Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So, what technique are we going to start with?”         
Wilan’s eager words had resounded in the large training room that X’rhun had rented, as he entered. The miqo’te man was, as usual, calm and composed, looking in the opposite direction from the door and toward the training equipment, with his hands on his back, as if lost in thoughts.
“Keep your sword in your sheath, Wilan. We’re not going to focus on any fighting techniques just yet.”
“We… aren’t?” he asked, puzzled. The news had blindsided his enthusiasm. “I thought you agreed to teach me how to be a red mage.”
“So I did.” He slowly turned halfway around to eye his new recruit. “But there’s more to being a red mage than spellcasting and swordplay.”
“There’s more!?” Wilan asked, the excitement reignited in his voice. “Alright, bring it on master! Whatever training you have in mind for me, I can take it!”   
X’rhun eyes narrowed, locked on the young man. His gaze had a hard edge about it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and it was enough to communicate his disappointment to Wilan. The young man asked, confused. “Is… is something the matter?”
“Boy.” He said finally. “You’re lacking style.”
“Uuuh…” Wilan drawled scratching his head, making his shock of hair even messier “Style? I don’t get it.”

X’rhun turned away again and started walking, and Wilan instinctively kept pace. “I see you are still not wearing the clothes I’ve supplied you with.”
“Uh.. um, yeah, about that…” he said tentatively. X’rhun silence encouraged him to continue. “I mean… they’re kinda… you know, eye-catching. The bright red coat, the lacework, and… my god, that hat, with the white feathers. I mean man, no offense man, but if I’m going to go out in the street like that everyone will be looking at me.”
The man suddenly stopped and turned around, making Wilan take a step back. He was flawlessly wearing garments much similar to those he had just described: a coat of red and black, decorated with intricate lacework, belt, buckles, and a white cravat. Despite how eye-catching the garbs were, they were also incredibly practical, allowing for free movement to a much higher degree than any usual spellcasting robe would. His eyes were framed by small wrinkles, and they were locked once again onto him. This time, more than his physical appearance, Wilan felt like they were looking straight at his resolve.
“Was it not you” he began, his voice very calm “who approached me saying, and I quote, that this is what a real hero should look like?” He brought a hand to his chest, in a fluid and elegant motion. “Do you think what inspired hope in the hearts of people is your fighting prowess, your ability to manipulate aether? You don’t need me to teach you that, do you? Was it not you who requested me to teach you how to be that hope?”

Wilan struggled to sustain that gaze. He was reminded of when, a few days earlier, he witnessed the red mage save a little girl from her assailants. He had been about to intervene himself, but that man had swooped in with flair and panache, and by majestically combining intricate spellcasting and deft swordplay he had made short work of those bandits. Not only that, with a bow he had reassured the little girl, told her not to worry, and just by virtue of his own attitude her fear all but vanished.
He had been struggling with a growing amount of responsibilities lately, an ever-heavier burden on his shoulders. He felt but a faint echo of the passionate, care-free Wilan from the beginning of his career as an adventurer. How long had it been since he’s had the luxury to fail any request entrusted to him? How many people looked up to him, expecting to see a hero, disappointed in only finding a man?

