneath her muslins, Aurelia sighed. Her fingers flexed, curled into a handful of soft ryegrass, and as she opened her eyes she saw overhead the strangely shaped leaves and heavy twined branches of a persimmon tree. Nearby was the old zelkova that framed the artfully arched parlor windows that faced the Menagerie promenade. 

She was propped head and shoulders in someone’s lap. She could feel slim fingers carding gently through her hair and she could smell jasmine and tea rose, a mild and gentle lady’s sachet.

Her breath caught in her throat. That was a scent she knew. 

When she opened her eyes to look upon her companion, the face smiling back was not L’haiya’s. She took in a wealth of long auburn curls, soft brows and fair skin, the delicate pearlescent oval in the center of the forehead that marked the woman as a pureblooded Garlean. Dark blue eyes, the exact same shade she saw every time she looked in a mirror. 

Aurelia only barely remembered this face. She had been so young, and so many long years had passed that it was one she could now recall with true clarity only from paintings and daguerreotypes. But she knew it well enough to speak a name.

“Mama?” 

The word was spoken in a voice that sounded hoarse, almost rusty, as though it had languished from long years of disuse. Vittora cen Remianus only smiled, tracing a small path from her daughter’s hairline to the upper rim of her third eye with the edge of her thumb.

“Hello, sunshine,” her mother said. “It’s been a very long time.”

Why are you here?

Misgiving swept over her in a small flood. Her mother had never seen their house in Ala Mhigo. After Vittora’s passing, there had been a small memorial in which her ashes had been spread over the Estersands. That was several months before Aurelia’s father had put in his transfer request to the XIVth Legion. 

She certainly shouldn’t be in their garden. 

...Where am I?

Aurelia had to know. “Am... I’m not dead, am I?”

“No, of course not.” Vittora was still smiling, but it had taken on a pensive cast, and she seemed to be looking at something Aurelia could not see. “Not dead. You’re just very deeply asleep. Come and see for yourself.”

Her limbs seemed to weigh several tonzes apiece; merely bracing her elbows against the grass felt like a heroic effort, but after a great deal of strain she managed it well enough to sit up.

She followed her mother’s gaze and her eyes went wide. 

The boundaries of the garden she remembered began to fragment at the edge of the fountain, in segments of empty space that were uncannily symmetrical. A few years ago during one of her summer lectures, Aurelia had had the opportunity to watch students at the Imperial Magitek Academy researching Allagan tomestones from excavations further afield. She remembered the same sense of unease at the sight of a screen showing the compilation process. 

It had looked very much the same as this. Empty blocks where the tomestone data was corrupted or truncated. Or missing. 

Beyond the garden lay… nothing, as far as the eye could see. Shimmering lines of aether lapped at the edges of this facsimile, borders receding and advancing in turns like waves upon an ocean shore moving with a great and ancient tide beyond her understanding.

“Where is this?” she asked, in a small voice.

“A place that you will not see for, I hope, many more years to come.” A pale, slender hand folded over Aurelia’s, and a mote of light caught Vittora’s wedding band as she squeezed. For the first moment since she had laid eyes upon her, Aurelia realized how weightless her mother’s touch felt. Indistinct. “Our souls return here at the end of our mortal coil. They are drawn to the Lifestream and swept away on its currents.”

The edges of the mirage garden trembled with Aurelia’s agitation. She bit her lip.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“Me?” Her mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh, sunshine. I didn’t bring you here. You brought yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most mortals will never see the aetherial sea while they live. A small number may take to its currents only by way of forbidden magicks, and not without considerable peril to body and soul.”

A chill ran down her spine. With an abrupt swish of her skirts, she regained her feet and reached the edge of the tableaux in three long strides. At the lip of the fountain, she held her fingers beneath the running water.

There was no pressure and neither warmth nor chill. Her hand came away just as dry as it had been before. 

“But you are different from most,” her mother continued. “Your soul may travel here and can even resist the Lifestream’s call for a time. Because of your gift.” 

((Hear. Feel. Think.))

“My gift,” Aurelia echoed. “Is that- do you mean the conjury?” 

“Yes and no, although this selfsame gift does allow you to harness and manipulate aether. You should not be able to do that, either. And yet here you are.” 

