Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I wanted this, once. More than anything. A chance to speak and be heard…”

She was found in the Twelveswood, naked and unconscious, by a chocobo carriage that happened to be passing by, and she was brought to the Carline Canopy to recover.

Aside from the scars and muscles that marked her as a seasoned warrior, she was utterly unremarkable. A hyuran woman of indeterminate origin—tall for a midlander, but positively tiny for a highlander, with fair, tanned skin and a mess of mousy brown hair, tangled with leaves and twigs that were carefully brushed out. There was a scar that cut across her face, through her right brow and continuing at an angle over her cheek, just beneath her eye. A splash of freckles dusted her strong, straight nose, and when one of the healers prised her eyes open to check, he reported they were an intense shade of magenta. 

Inquiries were made, both in Gridania and in the Grand Companies, but nobody reported a missing daughter or sister or wife or soldier. It was like she’d simply appeared out of nowhere.

It was a week later when she awoke. She lashed out in terror, breaking her nursemaid’s nose and sending the woman flying across the room before she came to her senses. 

And then she scrambled out of bed, healing magic at her fingertips, apologising profusely as she tended the poor woman’s injuries. 

But no sound came from her throat, no matter how much she strained to speak. The most she could manage were grunts and sighs before Miounne had parchment and a pen sent to her. She wrote, in an unpracticed, untidy scrawl, My name is Adalyn Keene. What happened? Where am I?

Gridania was the answer to the second question, but as to how Adalyn had come to be in the forest or where she was from, she didn’t know, nor did anyone else. 

I remember the moon was falling, she wrote, but beyond that, she seemed to have no recollection of the past at all.

Her recovery was hastened by her own healing magics, despite the conjurers’ protestations that she shouldn’t be straining herself so much. Adalyn paid them no heed. They didn’t know her; Seven Hells, she didn’t even know herself, but she could at least understand her own limitations while they insisted she remain bedridden.

Adalyn, for her part, insisted on repaying the Adventurers’ Guild the moment she could leave the confines of her room. It was the least she could do after everything they had done for her.

She was certain that at one point, she was capable of speech. Now, though, whenever she opened her mouth to try and form words, naught came out but a soft breath of air. 

If she'd had a voice before, though, she couldn't for the life of her remember what it sounded like. If there was any answer to be had, it was gone as surely as the rest of her past, locked behind a seamless steel vault of memory to which there was no key.

For the time being, she could count on her earnings going back to the adventurers' guild to repay them for all they had done for her. Beyond that... well, that was a mystery to her and everyone else.

Adalyn presented herself to the other guilds in Gridania after she’d begun making something of a name for herself as an up-and-coming adventurer, and she took to each of the disciplines as a duck to water.

Moreso, really, for even a duck needs to learn how to swim—but the moment Adalyn picked up a new weapon, or familiarised herself with a new discipline of magic, it was like she had been studying it all her life. It was much the same with musical instruments, as she quickly discovered.

“Would that you could sing as prettily as you play!” Miounne said, laughing at the end of one evening where Adalyn had spent the night accompanying another bard at the Carline Canopy. “Ah well—for a woman of all your talents, I suppose there would have to be something you’re not perfect at.”

To which Adalyn merely smiled and shrugged.

When Adalyn looked back on how it all started, years after the fact, she could have laughed at how ridiculous it was.

When she first came to the Scions, it took her a while to realise that, aside from Minfilia, none of them seemed to have realised she was mute—simply by dint of hardly interacting with any of her newfound allies. 

It turned out Yda and Papalymo had inquired her name from Miounne, when Adalyn sat in the Carline Canopy nursing a mug of ale. Miounne had told them her name and nothing further was asked or offered.

“Forgive me for treating you as a stranger,” Minfilia said when the other Scions filed out of the Solar after they had been properly introduced. “You deserve better than this, considering all you have done for the realm.”

Adalyn’s heart beat faster, and she edged closer, tilting her head. “What do you mean?” she mouthed, glad Minfilia, at least, could understand her through the Echo.

“Adalyn, it’s me,” Minfilia said, letting out an uncertain laugh. “Pray let us speak plainly in one another’s presence; there is no need for deception.”

“You knew me before?” Adalyn said urgently. “I was not exaggerating about losing my memories. You speak fondly to me, like we were dear friends, but—” She bit her lip when she realised Minfilia was tearing up. After a moment of dithering, she reached across the desk for Minfilia’s hands.

“No, don’t cry,” Adalyn said, squeezing gently. “Please don’t. This is a good thing! If you knew who I was, then maybe you can help me to remember, too.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” Minfilia said, giving Adalyn a watery smile. “That you should forget everything and still keep on being the hero everyone remembers you to be…”

Adalyn’s mouth fell open. “I’m the Warrior of Light?” she asked incredulously. “The hero from five years ago? Whom none can recall the details of, their features hidden in brightness?"

“The very same,” Minfilia said softly. “Where shall I start?”

Adalyn rubbed a hand over her face. “I awoke little over a month ago, naked in the forest with naught to my memory but a name. There’s a lot I’m missing.”

“Then we shall start at the beginning,” Minfilia said after a moment, “but first, I think, some tea is in order. Tataru?” she called, raising her voice, and the lalafell appeared in the office’s doorway within seconds. “A pot of tea, please, and some refreshments to tide us over until supper; this adventurer and I have much to discuss.”

“Right away!” Tataru chirped, and scurried off. 

“Let us get somewhat more comfortable,” Minfilia said, and came around the desk to lead Adalyn over to the faded, but still very fine, sofa that was pushed against one wall, a low table in front of it. She sat, and after just the slightest hesitation, Adalyn sat beside her, fidgeting nervously as she waited for the other woman to speak.

Minfilia, whom Adalyn had gained the impression was normally quite well-versed and put together, seemed to struggle with the words as she decided where to start. 

“Please keep in mind,” Minfilia said after a moment, “that most of what I know of your history is spotty; you weren’t particularly forthcoming about your past, and I thought it rude to pry.” She studied Adalyn for another moment, and Adalyn shifted uncomfortably before she heard Minfilia chuckle. “Goodness me, but it would seem as though you haven’t aged a day.”

“You know how old I am?” Adalyn said, latching onto that as a possible starting point.

“We were the same age, as a matter of fact,” Minfilia said, studying Adalyn for a moment. “Now, however, between your sudden reappearance and your memory loss… and the loss of your voice… I believe Louisoix must have, in desperation to save you when Dalmud fell, cast a spell to transport you here.”

“Here.. to Eorzea?”

“No,” Minfilia said softly. “Here to this time.”

Adalyn stared. “You mean to the future? If... if I really was the Warrior of Light, then... you mean to say that that but a moon ago, I was five years in the past—trying to prevent the Calamity?”

“Yes.” Minfilia cleared her throat. “I am twenty-seven summers old, now, but you still look exactly the same as you did when we were twenty-two.”

Adalyn just sat back and rubbed tiredly at her eyes, only looking up to nod her thanks to Tataru when the secretary brought a tray of tea and finger cakes into the room. 

“Tea?” Minfilia said, a bit sheepishly, once the door shut again. 

Adalyn shook her head. “Don’t like tea, but thanks.”

Minfilia gave Adalyn a knowing smile. “And if I said I knew exactly the tea to prepare that you do like?”

Adalyn tilted her head. 

Minfilia poured the tea, adding a generous helping of sugar and a dash of vanilla, of all things. She passed Adalyn the teacup, and smiled when Adalyn took a tentative sip before her eyes flew wide.

“Seven Hells,” Adalyn mouthed, and her face went blotchy red. “Ah—sorry, Miss Ward, I keep forgetting you can understand me—”

But Minfilia laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Please, Minfilia is fine. Think nothing of it, my dear Adalyn,” she said. “I hope this lends some credence to my theory?”

Adalyn nodded, giving Minfilia a tentative smile.

“As for you,” Minfilia said, picking up her own cup and contemplating it, as if hoping it might hold answers somewhere in its depths, “well. You were remarkable. Are remarkable,” she added quickly, “but the memory loss also contributed to your relative lack of skill in battle, has it not?”

“I… I suppose?” Adalyn said after a moment. “I mean, I don’t exactly know what I don’t know.”

Minfilia chuckled, a little darkly. “A fair assessment,” she said. “Forgive me; this is new territory for me as well.” She took a sip of tea and settled the cup back on its saucer. “You told me that were an orphan of Limsa Lominsa,” she said softly, and Adalyn flinched, the sensation of a knife splitting flesh, the hot splatter of blood on her face slamming into memory. “Aye,” Minfilia said, watching her sadly. “From what you told me, your mother died in childbirth, and your father resented you deeply for it. You were not forthcoming with the details, other than after he gave you the scar which you bear upon your face, you escaped your situation—and escape it you did, falling straight into the hands of pirates.”

“Pirates?” Adalyn asked, latching gratefully onto the distraction. Her hand came up to touch the scar that cut across her face, her fingers trembling.

“Pirates,” Minfilia said, nodding. “After you fled, you spent your childhood on a pirate ship,” Minfilia said, and Adalyn leaned forward eagerly. “Sorry, ‘privateering vessel’ .” Minfilia gave Adalyn a knowing smile to go with the air quotes. “First as a cabin girl, then learning, well, everything—everything that you could. When Thancred caught wind of your presence, eight years ago, and he and I came to recruit you to our cause, neither of us could quite believe your many talents.

“You were ever so modest about it, but you truly have a gift, Adalyn. A person could spend a lifetime learning a single trade, but you just seem to take to everything you try easier than a duck to water. All manner of bladework, archery, magic…” She shook her head. “Truth be told, I was always a little jealous, but as you very kindly reminded me, my talents lay elsewhere. ‘I can sing the ballads of heroes of old,’” she quoted, and Adalyn felt a lump appear in her throat, “‘but with your words, you compose the future.’ Long have I carried those with me when I need reassurance.” 

“I’m glad I could help,” Adalyn said, a corner of her mind wondering how much of her tone was conveyed through the Echo. “I… you said I could sing?”

“Yes,” Minfilia said softly. “You had a lovely voice, too, a little on the deeper side, warm and rich, but when you sang high as the birds, you could shatter glass. And as with weapons, instruments just seemed to spring to life beneath your fingertips.” 

Adalyn looked down at her hands, realising that it was like the old bard had said. The calluses on her fingers were from more than just a bowstring.

“You left one of your instruments here,” Minfilia said. “Would you like—?”

Adalyn was already nodding rapidly, and Minfilia took a quick sip of her tea before standing and hurrying to one of the larger cabinets. Adalyn took advantage of the distraction to stuff a small cake in her mouth. It was strange, but decidedly wonderful to be able to ‘talk’ again, however limited it was. 

“A fiddle, from your days on the sea,” Minfilia said as she returned with a very battered leather instrument case. “You bid I look after it, in the event you did not return from your quest. Now that you have, I bequeath it back to you.”

Adalyn sniffled and hurriedly swallowed her food, taking the case and settling it on her lap, running her fingers over the leather. A familiar sensation, one that stirred the whisperings of memory, and she looked up at Minfilia with a watery smile.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Minfilia brushed tears away from the corners of her eyes. “Glad am I that you returned safely to the Scions, missing memories aside,” she said. “I’m certain that Urianger will discover a solution to your plight ere long.”

“I’d like that,” Adalyn said, unlatching the case and lifting the fiddle to her chin. “I’d like to know what it is to sing again. Or at all…” She trailed off, plucking at the strings and tuning them as muscle memory directed. Satisfied, she tightened the bow; its strings were still in relatively good condition, thanks to the cool, dry air of the Waking Sands. 

Even with the re-tuning, the fiddle had been unplayed for half a decade, and it still took some warming up before Adalyn got a feel for its current tone. With a bit more love, she thought as she coaxed it through a series of scales, it would be in fine working order again.

“Would you do me the honour of playing something?” Minfilia asked.

Adalyn lit up at once. She launched into a drinking song, whistling the melody in place of the words, and jumped off the sofa to dance, her feet adding to the rhythm. She had to stomp, the soft leather of her boots making for poor noise, but Minfilia laughed and clapped as well, helping her to keep the tempo. 

Adalyn’s heart soared with the melody, and deciding to throw self-consciousness to the wind, she began to sing her silent tune, belting out the words without a sound. But when Minfilia joined in, Adalyn’s playing was that much more joyous for knowing she was heard.

When she finished, she bowed, her face flushed with excitement, and Minfilia clapped, beaming.

“‘Tis good to hear you play again, my friend,” Minfilia said, and Adalyn smiled, giving her a small nod. 

She packed the fiddle away, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. Her hands trembled slightly as she mouthed, “It’s like a great weight has been lifted… not only to find answers about my past, but to have my voice heard again…”

“I’m sure you must get annoyed having to write everything,” Minfilia said, and Adalyn impatiently blew her bangs out of her eyes, nodding. “Especially with as much as you used to talk! You were ever so shy when first we met, but once you started talking, it was like bearing witness to the bursting of a dam.”

“No wonder you couldn’t wait to send me off to face the calamity,” Adalyn said jokingly, but Minfilia shook her head.

“‘Twas not an endeavour we undertook with any semblance of gladness,” Minfilia said softly. “That Louisoix must have saved you in his final moments speaks volumes to the kind of hero you both were. Adalyn…” She leaned forward, her expression completely serious. “You—and Louisoiox—saved the star. We are all in your debt.”

Adalyn just shook her head, reaching for her tea to take a long sip. Her fingers itched to play again, something to distract her from the churning mess of thoughts that crowded in her brain. 

“It remains unclear what the others remember,” Minfilia said, studying Adalyn. “We can only assume it is a consequence of the power Louisoix invoked to save your life. But irrespective of the cause, know that whatever shroud that has fallen over people’s memories, there will surely be a way to lift it.”

It didn’t seem to matter that others didn’t remember her as the Warrior of Light; it seemed that, no matter where Adalyn’s travels ended up taking her, she’d inevitably find herself compared to her own heroic deeds. 

The more she heard about her past exploits, the more impossible it all seemed. Yes, she couldn’t deny her skill at so many disciplines was already an impossible feat in and of itself, but surely nobody could be capable of all that?

Yet, she thought as she staggered back to the Waking Sands, nursing a burn on her shoulder she’d sustained in her battle against Ifrit, she had slain a primal.

Not that she had done so unscathed, but she had managed nonetheless.

Despite all of the effort Adalyn poured into her conjury, the burn scar stubbornly refused to fade, and she sighed, finally letting her hand fall. There was only so much healing magic could do, after all; accelerating the body’s natural healing couldn’t fix the unfixable.

“Adalyn?” Tataru gasped when Adalyn pushed the door open, leaning heavily against the frame. “Adalyn! Oh, dear oh dear oh dear—” She scrambled off her stool, her eyes huge. “I’ll go get help!”

Adalyn sank gratefully into one of the chairs at the entrance and let her head fall to the table. Her shoulder still stung from the ache of the burn, and when she tried stretching, winced when the motion pulled at the shiny, taut scar.

If this was what her life had been like before she lost her memories, no wonder her skin was a tapestry dedicated to the fights she had been in.

If this was to be her life moving forward… she was just going to have to get better at ducking.

Chapter Text

Adalyn was really starting to get sick of dealing with Ishgardians. 

Bull-headed, isolationist, religious nutters, the lot of them, she thought grumpily as she trudged through the snow, glad for her thigh-high boots that kept her legs dry and warm. The rest of her was another matter entirely, though, and she hunched her shoulders, the fluffy neck of her coat bunching with the movement. 

All this bullshite of heretics and blasphemy and dragons when all she needed was one lousy skyship. Sure, she was glad Lord Francel wasn’t about to be immediately executed over a false accusation—which was a whole mess that only served to further lower her opinion of Ishgard—and it promised to work out in her favour as well, in the end, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d been stonewalled at every turn so far. How short-sighted did these people have to be to refuse to help combat the Garleans?

Through the swirling snow emerged the fuzzy but unmistakable silhouette of a garrison wall, and Adalyn’s pace picked up at the welcome sight. 

Camp Dragonhead was just as bleak as the lands it stood guard over, and the guards at the gate looked at her with suspicion before she produced Francel’s letter, at which they allowed her to pass. One of the guards pointed her to the keep, where Lord Haurchefant normally worked, and she nodded her thanks, her heart already sinking at the immediate prospect of getting the cold shoulder yet again. 

Literally.

Adalyn pushed the thick wooden door open and slipped inside, lifting her hands to her mouth and blowing warm air over her fingertips, shivering with delight when the warmth of the roaring fireplace washed over her. 

In the middle of the room stood a long table laden with the remains of a meal, its rich smells still lingering in the air. Against the back wall, beneath a pair of crossed halberds hung with the Ishgardian standard, was a massive oak desk, its surface strewn with parchment and half-full inkwells. The steely-haired elezen behind the desk looked up at her entrance, his face puzzled but not outwardly hostile as he set his pen in the inkwell nearest to him. 

“Greetings, adventurer,” he called, raising a hand to her. “What brings you to my outpost?”

Ah. So this must be Lord Haurchefant.

Adalyn bowed, straightened, and strode briskly forward, holding the letter in front of her. 

“Please, be at ease, friend,” Haurchefant said as she approached. “I am not one to stand on formality.”

Adalyn stopped in front of the desk, still holding the letter out and waiting expectantly. As Haurchefant accepted it with a curious look at her, she took another moment to produce the pre-written card from her belt pouch, setting it down on the desk.

My name is Adalyn Keene. I am mute.
My hearing is fine. Please speak to me normally.

Haurchefant glanced at the card, then back up at her, his smile softening somewhat. Adalyn’s own frown deepened, and she swept the card back into her pouch. She wished she could go back to the hostility rather than have to navigate the man’s condescending pity. 

“Adalyn—may I call you Adalyn?” At her nod, Haurchefant’s smile returned in full force. “Always does it brighten my spirits to see a capable adventurer come through those doors. Pray, do you require any writing materials so we may speak? I have plenty on hand, as you can see,” he added with a chuckle as he gestured at his desk. 

Adalyn inclined her head and made a small noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat before tapping the letter and folding her arms impatiently. 

“Ah, yes. Pardon me for just a moment…” 

Adalyn glanced restlessly around the room while Haurchefant read, her thoughts on the strange behaviour of the knight before her. Perhaps her knee-jerk reaction of anticipating pity had been unfair, though there was no telling what he would be like after this introduction. Still, he was… odd. Certainly already a great deal friendlier than the Ishgardians she’d dealt with so far. Not that she was complaining about that.

When Haurchefant finished the letter, he lifted his head, and Adalyn’s gaze snapped back to him. “If there is any justice in this world, these charges will receive no serious consideration,” he said. “It is beyond inconceivable…” He trailed off and shook his head, setting the letter aside. “There was also mention of a pressing matter for which you required assistance. What might that be?”

Adalyn produced her pen from her belt pouch and dipped it in the nearest inkwell, snagging a piece of parchment as she did so. 

After all, if the offer was there, she might as well make use of it.

With her tongue sticking out, she did her best to write quickly while still making the words legible. The results were less than satisfactory, but there was little to be done about it now. 

Looking for airship called Enterprise. Crashed ~5 years ago in Calamity. Need find fast = NOW. She underlined the last word three times and tapped the parchment impatiently with the butt of her pen as she looked up at Haurchefant, waiting for the inevitable dismissal. 

To her surprise, he looked thoughtful. “I know this Enterprise you speak of was seen above Coerthas before the Calamity, though I fear it might be difficult for you to find any eyewitness accounts. Ishgard was… preoccupied with its own conflicts at the time, you see.” He rubbed his jaw. “Nevertheless, I will make inquiries on your behalf and share my findings with you in the future.”

Adalyn blinked. Surely it couldn’t have been that easy… and yet, Haurchefant’s face was utterly open, free of guile. She fumbled with her pen. Thank you, she scrawled. Any info huge help.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind!” Haurchefant said. “In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead. I shall see to it that you are afforded every courtesy as a guest of House Fortemps.”

Adalyn gave him another bow, but Haurchefant shook his head, holding up a hand. 

“That isn’t necessary, please,” he said. “If I may, though, it could be some time before I receive any information regarding your missing airship. While you wait, would you consider indulging me a small favour?”

Adalyn inclined her head, curious now. 

“Francel speaks very highly of your martial prowess,” Haurchefant said, a gleam in his eye. “I would ask that you share some of your experience with our knights, that they might be better equipped to face the Dravanian Horde when next they strike.”

To which, Adalyn grinned and nodded.

When the last knight lay groaning at her feet, Adalyn replaced her spear on her back, her armour changing back to her heavy, white winter coat. She heard applause from the garrison wall, and when she looked up, she spotted Haurchefant’s blue head leaning over the ramparts. He beckoned to her, then turned and disappeared inside. 

Adalyn helped the defeated knight to his feet, saluted, and jogged back to the keep, grinning to herself. 

“I must say, that was quite the splendid performance, Adalyn,” Haurchefant said by way of greeting when she came back inside. He had come around his desk, now, and was leaning back against it with his arms loosely folded, looking far too handsome with his casual, easygoing smile. 

The thought drew Adalyn up short before she shoved it aside. She clasped her hand over her heart in a gesture of thanks.

“Come, sit with me?” Haurchefant said, gesturing to the table in the middle of the room, and Adalyn realised there was a tray set up with mugs of tea. “I took the liberty of preparing you a hot drink that I neglected to offer you before.”

Adalyn sat in the chair he indicated, just to the right of the head of the table, and accepted a mug of tea to be polite, though she didn’t drink. Haurchefant settled in the chair at the head of the table and took the other mug for himself. 

“Thank you,” Adalyn mouthed. 

Haurchefant smiled at her over the rim of his mug. “I can see the wariness in your eyes,” he said. “No doubt from your dealings with my fellow countrymen. Mayhap you have discerned this during your short time here, but House Fortemps regards outsiders differently than the other High Houses.”

Adalyn arched an eyebrow and sat back, still cradling her mug between her fingers. It was, after all, pleasantly warm, even if she found its contents objectionable. 

“We have no objections to employing adventurers and sellswords, for example,” Haurchefant continued, “whereas others have, for all intents and purposes, forbidden the practice.”

Adalyn rolled her eyes, and Haurchefant chuckled. 

“Indeed,” he said. “To disregard a man’s talents because of the circumstances of his birth is shortsighted and foolish.” 

Adalyn could have sworn she caught a flicker of something on Haurchefant’s face as he spoke, but what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. It was there and gone in the span of an instant. Instead, she merely nodded, watching him expectantly. 

Haurchefant took a long drink from his mug and set it down. “You know, after watching you spar with our knights, I am reminded that you are a woman of action. Doubtless you would rather take a more active role in my inquiries, yes?”

Adalyn nodded, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Then let us discuss how you can do just that.” Haurchefant paused. “Though, first, I must ask—do you speak any of the sign languages of Eorzea? I’ve been terribly rude prattling on at you without letting you get a word in edgewise.”

Adalyn hesitated and gestured vaguely before shaking her head. 