“Y-yes sir, I did.” he stammered. Something warm had lit up in his chest, giving him renewed confidence. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and wearing his heart on his sleeve he said “Please, teach me how to be like you!”
X’rhun considered him for a long moment, and he exhaled and relaxed his stance and tone. He circled around him, slowly, and resumed talking. “I know your heart is in a good place, master Serulia.” The words had been uttered with respect, but Wilan felt the weight of that title hit him like a blow in the chest. X’rhun was aware of who he was. “I knew it from the first moment, to be honest. A man who would rush to the aid of a stranger’s child without fear or hesitation is a man I would trust with the power of red magic. But you didn’t come to me to learn a new fighting style. You came to learn how to inspire hope.”
That last word echoed through the air. Wilan nodded vigorously.
“Then let’s begin!” he finally declared. “First of all, we’re gonna have to do something about your hair.”
Wilan looked perplexed. “My… hair? Like what?”
“Combing it would be a good start.” X’rhun commented, with dry humor. “Have it styled, if possible. When we’re done today ask for Jandelaine, tell him I sent you.” He said seriously, jotting the name down on a scrap of paper and passing it to him. “I’ve seen the man perform small miracles before”.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Wilan asked again, accepting the piece of paper.
“Your manners also need work.” X’rhun continued, as if the answer to that question was so obvious it didn’t need to be said out loud. “My boy, you speak like a fisherman. And your posture is all messed up.” He sighed, and started walking toward the equipment. “We’ll start working on that today. You’ll learn how to stand properly, how to walk properly, how to eat properly, how to dance properly. You’re going to have to learn to infuse a modicum of flair into―”
“Oh, I can dance!” Wilan interrupted him, a big grin on his face.”
“Huh.” X’rhun commented, amused. “Let’s see our hero perform a dance, then.”
“Alright, alright, you just watch!” He took a moment to balance himself, and out of nowhere he suddenly jumped on his right foot, his left leg in the air, and his arms over his head. He switched foot, performing a quarter rotation, and he repeated that until he was facing the miqo’te again. His grin met his non-plussed face. Still standing on one leg he faced his body to the side, rising and lowering rhythmically his stretched arms, which made the red mage arch an eyebrow, and finally he stood on both feet, keeping his stance wide, batting his own chest twice like an ape.
“…pray tell, what did I just witness?” X’rhun said, calmly.
“It’s the Moonlift, man! It’s all the rage among adventurers!” he said loudly, still not breaking that goofy pose.
His eager, sincere smile sustained his inquisitive gaze for a few moments, until X’rhun sighed. “This buffoonery might fly at the local tavern, not at a ball. As your status rises you’ll be expected to appear in high society events, and you’ll be expected to behave accordingly. You’re going to need to learn proper ballroom etiquette.”
He turned around and flicked on a small orchestrion. Ball music filled the room. Then he faced one of the striking dummies, gave it a very formal bow, and executed flawlessly a short demonstration of a ball dance for Wilan. As he did, he spoke again.
“From now on, you’ll want to stand out in a room. You’ll want eye-catching clothes, because you need to catch everyone’s attention. You’ll need flair and elegance in your movements, you’ll need wit and sagacity in your banter. And most importantly you need to smile.”
“Because a smile better suits a hero.” Wilan added, almost automatically.
X’rhun arched an eyebrow at that, impressed. “Yes. Yes, that’s very well put. I see you’re finally starting to understand.”
Wilan mind got lost in a painful memory, but only for a moment. Then he refocused his eyes, nodded, and said “Alright. Let’s get started, master X’rhun!”

Chapter Text

The early morning sun shone bright on La Noscea. The early spring weather was pleasantly warm, and as gentle winds stirred the ocean the sound of its waves accompanied the squawking of seagulls, a common sight of coastal towns such as Mist.
Wilan, dressed that morning in an informal outfit, had just finished setting up a training dummy in his home’s garden when two visitors arrived at his gate.

“Good morning!” greeted the cheerful voice of Delen, the scarlet-haired auri girl, echoed a moment later by her miqo’te friend Jill, as they let themselves through the open gate. She wore a loose shirt and cropped trousers, was carrying a somewhat large bag and looked very energetic.
“Hey there, Delen!” he answered, standing up to walk toward them. “And, good morning miss Rhez.” he added only a moment later to the miqo’te girl. “Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you to join us today. I don’t think we’ll cover much more than the fundamentals.”
“Oh, no no that’s alright” she answered casually “I’m just here as an observer today. I have to work in the afternoon but I wasn’t going to miss this baby’s first steps.” She threw a sidelong grin at the other girl, who looked embarrassed but not exactly uneasy. “And hey, maybe I’ll learn something anyway, especially when your private teacher is none other than the Liberator.”

Of course, word of the Warrior of Light’s most recent exploits had already traveled back home, as it was to be expected from an event of such scale.
In what was probably its biggest setback in decades, the Garlean Empire had lost both its provinces of Doma and Ala Mhigo. Granted, it had only happened through a joined effort of the Eorzean Alliance and the members of the resistance in the colonies, and while it’s true that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had played a pivotal role the people of Hydaelyn had nonetheless found comfort in attributing this historical event to the action of a single heroic figure, a symbol of hope in the war against the Empire.
Sparing barely a thought for the man behind that symbol.