“But why all of this now? Why me?”

“Why not you? Our star holds many mysteries. Some are readily explained and still others have yet to be unraveled. Mayhap this is one of the latter.” Vittora’s hands folded primly at her waist as she approached her daughter’s side; between thumb and index finger she spun an errant blossom. The petals fluttered with each rotation back and forth. “But I doubt you came to ask for answers I don’t have.”

Aurelia opened her mouth, then shut it, her brows knotted in hapless frustration.

“I don’t,” she wrapped her arms about herself, cupping her elbows in her hands and staring out over the star-shimmer shore, “I don’t know that any of it matters, Mama.”

“Why not?”

“I tried to set out and make my own path. Uncle and Aunt wanted me to make a match with a family of their choosing.”

“Many a soul has chafed beneath the weight of others’ expectations,” Vittora said. “You are far from the first scion of the imperial aristocracy to have put off a betrothal until they felt themselves ready to commit to a marriage, and I sincerely doubt you will be the last.”

“It was never a matter of readiness. I would have been perfectly happy finishing my schooling and leaving the capitol for good.”

“I see.”

“ ‘His Radiance’s Will’ can go hang. It would have done no harm for Uncle to allow me to choose for myself or not at all.”

Vittora’s brows raised. “Something tells me that Janus would not see the matter thus.” 

“He didn’t. But he and Aunt could not very well prevent me from serving out my enlistment. I thought it would give me that much more time to decide.” She made a helpless gesture at the wide emptiness of the sea. “Instead, I lost everything.” 

“Endings are as much a part of the vagaries of life as aught else, Aurelia. Your father rejected that truth. I would not see you do the same.”

Aurelia did not answer for a long time. Her mother moved closer, and with her drifted the watery, delicate scent of her sachet. 

“Mama, I’m worried.”

“Why?”

She didn’t have enough left in her to dissemble. “Because I don’t know if any of the choices I've made have been good ones.”

“Sometimes there is no good choice, sunshine. Sometimes there are only choices.” Vittora bowed her head. The expression she wore was something like sadness. “But be they for weal or woe, the one thing you cannot do is be so afraid of making a bad choice that you do not let yourself make any decisions at all.” 

The rebuke was gentle but pointed. 

“If I were stronger then perhaps I would not concern myself so much with the outcome.”

“You are strong. I remember the girl you once were. And I think you are far stronger than you have been given cause to believe. You will make the most of what you have been given- as our people have ever done in hard times.” A pale hand patted her cheek. “It could be that you were meant to come to Eorzea all along.”

“Perhaps. But I think I could just as easily have elected to follow Uncle Janus and Aunt Marcella’s wishes, then called it destiny if the outcome were personally beneficial,” Aurelia said. “Life is what we make of it.”

Vittora laughed, the sound of it somewhat dry. “That rather sounds like something a certain Dalmascan would say.”

“What do you believe, Mama?” Aurelia watched the lavender blossom spin out of her mother’s fingers and float in lazy drifts to the grass. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“That is a difficult question to answer. But I think- I hope- that it is both. And in any case, I think a lack of belief in a higher power makes your capacity for kindness all the more precious. Please, sunshine- don’t ever lose that compassion.”

“Mama, I became a chirurgeon to help others. I should hope that compassion is the least virtue to which I could lay a claim.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the scattered petals of the blossom. “...But you have my word.”

The shade released a long, soft sigh, something that sounded very much like satisfaction.. 

Before her eyes, the outline of that slim, graceful figure began to warp into something that reminded her of heatwaves upon stone in summer, the facial features becoming slowly and steadily translucent. Aurelia’s heart lodged in her throat.

“No,” she said. She thought she had cried it aloud, but sound did not carry in a place like this. “ No. You can’t go yet.”

“I must.”

“There’s so much more I want to talk to you about. Please.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“But-”

“No, sunshine. Your place is with the living. Go back to them.” Vittora’s gentle smile returned, and she reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her daughter’s ear. “You are very young yet and your future is still uncharted. It waits only for your pen to fill its pages. Take the new life you have been granted, and live it.”