“I see…” Haurchefant glanced up at the ceiling in thought. “I suppose it was a rather silly question, seeing as I don’t speak any of them, either.”

A burst of silent laughter escaped Adalyn before she could stop herself, and she ducked her head, her shoulders shaking. She heard Haurchefant chuckle ruefully, which only made her laugh harder, and she set the mug on the table before she spilled its contents on her coat. 

“Well,” Haurchefant said, and when Adalyn lifted her head again, he was grinning at her. “I can think of several individuals who might be sympathetic to your cause. I can send you to them with missives, confirming that you are a friend of House Fortemps, and hopefully that should be enough to convince them to lend you their aid. In the meantime, I shall contact others who would require more personal reassurance. But for now, please take tonight at least to recuperate from your journey.”

Adalyn let out a soft sigh and nodded, already picturing rolling herself into her blankets in a soft pile of hay in the chocobo stables and sleeping the night away. But to her surprise, Haurchefant stood, offering her his hand. Unsure of what else to do, Adalyn took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet before he turned, clearly expecting her to follow. 

“I took the liberty of having the guest chambers made ready for you,” he said, turning to walk backwards so he was facing her. He laced his fingers behind his head, grinning at her stunned expression. “After all, it would hardly do to let the famed slayer of primals sleep on the floor!”

Adalyn felt her cheeks heating up, and she coughed, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“You know, there is much to be said of the virtue of modesty, but one ought to have pride in one’s accomplishments,” Haurchefant said, dropping his hands and turning to fall into step at Adalyn’s side. Tall as she was, she still had to crane her neck to look up at him. “After all, if you cannot give yourself credit where it is due, why should you expect others to do the same?”

Adalyn tilted her head, turning the words over in her mind. Haurchefant seemed to sense he’d given her something to think about, because he didn’t speak again until they reached a door, which he pushed open to reveal a small but well-furnished chamber. 

“I’ll have one of the men bring you supper,” Haurchefant said, “unless you’d rather I bring it myself?” His smile widened again when Adalyn’s blush returned. “And if there’s a drink you would prefer in place of tea, don’t hesitate to ask. Would cocoa be acceptable?”

Startled, Adalyn looked up at him and nodded.

“Splendid! I shall bring you some shortly, but then I’m afraid duty calls, as it is wont to do,” Haurchefant said. “Please, rest, and take a moment to relieve yourself of your burdens for the evening.” 

Adalyn fumbled for her notebook, licking her pen to get the ink flowing again. Thank you, she wrote. For everything.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” Haurchefant said. “Wait until you’ve got your airship back, and then we shall have a proper celebration.” He strode back the way they came, waving over his shoulder without looking back. 

Adalyn realised she was looking after him only once he’d turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Mentally chastising herself for being so silly, she shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. 

He really did have a nice smile.

Haurchefant,

I’m sure you have heard by now, but our quest to recover The Enterprise was successful. A thousand thanks could never suffice, let alone these blood currant tarts, but I trust that in lieu of the former, the latter is acceptable.

‘Tis a shame I couldn’t deliver these in person, but I hope you enjoy my forays into the culinary arts.

Yours,

Adalyn

Haurchefant smiled as he re-folded the letter, written with much more care than her usual scribbled notes but still in a visibly shaky hand. He opened the small basket to uncover the tarts, which were a beautiful golden brown colour, orange syrup leaking at the edges of the crust.

“Ah, Adalyn,” he murmured after he’d taken a bite. “You’re as masterful with a kitchen knife as a set of daggers. I’m beginning to wonder if there is anything you cannot do.”

He settled back in his chair, picking up his book on Ishgardian Sign with one hand, tart in the other, and he began to read.

The Enterprise roared to life, and Cid’s hands closed on the controls with a familiarity beyond that which he’d used to fly her home.

He let out a disbelieving laugh as he guided the airship into the sky.

“At last, my friends!” Alphinaud said, and punched the air. “We shall soon face Garuda and put an end to this madness!”

Adalyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes until the boy all but skipped belowdecks, only restraining his glee by need to maintain some semblance of dignity. 

“I remember,” Cid said softly behind her, and Adalyn swung around from her place at the railing the railing to stare at Cid, her mouth falling open.

She hurried to him, scrabbling for her pen as she did so, but there was no need. 

“It took a while for the memory to return,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I remember you. Adalyn Keene, the Warrior of Light!”

Adalyn choked up as Cid locked the Enterprise onto course before he crossed the distance between them, lifting Adalyn off her feet in a bear hug and swinging her around. 

“The Floating Isle, van Darnus… we ended it that day—or so we thought.” He set her down and studied her at length for a moment. “Listen, let’s keep this between the two of us for the time being. If word got out that the Warrior of Light had returned, the eyes of the world would soon be upon us—our enemies’ included. And that’s the kind of attention we could well do without.”

Adalyn flipped to a page on her notepad, struggling to make her untidy scrawl legible. Minfilia knows, she wrote. Remembered me from Echo.

“You two and your powers,” Cid chuckled. “And you were a crack shot with any firearm you picked up, I remember that as well.”

Adalyn rubbed the back of her neck, smiling sheepishly.

“You were the stuff of legend, lass, chin up,” Cid said, clapping her on the shoulder. “And I daresay, the finest passenger I ever had aboard the Enterprise,” he added, looking her over. “You even look as young as I remember! And here I am, every bit the old man. Why, I’ve half a mind to pinch your cheeks.”

Adalyn laughed silently and shoved him away, before she tapped a finger to her own temple and pointed questioningly at Cid, then gestured at all of him.

“Yes, I remember my own past as well,” Cid said, his smile fading slightly. His hands came up to slowly remove his goggles, and Adalyn’s breath hitched, her gaze zeroing in on the Garlean eye in Cid’s forehead.

“How… how long have I been wearing these damn goggles?” Cid mused. He trailed off, lost in thought, and Adalyn’s head throbbed. She staggered, putting a hand to her temple, and the Echo transported her into Cid’s past. 

She watched him as a child, a young prodigy poised to follow in his renowned father’s footsteps. How his father’s involvement in Project Meteor, the Garlean plan to call down the lesser moon, became an all-consuming obsession. How the legatus Gaius van Baelsar filled his absent father’s void, only to prove no different in the end. How Cid ran away, leaving everything he’d ever known behind, to come to Eorzea and build the Ironworks and lend his aid against the empire he’d once called home. 

Adalyn felt a lump in her throat as she watched the memory of herself standing on the deck of the Enterprise, beaming as she offered Cid a pair of goggles. 

“So ye don’t have to keep squintin’ into the wind when we’re flyin’,” the memory of her said, and Adalyn startled to hear her thick Lominsan accent tinged, oddly enough, with a hint of Ishgardian.

Cid, beardless, and with much fewer lines in his face, accepted them with a small smile, and he affixed the goggles to his forehead, touching them lightly. “I don’t know what to say… thank you.”

Adalyn clapped him on the back, and said something else, but the memory faded, her voice swallowed by time. 

“Adalyn?” Cid asked, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her with concern. “Are you alright?”

Adalyn nodded, feeling tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away with a thumb and pulled out her notebook. Saw in memory, she wrote. Bits of your childhood, when gave you goggles.

Cid laughed softly, reaching up to touch the goggles in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the memory she’d seen. “As you can see, they have served me well.” He reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “‘Tis good to see you again, Warrior of Light.”

Something squeezed around Adalyn’s heart, and she rubbed the back of her neck. Still hard to believe that’s me, she wrote.

“Even after everything you’ve managed to do so far, in spite of your missing memories?” Cid said, shaking his head. “I daresay that if yours ever return to you, you’ll only be that much more formidable an opponent.”

Hope they come back before Garuda, then, Adalyn scrawled, giving him a wry smile.

“After you’ve single-handedly bested Ifrit and Titan twice?” Cid laughed. “Garuda won’t stand a chance regardless. You've beaten her once before, lass; I have faith you will do it again quite handily.”

He clapped Adalyn on the back and returned to the helm, shooting her a grin before turning his attention back to their course. Adalyn returned the smile, though it faded as she moved to lean against the starboard railing, peering down at the clouds racing past below. 

Jealousy gnawed at her stomach, and her knuckles went white on the railing. She was glad for Cid, truly, but was hard not to wonder about her own forgotten past.

Facing down Garuda seemed so much easier by comparison.

Chapter Text

When Adalyn slunk back into the Rising Stones some weeks after the incident at Castrum Meridianum, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed now that the adrenaline of the day’s activities was wearing off, Alphinaud decided that was the best time to ambush her.

“Ah, Adalyn!” he called, and Adalyn slowly dragged her feet to a stop before she turned to face him. “I realise you have scarce caught your breath, but I’m afraid there is no rest for the weary.”

Adalyn was struck by the sudden thought that the Twelve might forgive her if she strangled him, just this once.

Alphinaud carried on, happily oblivious to her visible irritation. “I require that you accompany me to Coerthas,” he said, and Adalyn stood up a little straighter, some of the weariness falling from her shoulders when she considered this might mean getting to see Haurchefant in person again. “I have been granted an audience with an Ishgardian dignitary, you see, and the man expressly requested your presence.”

Adalyn inclined her head, curiosity winning out over exhaustion.

“Oh, do not look so surprised,” Alphinaud laughed. “You should be familiar with the trappings of fame by now.”

Adalyn couldn’t quite manage to stifle a snort.

Alphinaud beamed at her. “We shall depart for Camp Dragonhead as soon as you are ready. Am I correct in assuming that won’t be until you’ve had a chance to sleep?”

Adalyn gave him a curt nod in response and jerked her thumb in the direction of her quarters, refusing to let him see how her stomach flipped at the mention of the outpost.

“Then please, rest well,” Alphinaud said, stepping aside. “We shall need you at your peak come the morrow.”

When don’t you? Adalyn thought, but resisted the urge to roll her eyes until she was well out of anyone else’s line of sight.

But, if it meant she was going to see Haurchefant, she could endure a bit of pompous posturing for Alphinaud’s sake.

Who we visiting? Adalyn scrawled, and shoved her notebook across the table at Alphinaud over breakfast the next morning.

“Ah, yes,” Alphinaud said, much too perky for the hour. “We have been blessed by the rare opportunity to meet with Ser Aymeric, the newly appointed Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.”

Well, doesn’t he sound just full of himself, Adalyn thought grumpily as she pulled her notebook back towards her.

“It is considered a great honour to serve the Holy See directly as a Temple Knight,” Alphinaud prattled on. “Needless to say, their leader wields tremendous political influence. We would be wise to court his favour. For that reason, I consider your attendance essential. If Ser Aymeric wishes to meet the woman behind the legend, I would not deny him the pleasure of your company.”

Adalyn didn’t bother to stifle her yawn as she gave Alphinaud a thumbs-up. She belched and wrinkled her nose at the aftertaste of porridge.

Alphinaud finally frowned at her. “Mayhap you consider this to be a waste of your talents?” he said, and Adalyn gave him a humourless grin. “I should remind you that more good can be accomplished with the stroke of a pen than the thrust of a sword.”

Adalyn gave him a flat look and pointed at her throat.

“Never you fear,” Alphinaud said, holding up a hand. “The Lord Commander is well aware of your handicap; I merely require your presence during the negotiations. Even if he had not requested you specifically, it can hardly hurt to have the Warrior of Light show where she stands.”

Not for the first time, Adalyn was struck by the mental image of Alphinaud reaching down from the heavens to push her about a giant chessboard. She just grunted in response and spooned the rest of her porridge into her mouth before standing, her robes changing to a heavier coat.

It would be several hours before the meeting was scheduled to start. Plenty of time to catch up with her dear friend.

Haurchefant was waiting for her by the aetheryte, and Adalyn let out a breathless laugh when she tripped in surprise at seeing him. He caught her elbow to steady her, their breath fogging in the frigid air. “I had hoped you would be by early!” he said in response to her curious look. “Shall we warm up inside with some cocoa?”

Adalyn smiled and nodded, tapping her ear; the tips of Haurchefant’s were red from the cold.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” he said as they headed down the steps to the main hall. “I was not waiting for too terribly long. After all, what are a few minutes compared to these long weeks apart?”

Adalyn’s cheeks went as red as his ears. “M’ss’d y’h,” she bit out, and Haurchefant’s broad smile softened.

“And I, you,” he said, and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick side hug. Adalyn reached up to cover his hand, keeping it on her shoulder, and gave him a faint grin in response to his look of surprise. He recovered quickly, though, and settled his arm around her, drawing her against his side.

“I’ve been looking into something that I think you’ll find interesting,” Haurchefant added once they were inside and he’d put the kettle on a hook over the fire. He steered Adalyn to one of the chairs, and she sat, tilting her head as she looked expectantly up at him.

He began moving his hands, and Adalyn’s mouth fell open when she realised the Echo was letting her understand. These were no simple gestures or an attempt at pantomime like she was used to; rather, this was a language of its own. Adalyn pressed her hands to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched, as she listened.

“Something that I’ve been studying; I think you might find it useful,” Haurchefant signed, but then his hands faltered when he noticed her tears. “Adalyn?” he asked, dropping to one knee beside her.

Adalyn all but threw herself out of the chair to hug him tightly. Haurchefant let out a wheeze of laughter, hugging her back.

“By the Fury, woman, you’re strong,” Haurchefant gasped out, and Adalyn hastily loosened her grip to squeeze his arms, her eyes shining. “I take it you’re excited by the prospect?” he said, beaming up at her. Adalyn nodded eagerly, her grin matching his own. “Then, if it pleases you, let us make full use of our time before the Lord Commander’s arrival, that I might show you some of the basics.”

Adalyn fumbled for her notebook, licking her pen quickly enough she accidentally nicked her tongue before she impatiently healed it away. H, you genius!

“And you are a flatterer,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I’m afraid there’s only so much I can pass on in our limited time together, but I’ve managed to get my hands on a second copy of the text I have been using to learn…” He drew away, and Adalyn jumped to her feet, trailing after him to his desk. He pulled a thick, water-stained tome out of one of the drawers, passing it to her. “Consider it extra incentive to come back to visit,” he said, arching his brows, “so that we might practice conversing with one another.”

Adalyn used the book to support her notepad as she scrawled back, Like I needed it to come see you. Things just been busy. She glanced up and rolled her eyes. Now that Garleans retreating, will visit more. She drew a little smiley face at the end of the sentence, which earned her a laugh from Haurchefant. Now. Where to start?

Chapter Text

It started when they were young; fresh-faced soldiers only just grown out of their boyhood, the only two survivors of a Dravanian attack on their squadron.

It started as something innocent, an unspoken agreement to meet on the battlements whenever they couldn’t sleep, and Aymeric would often bring a bottle of wine he’d managed to smuggle into the barracks for them to share.

It started as a drunken kiss, a moment of vulnerability on a particularly bad night, and later they realised the emotions remained long after the inebriation had faded.

It started as a tumble into bed when Aymeric invited him home for one of their rare holidays. Just the once, they agreed, before Estinien was lost to his training as the next Azure Dragoon, and Aymeric took up the duties of a knight.

And it continued, through moments snatched between reports of a new slaughter, a new victory, the same war. The rare moments of stability amidst the chaos that they found in each other became fewer, until after one such encounter that Aymeric stopped him, catching Estinien by the hands.

“This isn’t going to keep working,” he said softly, and Estinien’s jaw set in defiance. “It’s hardly even working now,” Aymeric continued, cupping Estinien’s face, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “Estinien, if you can find happiness with someone else—”

Estinien snorted. “Happiness, in this war?” he said, and pushed away, yanking his clothing back into place. “The only happiness to be had is in the number of the Horde’s slain. The only joy I will find is when Nidhogg lays dead with my lance in his skull.”

Aymeric stepped forward, putting a hand on Estinien’s shoulder. “Then if you truly felt no happiness with me,” he said, his brilliantly blue eyes flickering as he studied the dragoon’s face, “why did you keep coming back?”

Over a decade of knowing the man was the only thing that let Aymeric read his often inscrutable moods. But from the slight flare of his nostrils, he knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Because you’re the only thing I have left that doesn’t end in blood.” Estinien brushed his hand off his shoulder and stalked to the door. “And I suppose I don’t even have that left, now.”

Aymeric crossed the room in three long strides and put his hand against the door, preventing Estinien from opening it. “Of course you do,” he said sharply.

“Then what—?”

Aymeric silenced him with a kiss. “Our duties make meetings like these… difficult,” he said when they broke apart. “If you found someone else… I would understand.”

“And throw aside our—?” Estinien broke off; friendship was putting it far too lightly; romance implied a deeper, more intimate connection while fling wasn’t nearly intimate enough. “And throw aside whatever this is that we have,” Estinien said instead, visibly frustrated with himself.

“Then—” Aymeric faltered before steeling his nerve. “Then take who you would as lovers, and still return to me?”

Estinien let out a slow breath, and Aymeric waited, his heart pounding as he wondered if he hadn’t gravely overstepped.

But then Estinien gave him one of those rare smiles, crooked but no less genuine. “Only so long as you would do the same.”

Everything after that was a blur of lips and skin.

It began as a passing curiosity; the Count de Fortemps casually mentioned at a state banquet his bastard son had started learning Ishgardian Sign to impress a mute adventurer in the event they were to meet again. Aymeric could only chuckle at the thought of someone catching Haurchefant’s eye long enough for him to want to impress them, and then the thought was quickly driven out of his mind when the conversation moved on.

It began as an interest to distract him, when he first heard rumours that the Warrior of Light had returned, reports that a mute hyurian woman with the power of the Echo was driving the Garleans out of Eorzea, facing down primals single-handedly and emerging victorious.

“For all your talk of giving me space,” Estinien said, one precious stolen evening together, “I fully expect that adventurer to end up in your bed ere she cross the border to Ishgard.”

“I ought to kick you out of these chambers for such teasing,” Aymeric rejoined.

It began as a pressing concern, when one of the first reports he received as the newly-appointed Lord Commander was from Haurchefant himself. He’d written of the adventurer’s assistance in dealing with the growing heretic forces in Coerthas, and her own need for aid in relocating Doman refugees.

Aymeric set the report down and steepled his fingers as he considered it; Haurchefant was brave indeed to put himself on the line for outsiders, Warrior of Light or no, which Aymeric couldn’t help but admire.

Adalyn Keene was her name, and now that word of her deeds as the Warrior of Light had spread as more than just rumours, Aymeric understood Haurchefant’s certainty in her intentions—and not just because the knight had a crush so obvious a blind man could see it.

Too long had Ishgard isolated itself, spurning all attempts at diplomacy from their neighbours. While his first instinct was to leap at the chance to extend the olive branch, caution reined him in. Ishgard had enough on its plate as it was, and to throw their lot in with the Eorzean Alliance would stretch their already-dwindling forces thin. Never mind that, despite his position, he alone couldn’t change national policy.

But mayhap…

It began with a decision.

Aymeric, accompanied by Lucia, set off for Camp Dragonhead to meet with Commander Leveilleur and this Warrior of Light, and when they arrived, they were ushered to a private room to meet with them.

Haurchefant was talking animatedly, with his hands as much as his mouth, and the Lady Keene was clumsily following along, silent laughter on her lips when Haurchefant shook his head and corrected her sign. Another, much younger elezen who could be none other than Commander Leveilleur was watching them, a smile playing about his mouth like he was trying to restrain himself for the sake of appearing serious.

Leveilleur stood abruptly at his entrance, and Haurchefant and Lady Keene hastened to do the same. 

Funny. She was shorter than he'd expected; to hear talk of her deeds, she was six fulms tall and capable of bending steel with her bare hands. Still, he knew that appearances could be deceiving. Case in point, the young lordling he was to be meeting with, who still had yet to grow into his adult face.

“Commander Leveilleur,” Aymeric said, inclining his head. “It is both an honour and a pleasure to meet you. I am Aymeric, lord commander of the Temple Knights.”

“Alphinaud Leveilleur, at your service,” he said, with an air of one who grew up in the world of politicking and diplomacy. Aymeric knew the feeling too well. “Your reputation precedes you, Ser Aymeric. I think we will find that we have much in common.”

Aymeric caught the Lady Keene shooting an exasperated glance at Haurchefant. Interesting.

“Speaking of reputations,” he said, and Lady Keene straightened, looking startled he’d spoken to her, “yours towers over us all, Lady Keene. Does it not?”

“It does indeed, Lord Commander,” Lucia said when Lady Keene hesitated, suddenly looking nervous. Another instance of her not being what he had expected from the hero of Eorzea, but then again, it made sense that she’d be ill suited for matters of diplomacy, given her disability.

“Please, no need to look so alarmed,” Aymeric said, and gave her a faint smile, hoping to put her at ease. “I’m aware of your muteness; I am not too proud to admit that I have followed your activities with an interest bordering on fascination. Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us.”

Lady Keene motioned with her hands, haltingly, glancing at Haurchefant as if for reassurance.

“You said it splendidly,” he said, and clapped her on the shoulder before looking to Aymeric. “She said, ‘Call me Adalyn.’”

Adalyn nodded, folding her arms uncomfortably as she studied Aymeric with those piercing magenta eyes.

Aymeric felt something stir in his chest. He bowed to her with a smile. “Of course, Adalyn.” He straightened, looking around the room at large. “Now then, shall we begin?”

It began with a request, and an agreement.

In exchange for ensuring House Fortemps could continue to provide aid to the Doman refugees without interference, he secured the Scions’ cooperation in investigating the Keeper of the Lake. Scarcely a moment later, one of the Camp Dragonhead scouts came bursting in with news of Lady Iceheart, the heretics’ leader, attacking a supply caravan.

No sooner had the scout gotten the words out than Adalyn stood, tapping her chest, and she slung her quiver over her shoulder and strode out without a backward glance.

“Forgive her rudeness,” Alphinaud said placatingly, but Aymeric watched her go with a smile.

He waved the boy off. “Ah, it makes for a fresh change of pace after the niceties of court. Besides,” he added, “who has time for manners when there are wars to be won?”

Chapter Text

My dearest Adalyn,

Haurchefant’s letter made her heart flutter when she began reading it in her room in the Rising Stones, even though the rest of its contents weren’t nearly so romantic.

I have received word from the Holy See that there is a matter of grave importance that must needs be attended to, and I could think of no finer woman for the job than you.

This is a matter of utmost sensitivity and requires the height of discretion, which I know you are all too capable of providing. I cannot say more other than all will be revealed at the rendezvous point.

At the Observatorium, you will find a knight by the name of Ser Alberic. Pray seek him out, and he will disclose the rest.

I know you almost certainly have a great deal to worry about, between the Garleans and the primals, but you would be doing me a great service should you choose to go. And, if you do, I believe such an errand would put you in the vicinity of Dragonhead, so I shall have no choice but to insist on a visit from you.

Yours,
Haurchefant

Adalyn traced her fingers over the flourish in the H, smiling to herself.

It wasn’t like she had anything else to do while waiting to hear back about sniffing out the spy in Ul’dah, so she stood, stretched, and her simple tunic and breeches changed to her heavy white coat before she let the aether carry her away to Camp Dragonhead.