As he was now used to, however, he let none of his troubled thoughts on the matter reflect on his face. “You know what they say,” he simply replied, his voice pleasantly conversational “you should never give the fundamentals for granted.”
Jill nodded in agreement, then her eyes shifted to the building behind them. “Hey, have you redecorated? ”
“Yeah, during the winter.” Delen interjected. “He asked me to oversee the works while he was, uh, away.”
At first glance the house looked much as it ever did, a white stone building with an orange roof. But the masonwork appeared much more refined and imposing than the average residential building in Mist, and now that she looked up she could notice a few spires incorporated in the architecture. Wilan gave a few pats on one the walls with the palm of his hands and smiled. “I happened to have helped the Holy See of Ishgard secure raw building material for a residential development project, you see, and the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights saw it fit to let me, uh, borrow one of their architects to help me reinforce my own house here in Mist.”

Jill threw a covert sidelong glance at Delen at the eccentricity of that request, not to mention how he casually mentioned being owed favors by the acting Head of State of Ishgard, but she just shrugged in return.
Wilan hadn’t noticed. He looked up at his house, pride in his eyes. “Now this little beauty could withstand a dragon’s attack.”
“Uh... are you expecting a dragon to attack your house?”
He snorted. “I bloody well hope not, not after going through all the trouble of bringing an end to the Dragonsong War. But you know... In my line of work, you make a lot of enemies.”
“And this is just the outside. You should see the magical defenses that have been put in place now.” Delen supplied, although catching a hint of worry in Wilan’s eyes she quickly dropped the subject. Evidently it wasn’t information he was comfortable sharing, no matter how trusted the company .
“So!” she said in a louder voice, now in a hurry to change the subject. “Should we get started?”

As they moved to the area of the garden that Wilan had prepared for the lesson, Delen enthusiastically grabbed a wooden training sword from the garden table. Behind her, Wilan chuckled. “Not so fast. Did you not hear your friend?”
She looked back at him, confused. Gently he grabbed the training weapon and put it back down. “The fundamentals, first.”
“Oh” she said, surprised and a bit confused but very willing to go along with him. “Of course.”
Jill leaned on the fence out of their way as they moved in the middle of the garden. “Stand steady, balance your weight on both your feet.” he instructed her.
She nodded, and spreading her legs a little and straightening her back she did as she was told.
Wilan nodded. “Now, you’ll want to move your right leg forward a couple of steps. Keep your weight balanced.” he again instructed, and she followed through.
“Now bend your knees a little. And lift your left heel slightly.”
She nodded, and adjusted her stance once again. He circled around her examining her posture, and a moment later he gently placed a hand on the small of her back, and with another on her shoulder he corrected her posture.

“Alright, that’s good enough.” he commented satisfied as he walked back in front of her and assumed the same stance. “This stance is going to be your bread and butter when it comes to combat. Do you notice how your weight is currently well balanced, but your flexed legs allow you to quickly dash at a moment’s notice?”
He demonstrated with a quick step forward, and then another step back, which the girl tentatively tried to imitate.
“I guess it makes sense, but... Wouldn’t it be easier to just, you know, walk?”
“Yeah.” interjected Jill, who so far had been observing in silence. “It’d also be a lot easier to trip you or push you around.”
Wilan tilted his head toward her. “Very well put, miss Rhez. Allow me to demonstrate.”
And despite having asked for permission, without too much in the way of notice Wilan pushed Delen by a shoulder. But the girl was still holding her stance, and while the shove surprised her she merely wobbled on her feet.
“Oh.”
“Granted, this whole concept works only if you pay attention to proper distance.”

“Distance?”
He nodded, and stepped back toward the table to grab two training swords. He handed one over to her by the hilt.
Positioning himself about four yalms away, he resumed. “When I stand here, when we keep this distance between each other, no matter what I do” he stretched his right arm as he talked, the wooden sword straight in front of him “I can’t touch you without getting closer.”
Delen observed the sword in front of her, and nodded. “But... you’re close enough that, with one step...”
He nodded at her observation, and advanced by one single step. “...I’ll be within your distance.” As demonstration, he tapped her shoulder with his sword.
She replied with a small murmur, taking the explanation in.
“This is of course a very dangerous position to find yourself in.” he explained as he took a step back again. “You want to keep your distance, unless you’re ready to strike and deal with the consequences.”
“... Right.”
“Getting closer without a plan can easily turn into a disaster. Keep your distance, study the situation, and if things don’t seem to favor you remember you can always step back. Disengage. Running away is often the easiest way to end a confrontation.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t do that a lot though.”
He puffed out a breath, and his expression seemed to sour somewhat. “Believe me, I do. It’s just that... there’s often consequences, when it’s about me.”

