Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gridania had become a home to Forwin in recent years, after travelling with his mother and residing in the nature-shrouded city to recover. With it came many days of reading, studying, and training between the guilds. The bow and arrow became Forwin’s preferred means of fighting, alongside his beloved lute and parchment papers to write down songs. 

Of course, there were others who surrounded the man as he poured his efforts into becoming stronger. There was Jehantel, who passed down his expertise in shaping only the most charming of songs; Ywain, who always resided within the Lancer’s Guild; and a strangely odd pair of adventurers who crossed paths with him in the Twelveswood.

Forwin is in the midst of contemplating lyrics when Yda and Papalymo enter the Caline Canopy. the former with a contagious grin on her face. “It’s been a while!” Yda calls out, already running to the bard at his table. “What are you doing?”

“We saw him but four days ago,” Papalymo says exasperatedly, but finds himself a seat next to them. “As for us, we just returned from a scouting mission near Quarrymill. Reports said there was a monster of sorts running amok, and we went to see what it was all about.”

Forwin looks up from his journal and greets them a tad bit nervously. “Hello, you two… Oh, I’m just writing some lyrics here.” The feather of his pen brushes against his chin, and he gently sighs. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to figure out this verse for the last half hour or so.”

Yda tilts her head with curiosity. “Are you writing a new song?” She peers at the writing from across the table– at least, tries to peer the best she can with her goggles on. “What is it about?”

“J- Jehantel told me to write whatever came to my mind. For today, I was thinking of the nature and the sights around the Shroud.” Forwin tips his head down, his hat covering his face. The Twelveswood is magnificent and bound with green all around; there are the tall trees that stretch high into the sky, the countless small blooms that line the grass beneath his feet. Yet there is something Forwin cannot put his finger on– some deeper meaning behind the beauty and ephemerality of it all. 

He reaches for his lute near his side and cradles it in his arms, idly plucking a few notes in hopes of inspiration. Still, nothing comes to mind. Yda watches the Hyur strum away with pursed lips. A beat of silence passes at their table. Then out of nowhere: “Maybe I can help you write it?” She props her hands against her cheeks. “I could give you some ideas, and maybe you’ll find something to work with?”

“Yda, we merely came to deliver a report,” Papalymo frowns. “And perhaps Forwin would like some time to contemplate alone.” He looks at the man with an apologetic face. “If you would like, we will–”

Forwin slowly shakes his head. “...That might help, actually.” He smiles and meets Yda’s gaze. “I’d like to hear what you’re thinking of.” He hears Papalymo sigh to himself and he chuckles. “Jehantel once told me that some of the best songs were penned not by one person, but a group instead!” 

The hours of the afternoon whir by; countless people pass through the inn, some adventurers themselves. Forwin ends up learning a bit more about Yda and her homeland: that it resided in the far lands of Ala Mhigo, behind the walls that sat in the Twelveswood. She carried a love for it just as Forwin did for the verdant-covered home he grew up in. 

“Why don’t you write about that?” Yda suggests after going back and forth about their pasts. “Your favorite things about your favorite places!” She swings her feet beneath the table and hums. “I love the travellers I come across in Gridania. Some of them hail from places I’ve never heard of. But they’re all so interesting!” An Elezen walks past their table with two mugs in her hand and Yda continues. “Oh, the food and drinks here are also amazing. Have you tried the mushroom skewers before? They’re my favorite!”

“Yda, you are simply prattling on about what you like,” says Papalymo. “Why not see what Forwin holds interest in?” The Hyur embarrassingly scratches her head and turns her attention to her friend. “He’s right. What do you like, Forwin?”

The bard’s mouth parts, and he stares at the half-empty page of his notebook. “I enjoy the scenery of the city,” he begins, “and the Twelveswood as well. There’s always been a gentle sense of peace hanging above it.” Not just the tall trees and the blooming flowers, no, but the small establishments that made the Shroud what it was: the small taverns, the homes dotted near the riverbanks, and the people who welcomed whoever graced their little establishments. 

“I think I’ve got something good I can work with.” Forwin jots some ideas for the song’s verses, a grin spreading across his lips. “Thank you, Yda. And you too, Papalymo. The company was greatly appreciated.” 

“Anytime!” Yda smiles widely and rises to her feet. “I want to hear your song when it’s finished. Promise me a show?” 

Forwin nearly gawps at the sudden request, but Yda’s words bring happiness to his heart. He nods and waves them goodbye as they depart from the Canopy. 

“I will.” 

Lots happen in the coming months and years; the fight against the Empire continues, the Warrior of Light’s adventure takes him across the seas and Othard. The Scions both split and reunite by the whims of fate. 

Ala Mhigo is liberated. No more do the Garleans trample over its glory and beauty. And Lyse stands at the forefront of it all, heralding her people to an era of newfound prosperity. It takes the form of her country’s anthem, the last verse ever ringing in her ears.