The moment the aetheryte spat her out at the fortress, she didn’t even waste time with the steps, vaulting off the wall and landing a good thirty fulms below in a crouch. She laughed noiselessly and raised a hand in greeting towards Martiallais and Theobalin when they paused in loading a wagon to wave to her.

She jogged to the main keep and pulled the door open to find soldiers in the middle of a meal, Haurchefant sitting at the head of the table and laughing with the others. A slight hush fell over the room before Haurchefant stood, shooting his men a look.

“Back to your meals,” he commanded. “I’ll be but a minute.”

“Hello, you,” Adalyn signed as Haruchefant approached, and he smiled, bowing low and taking one of her hands to press a kiss to the back of it. Heat crept up Adalyn’s neck and into her cheeks, and she grinned.

“My dear friend, it has been far too long,” Haurchefant murmured, letting go as he straightened up. “I don’t suppose you’re here for a friendly visit?”

Adalyn held up his letter, her cheeks still bright red, and Haurchefant nodded. He leaned in, his lips so close to her ear that his breath tickled her skin. “Would that I could tell you more, but it’s not safe here,” he murmured. “But it is ever so good to see you again.”

Adalyn hugged him, and his arms found their way around her, holding her close. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent of oiled chainmail and leather, mingled with the smell of the fireplace and the stew. She could have stayed there forever, had time not been so pressing.

With great reluctance, she drew back, and for a moment she caught Haurchefant’s eyes flickering down to her mouth, then back up. Or was it merely wistful thinking?

“I’ll… back… after I meet Alberic,” Adalyn said, her signs slow as she tried to remember the proper words. “Soon.”

Haurchefant nodded. “Soon,” he murmured, and bowed again. “I shall look forward to it.”

Adalyn grinned faintly and slipped back out the door, her ears reddening when she heard one of the soldiers whistle after her before Haurchefant barked at him to mind his manners.

It was a long walk to the Observatorium, but Adalyn didn’t mind, even as the snow fell ever thicker. The silence that blanketed Coerthas was a strange comfort to her, but she supposed the hush made her own muteness feel less prominent, when even the shouts of battle were swallowed by the snow.

Finding Ser Alberic took her by surprise when the knight spotted her and beckoned her over; he was hyur, rather than elezen, like she’d expected. Midlander, too, she guessed, from the way he stood a scant ilm taller than herself. The grey in his hair and the scars on his face caught her immediate attention; that he should have reached such an age, considering how oft knights met their fate in battle, already spoke volumes of his skill.

“Well met, Adalyn,” Alberic said, giving her a small nod. “I am Ser Alberic, knight of Ishgard. The Holy See is much obliged for your aid.”

Adalyn gave him a small, tight smile and nodded as well, pulling out her card and offering it to him, but he shook his head.

“Your reputation precedes you; I’m full aware of your muteness. From what I hear, that’s hardly stopped you when it comes to your feats on the battlefield.”

Adalyn inclined her head and gestured at him to continue.

“Yes, of course… time being of the essence, I shall proceed straight to the heart of the matter.” Alberic beckoned her closer to the fire, and Adalyn went, grateful for the warmth. He lowered his voice as he spoke. “The Eye, an Ishgardian relic of immeasurable worth, has been stolen, and we have reason to believe the culprit has come this way. We ask your assistance in its recovery.”

Adalyn nodded, already thinking about who might have done such a thing, but Alberic beat her to it.

“The thief has been identified as a man named Estinien, a dragoon sworn to the service of the Holy See,” Alberic said, and Adalyn caught a flicker of emotion on the knight’s face before it was gone, replaced with a carefully neutral expression. “Aye, you heard true: the crime was perpetrated by one of our own, an individual in a position of trust and no little honour…” He shook his head. “You may be assured that a fate worse than death awaits him upon capture.”

Adalyn frowned slightly, doubt curling in her stomach. She already thought quite little of Ishgard’s zealotry, and the first thought that crossed her mind in regards to the thief was that he surely wouldn’t do such a thing without damn good reason.

“...But I have already said too much,” Alberic said, and there it was again, a note of heaviness in his voice. “What matters is that we find our thief and the Eye with all haste. When last sighted, Estinien was clad in black armour.”

Adalyn nodded and turned away, before Alberic put a hand on her shoulder.

“I trust you to not speak a word of this to anyone,” he said.

“I’m mute,” Adalyn signed dryly, before sighing and putting a hand to her throat.

“Aye, but the signed or written word can be just as efficient in the spilling of secrets,” Alberic said, and Adalyn’s eyes went huge. “Forgive me; I wasn’t aware you spoke Ishgardian Sign.”

“...A little,” Adalyn said. “Not good.”

“Not well,” Alberic said, signing as he spoke, and Adalyn rubbed the back of her neck. “But it’s good progress, lass. Would that we had met under better circumstances, I would like to help. As it is…”

“Estinien,” Adalyn signed, taking a guess at spelling out his name.

Alberic nodded. “Be careful in your search for him. Far be it from me to tell the Warrior of Light how to do her job, but Estinien is the finest dragoon Ishgard has… or had.” He shook his head. “Fury guide you.”

Adalyn gave him a small bow and turned away, casting her senses wide. The Echo always had a way of guiding her to where she needed to be; now, it was just a matter of following her gut instinct.

Her gut told her to go east, and so she did, her stride long, her steps surefooted over the icy ground as she pressed on through the snow.

Some ways east of the Observatorium, where the outpost was long obscured by the blizzard, Adalyn came across a tunnel in the mountains, and she pressed on, grateful to be away from the biting wind. She called her staff to her hand, wanting to be ready for anything—especially when she caught the scent of a campfire.

At the far side of the tunnel, just within the mouth of it that overlooked a sheer dropoff, Adalyn found the fire… but no sign of any camper. She frowned—and whirled, her white coat changing to the light mail of her lancer’s gear a moment before a shriek pierced the storm and something shot past her ear close enough to ruffle her hair.

A trio of pterocs dived at her, their talons forward and eyes blazing. A jab, an uppercut, and a thrust behind her to impale the one that dived at her back, and the dragonets lay dead before they could even realise their mistake.

Adalyn heard the shifting of snow above, and she turned as an elezen clad in polished, spiky black armour leapt down from the cliff above. He landed in front of her in a crouch, and Adalyn slowly held up her hands, watching him carefully as he straightened.

“That Ishgard would resort to sending coin-starved adventurers after me…” He scoffed. “I know not whether to laugh or feel insulted.” He levelled his lance at her when something sparked in his chest, and he reeled back.

Adalyn felt a surge of power rush through her, and she staggered as well, digging the butt of her spear into the ground for purchase.

“Preposterous,” she heard Estinien mutter, and Adalyn straightened at the same time he did. To her surprise, he replaced his lance on his back, and even though his helmet concealed most of his face, she could feel him watching her warily. “Our paths shall cross again,” he said. “You can be sure of it.”

He crouched, and then was gone, leaping away to the top of the cliff. Adalyn watched him go, her knuckles tightening on her spear before recalling it to her aether, mail becoming a winter coat once more.

Something wasn’t right, here, and the burn in her chest was starting to become worrisome. It was… power. Sheer, unbridled power, like none she’d ever felt before save when Hydaelyn gave her the strength to face Lahabrea.

Estinien was no ordinary thug, of this much she was certain, and there was more to this Eye than Alberic was letting on—and more, she thought, to his relationship with Estinien.

She wanted answers.

The hike back to the Observatorium wasn’t quite so bad now, with the blizzard beginning to die down, but she was still grateful when one of the soldiers stationed there pointed her to the tavern.

Alberic was in the corner, nursing a mug of ale, and Adalyn placed several gil on the bar, motioning to the knight and holding up two fingers to the bartender. Mugs in hand, she carried them over to him, setting one heavily down in front of him and taking a seat opposite. Alberic looked up, his eyes wide.

“Found him,” Adalyn said by way of greeting. “Wait.” She took a long drink of ale, well aware that Alberic was watching her incredulously, before she set her mug down and pulled her notebook and pen from her belt pouch. She licked the nub to get the ink flowing, and began to write, telling Alberic everything that had transpired in as few words as she could manage.

“By the Fury,” Alberic murmured, and looked up at her, something akin to awe in his eyes. “That the Eye should choose another… I had not thought it possible.” He shook his head. “In light of recent events, it would seem an explanation is in order.”

Adalyn nodded, her jaw setting. She was glad it seemed there would be no beating around the bush this time, at least.

Alberic still dithered, opening his mouth several times and then closing it. When he finally spoke, his voice was low—but Adalyn found she did not have to lean in to hear. “The Eye is no ordinary relic,” he finally began. “It harbours the power of the dragon, which it bestows upon a single chosen soul—the strongest and wisest dragoon.”

Adalyn’s eyebrows flew up at that. From everything she’d heard, that seemed like the height of heresy.

“He who is chosen is possessed of the power to fight our mortal foes,” Alberic said, “the dragons of Dravania, on equal footing, soaring the firmament as if it were an extension of the land. That man is known as the Azure Dragoon.” His mouth twisted unhappily. “The Azure Dragoon is the light of hope for all Ishgardians, and the paragon of all dragoons. For this reason, you may imagine how it pains me to confess that the man you encountered, the thief, is none other than the Azure Dragoon… and that I was once his teacher.”

Aha.

Adalyn inclined her head, keeping her expression carefully neutral. Alberic helped himself to the mug she’d bought for him before he continued. “Needless to say, I acknowledge myself accountable for Estinien’s misdeeds,” he said after a long moment. “And I mean to do all in my power to find him and recover the Eye. But I cannot do this alone.” He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. “I require your help, Adalyn. You, who have also received the power of the dragon.”

Adalyn let out a heavy sigh and let her head fall on the table with a quiet thunk. Without lifting her head, she gave Alberic a tired thumbs up.

“To be chosen by the Eye is a great honour,” she heard him say, a hint of exasperation in his voice, and she reluctantly lifted her head. “There can be no mistake. The Soul of the Dragoon glows in your presence—irrefutable proof that you are chosen. What I can ill explain, however, is the why of it. Never before in Ishgard’s history has the Eye roused to more than one individual in a single generation.”

“Because it’s always me,” Adalyn signed, her mouth thinning as she lifted her head. “It gets…” She trailed off, uncertain of her next word.

“It gets old,” Alberic said, signing as he spoke, and Adalyn sighed again and nodded. “I understand, to an extent,” he added, not unkindly. “Before Estinien, I once ruled the skies as the Azure Dragoon, although that power has since become lost to me. I have no inkling as to why the Eye has seen fit to choose a second, and an outsider at that. Yet one thing is clear: none can challenge an Azure Dragoon and conceivably prevail save another Azure Dragoon… or possibly the Warrior of Light,” he added, and Adalyn dragged a hand down her face.

Alberic nodded. “Fortunate indeed that you should be the one to answer my call for aid. You are our only hope of bringing Estinien to justice and reclaiming the Eye. Of course, I do not ask you to do this unaided. I may be a dragoon no more, but what knowledge I have, I shall gladly impart to you.”

Adalyn nodded, settling back in her chair and studying Alberic for a moment. “How is it that you know Sign?” she asked, and Alberic suddenly looked rather shifty at her question.

“The hearing of dragons is… quite keen,” he said after a moment. “All dragoons know at least some basic signs for communication when speech would be ill-advised. ‘Tis where the language originated, a single-handed form of speech so that dragoons might talk to one another mid-combat. But…” He scratched at his beard, looking down into the depths of his tankard. “If you must know,” he said at long last, “there was a boy I took under my wing, many years ago. He was badly injured in the attack that claimed his village, and couldn’t speak for many weeks, his throat damaged by smoke. Since, at the time, he could neither read nor write, we used Sign to communicate until he made a full recovery.”

Adalyn nodded. “Estinien,” she said, and Alberic sighed, closing his eyes.

“Nothing slips past your notice, does it?” he said quietly. “Aye. I cared for him as if he were my own son; to have him turn on Ishgard like this…” He shook his head. “I was… so proud the day the Eye chose him. Even when set against the legendary Azures of ages past, the man is considered second to none. Such is his prowess, in fact, that the day he was chosen by the Eye, some claimed he was Haldrath the Dragonseye reborn.”

They remained at their table, talking as the fire burned low, Alberic telling Adalyn the tale of how Haldrath had been the one to claim Nidhogg’s eye in vengeance for his fallen comrades, and how in doing so became the first Azure Dragoon.

When they broke for the evening, Alberic inviting Adalyn to sleep by his fire so they could begin her training come the morrow—it would seem that the last Azure Dragoon commanded the status to maintain private chambers at the outpost—she rolled herself into the blankets he’d given her, her thoughts racing.

If the power she now possessed was shared by Estinien, there was a very good chance that he would be her most dangerous foe yet, and the thought scared her in a way that facing down any of the primals before him had not. Even when single-handedly storming the Praetorium, she had not known fear like this.

When she finally slept, it was uneasy, her dreams filled with the beating of great, leathery wings and the roar of dragonfire, and when she finally awoke, it was in a cold sweat.

Chapter Text

The tasks that Alberic set her to test her skills the next day, she blasted through with little effort; her muscles sang with power, her every movement stronger, faster, more precise than the day before. While she’d been strong before on a level beyond that of mortals, now she was… something else entirely. When she struck, it was with enough speed to break the sound barrier; when she leapt, it was high enough to clear the Observatory’s tower with ease.

“You remind me of him,” Alberic said as they walked back to the tavern that evening. The knight had his heart set on another round of drinks, and Adalyn had to agree with the sentiment. “Your skill with that spear of yours… have you always been so gifted, or is it only since being chosen by the Eye that such talents come to you?”

Adalyn shrugged. “I’m just… good with weapons.”

“Hah. You could certainly say that again.”

They got their drinks and sat by the fire again, Alberic nursing his flagon with a pensive look on his face.

“How did you meet him?” Adalyn asked after she’d drained her first flagon. If she was to face Estinien in battle, she wanted to know as much about him as possible.

Alberic glanced aimlessly around the room. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost inaudible, but he signed as he spoke, his hands restless. “Twenty years ago, when Nidhogg last stirred, countless villages burned in his wake,” he said. “Ferndale, Estinien’s home, was one of them… and he, then but a lad of twelve summers, was the only survivor. I was injured in the battle there, to such an extent I could no longer bear the power of the Eye. With no one left to care for the boy, I did the only thing I could and took him as mine own son, and instructed him in the way of the dragoon when he was of an age to learn.” He smiled humourlessly. “I would not have you think me noble, though. My actions were born out of guilt… guilt at having failed him, and countless others.”

Adalyn reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, but let it fall when the knight didn’t react to her touch.

“And now, it seems, I have also failed him as a father,” Alberic said softly. His fingers trembled. “What manner of man did I bring him up to be? A thief who would endanger the lives of every one of his countrymen.”

Adalyn inclined her head. “How so?”

Alberic clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “It is entirely possible the disturbance surrounding the stolen Eye will rouse Nidhogg to awaken once more. That his kin have already stirred from their slumber serves as fair warning of that. Time,” he added, “is not on our side.”

“He must… have a reason,” Adalyn said slowly.

“Reason or no, the fact of the matter is, he’s put the entirety of Ishgard in grave danger with his actions,” Alberic said. He somehow managed to look older, more tired, as he spoke. “It brings me no joy, but we must do what needs be done.”

Adalyn lifted her mug to her lips to hide her expression.

She was certain there was more to this. From everything she’d heard—and from what little she’d seen—Estinien was not a stupid man. She didn’t relish the thought of serving his head up to Ishgard without making damn well sure he deserved it, especially after seeing how quick they were to condemn innocent people to their deaths.

When they retired for the evening, Adalyn spent a good while poring over the book Haurchefant had given her by the dying fireplace, committing more signs to memory. Twelve willing, she’d be able to avoid having to fight the man at all if she could talk to him—if he still even remembered Sign from his childhood.

Somehow, she got the feeling he wouldn’t be much interested in waiting for her to write out all she wanted to say.

The days passed; Adalyn devoted herself to her training, reasoning that until the Ivy was found, or Moenbryda’s research had a breakthrough of some manner, there was little work of import for her to be doing for the Scions. Her signing improved as fast as her lancework with Alberic to practice with, and when he sent her to the other dragoons to test her skills, she was more delighted to realise she could converse with them, than at her victories in their trials.

While her days were relatively carefree, however, her sleep was plagued by nightmares of Nidhogg rousing from his slumber to send the Horde against Ishgard once more—and she and Estinien could only watch helplessly, immobile, from a distance. Estinien never spoke in her dreams, his expression stony behind his helmet’s visor.

“The Eye does sometimes grant glimpses into Nidhogg’s mindset,” Alberic said when she hesitantly mentioned her dreams to him one evening. “‘Tis no surprise he still wishes to see Ishgard burn.”

But Adalyn couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it than that.

When the day came for her to don her own drachen armour and temper it in blood, Adalyn knew that, by all rights, she should be proud. Proud to be trained in this ancient style of combat, proud to bear the title of the second Azure Dragoon (albeit in secret), proud to have passed her training in record time.

All she felt, though, as Alberic checked over her newly tempered armour to make sure it fit and locked into place properly… all she felt was sick to her stomach.

Adalyn fell asleep atop her book in front of the fireplace again.

“Why you, of all people?” Estinien demanded, and Adalyn could only shrug, holding out her hands helplessly.

She was awoken by a light touch on her shoulder and sat bolt upright, knife in hand, but calmed when she realised it was just Alberic.

“A message arrived from Estinien in the night,” he said by way of greeting, and Adalyn rubbed the sleep from her eyes as Alberic sat beside her on the floor, groaning quietly as his joints cracked. “He would trade words with us, and bids us meet him at Boulder Downs.”

“A trap?” Adalyn asked, doubtful.

Alberic shook his head. “I cannot say. It may well be a trap, but we must go nonetheless. I trust I can count upon your company.”

So they set off, Adalyn clad in her new armour, letting the knight lead the way. He was silent as they walked, and she refrained from whistling to herself to pass the time, even as the anxiety of their impending encounter dulled to boredom on the journey.

When they finally reached the location, Adalyn’s mouth fell open at the sight of the blood red crystals jutting out of the ground, covered in snow. The noonday sun gleamed, almost blinding in its reflection off the snow and the way it shimmered in the crystals. Even with her visor’s protection, Adalyn had to squint until her eyes adjusted as they hiked over one of the massive crystals, coming to a point that might once have been part of a crystalline archway, now broken off in the centre.

“Here,” Alberic said quietly, and Adalyn stopped by his shoulder, closing her eyes and casting out her senses.

She didn’t have to wait long before she felt Estinien’s presence nearby, and she shifted uneasily. “He’s coming,” she said when Alberic glanced at her curiously. He nodded, his face grim.

It wasn’t long after that until Estinien came into view, his own armour a stark contrast to their surroundings. He walked slowly, almost languidly, coming to a stop on the other broken end of the arch, and for a long moment both parties considered each other.

Estinien broke the silence first. “Master. It has been too long.”

Adalyn felt Alberic flinch, almost imperceptibly, beside her. “Estinien, you must end this folly at once,” he said, stepping forward. “You must know that each second the Eye spends outside Ishgard’s walls brings us closer to a repeat of the tragedy of twenty summers past. Surrender yourself and the Eye, and return to Ishgard with me before it is too late.”

Adalyn glanced at Alberic out of the corner of her eye; he’d made no such mention of changing his mind about bringing Estinien to justice, and she didn’t trust him not to try and spring her on Estinien in a trap of his own.

But Estinien merely shook his head. “It is already too late, Master. Nidhogg has already awakened.”

“What?!” Alberic gasped.

Estinien’s lips curled in a thin smile. “You have mistaken the cause of the dragons’ return. The Eye is not to blame. A premonition came to me, by virtue of the dragon within, warning me that the great wyrm would soon rouse. You yourself have seen it,” he said, his head turning sharply to Adalyn. “Even as he slumbered, Nidhogg seethed with irrepressible rancor for that wound of twenty years ago. That rancor will send him flying as a speeding arrow to Ishgard, whereupon death and devastation will ensue.” He tilted his head. “But there is a possible solution: were the Eye taken to a remote land, far from the Holy See—then, and only then, could destruction be averted and the lives of innocent Ishgardians be spared.”

“You—you mean to make bait of yourself?” Alberic said, his eyes huge. “...Nay. There is more to this than you let on. You seek vengeance for Ferndale.”

Adalyn’s gaze flickered to Estinien’s fists when they clenched at his sides. “To me, the two are one and the same. You know my past better than anyone else. It was for no other reason than to avenge my family that I became a dragoon.” He tilted his head back toward the sky, breathing in deeply. “Nidhogg took everything from me. Now, I shall take everything from him, even if it means my life.” He looked down at Adalyn, and though she still couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel them boring into her. “The Eye works in ways men can ill comprehend, but this much is plain: in choosing two Azure Dragoons in one generation, it means for us to join together in common cause.”

“Common cause in taking down the wyrm in whose skull it once sat?” Adalyn asked, and was rewarded with a flash of surprise from the dragoon.

And then Estinien’s jaw set. “You know my resolution. Now I ask that you lend me your power. In the long and proud history of Ishgard, never before have two Azure Dragoons arisen in the same era to fight as one. This is our best—nay, our only chance to send the great wyrm to eternal slumber.”

“Estinien.” Alberic’s voice was low. “If your heart is set on facing Nidhogg in battle, then there is something you ought to know, lest you fall to the wyrm’s temptations…” He let out a slow breath, gathering his thoughts. “The power of the Azure Dragoon did not abandon me in Ferndale. It was I who abandoned it. Even as I buried my lance in Nidhogg’s flesh, our gazes locked, and mine eyes met then with a look that would fair impale a man. In that instant, I found myself assailed by a torrent of emotions not mine own… emotions that threatened to drown the man out and leave behind a dragon. I chose to purge the power rather than let myself turn traitor, and thus regained lucidity… and in my weakness, he took to the skies, and he and his brood descended upon Ferndale.”

Though Estinien didn’t move, Adalyn could feel the aether surrounding him condense, coil, wound tightly like a spring ready to snap—

Look to thine anger and thine hatred, feeble mortal, rumbled a voice she’d heard only in her dreams, and her hand flew up to grip the side of her head. It is there that thou shalt find the power thou desires.

Whatever stood before them was no longer wholly Estinien.

The air seemed to change, and she felt the power in her chest swell with rage.

He levelled his lance at them, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You, who fancy yourself an Azure Dragoon,” he sneered at Adalyn. “The man whose cause you have taken for your own is a coward.” He laughed bitterly, a low rumble in the back of his throat. “The man who I loved as a father, no less. Ironic, isn’t it, that the Eye should choose me? The sole survivor of my predecessor’s failure?” He bared his teeth, and Adalyn felt a chill run down her spine when she realised they were razor sharp within his mouth. “As I understand it, you’ve kept even the archbishop in the dark regarding the missing Eye. Do you mean to take that shame to your grave, too?”

He shifted his weight, and Adalyn’s spear was out just in time to parry his dive, the force of it sending a shockwave over the crystals that blasted their snowy peaks into the air.