A long moment of silence later she took a quick step forward, and while he still seemed to be lost in thoughts she lunged deep within his distance and, before he could notice what she was doing, she pushed his sword aside and tapped his chest with hers.
She found his surprised eyes with hers, smiled, and said: “I think I get it.”

They kept practicing the rest of the morning. Wilan and Delen went over the fundamentals one by one, such as the importance of threatening your opponent at all times, the basic attacks, or her defensive option.
Jill observed them as Delen would perform a slash, only for Wilan to gently grab hold of her arms and correct her posture. She didn’t dare interfere when he encouraged her to practice her slashes on him rather than the mannequin, the better to observe how he moved to intercept each blow from each angle. Except, most of the observing they seemed to be doing was looking into each other’s eyes after every set, the shared physical activity a very convenient excuse to justify being in such close proximity to each other.

“Alright, I think you’ve got it down, keep doing repetitions on the mannequin now. I’ll be observing you, you just focus on your task.”
She nodded energetically at his instructions and, turning her back to him, she got to work. Wilan walked back to the table he had set up, drank some water, and leaned back on it to observe her do her exercises. A moment later Jill joins him, effortlessly pulling herself up to sit on the table’s edge.
Silence stretches somewhat uncomfortably for a few long moments.

“She kind of likes you, you know?”
Wilan glanced in her direction. She hadn’t turned to look at him, and her comment had been quite enough to not carry over to Delen. None of the surprise Wilan felt showed on his face, however; masking his emotions had become an everyday occurrence to him after all.
“I kind of noticed.” He simply said back, his voice carefully neutral.
Jill was good at reading people, catching small signs and inflections that go unnoticed by most, but even she struggled to peek behind his carefully worn mask. She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if she noticed it herself. She’s so sincere in her affection, so spontaneous in her mood swings, there’s really no mistaking it. And yet she never addresses the subject directly. And when I try to specifically ask her she just says, with a distant smile, that even if that was the case the Warrior of Light just can’t be in a relationship so there’s simply nothing that can happen.”
She observes him carefully as she speaks, hoping to catch something, anything that could give her a hint of his true intentions. But he gave her nothing, his face might as well have been an actual mask.

It was only once silence had stretched for a breath longer than seemed normal that he spoke. “Well, that’s not untrue, in my position I can’t really spare the time or the dedication for a stable relationship.” He accompanies the words with a shrug, the motion a little too fluid to be entirely spontaneous, and a polite smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes. The words had sounded rather hollow to the miqo’te girl, who found the silence that had preceded them instead vastly more eloquent.
“Sir,” she spoke again “speaking as a fellow adventurer I can’t deny I respect you and admire you. Among us of the new guard you’re something of a living legend. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I speak honestly about what I think.”
He tilted his head in her direction without quite turning to look at her, a quiet gesture of acquiescence. She took in a breath, leaned forward on the table, and spoke.
“I think that girl loves you. I think she respects you too much for her own good, I think she can’t bring herself to push past the boundaries you’ve put down around yourself. And yet at the same time I think she’s too stubborn and determined to let go of her feelings just because she can’t cross them.”
An almost imperceptible quiver on his lip was all that he let show on his face at hearing her speech. Pursing her lips, she continued.
“I think she’s trying in any way possible to be near you despite your boundaries. I think she’s testing the limits of how far she can push herself. And I think she’s holding on to hope to find a way to reach you without crossing them, through activities she wasn’t explicitly forbidden.”
He took in a deep breath to process her words and come up with a proper response, but just as his brain was kicking into gear she added, off-handedly:
“You know, like sex.”

Wilan’s train of thoughts derailed on the spot.

Who in the seven hells even is this woman? he wondered to himself, intimidated. Delen was a quiet and very reserved girl, he could only remember her really opening up in rare moments of true connections, and even then just barely. How did she manage to extract knowledge of their intimacy from her? Was it torture? The threat of violence? Spies? Could she read minds? As he labors to keep his expression as neutral as if she never spoke at all, he had to wonder if maybe she, too, was blessed with the Echo and she just... saw them. The thought alone made him shiver.