The steady burble of the fountain had ceased. Flowers and trees and stone all began to disintegrate, leaving in their wake only the otherworldly glow of shining white-capped waves. 

Her mother’s transparent hand fell to her side, and Aurelia felt its withdrawal as the faintest whisper of a breeze against her cheek as Vittora cen Remianus stepped forward into the line of stardust foam that surged onto the shore. Aether washed around her ankles and lapped at the hem of her skirts but she did not appear to mind or even notice as she took another step, and then another, and another.

The cascade of bright auburn curls Aurelia recalled so well turned to sepia before fading entirely as that lonely figure drew farther and farther away and disappeared, leaving her daughter to linger upon the edge of mortal consciousness. 

Leaving her alone again just as she had done all those years ago. Aurelia’s eyes burned.

“Remember me,” the shade of her mother said as it walked out into the aetherial sea, drawn back into its vast currents. “Remember me, and I will always be with you.”

No, she thought. No, you can’t just leave me alone like this-

She made to step into the sea, to follow- and was soundly denied. A deep, resonant chime echoed from somewhere within the living currents of her own soul as her feet defied her mind’s order to move.

An unknown and unseen Something was pulling her back.

I can’t-

(Remember.)

There were words. Words that 

||Hear. Feel||

echoed like a mantra as her eyelids, suddenly heavy as lodestones, fell shut once more.

(Remember-)

=

She could hear birds.

For a long moment, she did not move. Her eyes shifted beneath the curtains of her lids, following the dapple-pattern of shifting leaves while she turned her attention to the nearby trilling. A warm breeze brushed her cheek like a mother’s touch, soft and soothing, and water burbled steadily from someplace not too distant, and she knew she lay upon something (a bed? a lap? She wasn’t certain) soft and yielding.

Mama, she thought, and opened her eyes.

There was no sign of her mother. She lay on a small infirmary bed barely larger than an army cot, tucked under a light blanket. Someone had taken the trouble to wash her and dress her in a plain hempen robe. Her gaze peered through the fine folds of a transparent cloth the likes of which she had not seen in so long that it took an embarrassing few moments to realize it was some sort of protective netting- probably, she thought, intended to keep out midges and chigoes. High overhead a canopy of leaves rustled in the gentle wind, turning like troupes of tiny dancers upon their branches. 

On the right side of her bed, she sensed a soft weight. Aurelia blinked slowly, once, twice, and the world came into focus as she looked down.

A small Miqo’te girl dozed with her head pillowed upon the edge of the mattress. Her short dark hair spilled over the blanket in an unruly mess, eyes shifting side to side beneath their lids, and one ear flickered in tiny erratic twitches even as her tail lay curled limp and unmoving on the grass. In that brief moment of silence, Aurelia heard a tiny snore escape her slack lips. 

Despite the sorrowful ache that still lingered in her own chest, she smiled and carefully slid a hand from beneath the blanket to rest it upon Vahne’s shoulders.

“The conjurers said she’s not slept since we arrived here.”

The voice came from the infirmary bed next to her. Its occupant sat atop the mattress with her back propped up by a pile of pillows, a tome in one hand with her fingers marking the page. Her right arm was in a sling and, like her leg on the same side, it was encased in plaster. More pillows cushioned the woman’s heel, and like Aurelia she was clad very simply in a hempen robe. Her auburn hair had been cut short.

“She’ll be happy to see you up when she awakens,” Rhaya Wolndara said. “She’s been very worried about you. She was furious with me when she found out I’d sent you packing. Wouldn’t talk to me for the better part of a sennight.”

“I-” 

The word came out as a croak. Without further prompting Rhaya set her book aside, reached (one at a time) for the tin cup and water pitcher on the small stool between them serving as a side table, and carefully poured before passing the cup along. Aurelia accepted it gratefully and took small sips, sloshing the water around her dry mouth before swallowing as Rhaya watched.

“Take your time. You’ve been asleep for the past two suns.”

“Where is this?”

“You don’t recognize your own guild?” Aurelia squinted through the netting and canvas and finally spied the huge old tree where she had conducted much of her training. As Rhaya had said, they were in the Stillglade Fane, abed in the infirmary area reserved for patients that were not in dire need of treatment. “The Wailers dragged us out of that ruin. Brought all of us here for treatment. You collapsed. From exhaustion, I suppose.”