“I shall lay waste to all you hold dear!” Estinien roared, his words lost to the bellow of the dragon rising within.

Time seemed to freeze, and beneath the tempered visor, Adalyn could see Estinien’s eyes, turned red and slit-pupiled, blazing with hatred.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, and drew upon her own strength—as Azure Dragoon and Warrior of Light both.

Her counterstrike sent him flying yalms backwards, and she leapt after him, her spear piercing the air as a shockwave erupted around her. Estinien swayed to one side and caught the spear in a dead stop, and he spun, swinging his halberd near the head to strike at her side. Adalyn wrenched her spear free and leapt, higher, higher, and when she reached the apex of her jump, her breath froze in her lungs as she hung, suspended in the space between heartbeats, the world still beneath her.

And then she dived, her spear aimed not for Estinien, but for the ground upon which he stood.

The crystal beneath his feet shattered, and he plummeted; she fell with him, the both of them landing with a series of dull thuds on the frozen stones below.

Estinien landed on his feet, as did Adalyn, power coursing through her veins. She felt… different. Stronger. The burning in her chest was gone. Instead, it was a heat that settled in her heart, comforting in its warmth.

“Adalyn!” Alberic yelled from atop the cliff.

“This is impossible,” Estinien snarled, his voice the guttural growl of Nidhogg. “It… it cannot be!”

Adalyn slammed her lance into the ground, and it erupted in a burst of heat and light. She stood firm against the barrage, her visor shielding her from the brightness. When it died down, Estinien lay prone at her feet, and when she knelt beside him to check for a pulse, she knew it was him once more.

She placed two fingers to his jaw, just beneath his helmet, and let out a small sigh of relief. He was alive.

“Adalyn?” Alberic called again, his voice tiny, and Adalyn looked up to see him peering down at them. “Estinien!”

Adalyn gave him a tired thumbs up and she turned, picking Estinien up and hauling him over her shoulders in a rescue carry as her armour's spikes folded themselves against her back. If it hadn’t been for her unnatural strength, there was no way she would have had a prayer of lifting him and his spiky armour; as it was, he was nearly a fulm taller than her, and the spikes on the front of his armour made carrying him no easy feat.

She crouched, and leapt, soaring up the cliff face to touch down beside Alberic, breathing heavily. Adalyn set Estinien down on the snow and promptly pulled her helmet off to lay down beside him, staring up at the blindingly bright sky. “He’s alive,” she said, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Just asleep.”

“Thank you,” Alberic said, kneeling in the snow beside Estinien to cradle his head. He removed the dragoon’s helm, and Adalyn turned her head to see a surprisingly youthful face framed by a shock of long white hair, tied back with a leather thong that had slipped loose during their fight. “I had hoped to tell him before Nidhogg could reveal the truth of that day, but… he forgot his training, and in doing so, forgot himself.” Alberic brushed a gloved thumb over Estinien’s cheek. “Forgive me, Estinien,” he murmured. “I have… I have failed you again.”

He looked up at Adalyn, his eyes bright with unspilled tears. “Where we are most vulnerable to our emotions, it leaves us open to possession,” he said, his voice low. “Had I known how close Estinien was to losing himself, I would never have…”

Adalyn shook her head. “You did what you thought right,” she said, and closed her eyes. “I need… a minute…”

“I think you bloody well deserve as much time as you need,” Alberic said softly. “When you brought your full power to bear, for a moment you appeared to me as Haldrath the Dragonseye, just as he is depicted in the holy scriptures.”

Adalyn blinked up at the sky. “What.”

“I have borne witness to many and more wonders over the years, but none compare to you,” Alberic said. “Could it be that you are…?” He trailed off, shaking his head. “That was a fearsome battle, regardless,” he said. “Are you well enough to make it back, or shall I send for the chiurgeons?”

Adalyn groaned and after a moment’s concentration, her sleek, dark armour changed to her white healer’s robes. She healed her aching limbs and rolled over, putting a hand on the crown of Estinien’s head. His eyes flickered beneath their lids, and he let out a soft sigh as her magic flowed through him.

“Thank you,” Alberic said. He cleared his throat. “If I could trouble you for your help one last time—?”

Adalyn had already slung the unconscious elezen over her shoulders once more, and she bore him back to the Observatorium with Alberic in silence.

“That was a damned fool thing you did,” Aymeric said.

Estinien lingered in the window to his office, gritting his teeth. The Lord Commander hadn’t so much as turned at his intrusion, yet knew without looking who his visitor was. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific,” Estinien said, slipping fully inside and closing the shutters behind him.

Aymeric set his pen down, slowly, the lines of his shoulders taut. Still, he didn’t turn. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to play games with you today.”

Estinien came around the desk to lean against it, folding his arms. “As if you ever have the time to do anything, Lord Commander,” he said.

He knew that expression too well as Aymeric sat back, giving him one of his piercing looks.

Estinien sighed, looking away. “You know I have only ever held Ishgard’s best interests at heart,” he said quietly. “I would not have stolen the Eye if I did not believe that to be the best course of action.”

Aymeric’s jaw set. “Have you the faintest idea how many people you upset?” he said, his voice low. “I’ve had to smooth far too many feathers after your stunt. If word got out—”

“But it hasn’t,” Estinien cut in. “And it cannot. Aymeric.”

The Lord Commander refused to look at him before Estinien put a finger under his chin; reluctantly, Aymeric looked up, their eyes meeting.

“The Eye has chosen another,” Estinien said softly, and Aymeric’s eyes widened. “That Warrior of Light you are so damn obsessed with—”

“‘Tis hardly an obsession—”

“So sayeth the man now learning Sign that he might hear her words from her own mouth.” Estinien paused. “So to speak.”

Aymeric pushed his hand down. “You’re avoiding the subject.”

Estinien folded his arms. “Consider thus: had I not stolen the Eye, and it remained locked safely away in the Vault, it never would have reacted to the lass. As it is now, though, Ishgard has herself another defender.”

Aymeric sat back, studying him for a long moment. “Will she even wish to be her defender, after your little stunt?”

Estinien’s mouth curled in a thin smile. “Considering she spared, and then saved, my life, when it would be far easier to simply kill me? She granted me the chance to state my reasons, and for that, I am grateful. She would make Ishgard’s cause her own, once she understood the gravity of our situation.”

“And you are certain you are freed from Nidhogg’s thrall, now?”

“I am.”

The two men looked at each other for a long moment.

Aymeric finally rose from his seat, reaching for Estinien’s hand. Reluctantly, Estinien let him take it. “‘Tis good to have you back, my friend,” he said softly. "And full glad was I to hear of your recovery." He laced their fingers together. "I missed you," he murmured, looking up at Estinien with a small smile.

Estinien’s smile grew into a pronounced smirk. “How about you welcome me back properly?” he said, and pushed Aymeric back against the wall.

Chapter Text

No sooner had Adalyn left Estinien in Alberic’s care than her linkpearl blipped in her ear.

“Adalyn?” Tataru’s voice came through, and Adalyn clicked her tongue twice in acknowledgement. A system they’d had to work out prior to her storming Castrum Meridianum, and a clunky one, but it got the job done. “There’s a man here in Revenant’s Toll asking for you by name. You might want to get back here as soon as you’re done with your business.”

Adalyn clicked twice, and Tataru severed the link. She stretched, rolling her shoulders as her spiky dragoon armour changed to the much more comfortable hunter’s outfit with its vest and supple boots, her elegantly carved bow slung over her back. Much more suited to the warmer climes, she thought as she let the aether carry her away to Mor Dhona.

As she listened to Rammbroes describe the expedition attempts into the Crystal Tower, she had to admit this sounded like a distinctly less stressful prospect than stopping a thieving dragoon possessed by the madness of an elder wyrm.

G’raha’s ears twitched when he caught the faintest of footsteps approaching, and he leaned forward on his perch, eager to catch a glimpse of this hero of Eorzea about whom he’d heard so many tales.

She was shorter than he’d anticipated, her hair and face mostly hidden beneath her feathered cap. His smile flickered briefly. She looked… well, not at all like he’d imagined. Where was the hero in robes of flowing white, who healed friend and fallen foe alike, who commanded the elements and wielded weapons of all manner with the grace of masters?

“Well, then,” he murmured, his hand going to his belt where the aethersand was safely stashed away, “let’s see what you make of my little game, hero.”

Adalyn was getting sick of these games.

The voice that kept taunting her, reaching her goals scant steps ahead of her, sounded far, far too amused at sending her across Eorzea in search of bloody aethersand. As soon as she got her hands on the stuff—and on the culprit—she was marching back to Mor Dhona to tell Rammbroes that his intel was compromised, because there was no other explanation for how his informant’s locations were intercepted scant moments before she could track them down.

By all rights, finding the sand she needed from the Ixali should have been a moment of triumph, but Adalyn felt she would much rather beat her head against a wall than celebrate.

“Bravo!” the voice called, and Adalyn turned in the direction of the voice, scowling. “That was quite a show, adventurer!” he continued, and now the voice was coming from the other side of the clearing. Magic? “Why, the spectacle proved so enthralling that all thoughts of aethersand slipped my mind.”

As if, Adalyn thought, and made a very rude gesture in the direction she’d last heard the voice.

“Well, now, there’s no need for that,” he said, and Adalyn’s fingers tightened on her bow. “All I wished to do was thank you for treating me to the far greater prize. I insist that you accept a token of my appreciation.”

I don’t want whatever it is, Adalyn thought fiercely.

Of course, he couldn’t hear her thoughts, and continued, directing her to a clearing to the east. Adalyn was of more than half a mind not to go, but reluctantly decided to do so, reasoning that if it was a trap, she was more than capable of fighting her way out of it—and if it wasn’t, perhaps this so-called gift would give her a clue as to who’d decided to spend the last few days screwing with her.

G’raha had to stifle a laugh when he watched the Warrior of Light stiffen in shock at finding the refined aethersand he’d left for her. She’d managed to keep up right on his heels, and more than once he’d thought she’d had him. He certainly didn’t doubt who she was now; no, he’d kept it up for the thrill of being able to say that he, G’raha Tia, had bested the Warrior of Light.

“We will meet again, Warrior,” he called, throwing his voice across the clearing. She’d stopped being surprised by his little trick long ago, though it was still very gratifying to see her gesture rudely in a random direction. Her equivalence of yelling, he supposed. “And,” he added, laughing, “much sooner than you think.”

Thus saying, he teleported away to Mor Dhona, and he hit solid ground running.

The Warrior of Light would surely be along to their outpost at any minute now. It wouldn’t do after that little show to be caught unprepared for her arrival.

Adalyn returned to the outpost without further incident, already daydreaming of returning to the Rising Stones and crashing after the last several days spent rounding up aethersand and being dogged by the man who was too much of a coward to show his face.

She largely tuned out Rammbroes and Cid’s discussion on the properties of the aethersand, her thoughts drifting briefly to Moenbryda’s experiments, wondering if they were any closer to discovering a way of dealing with the Ascians once and for all, when a presence prickled at the back of her neck. She swung around, bow already coming up, an arrow formed from aether on the string aimed straight at the heart of a red-haired miqo’te man standing atop the scaffolding, looking down at their little group.

Rammbroes startled at her sudden movement, but then he smiled, holding out an arm, and Adalyn lowered the bow. “So you return to us at last,” Rammbroes said, folding his arms. “What, pray tell, has kept you so wholly preoccupied that you could not spare a moment to inform me of your progress?”

“Why, the task you assigned to me, of course,” the man called, and Adalyn’s eyes went huge before narrowing.

“You,” she spat, wishing she could lace the silent word with the venom it deserved.

The man took a step back, then a running leap, flipping once to land neatly on his feet before them and bowing deeply to Rammbroes. “Surely you could not have forgotten about the aethersand?” he said, and shot Adalyn a cheeky grin. “I tasked a passing adventurer with delivering it, and a more capable courier I could not imagine.”

He turned to Adalyn and his grin widened. “Greetings, Warrior of Light! Did I not say we would meet again?” He thumped himself on the chest. “G’raha Tia, and may I say what a pleasure it is to—?”

Adalyn turned on her heel and stalked off, throwing the rudest gesture she could think of over her shoulder as she left.

G’raha tried approaching her the night after she’d cleared the labyrinth that acted as the tower’s first line of defenses. Though Adalyn had insisted, with increasingly angry scrawls on her notepad, that they let her go first, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty upon seeing the carnage left in her wake. The battles she’d had to fight to carve a path for them surely could not have been easy, even for a hero such as her.

But they found Adalyn sitting cross-legged at the base of the Crystal Tower, cleaning the blood from her spear, her expression impassive from what little of it was visible under her dragoon’s helmet.

“Ho there, Adalyn!” Cid called, and Adalyn braced the butt of her spear on the ground, using it to haul herself upright. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you with us on this little jaunt, old friend. Had you not beaten a path through that maze, I very much doubt we’d be standing here now.”

She nodded, a faint smile crossing her face.

“Very impressive work, I must say,” G’raha chimed in, and the smile instantly vanished. “Your name shall be writ large in the volumes that are sure to be penned on our historic expedition,” he tried instead, and he could have sworn that she was rolling her eyes, though he couldn’t see them as she folded her arms, making it clear she wasn’t about to ‘speak’ any time soon.

Adalyn remained stubbornly stiff throughout their discussion of the tower and what it would next have in store for them—for her, really. It wasn’t until G’raha suggested they return to their base camp to plan their next move that Adalyn turned on her heel, stalking back the way they’d come.

Hoping that, once she’d had the chance to catch her breath and recover from the tower’s challenges, she’d be more open to his apology, G’raha did so after supper.

In her simple white robes and boots, her red leather-clad (and very shapely) legs tucked beneath her, head bent and messy hair falling into her face, she looked like any other adventurer, though he knew her to be anything but, now. Gods, what was he thinking? This was a mistake in every conceivable way.

Adalyn looked up from where she was polishing the head of her conjury staff, and sent him such a venomous look that G’raha almost immediately decided to retreat.

But, he thought, Adalyn Keene didn’t get to be the Warrior of Light from backing down. So he sat beside her, offering her a nervous smile. “I wanted to apologise for my actions these last few days.”

Surprise flickered on Adalyn’s face before being replaced with suspicion.

G’raha couldn’t help but marvel at how she managed to say so much with so little. “You’ll think me rather silly when you hear my reasoning,” he said, and it did sound silly to say it out loud to her, but he pressed on. “I had thought that, if I could show the Warrior of Light that I was capable of besting her, she might think me worthy of her time and attention and we could share a laugh upon revelation of the truth. I realise now that all it served was to annoy you deeply.” He bowed his head. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”

A hand settled on his shoulder, and his head shot up. Adalyn gave him a faint smirk and slugged his shoulder, just hard enough to hurt a little. G’raha laughed sheepishly and rubbed his arm. “I suppose I deserved that.”

Adalyn nodded and set her staff aside, folding her arms as she looked him over.

G’raha studied her for a moment, heat rising to his cheeks as he took in her appearance, illuminated by the glow of the fire. At this distance, he could count every freckle that dusted her nose.

He realised he’d been staring, and a blush coloured his cheeks as Adalyn gave him a faint grin. “I, ah, I was wondering,” G’raha said, and hastily cleared his throat. “The armour you were wearing earlier—that was Ishgardian, was it not? How did it come to be in your possession?”

Adalyn shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

“Ah. A secret, then?”

She nodded.

“I see.” G’raha desperately cast about for another topic of conversation to try, but then Adalyn pulled a pen and notepad from her robe’s pocket, scooting closer to write.

Tell me more about this tower, O Great Allagan scholar?

G’raha’s eyes lit up, and he jumped in without a second thought, eagerly telling Adalyn the history not only of the tower itself, but of the Allagan Empire, and she listened with a small smile. Occasionally, she would scribble a question, sending G’raha down yet another tangent.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had paid so much attention to his ramblings, shown so much interest in his passion for Allagan history, and to think that it was the Warrior of Light herself, no less…

They would have stayed up through to dawn had Rammbroes not come by to remind them that they had another long day ahead of them tomorrow.

Finish telling later, Adalyn wrote, and shot G’raha a smile.

When later he’d settled in for the night, stretching out on his cot before curling up beneath the blankets, he fell asleep still dreaming of that smile.

Chapter Text

Adalyn really should have known she oughtn’t have tempted fate.

“Less stressful than stopping a thieving dragoon, my arse,” she mouthed to herself as her arrows continued to find mark after mark, felling the tower’s defenders.

Clones of long-dead royalty, ancient emperors contracting with Darkness for power and launching moons into the sky, and on top of all that Nero bloody tol Scaeva was back and apparently working with them, because why the swiving hells not, at this point?

She spared no second thought for Amon save to briefly admire the gaudiness of the man’s hat, and then it was on to Emperor Xande himself, who proved no more troublesome than the guardians before him.

She activated her linkpearl, smiling when she heard G’raha’s voice on the other end. “Adalyn! Is everything alright? Were you successful?”

Adalyn clicked her tongue twice, laughing silently when she heard G’raha let out a cheer. “Wonderful! We shall be joining you shortly!”

And so they did, finding Adalyn sitting at the edge of the tower, her feet dangling over the dizzying drop as she played a quiet melody on her fiddle. She let her aether re-absorb the instrument when the others approached, standing to join them as they discussed the best course of action to seal away the tower’s secrets from those who would use it for evil.

And of course that had to be when it all went wrong.

Unei and Doga, and Nero, gods damn him, swallowed by the Darkness beyond the rift, kidnapped to another realm entirely. While the matter of rescuing Unei and Doga was a matter of practicality, Adalyn couldn’t bear the thought of leaving anyone to a fate like that.

Not even Nero.

G’raha joined her the night before they were due to open the rift, leaving her to venture forth. He’d spent the last several nights after they retired from helping the Ironworks engineers talking her through the finer points of Allagan history, pieces of lore long lost to time that he couldn’t seem to remember learning in the first place.

It didn’t escape Adalyn’s notice how he kept rubbing at his ruby-red eye, and it was no different when he joined her now, his ears pressed flat against his head as he sat beside her.

Adalyn set her fiddle down and slid her notepad over to him. Eye ok?

G’raha let out a soft bark of laughter and sighed, letting his hand fall. “How funny… that you should bring up the very topic I wished to discuss with you.”

Adalyn tilted her head, frowning slightly.

“The Allagan Eye, my father called it, as did his father before him, for ‘tis supposed to be a trait shared amongst those descended from Allagan royalty,” G’raha said softly. “Long I have pondered why such is my inheritance, and the more I learn of the Crystal Tower, the less I am myself. Somehow, meeting those two clones has wrought great change in me.” He sighed, tilting his head back to look up at the stars twinkling gently overhead. “I am consumed with remembering… something. Something ancient, but ever so important. I know I must learn the truth that history hides from me. I would see this journey─our journey─through to the very end with mine own two eyes.

“So I implore you,” G’raha said, turning suddenly to Adalyn and grasping her hands, “allow me to join you beyond the rift!”

Adalyn felt a lump forming in her throat, and she gently, but firmly, pulled her hands free, reaching for her notebook. Dangerous, she wrote, and G’raha nodded.

“Full well am I aware of the risks,” he said. “But I think, if ever there was a moment to change my destiny forever, then tomorrow shall be it. And with you by my side, surely we cannot fail.”

Adalyn hesitated, then nodded, and startled when G’raha hugged her tightly before hastily letting go, squeezing her arms. “You have my thanks, my friend,” he said, and when he smiled, tears shone in his mismatched eyes before he hastily blinked them away. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your playing any longer.”

He half-rose before Adalyn cleared her throat, and he froze in place while she hastily scrawled, ink staining her hand. Could stay, if you like.

G’raha slowly sank back to the ground beside her, hugging his knees loosely, his tail curling around his ankles. “Aye,” he said softly. “I think I would like that very much.”

Adalyn bumped him with her shoulder and picked up her fiddle again, and the notes rang clear beneath the stars once more.

The World of Darkness was… dark.

Adalyn and G’raha ventured forth, G’raha armed with his bow, Adalyn with just about every other conceivable weapon. The one she chose to wield offered her versatility among anything else: a rapier and spell focus, with which she wove devastating blasts of thaumaturgy and conjury together along with quick, darting strikes from her blade.

“You really are magnificent to behold!” G’raha laughed as Adalyn backflipped neatly out of the way of a blast of dragonfire, her vermillion jacket changing to her heavy dragoon armour. She shot him a grin, and then she’d leapt away again, diving onto the hydra’s back and impaling its spine. It roared, rearing back and presenting G’raha the perfect target for his arrows.

Adalyn jerked her spear free and jumped off the corpse, landing beside G’raha and offering her hand for a fistbump, which he eagerly returned.

“I wouldn’t call that magnificent,” Adalyn said, and then sighed, her armour changing back to her caster’s robes.

“Would that I spoke your Sign,” G’raha said mournfully as Adalyn fumbled for her notepad.

Teach you after get home? Adalyn scrawled, and G’raha nodded eagerly.

They never got the chance.

With Unei and Doga lost to the Darkness, and G’raha’s Allagan bloodline reawakened as their final gift, the task of sealing the Crystal Tower fell to him…

Sealing the tower with him inside it.

“We could wait for someone, someday, to reach the same heights as Allag, but by then we will have lost the royal blood and with it the means to control the tower,” G’raha said, prising Adalyn’s fingers off his arms.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she mouthed her protests, silently begging him to not do this, to stay, to find some other way.

“You know I cannot do that,” he said, anguish in his ruby-red eyes. They matched now, a painful testament to the gift Unei and Doga had bestowed upon him. “The royal blood has grown thin, and will vanish long before the world has the means to use the Crystal Tower to better mankind. All that knowledge, lost.”

He turned away, and Adalyn grabbed his arm again. G’raha stilled, not looking back at her. “The tower may only be used again once men rival the Allagans in knowledge. I will slumber within Syrcus Tower until then, to greet those with the means to open the gates.” He took a deep breath, tilting his head back to look up at the dizzying heights of the tower’s interior. “Then, I will guide them. And thus will the tower shine forth as the beacon of hope it was meant to be.”

He finally glanced back, giving Adalyn a small smile over his shoulder. “The future is where my destiny awaits. But yours lies outside of these doors.” He turned more fully to her, placing his hands over Adalyn’s where she gripped his shoulders. “Go. Create a future where hope reigns, and the tragedies of the past are but memories. No one but you can accomplish such things.”

“Nothing we say will make you change your mind, will it?” Cid asked, folding his arms.

G’raha was silent, his eyes meeting Adalyn’s. Slowly, he shook his head.

“Onwards to a brighter future, then,” Cid said, pounding his fist against his palm. “It won’t be easy, of course, but that’s exactly why we’ll do it.”

“We’ll catch up with Allag, just you wait! We’ll cover all that lost ground before you even know it!” Wedge chimed in.

By his side, Biggs nodded. “Well said, Wedge! It’ll only be a few years before we come knocking, G’raha. Then you’re in for a rude awakening!”