Jill, meanwhile, observed him carefully as he kept his gaze trained diligently ahead in an effort to not meet hers, on the surface intent on observing Delen’s training. She knew she had touched a nerve, not from his reaction, but his distinct lack of it. Who on Hydaelyn would listen to something like that and not even blink? As he failed to come up with a response after a couple of seconds, she continued to press her offensive.
“Have you not wondered how come she asked you to teach her how to fight?”
“Well,” he hurried to say something, anything to break his silence and regain control of the conversation. “She wanted to be able to look out for herself, she said as much, which is a good idea considering she wants to keep traveling.”
She shook her head. “I mean why she wanted you to teach her” she corrected him, stressing the pronoun. “You said it yourself, these are just fundamentals, she could have turned to anyone for those. Hells, she could have asked me! Instead, ever since she made up her mind she chose to intentionally avoid learning as much as possible and wait half a year for you to get back from a godsdamn war just so she could take basic lessons from you.”

Jill’s eyes shifted back to her friend, still intent on her repetitions. “You should have seen her these past few months, daydreaming with the cutest smile on her lips, saying she was thinking of nothing in particular when asked. She had come up with the perfect excuse to be with you and do something that she knows you like, so that she could spend time with you without fear of crossing any line.”
Wilan pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on Delen. Is that right? he wondered, troubled. Maybe that was just an uncharitable way of seeing things, an unlikely explanation from a nosy friend who had no true idea of how things stood between them.
Right?
He looked at Delen, cycling through the eight angles of attack on the mannequin, elegant in her white shirt, loose but still flattering to her curves. The muscles of her legs tensed and relaxed in her tight cropped pants, skin and scales of her calves left uncovered to the warm spring air. Her short crimson hair swaying in her movements, her breath vocalizing in tiny grunts of effort and concentration, her eyes focused on her task but brimming with a light, an energy and motivation he had failed to notice before.
... Right?

“So what?” she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“So, uh, what?” he responded, for the first time faltering.
She tilted her head, ever so slightly. “Do you kind of like her back?” she asked him, flatly.
She had her answer before he spoke, watching his eyes tracking back to her, watching him take a breath longer than necessary to speak. “Uh, excuse me?” he finally answered, choosing to feign ignorance at the context of the question.
“Is my friend wasting her time with you or not?” she spells it out for him, her voice now hard as steel. “Because, look, personally speaking I’d rather tell her to give up on you, to fall in love with somebody else who actually values her. But she’s so transparent in her affection, so determined to see it bloom that I don’t have the heart to deter her. But I want to at the very least be sure that she isn’t going to get hurt.”

After another long silence Wilan finally speaks again. His voice, tinged by a drop of sadness, sounds more sincere that he did that whole conversation.
“It doesn’t matter what I want or I don’t want. I can’t.”
She pursed her lips in a frown, evidently dissatisfied by his answer, but at least now convinced that Delen’s feelings are, at least in part, requited. She leaned back, taking a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was softer, if no less worried. “She isn’t going to wait forever, you know that?”
Silence stretched once again before Wilan answered. This time, however, not because he was looking for the most diplomatically appropriate way to respond, rather because Jill had just given shape to an insidious thought that he made a lot of effort to never focus his thoughts on, and it now terrorized him.

“Maybe it’d be better that way.” he replied, unable to keep a deep-seated sadness from coloring his voice. “Maybe it’d be better if she forgot about me, if she found somebody else. Maybe she’d be happy, then.”
Silence fell between them until, moments later, with a last thunk of wood on wood Delen had completed her last repetition. She turned to Wilan with a smile and, as if by magic, all traces of melancholy had disappeared from his face.
Jill watched him stand up and walk toward her. She observed him point out things she did well, and her face light up in turn. She watched as he went on to discuss faults in her form she needed to address, striking a pose for her to imitate, and then circling his arms around her from her back correcting her movement. She watched her friend’s face, her cheeks blushing slightly but her eyes betraying quiet bliss.
She took in a long breath and leaned back, resting on open palms behind her back. “Ah well,” she whispered under her breath to herself “they’ll figure it out.”