“The last thing I remember was-” She paused, straining to recall. The taste of soot seemed to linger on her tongue. “...The fire. Did-”

“Sergeant Epocan told me what happened. One of the village Wailers - a Lieutenant Daye, I think he said - was able to sneak out and run to the Druthers for help. It was fortunate he did. Their commander set a brushfire from the creek embankment that spread very quickly, but the Wailers and some conjurers from Quarrymill were able to put the fires out. With the village’s help, of course.”

Aurelia watched a grimace flash across Rhaya’s face as the other woman shifted in her bedclothes. 

“On that note,” she said, her voice curiously brisk, “I owe you an apology. ‘Tis like my captors and I would have died in that fire without your intervention.”

Sewell.

“Sewell didn’t make it, Rhaya.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I was told. He came through in the end, though, didn’t he? Poor man. To have come so far only to die like that...”

Aurelia stared down at the small, spindly shoulders under her hand. 

“He wanted me to tell you he was sorry for everything that happened.” The ache in her chest intensified, crept up her throat. “I did try to save him.”

“Come now, I see those tears. You’re only one woman; you can’t bleeding well save the realm entire, you know,” Rhaya chided her, taking the emptied cup from her hands to set back upon the stool. “Not a soul could reasonably ask more of you. You helped run the Empire out of a village full of people who could well have turned on you the moment they found out what you were.”

“Sergeant Epocan told you about that?”

“Only because you had told him that I realized you were a Garlean. That was a very brave thing you did, you know. You took a big chance on all of them, revealing yourself like that.”

“I like to think that most of them would at least have the sense to see I was on their side. Although I imagine,” Aurelia said dryly, “that stealing a flash grenade and using it to incite them to riot didn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry for my part in it. I shouldn’t have said those things to you- no, let me finish. I knew when those men fled that they’d be back, and at the time I… well. Your friend set me straight on a great deal.” She eyed the small girl. “And this one too. If she hadn’t run to you for help, I don’t know that I would be here now.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“She is. She still has some growing to do yet, but she is.” Rhaya’s smile faded. A pained expression tightened the corners of her mouth. “My youngest sister Kheni got herself mixed up with some bad sorts when Vahne was younger. The one sensible thing she did was to leave the girl with me. I never meant to raise children of my own, and it’s been bloody hard going it alone.”

“Sergeant Epocan tells me that Keeper families are often large,” Aurelia frowned. “Did you not have other siblings who could have helped you?”

“Aye. Two sisters and a brother, all younger than me. We weren’t on speaking terms.” 

She did not miss that past-tense had. “You talk as if something happened to them.”

“They answered the Twin Adder’s call to fight the Empire last spring. My brother was cross with me when I didn’t do the same; I suppose he had grand notions of the Wolndara family fighting the Garleans in the same unit, or somesuch. Anyroad, I felt it were naught but folly to risk my life and leave Vahne without anyone to look after her, and I told him thus. And he- they,” Rhaya took a deep and visible breath, “they all three of them marched off to join the main force at Carteneau and - just like a lot of other folk - they never returned. Vahne is all I have left so I feel responsible for her safety. But… mayhap I have been a little too strict as her guardian. Just a little.”

Her gaze on Vahne’s slumbering form softened.

“I’m proud of her.”

"So am I.”

"Good." Aurelia lay her head back and shut her eyes again. She was still very tired. “I think I’ll let her be a little while longer.”

“I’ll call for one of the conjurers,” Rhaya said. “Rest. You still need it.”

She thought she nodded her response, but she wasn’t sure. The other woman’s words seemed to float into her ears and spin in small drifting circles, like lazy eddies of water, as she lapsed into another light doze. 

This time her sleep was peaceful and dreamless.

~*~

27th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, Year 1 of the Seventh Umbral Era

“Up!” the voice shouted. “Put your backs into it! Mind the bleedin' base!”

Summer was winding down, but something of it lingered still in the air. A flock of sparrows descended upon the nearby fence with a great flutter of wings, trilling beneath the afternoon sun’s warm and benevolent gaze, and Aurelia Laskaris listened in an absentminded way from her vantage point in a fallow field. She was watching the villagers' combined efforts to raise the walls of a new house. The ropes went taut as a section of wall lifted by ilms, ash planks and iron nails to be lashed in place as the joints met. 