G’raha shot them a small smile and a nod before re-focusing on Adalyn’s face. He studied her for a moment, committing every detail to memory. Though they said it would only be a few years, he knew in his heart that destiny had other plans in mind. It ached, in the most bittersweet of ways.

“If only I could have been a part of your adventures for longer, Adalyn,” G’raha said softly. “Alas, fate dictates I have a different role to play.” He gently prised her hands off his shoulders, then hesitated before reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Adalyn let out a watery, silent laugh and scrambled for her notebook, carefully scrawling something with an unsteady hand, tears dripping off her nose to land on the page. She finally tore it out and offered it to him.

G’raha took it, a lump forming in his throat when he saw the shakily-scrawled letters, the ink blotched in places with tears. Whenever you awake, know that I'll remember you. Be well, my friend. I'll make your future a bright one.

“Thank you... my friend,” he murmured, and carefully folded the letter, tucking it in his breast pocket. “But in case we do not meet again… your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course when I awake.” He gave Adalyn a crooked smile. “Well, with that, I think ‘tis time I rested. All these sad farewells have put me in the mood for sleep.”

Adalyn took a step back, clutching her notebook to her chest, struggling to hold back tears as G’raha turned and walked into the depths of the tower.

He glanced over his shoulder at her—

And the golden doors slammed shut with a final thud.

“Oh, lass,” Cid said gently, putting a hand on Adalyn’s shoulder.

She brushed him off and let the aether carry her back to Mor Dhona, to Revenant’s Toll. She walked back to the Rising Stones, vaguely lifting a hand in greeting to Tataru as she passed, heading for her room.

Adalyn collapsed facedown on the bed without undressing, and didn’t move for a very long time.

Chapter Text

Adalyn Keene was no stranger to death. She dealt it as frequently as she dealt with it, and countless enemies, man and monster alike, had fallen to her blades, to her spells, to the swift silence of a well-placed arrow.

The loss of Moenbryda was painful, but far moreso to the Scions than to herself. Adalyn attended the memorial service, keeping to herself, and she slipped away after offering Urianger a comforting squeeze to the shoulder.

She stood at the edge of Silvertear Lake, looking up at the massive corpse of Midgardsormr wrapped around the wreckage of the airship.

“Are you happy now?” she mouthed. “You’ve proven your point. I wasn’t strong enough to protect her.”

Midgardsormr’s voice rumbled in her mind. Strength would not have saved thine friend. Thou wilt have plenty of chances to prove thine worthiness to me, mortal.

“Bastard.”

The great wyrm had no response to that.

Adalyn closed her eyes, putting a hand over her heart. She couldn’t feel Estinien’s presence except very faintly, and she wondered for a moment how he was faring since their battle.

Her gaze drifted over to the Crystal Tower, and her heart clenched. She hoped that G’raha, at least, was safe in his slumber.

Adalyn hugged herself tightly. Moenbryda was dead, and she hadn’t been there to protect her in time. Just like she hadn’t been there at the Waking Sands massacre. How much longer would it be before it happened again?

She wanted, needed to scream to the heavens that for all her strength, she was just one person. She couldn’t be everywhere at once, no matter how dire things were.

A great roar shook the firmament, and Adalyn gasped, staggering and clutching at her chest when a white-hot rage gripped her body. The roar died away, only to be replaced with the beating of leathery wings, but when Adalyn looked up, she could see no trace of dragons in the sky.

Another vision from the Eye? But it had felt so real...

Dread curled in the pit of her stomach. Staying out here was doing her no good; right then, she could only think of one place she wanted to be... and her gut told her she would be needed there soon enough as it was. Adalyn shivered and teleported away to Camp Dragonhead, where the shiver turned into a full-bodied shudder before her robes became a fluffy coat.

“Oh! Adalyn!” Aurelle called, and Adalyn lifted her hand in greeting. “If you’re here to see Lord Haurchefant, he took a squadron out on patrol some bells ago. They should be back at any m—”

Adalyn turned at the faint sounds of clanking armour, relief crossing her face when she saw the patrol returning through the northern gates. Aurelle gasped when Adalyn took a running leap off the battlements to land on the ground below, sprinting forward to meet them.

“Adalyn?” Haurchefant said, alarm in his face as he dismounted from his chocobo, and then Adalyn was clinging to him, hiding her face against his chest, uncaring about the freezing mail pressed against her cheek. Haurchefant’s arms wrapped around her as he looked up at the others. “Belmont, would you mind tending to my mount?” he asked, his voice low, and the knight nodded, reaching over to take the reins for himself.

“Come, my friend,” Haurchefant murmured, and led Adalyn back to the main keep, his arm staying around her shoulders. “Let us warm up inside, and then you can tell me what is on your mind.”

Haurchefant made them cocoa, and Adalyn sat huddled by the fire, Haurchefant’s chair pulled up beside hers so she could lean against his side as they sipped their drinks. Adalyn kept her fingers wrapped around the mug, and Haurchefant didn’t press her to speak, allowing them to sit in silence together.

“What would you do,” she asked, setting her mug down, “if everyone you knew expected you to be… perfect?”

Haurchefant was silent for a long moment, his fingers trailing idly over Adalyn’s shoulder. “Far be it from my place to claim to know what it is like, to be in your position,” he said. “But I do have some experience in that matter… not being able to afford a single mistake. Though, I think, we come at the same problem from opposite sides; you feel as though you cannot afford mistakes because people think you incapable of making them. I had rather the opposite issue; it was only to be expected, from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Adalyn said, but Haurchefant shook his head.

“It simply meant I had to work all the harder, to be the best version of myself that I could, that others would see my worth,” he said. “It made me into the man I am today. My younger brother, bless him, has never had to concern himself with responsibility—and I am glad for it. ‘Tis a hard enough world to live in without added difficulties.” He smiled at Adalyn. “But if ever you need to take a break from the troubles of being the Warrior of Light, please know you will always be welcome here in Dragonhead.”

Adalyn nodded, taking another sip of her cocoa. “You have a brother?” she asked, glancing up at him. She couldn't recall him speaking of his family before.

Haurchefant smiled, though it looked a bit distant. “Two. An older and a younger,” he said. “We’re not particularly close, I’m sorry to say.”

Adalyn got the sense she’d hit on a sensitive topic, and nodded. “Thank you for the cocoa,” she said instead, and took another sip. “I fear you’ve rather spoiled me to all other versions of it, now.”

Haurchefant laughed. “Well, then, all the more reason for you to come and visit, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” Adalyn set her empty mug down and let out a small sigh before glancing up at Haurchefant again. “Would it be too much trouble to ask if I might stay here tonight?”

An odd flicker passed over Haurchefant’s face, but Adalyn didn’t have time to wonder at it before he smiled. “Of course not, my friend,” he said. “I shall have the guest chamber made up at once.”

Adalyn kept to her quarters for the rest of the day, away from the other soldiers. She pulled her fiddle from the aether and passed the time playing songs she couldn’t recall learning, but somehow still knew, tucked away in a forgotten corner of her memory. She allowed herself to become lost to the music, trying to drown out the thoughts that gnawed at her.

It wasn’t until after supper that a gentle knock came at her door, and when she answered it, it was to find Haurchefant waiting with a tray of roasted lamb, turnips, and slightly stale bread.

“I had thought you might be hungry since you didn’t join us for our evening repast,” he said, and hefted the tray slightly. “I could leave this here for you…?”

Adalyn shook her head and gestured for him to come inside. “I’m not hungry,” she said, “but thank you. The gesture is much appreciated, as I’m sure the food will be once my appetite has returned.”

Haurchefant set the tray down on the small table in the corner of her room, glancing toward the fiddle she’d left on her bed. “I heard you playing earlier,” he said. “It sounded lovely.”

“Thank you.” Adalyn cleared her throat. “I keep trying to recall where I learned the songs… they say music has a way of bringing back lost memories.”

“Is there one in particular you have found… calls to you?” Haurchefant asked, tilting his head. “Perhaps that would be a place to start.”

“Not exactly,” Adalyn said, and went back to the bed. “But there is one that I learned recently, for you—I heard you were so afraid for my safety when I faced Iceheart, it took a half-dozen knights to hold you back.”

Haurchefant spread his hands. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “I realise you are hardly one in need of protection, but still I worry...”

Adalyn shot him a small smile as she picked up her fiddle—though, she supposed, in this instance, she really ought to call it a violin—and drew the bow across the strings, playing the opening notes of an Ishgardian ballroom song.

Haurchefant laughed and clasped his hands behind his back, listening eagerly. “You truly learned this just for me?” he asked, and Adalyn grinned, nodding as the music crescendoed. “If you weren’t so preoccupied with your playing, I would be of a mind to ask you to dance.”

Adalyn’s smile widened, and with a spark of magic, she set the violin aside, leaving it playing as she crossed the room, holding her hand out to Haurchefant.

“Do you know how to dance?” Haurchefant asked, letting Adalyn pull him towards her.

Adalyn just shrugged, pink creeping into her cheeks as Haurchefant’s hand settled at her waist. His other took her hand, and she grasped his shoulder, letting him lead her in a waltz.

Though their dancing was somewhat impeded by the small size of the room and their difference in height, they made do, Adalyn keeping pace every step of the way. Their smiles grew at the realisation, and Haurchefant led her on. Adalyn, practically gliding across the floor, made his own practiced steps look almost clumsy by comparison.

“Apparently, you do!” Haurchefant said. “Why, you could give the noble ladies of Ishgard a run for their gil!”

Adalyn laughed breathlessly as Haurchefant picked her up, spinning her around, the skirts of her robe flaring out around her with the motion.

“Now that the memories of your deeds ‘fore the calamity have returned, I shall have to make inquiries as to who taught you, when next I return to Ishgard,” Haurchefant said, and Adalyn’s eyes lit up. “See if we cannot jog some missing memories of your own.”

Adalyn nodded, and before she could let herself think too much about the matter, she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. Haurchefant’s breath hitched, and she drew back, her face going a blotchy red. “Haurchefant, I—”

Her linkpearl blipped, and Adalyn, grateful for the distraction, answered it.

“Adalyn? Are you there?” Alphinaud asked, and Adalyn clicked her tongue twice. “Oh, most excellent. Where are you?”

Adalyn pursed her lips, staring at the fire. She coughed pointedly.

“Ah, right… I don’t suppose there is anyone who could give the answer for you?”

Adalyn wondered if it might not be possible to work out a way to convey more complex information through clicking, even as she pulled her linkpearl from her ear, offering it to Haurchefant. “Alphinaud,” she signed at his look. “He needs to know where I am.”

Haurchefant nodded and slipped the linkpearl into his ear, activating it. “Alphinaud,” he said warmly. “‘Tis good to hear your voice, too—yes, she is… Understood.” He pulled the linkpearl out and offered it back to Adalyn, his smile gone.

Adalyn clicked to let Alphinaud know she was back on the line, her eyes following Haurchefant as he hurried from the room.

“Haurchefant tells me you’re already at Camp Dragonhead,” Alphinaud said. “Which is most fortuitous; Commander Lucia has come to Revenant's Toll bearing grave news. The Dravanians’ assault has begun, and Ishgard begs our aid.”

Chapter Text

Adalyn’s dreams were fitful that night.

She wasn’t quite sure where she was supposed to be; all she knew was that she was running, bare feet cut on sticks and sharp stones as she sprinted down a muddy hillside before she tripped and went rolling, cuts and bruises accumulating on her shoulders and arms before she was on her feet again and sprinting like it was a matter of life or death—

A dragon’s roar pierced the firmament, and then she was surrounded by smoke, choking, burning her lungs—

The ruins of a collapsed home, surrounded by the ruins of dozens of similar buildings, and she tore through the rubble, sobbing as she screamed her brother’s name, Hamignant, Hamignant—

The shock of snowy hair, stained black with soot, was like a beacon, and she fell to her knees, reaching out a trembling hand to touch his hair, her every sobbing breath seared with pain—

Adalyn woke with a start and sat abruptly, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and pressing her hands against her face.

It had felt less like a dream and more like a memory, akin to those she shared thanks to her power of the Echo. She slowly lay back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm her racing heart.

It was still dark outside. She just hoped it was early in the morning and not the middle of the night.

A quiet knock at the door. “Lady Adalyn?” an unfamiliar voice called, and she whistled sharply to let her visitor know she was awake. “Sorry to disturb you, but Master Alphinaud and Ser Aymeric are awaiting your arrival.”

“Swiving hells,” Adalyn mouthed to herself, but stood up with a soft groan and crossed to the room, opening the door to give the solider a tired thumbs-up. He saluted, and retreated back the way he’d come, leaving Adalyn to get dressed and rake her fingers through her rat’s nest of hair to try and tame it into a semblance of tidiness. Somehow, she didn’t think the little braid down one side did much to help her appearance, but she couldn’t bring herself to be fussed overly much.

She made her way to the intercessory, not bothering to hide her massive yawn when Alphinaud raised his hand in greeting. Ser Aymeric smiled at her arrival, which only served to further settle Adalyn’s expression into a carefully neutral one. It wouldn’t do for the champion of Eorzea to be scowling at Ishgard’s military leader, after all.

Even if he was a conniving, scheming bastard.

“I thank you for coming with such haste,” Aymeric said as Adalyn sank into a chair beside Alphinaud, across from the Lord Commander. Adalyn’s brain wandered off on a tangent, wondering where Lucia was in her conspicuous absence from Aymeric’s side. Back in Ishgard, perhaps?

“Given the circumstances, we would quite understand if you should wish to postpone our audience,” Alphinaud said, but Aymeric shook his head.

The Lord Commander made quite the show of folding his arms, looking rather contrite. Adalyn grit her teeth, her eyes all but boring a hole in his skull, silently daring him to speak plainly when he looked up at her.

Alas, she was disappointed.

“On the contrary, Master Alphinaud,” Aymeric said, “I think it more important than ever that this meeting take place. Rest assured, I shall return to my post on Ishgard’s walls the moment our business is concluded.” He glanced at Adalyn, his expression inscrutable. “But before we discuss the matter of the Scions acting as reinforcements, I would introduce you to a close friend and stalwart ally. Estinien!” he called raising his voice.

Adalyn was immediately on the alert, and the instant Aymeric called the Azure Dragoon—the other Azure Dragoon by name—she realised she’d been played for a fool. She should have realised, should have known, that she’d sensed him nearby, but her thoughts had been so clouded lately she could scarce pay attention to those of her own origination, let alone the presence of a man who she hadn’t even known existed until some weeks previously.

Her hackles raised as she twisted in her seat towards the door. Even the sight of Haurchefant opening it did little to quell her nerves as he entered, walking past her seat without so much as a sidelong glance. Behind him strode Estinien, clad in that all-too-familiar spiked armour.

Adalyn didn’t quite reach for the staff on her back, but her hand twitched in that direction. It didn’t escape Estinien’s notice. His helmeted gaze turned sharply towards Adalyn, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, they stared each other down, both wary, neither wanting to make the first move.

“May I present to you Ishgard’s Azure Dragoon,” Aymeric said, his voice just a little too calm for Adalyn’s liking.

Alphinaud inclined his head. “An impressive title,” he said, “though I confess, I know precious little of the order of dragoons.”

“They are formidable warriors all,” Aymeric said, and his gaze shifted towards Adalyn. “Yet even among such masters of the lance, Estinien is without equal. He, out of all the warriors of Ishgard, was chosen to wield the power of dragons, and thus may contend with any Dravanian.”

“You flatter me overmuch, Lord Commander,” Estinien said, and his head turned towards Aymeric as he spoke. “Though if ever I was without equal, I am no longer—as my fellow Azure Dragoon here will attest.”

Adalyn felt ice freeze in her veins as the room went silent, save for the crackling of the fire.

After what felt like a lifetime, Estinien cracked a smile beneath his helmet. “Be at ease, Adalyn. I did not come here to challenge you this day.”

“Good,” Adalyn said, ignoring the way Alphinaud blinked at her signing. “Because I would hate to have to kick your arse again this day.”

Estinien snorted, and Adalyn didn’t bother to try to fight back her silent laughter.

“I’ll concede this round to you,” Estinien said, and bowed slightly at the waist. “For now, at least. You can expect I’ll be waiting for a rematch, and thence I shall proceed to best you.”

“‘Tis good to see your ego survived Nidhogg’s wrath,” Adalyn said, “if not necessarily your sense of self-preservation.”

“That,” Estinien said, and inclined his head, smirking, “remains to be seen.”

“I’m sorry,” Alphinaud said, looking between the two with an expression of polite confusion, “but I appear to have missed something…?”

“Estinien is fluent in Ishgardian Sign,” Aymeric said, smiling faintly. “And I daresay he and Adalyn have had words waiting to be exchanged ever since she was chosen to be the second Azure Dragoon.”

Alphinaud blinked, then smiled. “Well, you’ll have to tell me the story of how that came to happen! It sounds like quite the tale. A second Azure Dragoon?”

“I’d be rather curious to hear this story myself,” Haurchefaunt murmured, and Adalyn rubbed the back of her neck, looking away.

“The how and why are less important than the fact that her abilities would be of use to us against the Dravanians,” Aymeric said, and Adalyn looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t like the way he talked about her like she was a tool to be used, a weapon to be pointed at the nearest dragon.

Not that everyone else didn’t do that too, but it was the way he said it that particularly rankled—like she was not even there.

“Let us proceed to the matter at hand. I would share with you Iceheart’s design, as confessed by the heretics taken captive after the assault on the gates. ‘Twould seem Lady Iceheart and the Dravanians share a common goal—the reclamation of Nidhogg’s stolen eye,” Aymeric continued.

“Nidhogg…” Alphinaud mused. “One of the seven great wyrms. His name features prominently in your nation’s history. Though once defeated by the hero Haldrath, the beast is said to have terrorized Coerthas since Ishgard’s founding.”

“How sweet of him to explain your nation’s history to you,” Adalyn said to Haurchefant, who grinned faintly. Estinien’s expression didn’t change, but for a moment she could have sworn she saw a flicker of a smile on Aymeric’s face before he became serious again.

“Aye, many are the scars our walls bear from Nidhogg’s relentless efforts to raze the city,” Aymeric said. “The trophy Haldrath plucked from the bested wyrm’s skull—known simply as ‘the Eye’—is a treasured relic of Ishgard, and one possessed of untold power. Should it ever be returned to Nidhogg, the dread creature would be returned to the height of his strength… and then no wall or ward we could erect would be stout enough to deny him.”

Adalyn froze when she heard Midgardsormr’s voice rumble in her mind. My vengeful son hath waged war against Ishgard for a thousand years. No mortal mind could comprehend the depths of his rancor.

“The Eye itself is secreted deep within the Vault,” Aymeric continued, and Adalyn allowed herself a small breath of relief the father of dragons elected to keep himself hidden. She wasn’t sure how that would have ended, nor did she wish to find out.

The thought of Haurchefant’s disappointment was too much to bear.

“It is kept under heavy guard, surrounded at all times by men and women who have proven their loyalty to the Holy See.” Was she imagining the look Aymeric shot Estinien? “But though stout walls and sharp blades may suffice to discourage the heretics, the dragons are another matter. There are individuals within the Dravanian Horde whom an entire company of knights would labour to repel—to say nothing of Nidhogg himself.”

“Age does naught to rob them of their strength,” Estinien said, folding his arms. Adalyn took note of how he did so; the blades on the forearms had rather made the attempt impossible for her. “Through the endless march of years, the dragons endure. Patient. Calculating. Inexorable. You must understand: these creatures do not share our perception of time.” His mouth twisted. “And that is especially true of the great wyrms—they who spend centuries in slumber only to wake and resume their campaign as if mere hours had passed.”

Aymeric’s expression was grave. “It has been twenty years since Nidhogg last darkened our skies. Twenty years for him to gather his strength, and for us to bolster our defenses. And now, just as he seems primed to return, the heretics strike at the gates…”

“You don’t think the timing was a coincidence,” Adalyn said, but before Haurchefant could translate for her, Alphinaud jumped in.

“You believe Lady Iceheart in league with the creature, then?”

“Of that, we cannot be certain,” Aymeric said, folding his arms in a manner uncannily similar to Estinien. “Though we know the heretics covet the Eye, we have been unable to determine their plans for it. Such questions aside, we must needs address the ragged hole their mistress has seen fit to rend in Ishgard’s protections. ‘Tis a weakness the Dravanians are not like to leave untested.”

Alphinaud considered for a moment. “So it would seem. You have described your plight in admirable detail, Lord Commander, yet I cannot help but wonder… why share such sensitive information with us?”

Aymeric sat up a little straighter, unfolding his arms. “I shall speak plain. Ishgard has need of allies, and I would have you bolster our front lines in readiness for the coming battle.”

“This much I expected,” Alphinaud said slowly, “but unlike our arrangement concerning the Keeper of the Lake, however, only you stand to benefit from our assistance in this matter. I fail to see why we should intervene in a conflict which only concerns Ishgard and Dravania. It seems grossly unjust to involve us in your private war when you failed to answer the Eorzean Alliance’s call to aid.”

Adalyn really wished the boy would stop baiting the career politician. She also wished she could twist Aymeric’s bejeweled ear as he smiled, pointing out that were Ishgard to fall, it would leave the Garlean Empire with the perfect opportunity to move in, putting the entire Alliance at risk.

For once in his life, Alphinaud had no witty comeback to that. Adalyn privately had to admit, as she slipped out of the room, that although Aymeric might have been little more than a snake in the grass, it was certainly gratifying to finally meet someone who could render the lad speechless.

Adalyn changed to her dragoon armour and was in the middle of checking that it was all locked into place, trying to calm her nerves before the battle, when she sensed him.

She turned to face Estinien, her jaw setting, glad her visor hid most of her expression. “Can I help you?”

Estinien pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, approaching her slowly. “We haven’t had a chance to speak since the Boulder Downs,” he said.

Adalyn got the sense he was hoping for a response from her, which she didn’t grant, though she did flip her visor up, watching Estinien warily. He stopped a good several fulms away, watching her with equal wariness.

“Were you hoping for a rematch now?” she asked at long last, and Estinien chuckled.

“One of these days, I should be glad to test my strength against yours, when my mind is fully my own,” Estinien said. “But you can be at ease. I meant what I said earlier. I have no intention of challenging you now, especially when to do so would mean spitting in the face of your mercy.”

Adalyn shook her head. “Like you said, your mind was not your own. To kill you would have been an injustice.”

“And still, you spared me when it would have been far easier not to,” Estinien said. He inclined his head. “Why?”

Adalyn stared at him for a long moment. “Because to kill you would have been to kill an innocent man?”

Estinien let out a small huff of laughter. “Far be it from anyone to call me innocent,” he said, but then his voice softened slightly. “But thank you. From one Azure Dragoon to another, your mercy has afforded me a second chance to avenge those who have died to Nidhogg’s rage.”

Adalyn nodded. “For what it is worth,” she said, “I’m glad I didn’t have to kill you.” She grinned faintly. “Who else besides Haurchefant would I have to talk to, then?”