Delen proved to be a capable and motivated student, rapidly going through the basics for the rest of the day. They waved goodbye to Jill at around noon and kept going on until sunset, when sunlight faded and the air of a spring not yet in full motion became rather brisk.
“Alright, I guess that’s enough for today.” Wilan conceded, as he noticed a cold shiver going through Delen’s sweat-soaked back. “We covered even more than I had anticipated, actually. You’re one motivated student, let me tell you.”
Tired and panting, Delen’s face nonetheless lit up in a proud smile. “Let’s call it a day then!” she agreed, her voice very energetic despite her exhaustion. “Hey...”
“Mh?” Wilan tilted his head as he collected the various props they used for their training.
“Uh... Do you, uh...” she hesitated only for a moment. “Do you mind if I take a shower here at your place, before going home? I know I don’t live far, but...” she motioned vaguely at herself.
“Oh, uh, sure, I don’t mind.”

As they agreed that there was no hurry, and that she could stay for dinner as well before walking across town to get back home, he had to wonder: why was he feeling this pleased with her staying a little longer?
As they joked that she already knows the way to the bathroom, he even caught himself feeling nostalgic, of a time when they used to live together, back when Delen had found a place to stay in Eorzea in his spare room next to his bedroom.
And as he watched her climb the stairs, as he heard the door to the bathroom upstairs close and water start to flow, with a sigh he had to push away from his mind thoughts about how he wouldn’t mind if she stayed the night.
Get yourself together, man. he admonished himself, as he tried to keep his mind busy by tidying up his living room. It wouldn’t do to encourage the girl even more, might send the wrong signals to her.

But moments from the day kept flashing in front of his eyes. Her legs, graceful in the beginner’s clumsiness of her footwork. Her neck, with its scales glistening in the loose collar of her shirt. Her lips, slightly parted as she found short on breath. Her eyes, smiling warmly as he praised her. Her―
“I’m done with the bathroom! Sorry to have kept you waiting!” her voice came from upstairs, as footsteps quickly paced and a door slammed close.
He sighed, recollected his thoughts, and climbed the stairs. The air in the bathroom was still somewhat steamy, thanks to the small miracle of engineering that was indoor plumbing and heating, a luxury that he too often still gave for granted. No wonder Delen preferred showering at his place, he thought.

He pictured her before he could catch himself, naked under his own shower, water flowing over the curves of her body.
He shook his head and turned shower’s faucet. Deep breaths, eyes closed, as warm water washed over his shoulders and down his body, as the words of her friend echoed in his mind. The doubt she had instilled in him had kept gnawing at him the whole afternoon.
Was it true?
Did she really seek his help just as an excuse to spend time together?
They were attracted to each other, that was no secret for either of them, but they had both agreed to keep things cold, the both of them realizing he couldn’t possibly commit to being in a relationship. If that was true, if there was even a kernel of truth in that girl’s assessment, he’d have to make things clear, right away. Smother any hint of tenderness on the spot, quash any sign of intimacy, deflect any display of affection. Yes.
Silence echoed in his thoughts at the sterility of his own resolution. Cold, bitter silence.

As the water stopped and the last few drops flowed down the curves of his calves, however, he couldn’t keep a tiny, timid, but tenacious voice in his mind from uttering the words: and yet...

He shooed that insubordinate thought away before it could take form. But his chest suddenly felt heavy, his own breath heavier. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off. Stubbornly resolute in keeping his mind blank he wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, pacing quickly past the closed door to the spare bedroom without so much as a glance toward it. He opened the door to his bedroom, stepped in the dark, and closed it behind himself.
Determined as he was to not think of anything at all, it took him a few moments to realize that someone had lit up the fireplace.

He looked up, toward the source of the light. He gulped as his eyes made out a familiar silhouette in the darkness. The warm light, as soft as a caress, glides over the curves of her skin, of her scales, and not much else.
She turns her head around, her eyes sweet, her posture tender. Silence stretches between them for a while, broken only by their breaths and the gentle crackling of the fire, but her relaxed, timid confidence makes it, too, feel comfortable.
She smiles, naked and beautiful.
“The thing is...” she finally says, her quiet voice irresistibly sweet “I didn’t pack a change of clothes with me. But I figured we’d be taking our clothes off tonight anyway, so... it shouldn’t be a problem, no?”

Somewhere, somewhere deep in his mind, a small voice tries to warn Wilan that this is precisely what he was trying to avoid. That he shouldn’t lead her on, that he should stop this right now, for both their sake. That if she wasn’t going to get dressed and leave his room right that instant he should just turn around and leave.
That voice was so distant that it might as well have spared the effort.
Wilan froze, and with a towel around his waist as the only thing preserving his modesty, he couldn’t find any feasible way to hide the fact that, no. No, no of course.