“Hoist!! ” the voice shouted again, and among the ensuing calls to coordinate the teams, she could hear the steady clattering clamor of tools working the wood.

“You lot have made an art of this,” she said. At her side Frieda Miller let out a small cackle. 

“We work quickly,” the weaver shrugged, gently jostling the infant girl in her arms. “It’s the neighborly thing to do. Though if you told me this time last year we’d be doing something like this outside the village...”

She trailed off, hesitation crossing her features, but Aurelia thought she knew what Frieda meant. The people of this small and secluded forest village seemed to have taken if not a kinder view of outsiders, at least a slightly warmer one. They had unknowingly harbored a Garlean for moons and when Aurelia’s countrymen had attacked she had sided with them against her own kind: something none of them would have expected. Not only that, the hamlet’s entire defense against imperial incursion had been spearheaded by a Keeper Miqo’te: a man whose people were so often jettisoned to the fringes of the Shroud, and treated with suspicion and disdain by many.

Their familiarity with him, and with Aurelia, had forced many people to re-examine their assumptions about their world, and while some still clung stubbornly to old grudges and commonly-held wisdoms, others had made friendly overtures one by one. For better or worse, change had come to Willowsbend, heralded by the fall of Dalamud, and it appeared to be here to stay.

Whatever they might think of her, or of the surrounding events, Aurelia could only hope that their attitudes towards their neighbors continued to soften.

“So,” Frieda continued, “you two are to leave on the morrow.”

“So I am.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any plans to stay here? The Guild could always take Trevantioux back instead.”

She smiled, a little ruefully.

“Hardly any need for a third wheel, now that he and Noline have called things off.”

“He seems to be taking it rather well.”

“Ah. Well enough, all things considered. I’m still sorry I couldn’t be there with you to help deliver Isa, but-”

“Oh, never you mind that, Aurelia! What you did gave me a safe place to bring her into the world and that’s just as important.” Frieda grinned. “At any rate, no harm would have been done, I can trust Trevantioux to do his work properly. The man might be a bit of a jackass and a fool in love besides, but he’s a good conjurer, and he’s earned his place in the village.”

“Then it seems to me that you’re in good hands.” 

Despite her words, Aurelia couldn’t help the pang of sadness she felt. 

It was likely she could have remained in Willowsbend did she wish it, but there had been Trevantioux to consider. The events of that fateful night had changed him. Ever since he had made the hard decision to break his betrothal, he had seemed a shell of his previous self, rendered nigh desolate by Noline’s infidelity. His work was all he had left- and he had been tending to the village under Ewain’s tutelage for four years.

As fond as she had become of Frieda and Hugh and all the others in her own short stay here, Aurelia couldn’t bring herself to take his home from him on top of everything else. Thus, it seemed trivial to contact E-Sumi-Yan and explain the situation - and even more so to formally request an end to her current assignment, seeing as there would now be no open position to fill. It was an olive branch, but one Trevantioux had accepted with a great deal of grace. These days there were no sour remarks about her origins or sullen glares when she went on rounds. He had even been the one to offer the village’s assistance in rebuilding the Wolndara homestead, something that had surprised everyone - not least of all Rhaya herself.

Maybe that was the most important part of the whole outcome. If someone as stubborn as Trevantioux could change his tune, it should be no hard task for the rest of them. 

In Frieda’s arms, little Isa made a loud blatting noise and swatted at a stray lock of her mother’s hair- and was thwarted by the casual sidewise tilt of Frieda's chin. “Be that as it may, know that you’ll be missed by myself and the boys, at the very least. Do you promise to come and visit us when you can?”

Aurelia smiled. “You wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t at least make the attempt.” 

“I’ll make sure to have my best pies ready and waiting for you to take tea with me. Speaking of which,” Frieda said, “it looks like you’ve a friend coming up the hill.”

She followed the woman’s pointing finger and saw a willowy figure loping towards them across the empty field. The Miqo’te had grown a good two or three ilms over the season and showed no signs of stopping, but she was still more child than adolescent yet. She nigh vibrated with excitement, her tail lashing against her leg as she drew to a halt.