She clapped his shoulder, mindful of the spikes, and shouldered her spear as she headed out the door.

Chapter Text

“That,” Adalyn said, staring up at the dragon slowly making its way across the Steps of Faith, “is a very big dragon.”

Beside her, Estinien nodded. “‘Tis Vishap, whose size dwarfs even that of his sire’s,” he said. “Luckily for us, it would appear the wyrm has tired itself from flying all this way.” He turned his head towards Adalyn, considering her. “Shall you take the beast while I lead the other dragoons against the rest of the Dravanians… Warrior of Light?”

Adalyn lifted her chin, hearing the challenge in his words. “Leave it to me.”

Estinien nodded, crouched, and leapt away, leaving Adalyn at the front of the line of knights. She put two fingers to her mouth, whistling sharply, and pointed at the harpoons stationed along the bridge. She could only hope some of them would understand and follow her into the fray as she sprinted forward, straight between the wyrm’s legs. She took up a position on one of the abandoned harpoons launchers, locking a chain to one of the massive bolts and beginning to load it up.

Gauntleted hands joined her own, and Adalyn grinned at the knight who had come to help. On the far side of the bridge, other knights rushed to do the same, while the wyverns that circled above let out piercing screeches as the dragoons began picking them off one by one.

“We’ve got it from here!” one of the knights aiding her said, and Adalyn nodded, running back beneath the dragon and stabbing at its ankles, aiming to sever tendons.

The creature’s hide was too strong to be pierced, and Adalyn hissed when Vishap lifted a massive, clawed foot to squash her. She dived out of the way, coming out from beneath and leaping onto its back.

A rattle of chains reached her ears, and the harpoons stuck fast in Vishap’s flanks. The dragon let out a bellowing roar that shook the very cliffs, and continued its slow advance, ripping the chains loose in a spray of blood.

There had to be a weak point in this thing’s hide.

Adalyn ran along Vishap’s back, avoiding the spines that threatened to impale her should she misstep.

There. At the spot where spine met neck. The scales were thinner, possibly to allow for ease of movement. It would have to be enough.

The second set of harpoons struck, and Vishap brought a foot down on one of them. The knights manning the launcher didn’t get out of the way in time; the dragon continued forward, leaving a bloody smear on the stones.

Adalyn knew it had to be now or never. She crouched, and leapt, aether lending power to the jump. A wyvern snapped at her as she sailed past before a dragoon in bronze armour struck it down, and the pair plummeted while Adalyn kept soaring higher.

At the apex of her jump, she twisted, angling her body as she took aim. Flames flickered around her weapon, and she dived with the force of a falling meteor, slamming into the base of Vishap’s neck.

It wasn’t enough to sever the wyrm’s spine, but the damage it dealt was enough to send the beast lurching. Adalyn left her spear embedded in place, racing forward as her armour shifted and she called a massive axe to her hands. She struck, blow after blow shattering scales and splitting flesh, and the wyrm thrashed from her onslaught and that of the knights below.

Blood splattered her face and stained her armour, and she spat out a burning mouthful, her chest heaving even as Vishap’s movements grew sluggish, then still. Almost as if in slow motion, the great beast tilted sideways, then fell, its weight crushing the stone railing of the bridge.

As its body began to slide into the raging chasm below, Adalyn sprinted back along its spine, jerking her lance free and leaping to safety before she was taken over the edge with it. She sprawled on the bloody stones of the Steps, the pulse of her heartbeat so loud in her ears the cheers of the knights sounded as though they were coming from underwater.

Adalyn lay where she had fallen before one of the knights hauled her to her feet, clapping her on the back, and then she was surrounded by soldiers celebrating their victory as the wyverns above turned tail and fled back to the hinterlands.

A flicker of movement atop one of the bridge’s towers caught her eye, and Adalyn turned her head to catch Estinien alighting at the tower’s edge. She saw his mouth curl in a faint smile as he signed to her. “You have blood on your face.”

She let out a silent bark of laughter and gestured rudely in return before wiping the blood away, and Estinien’s smile became a fully blown smirk. He nodded to her, crouched, and leapt, disappearing in the direction of Ishgard.

Haurchefant had remained at Dragonhead to hold the line in case the Dravanians tried to press further into Coerthas, but with the the attack on the Steps of Faith successfully repelled, he was waiting for Adalyn’s return by the aetheryte. He caught her up in a hug that lifted her clear off the ground, heedless of her filthy armour, and kissed her.

Adalyn squeaked in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back, adrenaline unlike any battle’s coursing through her veins. Her gauntleted fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss.

For a moment—a single, precious moment—Adalyn felt the world fade away until it was nothing but the two of them. No politics, no wars, none of the weight or responsibilities of being the Warrior of Light. The familiar smells of oiled mail and worn leather, sweat and woodsmoke and chocolate, of Haurchefant, surrounded her.

Safe.

She was safe.

When at last they parted, Adalyn laughed nervously as Haurchefant set her back on her feet. She braced her hands on his chest, catching her breath. His gloved hand cupped her face, thumb rubbing over her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“I never doubted that you would triumph,” Haurchefant said softly, “but full glad am I to see you returned safely." Adalyn opened her eyes to see his smile turn slightly worried. “This blood—none of it is yours, is it?”

Adalyn shook her head. “It turns out that giant dragons bleed a lot when one hits them forty-seven times with an axe.”

Haurchefant laughed and kissed her again. It was less fierce this time, but no less enthusiastic, his mouth soft on hers. He didn’t seem to mind that her lips were chapped from the cold, nor that she was in desperate need of a bath.

They only broke apart when one of the soldiers stationed by the aetheryte coughed pointedly, and even then Haurchefant chased the kiss, sighing wistfully when Adalyn put a hand on his chest, shaking her head.

“Forgive me my eagerness,” he murmured.

Adalyn smiled, though she was certain her face was bright red with embarrassment at having been so succinctly called out. “Shall we get out of the cold?” she asked, and Haurchefant offered her his arm.

“A hot bath should be just the thing, I think,” Haurchefant said, and Adalyn let out a huff of laughter. “And then, assuming you aren’t called away on important hero business, we shall see about a round of celebratory drinks before you have to leave again.” Though he smiled, there was a sadness to his voice, and Adalyn’s arm tightened on his.

“Then I’ll simply have to keep finding excuses to come back,” she said.

Adalyn’s return to the Rising Stones saw her in a spectacularly good mood, thanks in no small part to the events following the attack on the Steps of Faith. There was a spring in her step as she entered the Solar to give Minfilia her report—though, as it turned out, there was no need. Word had already spread, and a missive sent to the Scions from Ul’dah.

On behalf of the Council of the Eorzean Alliance, Her Royal Majesty Nanamo Ul Namo invites the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to attend a feast at the Royal Palace of Ul’dah in honour of Ishgard’s recent victory.

At least Minfilia was of the same opinion as her, that it seemed rather silly the Alliance leaders were patting themselves on the back for a job well done when it had been the Scions—and, largely, Adalyn—doing all of the work, but if this could be turned into a chance to negotiate Ishgard’s joining of the Alliance, then they would have to grin and bear it.

Adalyn very much did not want to grin and bear it. For one, such an event most likely meant Aymeric would be there, and the last thing she cared to do was spend an evening watching him smooze his way among the other guests. But for another, she was so out of her depth in social gatherings that it felt like drowning. Without someone to translate for her, she would be left with naught but her pen, and experience had long since taught her that it left her vulnerable to her will being overridden by anyone who didn’t care to wait for her to finish writing.

That, and Adalyn knew this would be the first time most of the guests would have even seen this fabled Warrior of Light, which would only result in disappointment that she wasn’t the warrior goddess of breathtaking beauty people seemed to describe her as.

No, she thought, tugging unhappily on her mousy mop of hair as she studied herself in the mirror, she would much rather spend the evening in Camp Dragonhead helping Haurchefant sort through papers or unloading supplies to give the workers a hand. Instead, she was awkwardly stuffed into a high-necked white gown, with red, flowy trousers visible through the slits in the front or the skirts. White and red, her signature colours as Eorzea’s hero, all the better for people to see her in a crowd. She might as well have been a doll, all prettied up for people to look at and not speak to.

Adalyn tried to smile at her reflection. It looked more like a grimace.

A gentle knock came from the door, and Adalyn let out a brief whistle of acknowledgement.

“It’s me,” Minfilia’s voice called. “Might I come in?”

Adalyn clicked her tongue twice in affirmation.

The door opened, and Minfilia smiled at her. “Are you ready? We must needs depart for Ul’dah soon.”

Adalyn grimaced. “Are you sure I have to go?”

Minfilia gave her a sympathetic smile, and Adalyn wondered how much of her consternation Minfilia could sense through the Echo. “I think you would be hard-pressed to find someone who could make you go if you didn’t want to,” she said, and Adalyn could already hear the but incoming. “But your presence would serve as a symbol of a future unification of Eorzea. We would be lesser for your absence.”

Adalyn sighed and blew several loose strands of hair away from her face. It fell back into her eyes, and she scowled. “I’ll scarce be able to talk to anyone there.”

“Then stay with me for the night,” Minfilia said, and smiled when Adalyn perked up slightly at the suggestion. “It would be my pleasure to translate.”

“You would do that for me? I…” Adalyn trailed off, biting her lip. “Minfilia, you’ll have other things to worry about.”

“And what could be more important than helping our symbol of peace and hope to foster goodwill amongst the people?” Minfilia said. She squeezed Adalyn’s shoulder. “Besides helping my dear friend to enjoy herself enough she doesn’t come away from this banquet resenting having attended?”

Adalyn considered, looking Minfilia over. She looked so poised and put together, in a simple but finely-made gown laced with pink accents. Her hair was in its usual braided style, and Adalyn’s eyes lingered on it for a moment as she thought.

“Help me with my hair,” she said, nodding at Minfilia, “and I’ll be nothing but smiles for any lords and ladies you want to show me off to.”

Minfilia clasped her hands together, beaming. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

Chapter Text

“I thought you said I wouldn’t regret this,” Adalyn mouthed to Minfilia, wishing she could disappear into the crowd when she saw Aymeric approaching.

“You don’t even know what he wants,” Minfilia whispered back, smiling her most charming smile for him. “Lord Commander! This truly is a joyous celebration, don’t you think?”

“Indeed I do, Antecedent,” Aymeric said. He gave a small bow. “Thanks to the help of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the Warrior of Light, Ishgard’s defenses held firm against the Dravanian assault. You have our deepest gratitude.”

“Pretty words after strong-arming us into helping,” Adalyn signed, anticipating Minfilia to censor her like she had for most of the night.

“She says it was our pleasure to help,” Minfilia said sweetly, and Adalyn fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

To both of their surprise, Aymeric chuckled, shaking his head. “I think we all know that is very much not what she said.” He inclined his head towards Adalyn. “While I may not be as well-versed in the language as Ser Estinien is, I have been studying in anticipation of one day sharing a conversation with you.”

Adalyn’s stomach dropped when she realised that had been the reason for all of Aymeric’s funny little expressions in meetings prior. And then her shock turned to disgust when she realised he had made no other indication of being able to understand her before.

Bastard.

“Adalyn, I rather fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Aymeric said. “Please, allow me the chance to rectify that. Lord Haurchefant tells me you’re an excellent dancer.” He smiled; Adalyn didn’t smile back. “Would you do me the honour?”

Adalyn had already been forced to share several dances that night, but always with partners with whom she had no hope of communicating; it had always been with the sense that she was a trophy, that her partners could later brag to their allies that they had shared a dance with the Warrior of Light.

With Aymeric, she wasn’t sure what the man was playing at.

“Adalyn?” Minfilia prompted, and raised her eyebrows. You promised, the look said, and Adalyn grit her teeth, forcing a smile onto her face for Aymeric as she nodded.

Aymeric held out his hands, and Adalyn let him pull her out onto the dance floor, shooting a glare over her shoulder at Minfilia as she went along with him.

Aymeric, as it turned out, was an excellent dancer, and though the thought crossed her mind several times to tread on his toes, she couldn’t risk causing an incident… especially after Haurchefant had vouched for her own skill.

Dammit.

Adalyn stared stonily at a point just beyond Aymeric’s shoulder, effectively silenced with her hands occupied. This did absolutely nothing to quell her hatred for the man, who should have damn well known this would be the case.

As a matter of fact, he did, and had been counting on it.

“I was earnest in what I said earlier,” Aymeric said as they danced. “Your heroism on the Steps of Faith has saved countless lives. Words of thanks hardly seem sufficient.”

Adalyn pursed her lips.

“Am I correct in supposing you’re displeased with me for not informing you of my practicing Sign sooner?” Aymeric said, and Adalyn grimaced, still not meeting his eyes. “It was not my intention to deceive you. Rather… I fear it came down to a matter of personal embarrassment, and instead of making an effort to engage with you, I instead chose to hold my counsel lest I misunderstand you and make a fool of myself.”

Adalyn blinked, startled, and finally looked Aymeric in the face. His eyes were an astonishing shade of blue, a wild corner of her brain noted, before she shoved it away.

Aymeric gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. “Words which come so easily to me when spoken have yet to flow quite the same when signed,” he said apologetically. “I did not exaggerate when I told you that long have I been following the tales of your exploits. Rather than inform you I knew a little of Sign, I had thought to try impressing you with fluency, and now I see that all this served to do was deepen your mistrust in both me and my homeland.”

“No shit,” Adalyn mouthed, and Aymeric chuckled.

“Your mistrust is not without reason,” he said, his smile fading. “But I asked for this dance that I might have the chance to tell you that I am not your enemy. I too wish to see Ishgard join the Eorzean Alliance, but she is a country that is slow to change and rooted in tradition. It will take more than just my urging to instil reform…” He inclined his head. “Which is why I am full glad you played such an instrumental role in turning the battle at the Steps of Faith. The winds are finally shifting in favour of a united Eorzea.”

The music drew to an end, and Aymeric let go of Adalyn to bow. “Thank you for your dance,” he signed, and Adalyn’s scowl softened a fraction. “And… speaking towards me.”

Adalyn couldn’t help the silent giggle that bubbled past her lips, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Aymeric smiled ruefully. “I did tell you I was atrocious,” he said, and Adalyn, still grinning behind her hands, nodded. “But I am resolved to keep at it, that our alliance might be made all the stronger in the coming days. Does this help clear some of your displeasure with me?”

Adalyn tilted her head, then held up a hand, two fingers pinched a fraction of an ilm apart. “A little.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Aymeric said. “Thank you again for the dance, and for granting me the chance to talk at you. I hope in the future I shall be talking with you instead.”

Adalyn gave him a curt nod, glancing over her shoulder.

“Pray, do not let me keep you,” Aymeric said. “I’m sure you have a busy night ahead.”

Adalyn nodded again and turned her back to him, her mind reeling. If that had been an act, it was a very convincing one… and one she wasn’t sure she put past Aymeric capable of performing. Every time she thought she had a sense for who he was, he always seemed to have an uncanny knack for pushing her off-balance again.

She didn’t like it one bit.

Adalyn wasn’t sure how late it was into the banquet when she finally turned to Minfilia. “If I don’t get a moment outside to catch my breath and regain my composure, I shall scream,” she said, and Minfilia nodded sympathetically.

“Go, take your air on the veranda,” she said. “I shall make your excuses until you feel ready to rejoin the festivities.”

Adalyn bumped Minfilia with her shoulder, smiling tiredly, and she slipped outside, tipping her head back and breathing in the sweet night air with a sigh of relief.

“What a night,” she mouthed to herself as she crossed to the railing, leaning against it to admire the lights of Ul’dah below. She kept turning the dance with Aymeric over in her mind, grudgingly admitting to herself that he’d been clever to keep her hands occupied so he could talk to her without interruption.

Whether or not he meant the words he’d said was another matter entirely.

It didn’t help that the man was distractingly, breathtakingly beautiful, and Adalyn sighed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as guilt gnawed at her stomach. It wasn’t even like she and Haurchefant were a couple; hells, she wasn’t sure what she and Haurchefant were, especially considering the comments she overheard from gossiping soldiers who didn’t realise she was within earshot.

She cared about Haurchefant deeply, but she didn’t know if it was truly love or just… deep infatuation with the man who had given her her voice back. And Haurchefant, she was certain, cared about her deeply, too, but beyond that, was she just another adventurer to seduce into a quick tumble in bed? Or did he want something more?

Gods, I have too much on my plate to be worrying about these things.

Adalyn sighed, letting her hands fall. She gripped the railing, trying to find some purchase, some grounding distraction in the smooth sandstone. Something that felt solid, felt real in the increasing insanity that was her life.

She didn’t even have memories from earlier than a few short moons ago, and suddenly everything was happening so fast. Going from a nameless amnesiac adventurer to the champion of the realm still felt like someone’s mad, fever fantasy.

What was she?

And for that matter, who?

“Miss Keene?” a woman’s timid voice said, and Adalyn turned to see one of the palace servants lingering in the doorway. “I apologise for the interruption, but the Sultana wishes to speak with you privately before she joins the festivities.”

Adalyn blinked and pointed questioningly at herself.

The servant nodded. “She specifically asked for you by name. If you’ll follow me?” She turned away. “It wouldn’t do to keep Her Grace waiting.”

She’d had an unpleasant feeling, watching the Sultana reach for her wine, but it wasn’t until Adalyn heard Nanamo’s choking gasp, saw the goblet fall in slow-motion, that all the warning signs seemed to slam into her.

How could I be so careless? she thought in the frozen moment of horror.

The goblet clattered to the ground and Nanamo with it, convulsing as foam bubbled in her throat, spilling from her mouth.

“GUARDS!” Adalyn bellowed, but it could come out as no more than a wheeze. She couldn’t run for help and treat the sultana, so she summoned her staff to hand, channeling healing magics into the tiny, prone form, but whatever the poison was, it resisted her every attempt to cure it.

Desperate to summon help, unable to cry out, Adalyn reached out for the first thing her fingers grasped, and she hurled it at the wall.

The wine bottle shattered against the stone in a spray of crimson.

Adalyn stayed focused on Nanamo, silent tears falling down her face as the convulsions only worsened. It wasn’t until rough hands seized her arms, forced them behind her back, causing her to drop her staff, that Adalyn realised with fresh horror that the Crystal Braves were clapping manacles on her wrists, their enchantments suppressing her aether and nullifying her magic.

“NO!” Adalyn screamed—but all it came out as was a single, drawn-out wheeze.

“Do not resist!” Teledji Adeledji squawked as Adalyn was dragged roughly backwards by the short length of chain that connected her wrists. “You are hereby accused of regicide and will be summarily punished for your crimes!”

Adalyn thrashed uselessly, a fish on a hook, the outline of Nanamo’s body blurry through her tears before she was jerked around a corner.

“I didn’t do it!” Adalyn bellowed silently, her arms straining as she twisted in Ilberd’s grasp. “The assassin must still be here! Let me go! I can help! PLEASE!”

“Save your breath, you—you viper!” Teledji Adjeledji pointed a tremulous finger at her as he trotted along the corridor behind her, keeping well out of the way of her kicking feet. “Even if you could speak with that useless tongue of yours, nobody would believe you! You were the only one in the room!”

None of this was making any sense. Their allies turned on them so suddenly… but…

“The wine must have been poisoned beforehand!” Adalyn protested, to people who couldn’t hear, who would not let her speak, her hands bound, her pen confiscated, her notepad tossed carelessly on the floor and stepped on by a filthy boot. “Please, you’ve got the wrong person! PLEASE—!”

Ilberd kicked her roughly in the ribs, and though it didn’t hurt like it should have, the sudden blow was jarring enough that Adalyn bit down on her tongue, swallowing back sobs.

Nanamo.

One nightmare was exchanged for another. She was thrown bodily into the banquet hall to a room gone still, frozen, as they watched the drama unfolding before them. Minfilia met her eyes, and Adalyn shook her head desperately, pleading, as Teledji Adeledji described to the assembled guests how she’d been caught in Nanamo’s chambers scant moments after the assassination.

Aymeric, Lucia, and the knights who had accompanied them were nowhere to be seen, and Adalyn’s stomach turned over yet again. Unable to speak to defend herself, her mind began racing. If Ishgard was behind the Crystal Braves’ treachery, what would they have to gain from it? And who would have orchestrated such a thing? Surely someone in Ul’dah would be a more likely culprit?

Where was Alphinaud, for that matter? Thancred?

And now it was no longer just her, but the rest of the Scions being blamed for the deed, all to be arrested and tried as accessories.

The other Alliance leaders (still living Alliance leaders) were ushered quickly from the hall along with the first of the guests, but Raubahn remained, numb shock on his face.

“She… she cannot be dead,” he said, his eyes meeting Adalyn’s. “Tell me she’s still alive, godsdammit!”

Adalyn shook her head, anguish on her face, and Raubahn’s shock gave way to rage. “Stand aside, Ilberd!” he demanded. “I want to see the Sultana!”

“Spare yourself the pain, brother,” Ilberd said, putting on the perfect act of sympathy and remorse. “I saw her with my own eyes. For a mercy, the poison took her swiftly. I’m sure the assassin can attest to that.”

“LIAR!” Adalyn screamed, and even silently, the force of it still made her throat ache.

“Nanamo…” Raubahn fell to his knees, the guttural cry that tore from his lips animalistic with pain.

Teledji Adeledji just watched with a small, self-satisfied smirk, relishing in the scene unfolding before him. Even when Raubahn accused the Monetarist of being the one behind the assassination, the smirk only widened.

Taunting Raubahn about it was the most foolish, and the last thing, he ever did.

“You would mock her? Then mock her from HELL!”

Adalyn could only stare in awed horror as Raubahn lunged at Teledji Adeledji. His sword flashed, and where there stood a man scant moments before were two severed halves and a pool of bloodied entrails spilling across the floor.

Chaos erupted in the banquet hall, and Adalyn was nearly trampled in the stampede of remaining guests trying to get to the doors. She rolled out of the way, huddling against the wall as she wriggled her legs through the bound loop of her arms, bringing the handcuffs to her front. Ilberd’s sword was out in an instant as he blocked Raubahn’s lunge towards Lolorito, slicing Raubahn’s arm off in a single blow.

The Flame General bellowed, clutching the bloodied stump as he fell to his knees. His severed limb rolled across the floor to lay beside Teledji Adeledji’s head, a macabre echo of the deed it had just perpetrated.

“How unlike you, old friend,” Ilberd said coldly, the tip of his sword hovering beneath Raubahn’s chin. “I did not expect to take your arm so easily.”

“Take the Scions into custody!” Lolorito shrilled. “They have conspired to commit regicide!”

Crystal Braves and Brass Blades alike swarmed the room, and Adalyn’s heart sank as she watched her allies shift to stand back to back, eyeing their would-be captors warily.

Her gaze darted around the room, trying to map out escape routes. The palace would be on high alert, and swarming with guards, paladins, and Crystal Braves. Even as Raubahn let out another roar and snatched up his sword with his other hand to beat back Ilberd, the floor cracking with each blow they exchanged, she realised this was the distraction they needed.