Of course it wouldn’t be a problem.

Chapter Text

Wilan readjusted the uncomfortable collar of his red garments, as he prepared to enter the door to the storage room that his mentor had converted as training grounds. He wasn’t quite used yet to the clothes he had been expected to wear even after a week or so.
Like always, X’rhun was already waiting for him. “Good morning” Wilan greeted him, not exactly overflowing with energy. He wasn’t looking forward to another day of tango with a mannequin.

“Oh, there you are, boy. Good morning to you.” the Gyr Abanian miqo'te greeted him, turning around. “Come now, grab a sword from the rack.”
Wilan sighed, and was about to politely answer, when he suddenly realized what he had just been asked to do.
“A sword, sir?” he asked, his voice now colored with careful enthusiasm as he started pacing toward the weapon rack. “Does that mean…? Are we going to move on to practical lessons today?”

X’rhun arched an eyebrow. “My boy, we have been doing little else thus far. Granted, so far your grace and elegance have been in far more dire need of refinement than your swordsmanship. In fact, I confess I’ve been looking forward to a sparring contest with the swordsman who claimed victory against the Legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion, Gaius van Baelsar himself.” He stepped aside, letting Wilan pick his weapon first.  “It is known that you’re a formidable warrior, but I don’t make it a habit of relying on tales and hearsay. Crossing swords, although wooden ones, seems to me like the best way to evaluate your prowess firsthand.”

“That suits me just fine.” replied with a smirk Wilan, who had been waiting for a chance to prove himself to his new mentor. He grabbed with confidence one of the wooden shields resting against the wall. He strapped it onto his left forearm as he paced to the middle of the room. But when he turned around he saw X’rhun take position in front of him, armed only with a simple wooden longsword and folding his left arm elegantly behind his back. He tilted his head. “What, just a sword?”
“The style of combat I employ favors keeping your off-hand unburdened and unimpeded.” he explained, twirling the fingers of his left hand. “I won’t be using it for this sparring match.”
“Well, suit yourself. But if that’s the case…”
The Hyuran man let go of his grip on the shields strap, relaxed his muscles, and shook his left arm until the shield fell to the floor with a noisy thunk that echoed within the walls of the warehouse.

X’rhun regarded him with interest. “Putting yourself at a disadvantage?”
“If you’re coming at me only with a sword, seems only fair that I do the same.” He explained himself.
X’rhun tilted his head in acquiescence, and then, as if they heard the same signal, the two veteran warriors saluted.
The Champion of Eorzea’s salute was solid, rigid, delivered with a stable stance, his feet parallel and firm on the floor, his hand on his heart, his sword tall, and a confident smirk.
The Crimson Duelist’s salute was much more fluid in comparison. His sword swirled upward with an elegant motion, one foot slightly ahead of the other, his pose slightly asymmetric, and his left hand gracefully folded behind his back. In his eyes, quiet resolution.

A heartbeat later, it began.

The two fighters slowly paced around each other, pointing their swords, keeping their distance, studying their opponent’s movement.
Even without a shield, Wilan’s stance was exceptionally well guarded, and tiny shifts in his balance in response to X’rhun’s changes of angle made it clear that he offered no openings. But the practiced duelist was also quick to realize he was also not taking the offensive. Without warning he stung him with an jab of his sword, which Wilan promptly parried and deflected. He expected nothing less, the stab aimed more to test his reaction than to hit. He followed up with a leftward slash, followed in quick succession with a slash in the opposite direction after an elegant twirl. Both of them parried without so much as throwing Wilan off balance.

“Exceptional defense.” X’rhun commented out loud, his focus never wavering despite the conversational tone. “As to be expected from a man who stands still against the storm. However,” he delivered three more attacks in quick succession right in the middle of his sentence, neither of them having more success than the previous ones, but finally forcing Wilan to step back. “your approach to battle is reactionary. You’re allowing me to dictate the pace of the fight.” He casually observed as he pressured Wilan with another flurry of his sword, and then effortlessly sidestepping his counterattack. X’rhun lifted his chin and continued, his tone tinting with a hint of what sounded like derision. “You’re steady and balanced on your feet, but you’re just letting me run circles around you.”