Though storms of blood approach ye,

Hells open, Heavens weep,

No goodly soul need ever fear

The measure of His Reach.

Months after the castle is retaken and peace is restored, Lyse finds herself busy with restoration and seeing that the remainder of the imperials are nowhere in sight. And in turn, Forwin’s adventures take him to and from Othard once more, dealing with yet another primal threat.  As such, the two of them do not see each other for some time or have a moment to themselves.

It only arrives when the Empire rouses another battle on the newly liberated battlefields, clouding the skies with smoke, ash, and blood. Their presence is a stain on Ala Mhigo’s pride and perseverance. And the thought of her people being hurt again is enough to make Lyse’s blood boil. The Ghimlyt Dark leaves her– and the Warrior of Light– wounded and littered with fresh scars. When they return to the Rising Stones after a bout of recovery and find it devoid of the usual bustle of the Scions, Lyse’s heart just about breaks . 

“We did all we could… and now this happens,” she says quietly. “Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger, Alphinaud, and now Alisaie…” Lyse fights the tears pricking her eyes. “What are we– What am I supposed to do without them?”

Forwin can hear the palpable worry in her voice. Ever since they met many moons ago, he’s known the Scions to always find their way back to each other. It happened after Ul’dah’s bloody banquet, and during the quest for the twin liberations of Doma and Ala Mhigo. But now? There was no telling where they all went, or if they were truly safe. He slowly approaches her with a hand to Lyse’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’re okay. We’re going to find them.” He gently envelopes her in a hug.

“I’m tired of things being taken from me,” Lyse whispers, leaning into Forwin’s touch. “Especially my dearest companions.” Her voice cracks with the last few words and she wipes at her eyes. The two of them stand still until Forwin’s voice rumbles in his chest. He breaks the silence between them, uttering a few simple words: “Do you want to join me for a walk outside?” 

Lyse makes a confused noise but agrees regardless; the distraction would help her take her mind off things. Forwin leads them past the gates of Mor Dhona towards Silvertear Lake, finding a stony ledge to sit upon. A gentle breeze blows past them, a wolf howls in the distance. Lyse closes her eyes and feels the cool air on her skin. 

Being the one to speak up first once again, Forwin pulls his lute from his side and sets it in his lap. “I know things are difficult right now, and we’re still looking for our friends, but… I believe I owe you a performance,” he tells her with a warm smile. “And a song, too. Do you remember when you asked me in the Carline Canopy?”

I want to hear your song when it’s finished. Promise me a show?

“That long ago?” Lyse responds with a small laugh. “I was happy to hear any of your songs in passing, you know.” 

Forwin shakes his head. “Those were in battle, for our comrades.” The songs uplifted their spirits and granted them enhanced abilities in battle, whether in the form of stronger attacks, swifter agility, or sharper accuracy. But right here and right now, they are on no battlefield, nor are they fighting a war. Instead of the Warrior of Light and Resistance Commander, they are simply Forwin and Lyse. And so he lifts his lute, fingers hovering over the strings. “Without further ado… a song for the Lady in Red .”

The melody is calm, mirroring the tranquility of the environment around them. Yet in the middle of the song, it becomes faintly more upbeat, Forwin playing his lute in a more playful manner. It fits Lyse in her entirety and she giggles at the man’s performance. Eventually, the song comes to a close, and Forwin softly sings the last verse.

Surging heights above, raging waters below,

Tempests, winds, O how they blow

May they lead the path to freedom, peace abide

With none other but thou by my side. 

Lyse stares with awe at the bard, clasping her hands near her heart. Forwin rests his lute at his side and lets the last note fall off his lips. “What do you think?” he asks, hiding the nervousness creeping into his voice. “I thought of some of the verses as we traveled through the Peaks and Lochs. I’ve been working on it for some time.” 

“For all that time, you’ve kept this song to yourself?” Lyse asks, eyes already shining with wonder. “And for me…” She rises to her feet and slowly approaches Forwin, wrapping him in an embrace. “Thank you. It was lovely hearing your music again,” the commander says softly. “And in a place other than a fiery battlefield.” 

Forwin hums in agreement. It hadn’t been more than a week since their foray into the Ghimlyt Dark, and the memories of it still hang in his mind. Too much happened in so little time: Zenos had almost taken their lives, Alisaie’s soul was plucked and taken to another plane. The Empire revealed the card up its sleeve, and the destruction that would follow soon after. 

It is too much for the Warrior of Light to handle, but he does not have to do it alone.

Gently, Forwin pulls away from Lyse’s shoulder and presses a kiss against her forehead, chaste and light. “I’m going to find everyone,” he tells her with a determined face. “And I’ll bring them home for you. I swear it.” 

A stray tear falls from Lyse’s eyes and she nods. “Whenever you return… I have just one request.” She wrings her hands behind her back and beams, “Write a song for all of us.” 

Forwin’s mouth forms an “o” shape, but he returns the smile. He rests a hand atop his hat and tips it upward.

 “It’s a promise.”