Aether surged around Raubahn as he smashed through a column, sending it toppling towards Ilberd; Adalyn put her bound hands to her lips and whistled as loudly as she could, piercing the din. Raubahn swung around, and, spotting her, he nodded. When Ilberd struck again, Raubahn used the force of the attack to leap backwards, slicing through the chains that bound her. The aether dampening effect fell away, and Adalyn called her staff to her hand, channeling healing magic into Raubahn’s body to stem the bleeding.

“I never doubted you, lass,” Raubahn said, panting. “Not for a minute.” He levelled his sword at the approaching guard, standing between them and the Scions. “Flee this place. Clear your names. I’ll buy you the time you need. Now GO!”

Adalyn nodded and whistled shrilly to the others, jerking her head and waving as she led them in a sprint to the doors. Mentally, she did a headcount: Minfilia, Y’shtola, Yda, Papalymo.

They caught up with Thancred in the corridors, fleeing capture. His story was the same as theirs: betrayal, on all fronts. At least he had a plan to escape in the form of a secret tunnel that led outside the walls of the city, and so they ran on.

Still no sign of Alphinaud. Adalyn could only pray the boy was safe. Obnoxious as he was, he was still barely more than a child, a child whose dream had been turned against them all.

Still, for a moment, one brilliant, hopeful moment, it seemed like they might be able to escape the palace unhindered.

But then the guards began appearing, and Yda and Papalymo stayed behind to hold them off.

Then it was Y’shtola and Thancred, ready to bring the tunnel down to buy them time.

And then, as Adalyn and Minfilia raced through the tunnel alone, Minfilia suddenly stopped dead, her body seizing up as though she’d been struck by levin. “Hydaelyn,” she gasped, her eyes wide. “She… She speaks to me.”

“What?” Adalyn demanded, whirling around to stare anxiously at Minfilia.

“No…” Minfilia’s gaze was distant, and Adalyn realised she was speaking to the unseen goddess before her eyes focused on Adalyn, determination setting in. “I must remain behind, but you cannot stay with me.”

Adalyn inhaled sharply, grabbing Minfilia’s shoulders, shaking her head as she mouthed silent protestations.

“Please,” Minfilia said, and her hands came up to cover Adalyn’s. “You must go on. You are the Warrior of Light; you are hope for not just the Scions, but for the realm itself. So long as your flame continues to burn, the light of hope may ever be relit.”

“I don’t know what I’m to do without you,” Adalyn mouthed desperately, tears welling up in her eyes. “Minfilia, please!”

“Adalyn,” Minfilia said softly, grasping her hands. “If ever there was a time you had to place your utmost faith in me, do so now. ‘Tis up to you to carry on our work, and see to it that our friends’ sacrifices were not in vain.” She smiled, her expression sad. “Yours is the power to compose the future,” she said, and pulled her hands away. “The rest is up to you.”

A blue light enveloped her, blinding in its brightness, and Adalyn instinctively raised her arms to shield herself from the glare. When the light faded, Adalyn’s stomach dropped out from her, and she spun around, looking desperately up and down the yawning tunnel for Minfilia.

She screamed, hands curling over her heart, but the Mothercrystal remained silent like She had ever since that night in Castrum Meridianum.

“MINFILIA!”

The only sounds in the tunnel were the steady trickle of the water that ran over the floor.

Adalyn took a half-step back, then another, before she turned away, breaking into another sprint.

She ran, half-blinded by tears, hating that she didn’t stay to fight, hating that she was glad she didn’t have to.

She was a slayer of gods, wielding raw, destructive powers that people could only dream of.

Mortal guards wouldn’t stand a chance.

But in her cowardice, neither had her friends.

Adalyn ran for what seemed an age until the tunnel spat her out at the far end, and from there she kept running. To where, she didn’t know. The Rising Stones and Waking Sands alike would surely not be safe, swarming with Crystal Braves, and she sobbed tiredly at the thought of the Scions who would find themselves at the traitors' mercy.

As she sprinted up a steep hillside, her lungs burning from exertion, a pair of small figures emerged from the darkness, and she nearly drew up short before recognising the distinctive garb of one of them.

She never thought she would ever be so glad to see Alphinaud, and when they reached each other, she caught him up in a fierce hug, lifting him clear off the ground.

“Never have I been so glad to see you safe, Adalyn!” Alphinaud said, his voice tight as he hugged her back. She set him down, wiping her eyes with her wrist. “What of the others?”

Adalyn patted her pockets before remembering with an unpleasant lurch that her notebook had been taken, along with her pen, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head.

Alphinaud’s fists clenched. “Damn that man! Teledji played me for a fool; I’d thought the Crystal Braves mine until I felt that blade at my throat…” He looked away, gritting his teeth.

The lalafell accompanying him reached up to pat Alphinaud’s elbow. “There will be ample time for soul-searching later, my friend. For now, we must put some yalms between yourselves and Ul’dah.”

Adalyn gave him a suspicious look, but Alphinaud nodded. “On that, we can agree,” he said. “Adalyn, Vice Marshal Pipin Tarupin of the Immortal Flames. Were it not for him, I would not have escaped my captors when they turned on me.”

Adalyn gave Pipin a terse nod, placing three fingers to her chin and flicking them forward. “Thank you,” she mouthed along.

“Save your thanks,” Pipin said, straightening up. “We’re not out of the woods just yet, though a friend should hopefully be meeting us…”

The rumble of chocobo talons pounding in the dirt reached their ears. “Well, if it isn’t the lass from the forest! Need a ride? Judging by them soldiers pouring out of the city, I arrived not a moment too soon.”

Bremondt was the name of the carriage driver, and he seemed far too pleased to be helping them escape the law. Adalyn was dying to ask him more about his forest comment, but without her pen and notepad, she was helpless to do so without resorting to pantomime, and so she settled in beside Alphinaud, glancing over at the boy as the carriage set off. Pipin saluted them, and turned to head off the search party to give them more of a head start.

“I’ve made... such a mess of things,” Alphinaud said quietly, not looking up from where his head was buried in his hands.

Adalyn swallowed, and reached out a trembling hand to lay it on his shoulder. Alphinaud didn’t glance over at her, and she let her hand fall, folding them in her lap.

For the first time since her awakening in Gridania, she felt truly at a loss for words.

Chapter Text

They travelled through the night, Alphinaud eventually dozing off against Adalyn’s side. Her arm settled around his shoulders, and she was struck, not for the first time, by just how tiny he was. He felt especially fragile to her in that moment, which stretched on as dawn slowly broke and still the carriage travelled on.

It was so easy to forget that he was a child. By Eorzean law, an adult, and if one were to judge him by his deeds alone, he had accomplished more in less than a single turn around the star than most would ever do in a dozen lifetimes.

But seeing his face pinched with worry even in his sleep, Adalyn felt the weight of the burdens taken on by one too young.

Alphinaud woke when they reached Black Brush Station, and for a moment he looked embarrassed to have fallen asleep against her before Adalyn squeezed his shoulders and let go, giving him a small smile.

They disembarked from the carriage to meet with Cid, who had parked the Enterprise just beyond the outpost. Alphinaud was silent as they boarded the airship, looking hopelessly to Adalyn when Cid asked where he should take them.

Dragonhead, Adalyn scrawled after Cid hastened to find her a pen and parchment. I have a friend there. He’ll help us.

“So what did happen at this bloody banquet?” Cid asked once they were in the sky. “Tarupin only gave me the gist of it—the Sultana’s really dead?”

“I…” Alphinaud looked over at Adalyn in dismay; Adalyn nodded, her face grim.

Poison in wine. Got lucky, didn’t drink. Was… Her pen paused. Not pleasant death.

“The poor woman,” Alphinaud murmured. He passed a hand over his face. “What of the others? Master Tarupin said that nobody was taken into custody besides his father.”

Adalyn blinked. Father?

“General Raubahn,” Cid said. “Adopted father, obviously. It’s quite the tale, of the gladiator who bought the lad’s freedom before his own—”

“Adalyn, what happened to the others?” Alphinaud said desperately.

Adalyn shook her head, her mouth twisting. Her chest felt hollow with grief. Stayed behind. Yda + P held off guards. T +Y’sh brought tunnel down. M was… Her pen hovered over the parchment again. Hydaelyn called to her. She told me to keep going. Disappeared in light.

“What?” Alphinaud gasped. “Minfilia is… gone?”

Not dead. Don’t think so. Hopefully.

Cid’s expression flickered before he put on a smile for them. “Minfilia’s always led by Hydaelyn’s example,” he said. “And if the others haven’t been captured, there’s a chance they got away. Nobody’s answering their linkpearls, but I’ll have my people at the Ironworks keep an eye out for them. We’ll find the Scions yet, just you see.”

“Thank you, Cid,” Alphinaud said quietly. “For now, all we can do is pray.”

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed her off, turning away.

“I’d like to be alone, please,” he murmured, and Adalyn nodded, swallowing as she watched Alphinaud make his way to the stern of the airship.

“The lad is probably blaming himself,” Cid said softly, and Adalyn nodded again. “The Crystal Braves were his pride and joy. To have them turn on him…”

Ilberd, Adalyn wrote. Raubahn’s old friend. Resented him, thought… She hesitated, then shrugged helplessly. Abandoned Ala Mhigo for Ul’dah. I guess.

“There’s surely more to his motives than that,” Cid said, shaking his head. “But there will be plenty of time to figure it out later. Have you slept at all since your escape?”

Adalyn just gave him a tired smile and a shrug.

“Go on, get some rest while you can,” Cid said, but Adalyn shook her head.

I’ll be fine. Thank you, though. She glanced up at Cid and bumped him with her shoulder. For everything.

They reached Camp Dragonhead by the evening. Despite her exhaustion, Adalyn hadn’t slept at all through the journey, though she did nod off occasionally leaning against the railing of the airship, jerking awake whenever her chin hit her chest. To say her nerves were frayed by the time the airship touched down outside the walls of the fortress would be an understatement.

“This is where I leave you, my friends,” Cid said, and Adalyn saluted him, her hand over her heart. “Good luck with… well, everything. I can already tell you’re going to need it.”

The Enterprise took to the skies once more, and Adalyn and Alphinaud stayed where they stood for a moment, looking after it.

Alphinaud shivered in the cold, and Adalyn whistled quietly to get his attention, nodding in the direction of the keep.

“Yes,” Alphinaud said distractedly. “Let us… let us go inside. I’m sure Lord Haurchefant will at least be glad to see us.”

Haurchefant, as it turned out, had been expecting them. Adalyn was grateful for the smile that he put on for them when they stepped through the gates of the garrison, and his embrace was as warm as she remembered.

“The news of what happened in Ul’dah has already reached Ishgard,” Haurchefant murmured, his hands lingering on Adalyn’s shoulders for a moment after they drew apart. “But not all hope is lost. Come,” he said, looking to Alphinaud as well. “Some friends of yours await us inside.”

“What?” Adalyn said, her eyes wide.

“...What?” Alphinaud asked, blinking.

Haurchefant smiled, leading them into the blessedly warm keep. “They arrived but earlier today, in the hope that friends would soon come to join them. Full glad am I that their hope was not in vain.”

Tataru and Yugiri were awaiting them in the intercessory, and Alphinaud looked like he could cry with relief upon seeing them. Adalyn thought she had exhausted her tears, but even she felt more than a little choked up to see that at least some of their friends had escaped capture.

Yugiri, upon seeing that Tataru would be in good hands, begged off before Haurchefant could make cocoa for everyone, but she promised to keep them updated with news from her shinobi.

Those remaining settled in with drinks, Adalyn listening intently as Tataru told them of how Yugiri helped her to escape Mor Dhona after the Crystal Braves turned on the Scions. They had briefly rendezvoused with Urianger, who had glamoured the Waking Sands to appear abandoned but warned it likely wouldn’t remain a safe haven for long. It had been he who suggested Yugiri escort Tataru to Camp Dragonhead, on suspicion that Adalyn would be turning up there sooner or later.

Adalyn blushed at this; she hadn’t realised the man noticed things that weren’t contained between the pages of his books.

Haurchefant, for his part, told them how he had learned of their predicament, of how none at Dragonhead believed any of the accusations being spouted by the Crystal Braves. Ishgard, he said, had weathered another attack recently, and the nation’s security was under high alert in the wake of the heretics’ attempts to breach its defenses.

“But do not despair; you are not without allies. You are more than welcome to shelter here as long as you need. Pray think of it as a new headquarters of sorts—the Falling Snows or somesuch! All frivolity aside, any who come here in search of you will receive no aid from House Fortemps. For once, the Ishgardian reputation for inhospitality shall work in our favour.”

Alphinaud kept his head hung, staring listlessly down at his mug of cocoa clasped between his hands. By the time they broke to take their rest in the guest chambers, his drink remained untouched, gone cold on the table.

“Adalyn?”

She half-turned her head to acknowledge Haurchefant’s presence when he stopped in her open door, knocking gently against the frame.

“I had thought you might wish the company of a friend,” Haurchefant said softly. “Unless I thought wrongly, and you would prefer to be alone?”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Haurchefant hesitated before coming inside, sitting on the bed; Adalyn glanced over at him, and he offered her a small smile, patting the space beside him.

She rose from her desk and settled on the bed, and Haurchefant put an arm around her shoulders.

“In all the rush of the evening, I never stopped to ask if you were alright,” he said softly. “...Are you?”

Adalyn trembled beneath his arm, and she shook her head. She sniffled, blinking away tears, when Haurchefant offered her a handkerchief. She took it and pressed it against her face, shuddering as she wept silently.

Haurchefant shifted on the bed and held her, one hand steady on her back, the other stroking her hair. He didn’t speak, just let her cry into his chest until the tears subsided. Adalyn didn’t draw back right away, keeping her eyes closed.

She couldn’t remember ever being held like this before.

She finally pulled away, glad when Haurchefant kept a hand on her back. “My friends gave themselves up so I could escape,” she said, her hands trembling. “I know I must have faith that they’re alright, but I cannot shake the horrible feeling they’re… not.”

“Aye, it’s the not knowing that’s the worst,” Haurchefant murmured. “If there were any words of reassurance I could offer you, I would do it in a heartbeat. Your friends are well capable of fending for themselves, though; have the faith not that they are alright, but that they are able to make it so they are.”

“But what if they’re hurt? Or captured? Or… worse?” Adalyn said, biting her lip. “Y’shtola was preparing to take the tunnel down with her and Thancred still inside, Minfilia simply disappeared before my eyes…”

“As soon as things have died down enough that it is safe for you to investigate, let me not be the one to stop you,” Haurchefant said. “But they stayed behind that you might escape and carry on the cause. Adalyn, their choices are not something to blame yourself for. What would they want you to do?”

Adalyn looked down at her hands, her fingers briefly closing into loose fists. “Carry on fighting,” she said.

Haurchefant squeezed her shoulders. “‘Tis all in due time to be resolved, I know it,” he said. “Your name shall be cleared, your friends found, and you will be able to return home before you have had the chance to miss it.”

“It’s not… home,” Adalyn said after a long moment. “I don’t really have one.”

“Not even a family to return to?” Haurchefant asked softly.

Adalyn shook her head. Though she was glad for the change in topic, her hands hesitated, and when she spoke next, they trembled. “There is… I lost my memories in the Calamity,” she began. “As well as my voice. But I’ve learned of my past… I… I think I killed my father when I was a child.” She looked down at her hands. “Sometimes I dream of the blade sinking into flesh, and I just… know it’s him.”

“I see,” Haurchefant said, and Adalyn closed her eyes. “What of your mother, if I may ask?”

“Died in childbirth, apparently. My father hated me for it, so Minfilia told me. I don’t remember him.”

“From the sound of it, he doesn’t deserve to be remembered,” Haurchefant said, and Adalyn gave him a weak smile. “My own mother… I think she would have liked you, from what I remember of her. She fell gravely ill when I was a child, and unfortunately she was not able to recover.”

“I’m sorry,” Adalyn said, briefly leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “It sounds like you loved her very much.”

Haurchefant nodded, reaching over to take Adalyn’s hand, squeezing three times before letting go. “Near the end, when she was too weak to even to speak, she would squeeze my hand thusly. Her way of saying ‘I love you’.”

Adalyn smiled softly. “What of your father?”

“Ah.” Haurchefant cleared his throat. “That was actually something I had wished to talk to you about. Doubtless you know I command a great deal of responsibility with House Fortemps…” He gave her a wan smile. “That would be because Count Edmont is my father.”

The pieces fell into place as Adalyn’s mouth opened in slight surprise. Haurchefant’s comment about the circumstances of one’s birth not being of any consequence, his strained relationship with his brothers, his needing to work thrice as hard to merely be considered competent, suddenly made much more sense. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, blinking. “I shall keep this knowledge in confidence.”

But Haurchefant shook his head. “Everyone knows,” he said. “'Tis not oft talked about, but my lord made no secret of claiming me as his own when Mother passed.” He gave Adalyn a wry smile. “Needless to say, his wife was not best pleased. It was she who insisted I carry the Greystone name—one reserved only for bastard children, in Ishgard.”

“I can imagine,” Adalyn said, shaking her head. The more she learned of that vile place, the less she liked it. “But why do you tell me now?”

Haurchefant’s arm tightened slightly around Adalyn’s shoulders. “The time it would take for you and your companions to be accepted for asylum in the city is time you don’t have to spare,” he said. “And that is assuming they will even grant it to you. But if you were to be admitted to the city as wards of House Fortemps…”

Adalyn’s eyebrows flew up. “You think your father would agree to this?”

“The count has always preferred to do things his own way,” Haurchefant said, inclining his head, and Adalyn made a mental note of how he did not even refer to his own father as such. Her heart ached for him. “He never much cared about what anyone else thought, and if I were to ask him to do this as a favour for me, he would be more than happy to oblige… even moreso once he meets you and discovers for himself how perfectly lovely you are,” Haurchefant added.

“He’ll change his mind once he meets Alphinaud,” Adalyn said, but her heart wasn’t in it. Annoying as the boy usually was, seeing how broken and small he’d looked earlier tugged something in her heartstrings. She resolved to check up on him tomorrow when he was awake.

“For as skilled a diplomat as he is, the lad does have a way of putting his foot in his mouth,” Haurchefant said with a chuckle, and Adalyn grinned faintly. “But in full seriousness, I am certain this will work, and my father will be delighted of your company.”

Adalyn swallowed, looking up at Haurchefant. “Could you stay with me?” she asked. “Just for a little while longer?”

Haurchefant leaned over, slowly pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll stay as long as you need,” he murmured against her hair.

Adalyn nodded, shifting to tuck her feet up beneath her as she curled into Haurchefant’s side, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before she began to fall asleep there under his arm, and she was only vaguely aware as he shifted her to draw the bedclothes back and tuck her in, tugging loose her hair tie so her head would not lay at an odd angle on her ponytail. With the utmost gentleness, he brushed her hair out of her face, fingers trailing over her cheek. Even in sleep, her brows were drawn tightly together.

Haurchefant tugged the blanket a little higher over her chest and hesitated, his hand settling on Adalyn’s shoulder. He squeezed once, twice, three times, smiling softly down at her.

“May your dreams be sweet and the morrow dawn brighter,” he murmured as Adalyn burrowed further beneath the thick blankets. Satisfied she was comfortable, he left, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

The next morning before the dawn’s breaking found Adalyn atop the keep, perched on the corner of the tallest tower as she stared out into the gloom. The biting cold made for a refreshing change after the stifling heat of Ul’dah, but she couldn’t seem to shake the nightmares that had plagued her the night previously.

Even as she had screamed her throat raw, the faceless masses looked on, uncaring, unblinking. Staring sightlessly as she thrashed, her hands bound, leaving her speechless.

“May I join you?”

Adalyn turned her head at the sound of Alphinaud’s voice, and she gave him a small nod.

He scrambled up onto the wall beside her, trying his best to look dignified as he did so and failing utterly. Adalyn held out an arm to him, and he hesitated before scooting a little closer, leaning into her touch. Adalyn squeezed his shoulders, giving him a small smile.

“Adalyn,” Alphinaud began, but Adalyn shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay,” she signed slowly for him. She didn’t expect him to understand, but that wasn’t the point. She kept her movements gentle, her expression soft. “You have tried so hard. I am proud of you.” She put a hand on his chest briefly, smiling. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

Though Alphinaud couldn’t understand what she was saying, tears still welled up in his eyes, and he sniffled before hastily wiping his face on his sleeve.

“I feel like I have a lot to learn from you,” Alphinaud said quietly. “For the longest time I believed myself the only one who truly understood Eorzea’s woes, and now?” He chuckled humourlessly. “Now look at what that arrogance has wrought. I treated the Crystal Braves, the Scions themselves, you, as pawns in my ‘great scheme’.”

Adalyn’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, and she leaned her head against his. She heard footsteps approaching, but didn’t turn, unwilling to interrupt the lad.

“The salvation of Eorzea? What was it I truly hoped to achieve? Did I believe I could rid the realm of every danger and difficulty? Defeat the Empire and the Ascians? Find homes for every refugee?” Alphinaud scoffed quietly to himself. “Oh, yes, I was so very clever. All of it was but a means to feed my own vanity.”

“So, Master Alphinaud, are you content to remain a broken blade?” Haurchefant said, and Alphinaud jumped before whirling in his seat.

Haurchefant settled on Alphinaud’s other side, smiling gently at him. “Is there no flame hot enough to reforge you? What of the fine companions who yet stand at your side? I daresay the fires of their determination will soon have you slicing the air with your customary wit.”

For a moment, Alphinaud’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile before it was gone again. “I hardly deserve such friendship,” he murmured.

Adalyn snorted and flicked him gently between the eyes. Alphinaud yelped and jerked back, and Adalyn gave him a small smile.

“You are deserving of friends,” she said, Haurchefant translating for her. “Nobody becomes a hero without making mistakes. ‘Tis just the nature of living.” She smiled sadly, glancing away. “Twelve know I’ve made plenty of mistakes as it is.”

She turned more fully towards Alphinaud, resting both hands on his shoulders for a moment and urging him to look at her.

“So long as you keep your faith in a brighter future, I will be there to help you make it happen,” she said. “We all will. Together.”

Tears welled up in Alphinaud’s eyes before he hastily wiped them away. “Thank you,” he said softly. “The both of you. The Scions have achieved much, and ‘twould be remiss of me to discard it all in a fit of self-pity. Let us then resume our journey… one step at a time.”

Chapter Text

It was dark, and the thin, ragged blanket he was curled beneath reeked of filth. Estinien shivered on the cold floorboards, listening to the sounds of rats gnawing the walls.

A door creaked open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and his heartbeat sped up. His hand curled around the fishmonger’s knife he’d stolen. He hardly dared breathe.

A large, callused hand seized him roughly by the hair and dragged him upright, and pain burst across his face as a blade split flesh and spilled blood.

Estinien jerked awake and he sat up, pushing his hair away from his face. The snowy strands were limp with sweat. His hand paused over his right eye, thumb brushing over his cheek.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he wasn’t going insane. It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of the Warrior of Light, but it was certainly the first time his brain decided to have him be her.