But after deflecting one more sting, annoyed by the constant remarks, Wilan lunged with a counter-attack.
“And you speak way too much for―” he stopped, mid-sentence and mid-lunge, as a flash of intuition made him dodge backward, letting him narrowly avoid a slash. He regained his posture and glanced back up at his mentor, who was regarding him with his chin up, his pose relaxed, and a smile on his lips.
Wilan smirked. He realized it now, he had tried to get on his nerves to get him to retaliate even when he normally wouldn’t have. The man’s tongue was as sharp as his fencing.
He resumed his attacks, but this time on his own terms.

The young swordsman pressured the practiced duelist with a sequence of expert attacks, yet the man, light of his feet, weaved out of his attack. He was on the backfoot though, and if he kept the pressure up he might just find an opening he could use.
After all, his back was almost against the wall now.
But as he lunged for a sting he was sure he had no way to dodge, the red mage surprised him once again. He turned around, stepped on a storage box, then on the swords rack, and from there he leaped up in the air.

Wilan managed to regain his balance and step back, but only barely. He narrowly avoided his descending slash, and off-balance as he was he had to roll backwards to dodge the follow-up attack. He barely had time to stand up when his intuition screamed at him to move out of the way, to dodge to the right.

Wilan’s intuition was often right in a fight. Sometimes inexplicably so, as if he could somehow sense danger before it happened. He usually chalked it up to his many years of experience, and yet fighters far more experienced than he was usually didn’t have senses as finely tuned as he did.
He should have probably tried to figure out why it was. Problem is, the middle of a battle never seemed to be the right place to dwell on it. If his intuition told him to dodge, he dodged, end of story.
Except he was way too off balance to ever be able to do it in time.

With a loud sound of wood on wood, X’rhun’s sword clashed again Wilan’s shield, the same he had minutes earlier discarded and that he was now holding up with his left hand.
X’rhun blinked, and a breath later he smiled, seemingly pleased by Wilan’s quick thinking. “Oh, I thought you insisted on playing fair.” X’rhun commented, sarcastically.
Wilan could do with some mid-fight bantering. Good way to catch his breath and regain his balance, he noted. Maybe that’s why X’rhun was so fond of it.

“Oh this?” he made a scene of glancing down at his shield as if noticing it for the first time. “I swear, I don’t know how this got here, I must have grabbed it while I wasn’t paying attention. Force of habit, I guess.” He smirked, and his eyes furrowed. “Maybe you should hold onto it for me!”
And no sooner had he finished saying the words, with a flick of his arm he threw the shield at his mentor. He side-stepped it effortlessly to his left, but Wilan was counting on it. He moved in advance to intercept his movements, and X’rhun only parried his attack at the last moment, off balance.

“I wonder.” Wilan asked as his sword tried to overpower his mentor’s, in the same conversational tone he had reserved for him earlier. “You clearly know how to hold yourself in fight. I guess they don’t call you the Crimson Duelist for no reason.” The two men grunted and shuffled their weight, but Wilan’s sword stayed on top. “So why is it then that you keep moving all over the place? Why waste so much energy in your twirls and your pirouettes when much simpler motions would serve you much more efficiently?”
Beyond their crossed blades, Wilan could see a glint in X’rhun’s eyes.
“You’ve noticed, haven’t you? Very good.” he said, with a voice that seemed to compliment Wilan for having understood the point of his lesson.

An effort of will transpired from his eyes, and his wooden sparring sword started to... Wilan had to blink in surprise, it started to glow. The unexpected turn of evemts made him relent his pressure just long enough to let X’rhun roll out of the way of the binding, the tail of his coat floating in his wake. “Maybe it’s better if I show you.” He said, somewhat cryptically. And in a fluid motion he lunged forward and delivered an upward attack with his sword, its blade tracing a bright arc in the air.
The wooden sword in his hand had no chance of blocking it. His blade sliced through it as if it was made of clay, cutting it clean in half. 

Barely able to hide the shock from his face, Wilan’s eyes went from the singed wood of his broken blade to that of his mentor, which also had frayed and cracked, its material evidently unfit to channel whatever manner of aether he had poured into it.
Nonetheless, X’rhun twirled it one last time to perform a salute, calling their sparring match to a close. Still reeling from the shock, Wilan did the same with his own broken sword. And as he did, he had to wonder:

Did he really destroy two perfectly good sparring swords just to make a point...?