“Miss Aurelia, Shadow’s having her kittens!”

“Be well, Frieda.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Give Rauffe and the boys my love.”

“I will.”

At the foot of the incline, Vahne fidgeted, rocking from side to side as she waited for Aurelia to reach her. Some yalms distant, another section of heavy oak beams began to lift from the newly packed ground, and carpenters’ hammers continued to mark increments of time and progress in short beats.

“They’re moving very fast,” she said, smiling. “I daresay they’ll have your house finished in the next fortnight.”

Vahne nodded, in a vague sort of way - she supposed the particulars of housing construction didn’t much interest a young girl. That small face looked troubled despite the tranquility of the day and after a moment, she burst out,

“I don’t want you to go back to Gridania!”

“Vahne, darling, I must. It’s not up to you or me.”

“Can’t you just stay here? With me and Aunt Rhaya? We have plenty of space and since you two patched things up she'd be happy to-”

Aurelia sighed. She had been dreading this. “I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

“But I don’t understand why ,” Vahne protested. “You could just leave the guild and go anywhere you chose if you wanted to, couldn’t you? You could become an adventurer! People do it all the time!”

There were a great many things that she thought she could have said in that moment. She could have lied, spun some bit of fiction she knew Vahne would accept. She could have attempted to tell the truth, to explain all of the sordid details and confluence of events that had brought her to Willowsbend, and hope that she might understand.

Instead, she reached for Vahne’s hand.

“Part of being an adult means having to make choices. Sometimes it means hard choices, even when you know it’s the right thing to do. Do you understand?” At the girl’s nod, she said, “Those choices don’t ever stop coming to your door. I would love to stay, Vahne, but I can’t. My choice to leave Willowsbend for good lets a man keep his home and it keeps the rest of you safe from the Garleans besides.”

“Safe from what? Those men are gone. You killed their leader and now-” Aurelia was slowly shaking her head, and Vahne’s lower lip began to tremble. “Please don’t go. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”

“I will visit when I can, but life is taking me elsewhere. I can’t say when I’ll be back to stay,” she said gently. “It’s quite possible the answer is never.”

“I hate this! I hate saying goodbye. I feel like it’s all I’ve done my whole life.”

“It’s true that sometimes life feels like nothing but goodbyes, but sometimes in order to have a beginning you have to have an ending.” Vahne, to her credit, didn’t cry, but the hand around Aurelia’s felt almost crushing. “When I leave, I want you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Visit Goody Miller when you can? She’ll be in need of a friend herself and now that the villagers know you and your aunt, I’m sure you’ll be able to make even more friends.”

Vahne didn’t look altogether convinced, but the nod she gave Aurelia was slow and solemn. 

“In the meantime,” the Garlean righted her posture, her tone briskly cheerful, “let’s cheer up, shall we? Tomorrow hasn’t arrived just yet, after all. It is still today, with plenty of light left in it, and I believe you were saying something about your barn cat.”

The Miqo’te brightened; her rain-grey eyes seemed to come alive at the reminder.

“Oh, yes! Have you ever seen newborn kittens?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, no.”

“Good! That means I get to show you your very first litter.” She squeezed Aurelia’s hand and began to tug her arm in the direction of the reconstructed barn, rather impatiently, in the way a girl half her age might have done. “She’s made her nest in the back of the chocobo pen.”

Feeling unexpectedly light-hearted for the first time in what felt like forever, Aurelia followed her young friend. The grass parted for their passing and concealed their steps as though they had never traveled through the field at all. 

What the villagers built here wouldn’t replace Rhaya’s home nor the memories that had formed within its walls. No force in the world could turn back time to recover the things they had all lost, she thought. Not truly- and perhaps that was for the best. A new home blessed with companionship would provide ample space for new memories and the promise of new friends. It was a symbol of renewal as sure as any spring. 

In short order the pair had retreated into the stable, itself still smelling of sap and fresh-cut hay, to bear witness to these small new lives. And as men rebuilt and the forest resumed its vigil, time turned its inexorable wheel into the cusp of a new Age.