“Swiving hells,” he muttered, and let his hand fall.

It was still dark outside, the wind howling beyond the tightly-fastened shutters. The fire had burned low, and Estinien sighed, figuring that if he was awake, he might as well add fuel to the flames. He rose, trailing his fingertips over the bare curve of Aymeric’s hip as he went. The Lord Commander didn’t so much as stir at his touch.

The man worked himself hard enough even before his promotion. Estinien still remembered when they were soldiers together, how Aymeric slept dead to the world.

Estinien couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept like that.

He sighed, added several more logs to the fire, and turned to retrieve his clothes. In a way, he was glad for the dream that woke him up. He never liked to stay long enough for Aymeric to wake.

Estinien ended up making his way along the rooftops of Ishgard, leaping from spire to spire, his footsteps light and sure on the icy-slick shingles. He alighted on one of the towers overlooking the Steps of Faith, his visor protecting his eyes against the blizzard that battered his armour and threatened to tear him off his perch.

He could feel her, now, and sure enough, she emerged from the swirling snow before too long, her hands tucked into her armpits and her chin hunched into the fluffy neck of her coat. The elezen boy (the boy who looked too much like Hamignant) and a lalafell woman were with her, the both of them bundled up just as tightly against the cold.

She’d done something with her hair, braided it and tied it back in a ponytail, the hair left loose partially concealing the scar that cut across her face. It was a far cry from the fluffy mess he was used to seeing; it made her look older.

Older… and sadder. He’d heard reports of what had happened with the Sultana’s assassination and the Scions fleeing Ul’dah, but had assumed Adalyn would keep on being her usual heroic self. Stoic, sarcastic, with that little bit of mischief in her eyes that only came out when she could talk to people. Now she just looked like so many of the people of Ishgard did, worn down by constant loss.

Estinien supposed he should have anticipated Adalyn sensing him in the same way he could sense her, but it still surprised him when her head snapped up, her gaze finding him at once.

Her fingers were stiff as she signed, but he could see her faint smile even at this distance, that spark of mischief rekindled. “Watching us, were you?”

Estinien turned and leapt away, hearing the great gates to the city rattle open behind him.

They were met by a servant of House Fortemps, and after taking a moment to attune to Ishgard’s main aetheryte, were led through the city. Adalyn wished she had another dozen pairs of eyes as she kept turning her head, awestruck by the architecture that she had only glimpsed from a distance until now. The grey stones loomed like sentinels, the flying buttresses and sweeping arches soaring into the firmament, disappearing into the blizzard.

Here among the walls, though, the snow wasn’t quite so fierce, though the wind that whistled through the streets was still bitterly cold.

The servant who accompanied them was stoic, silent save for when he’d greeted them by the entrance. He was a far cry from Haurchefant—who had gone ahead of them earlier to make sure everything was ready for their arrival—and Adalyn was sorely reminded of the frigid reception she’d been given while trying to hunt down the Enterprise.

Ishgard might have accepted them as refugees, but they were even less welcome than those in Ul’dah.

The buildings became cleaner, the stones still grey and dreary but less soot-stained. The houses grew in both size and obvious displays of wealth, and it finally began to sink in just how very different this place was from any Adalyn could remember visiting before. She huddled deeper into her coat, uncertainty gnawing at her stomach.

The sight of Haurchefant standing outside Fortemps Manor was a welcome one, and he beamed, striding forward to meet them.

“Thank you, Avreaux; I can take it from here,” Haurchefant said, and the servant bowed, turning to go inside.

Haurchefaunt hugged Adalyn tightly, and she sagged against his chest, taking comfort in the weight of his arms around her.

The embrace was all too brief, and he let her go to greet Alphinaud and Tataru. Adalyn didn’t like the look Tataru kept giving her out of the corner of her eye.

“Allow me to present my family home,” Haurchefant said, beaming. “I should like nothing more than to show you around, but everyone is gathered inside, eager to meet you.”

Adalyn’s heart sank at the prospect, but when Haurchefant’s hand settled lightly at the small of her back for the briefest of moments, she gave him a tiny nod and took a deep breath, steeling her nerves.

“And we should like nothing more than to meet them as well,” Alphinaud said. “Please, by all means—do lead the way.”

As Haurchefant turned to lead them up the short steps that led to the manor, Adalyn felt a tiny hand poke her in the leg. She turned to look down at Tataru, who grinned broadly up at her.

“Lord Haurchefant, hm?” Tataru whispered, and wiggled her eyebrows. She muffled a laugh when Adalyn’s face turned bright red.

Inside was blissfully warm and elaborately decorated, the craftsmanship of the building itself as much the work of artisans as the paintings that hung from the walls. Adalyn swallowed, her gaze darting nervously between the men that were waiting to greet them in the entry hall. Haurchefant’s father and brothers, she supposed.

Haurchefant stopped before them, placing a hand over his heart. “My lord, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

Count Edmont de Fortemps was a stern looking man, but the way his eyes crinkled in a smile immediately reminded Adalyn of Haurchefant, and she relaxed slightly, especially when she heard the audible warmth in his voice. “I hope your journey was not too taxing,” he said, looking each of them over in turn. “As wards of House Fortemps, you shall be afforded every courtesy.”

“My companions and I are deeply honoured, Count Fortemps,” Alphinaud said, inclining his head.

“The honour is mine, Master Alphinaud,” Edmont said. “Consider it an expression of our gratitude for your service to Ishgard.”

Alphinaud frowned slightly. “Forgive me, my lord, but… are you not concerned? To accept foreign guests at such a juncture… especially ones with our… reputation…”

“Do not worry yourselves on my account,” Edmont said. “‘Tis true that Ishgard’s first thought has ever been the war effort, hence the closing of our borders, yet it is in troubled times most of all that men should seek allies, don’t you think?” He glanced over at his other sons, both raven-haired like their father.

After a moment, the two nodded in unison. When Edmont turned away again, however, the elder of the two shot Adalyn a venomous glare, which she met with a stony stare in return.

So that must be Artoirel, which made the other Emmanellain. Haurchefant had spoken little of them aside from their names, and she was beginning to see why.

Edmont continued, oblivious to the silent exchange. “Granted, my decision will have raised eyebrows in the Vault and in the halls of the other High Houses, but so long as you continue with your altruistic endeavors, I doubt my honoured peers will feel moved to voice their concerns.”

Adalyn raised an eyebrow at this, but nodded.

Alphinaud smiled. “Then there is naught to fear. Though our numbers are much reduced, we are no less determined to carry on our work.”

Edmont chuckled. “Full glad am I to hear it,” he said. “Though before you return to your labours, I do insist you take the day to rest and settle in. After all, you may be here for some time, and I will not let it be said I am an ungracious host.”

“Thank you, Count Edmont!” Tataru chirped. “And may I say what a lovely home you have?”

“Thank you, my dear,” Edmont said, putting a hand on his chest. “As long as you are wards of my house, I hope you will consider it your home as well. Haurchefant speaks most highly of the three of you… but you most of all, Mistress Keene.”

“Haurchefant has been a steadfast friend and ally since we first met,” Adalyn said. Haurchefant looked mildly embarrassed as he translated for her, and it didn’t miss her notice how Artoirel’s eyes narrowed further still. “I but hope I can repay the kindness your family has shown to us.”

She glanced sidelong at Artoirel as Haurchefant translated, and felt a small flash of satisfaction when he smiled thinly, forcing a veneer of politeness.

“Truly, we are honoured by your presence,” he said, his voice stiff. “If I might—”

“Is it true you single-handedly felled Vishap on the Steps of Faith?” Emmanellain butted in, his eyes shining. “And that you stormed the Garlean stronghold in northern Thanalan alone, defeated the Ultima Weapon, and drove out the Empire from their fortress?”

“It wasn’t entirely single-handedly,” Adalyn began, but Alphinaud cut her off before Haurchefant could translate.

“It is true indeed,” Alphinaud said proudly. “Not only that, but she has slain Ifrit, Titan, and Garuda twice each—thrice if you take into account her deeds 'fore the Calamity—as well as the Lord of the Whorl Leviathan himself. And she put a stop to the heretics’ machinations of summoning Shiva.”

“Don’t forget Ramuh, the Lord of Levin!” Tataru added. “And the business with Good King Moggle Mog, and…” Her face fell slightly. “And she has even faced the Ascians themselves.”

“The Scions lost a good friend in one such struggle,” Adalyn said, and Alphinaud and Tataru nodded at Haurchefant’s words. “We still feel her loss quite keenly.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Edmont said softly. “You have done the realm a great service, and your friend’s sacrifice, it seems, was not in vain. You do well to honour her memory.”

“Thank you, Count Fortemps,” Alphinaud said, and bowed his head.

“So how did you single-handedly storm a Garlean fortress?” Emmanellain asked eagerly, but Haurchefant cleared his throat.

“The Scions have had a long journey from Camp Dragonhead,” he said pointedly. “I think, perhaps, it would be best to show them to their rooms first. There will be plenty of time for regaling you with the tales of Adalyn’s exploits later, don’t you fret.”

Emmanellain pouted, but nodded, folding his arms and sulking.

“You’ll have to forgive Lord Emmanellain,” Haurchefant signed to Adalyn with a sheepish smile. “I may have written a great deal to him about you, and while I care for him dearly, he’s never been one for tact… or any thought deeper than his glass of wine.”

Adalyn bit back a laugh and nodded, her heart feeling lighter than it had since they’d had to flee the banquet.

“I’ll show our guests to their rooms personally,” Haurchefant said, and bowed. “My lord.”

He led them from the hall, Tataru gasping as the house only seemed to stretch on in its lavishness. “So this is what the inside of the manor of a High House looks like! To think that you were raised here, Lord Haurchefant…”

“What do you think?” Haurchefant asked, grinning down at her. “Be honest—it’s great, isn’t it?”

Adalyn looked around at the polished marble floors, the richly decorated walls, the carved stone ceilings, and thought back to her own room in the Rising Stones, bare save for a bed, a desk, and a chest for her spare clothing. She wondered how long it had taken for the Crystal Braves to raid it.

“'Tis certainly very grand,” she decided to say.

“Then I hope you find your room just as grand,” Haurchefant said, stopping by a door and pushing it open. “Don’t tell the others, but yours has the best view out of all our guest chambers,” he added with a smile.

Adalyn smiled back, and uncaring that Alphinaud and Tataru were right beside them, she leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to Haurchefant’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

“No thanks necessary, my dearest Adalyn,” Haurchefant murmured. He briefly touched a knuckle under Adalyn’s chin, smiling, before he let his hand fall, gesturing to the others to follow. “Your rooms are just this way…”

“Now wait just one second—what was that?” Alphinaud asked, looking between Adalyn and Haurchefant’s retreating back, Tataru trotting at his heels. “Lord Haurchefant? Adalyn? Do you mean to say—?”

“Hurry up, Alphinaud!” Tataru called over her shoulder with a laugh. “Unless you want to be left out in the corridor!”

Alphinaud looked helplessly at Adalyn, who just laughed silently and made a shooing motion at him. Her face felt hot, but from the way her heart fluttered at the memory of Haurchefant’s touch, she would happily have shouted from the tallest spires of Ishgard if she could, embarrassment be damned.

Adalyn decided that her first order of business was going to be to take a nap, and that’s just what she did—though it took her far too long to get comfortable on the unreasonably soft mattress.

To think that Haurchefant was raised here, indeed. She wondered what it had been like, being raised with his half-brothers, forced to carry the Greystone name like a brand.

Not for the first time, she wondered about her own past, and why everyone else seemed to remember her from before the Calamity but her own memories only remained as faint threads that faded the moment she tried to grasp them.

If nothing else, it would be nice to know just why she seemed to be so naturally gifted at almost anything she did.

Maybe in a past life I was a god, she thought, and chuckled sleepily to herself before drifting off.

She was startled awake by a knocking at the door, and yawned, reluctantly rolling out of bed and going to answer it.

Adalyn had expected Haurchefant; instead, she hastily corrected herself, looking down at Alphinaud in mild surprise. She tilted her head; the lad looked embarrassed to be there.

“I realise ‘tis a large request to make,” he began, and rubbed the back of his neck, “but I wish to learn Sign, and thought you might be willing to help—”

Alphinaud yelped when Adalyn knelt, throwing her arms around him. He floundered for a moment before hugging her back, laughing softly.

“Is it safe to assume that’s a ‘yes’ on your part?” he asked faintly, and Adalyn drew back, grinning broadly.

She nodded, held up a finger, and drew the book Haurchefant had gifted her out of the aether, holding it out to him.

“How did you—where were you keeping—?” Alphinaud blinked, taking the book, and he shook his head. “Truly, just when I think you can surprise me no longer,” he said, and opened the book, thumbing through the pages. He looked up, smile wide. “You shan’t have to wait long until we are conversing properly, I promise you; I was not accepted as the youngest pupil at the Studium for nothing,” he said, and put a hand over his heart. “I shall make it my duty to make your voice heard, especially now that our dear Minfilia is—” His smile faltered. “...Missing.”

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, before she got up to go to the desk that Haurchefant had seen stocked with plenty of parchment and ink. Alphinaud trailed after her, peering over her shoulder.

That you asked to learn is so very kind, she wrote, slowly and carefully, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked to make her handwriting legible. The book will help, but you’ll learn faster conversing with others. She glanced up at him, tapping the parchment with the tip of her quill. We could start tonight, if you so wish?

Alphinaud nodded, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes.

Adalyn dropped her quill in alarm, gripping his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed.

“I keep being reminded of my arrogance,” Alphinaud murmured, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “How I thought of you as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at the nearest inconvenience. On the few occasions you would write to communicate, your words were sparing, so I assumed that even without your muteness, you must not have had much to say…”

Tears welled up in Adalyn’s own eyes, and she shook her head, turning back to the parchment.

People impatient. Writing hard, messy. Hand shakes.

“Which means you likely did not have much need to practice before,” Alphinaud murmured to himself. He considered for a moment. “Adalyn,” he said decisively, “in the future, I ask that you not abbreviate yourself for me. I will wait for you to write out all the thoughts you need, and if anyone tries to talk over you, I’ll give them a scolding until you are finished.”

Adalyn laughed, and Alphinaud laughed too. “Thank you,” she said, mouthing along with the sign.

“No,” Alphinaud said, “thank you.” He hugged the book a little closer. “Forgive my rudeness, but might I excuse myself so I can begin studying before our first lesson?”

Adalyn ruffled his hair, to a squawk of protest, and she grinned, shooing him away.

“But don’t think for a moment this means I have forgotten to ask you about Lord Haurchefant,” Alphinaud called over his shoulder, before he closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

“I confess, it had long been a dream of mine to visit Ishgard,” Alphinaud said the next morning over breakfast. “To my childish self, her towers, bridges, and cobbled streets seemed akin to something from a faerie tale—and I have never quite outgrown the fantasy.”

“Its architecture is breathtaking,” Adalyn said.

“...It’s… breathtaking?” Alphinaud guessed, and lit up when Adalyn nodded. She returned the smile with equal enthusiasm. “Aye, ‘tis certainly that. I look forward to exploring it with you.”

“And I look forward to finding our nearest den of gossip,” Tataru declared, planting her hands on her hips. “There’s nothing quite like having an ear to the ground, after all! If any word reaches Ishgard of our missing friends, I’ll be the first to hear it, just you see!”

Alphinaud chuckled. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said.

Adalyn sipped at her coffee, smiling to herself as she listened to Alphinaud outline his plan for touring the city once they’d finished their meal.

Haurchefant had departed for Dragonhead the night previous, and she felt his loss keenly; even with the massive leap in progress Alphinaud had made the night previous with his start on Ishgardian Sign, there was still a long way to go before she would be able to speak through him. Still, though, the fact he’d even started—and that he had already become well versed enough to understand roughly what she was saying—warmed her heart.

It was good to see him smiling again after how hard he’d taken the Crystal Braves’ betrayal.

After breakfast, she, Alphinaud, and Tataru set off to explore their new home, getting lost among the snow-covered streets of Ishgard. They stopped to admire the stained glass windows of the cathedral, marveled at the view from the airship docks, and along the winding road that made up the Jeweled Crozier, Alphinaud made a valiant attempt at translating for Adalyn as she negotiated for a serpentine ear cuff that caught her eye.

Adalyn and Alphinaud left Tataru at the Forgotten Knight at her insistence, and returned to the manor as the sun was setting. They retreated to the parlour, where one of the servants brought them tea and cakes, and Adalyn (whose teacup remained staunchly untouched) resumed Alphinaud’s lessons.

It really was a delight to teach him how she spoke.

Alphinaud was true to his word, and waited patiently for her to write out every explanation, no matter how long it took; his questions showed a deeper thirst for understanding, and Adalyn quickly came to the realisation of just why he was, in fact, the youngest pupil of the Studium. By the end of the second evening, she was already holding conversations with him—basic ones, but a far leap ahead of where they had been before.

The dawning of the next day was a far cry from their indulgence of the day previous.

Adalyn caught Artoirel in conversation with a soldier bearing a report from the western highlands, and despite his initial reluctance, he agreed to take her with him to Falcon’s Nest.

It was easy to fall into a routine there, doing chores with the soldiers, helping to cull the wildlife that threatened the outpost, and Adalyn was glad for the distraction that let her feel like she wasn’t useless. Much as she was grateful to Haurchefant for arranging for them to stay at his family home, she couldn’t have felt more out of place there.

It was on one of her patrols around the outpost’s perimeter that she came across the wounded soldier. Artoirel found her treating the man’s injuries, and despite the look he shot her, he still knelt in the snow to assist where he could.

Through pained breaths, the wounded soldier told them how he had been ambushed by heretics, and looking out over the snow-covered plains, Adalyn realised the tracks would soon be covered if they didn’t act quickly.

Artoirel seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll see our friend here back to the outpost,” he said, and Adalyn helped the soldier to stand, still exhausted from his ordeal despite her healing magics. Artoirel took him from under her arm, supporting the man on his shoulder. “In the meantime, I would have you search the area to the north for signs of the heretics. Should you pick up the trail, do not wait for me—follow the trail back to their lair forthwith, and I will catch up to you ere long.”

Adalyn saluted and set off, not even waiting to see Artoirel’s reaction. The wind bit at her ears, nipped her nose, and onward she traveled, chasing after the footprints that continued to be covered by the wind blowing snow over them. She was soon lost into the blizzard, her white coat blending in with the howling storm that swallowed everything in its wake.

Adalyn let her instincts guide her, drawn along by her gut feeling, and before long she realised she was about to walk straight into an ambush.

Perfect. It spared her the trouble of finding them herself.

The brilliant light of her spell slammed into her attackers, blinding them and forcing them to stumble back; Adalyn’s coat shifted to armour once more and she whirled, bringing her spear to bear. The heretics fell one by one, and Adalyn gave chase to the last as he fled.

If she could nip this in the bud, all the better.

She pursued the heretic to an abandoned mill, kicking the door down when she found it had been barred from the inside.

“You fool!” someone yelled from the cellar, and Adalyn carried on down the stairs. “You’ve led her straight to us!”

“Stop her! Kill her!” someone else yelled, and then heretics were swarming up the stairs to meet her. Adalyn was barely slowed, her lance making short work of them.

She leapt over the bodies to land at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes adjusting to the dimly-lit basement. There was an altar at the far back of the room with an elaborately carved sculpture, draconic in nature, with wings spread and tail curling.

Well, this is certainly the place, Adalyn thought to herself.

She heard a quiet footstep behind her and spun to see the Lady Iceheart standing between herself and the exit.

The woman’s mouth curled in a thin smile. “Looking for me, I presume?” she said, her voice soft.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Adalyn mouthed.

Iceheart’s smile faded, and she took another step forward. Adalyn levelled her spear at her, determined to not let her escape again.

"Ahh, the child who glimpsed the truth," Midgardsormr said, and he manifested by Adalyn’s head, his tiny form circling her once before settling carefully on her shoulder, mindful of the spikes.

Iceheart gasped, taking a step back, her eyes wide as she stared at the tiny dragonling. “No,” she breathed. “It cannot be…”

"She cameth unto me, as didst thou," Midgardsormr rumbled, his tail curling loosely around Adalyn’s throat. "Alike in gifts, yet set upon different paths."

Adalyn remained still, watching Iceheart carefully; the elezen woman kept her head bowed for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet Adalyn’s.

“He speaks true, Warrior of Light,” she said softly. “I, too, have been blessed with the Echo; ‘tis how I can understand you, without need for speech.”

“I’d guessed,” Adalyn mouthed. “But what does this have to do with Midgardsormr? With the dragons?” She waved a hand. “This war?”

Iceheart glanced away; Adalyn slowly straightened up, though she didn’t put her weapon down.

“I first received this power shortly before the Calamity,” Iceheart said at last. “At first the visions terrified me; they came without warning, and I wondered what I had done to deserve them. I had no time to ponder them before the Calamity struck, though, and in a matter of hours, Falcon’s Nest was buried under ten yalms of ice and snow. We had no choice but to flee for Ishgard, but as we came to the wall, there was an avalanche… and I was alone.”

“...I’m sorry,” Adalyn said.

Iceheart gave her a stiff nod, folding her arms uncomfortably. “So I set forth for Dravania. I knew full well what would happen if I were found, but I needed answers. And found indeed I was—by none other than the great wyrm Hraesvelgr.”

Adalyn’s eyes widened. “One of Midgardsormr’s children,” she said, and she felt the dragonling’s tail tighten slightly in response.

“Aye,” Iceheart said. “And it was through my gift that I was able to peer into the past and see the truth of this war through his own eyes. It is my duty to bring this revelation to light, to reunite man and dragon as they once were, and should ever be!”

“And what of the innocents who died when the heretics attacked the city?” Adalyn asked, swallowing. “You speak of peace, but have only perpetuated slaughter—”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that!” Iceheart protested, taking a step forward. Anguish flitted across her face. “You have to believe me, it… it was beyond my control…”

“So upon opening Ishgard’s defenses, it never occurred to you that the dragons wouldn’t take the opportunity?” Adalyn said incredulously, shaking her head.

Iceheart turned away; Adalyn tensed, expecting a sudden attack, but Iceheart only bowed her head, speaking softly. “Children taught to fear the skies, who saw their loved ones slaughtered… Yet the Dravanians—though they know where the fault truly lies—fell upon them with such fury…”

"Men die, and their children forget," Midgardsormr said. His eyes remained unblinking as he watched Iceheart. "But we are everlasting. To us, then is as now. Thou canst not comprehend the violation. The outrage. The fury."

Iceheart’s shoulders hunched further, her silver hair hiding her expression from Adalyn. “I will make this right,” she said, her voice low. “I am neither a saint, nor a saviour—just another sinner. Yet I will not forsake this cause. I cannot. I will see this cycle broken and peace restored.”

She turned back to Adalyn, straightening up, standing tall. “We can do naught else, for we are now as one.”

Adalyn slowly replaced her lance and stepped forward, holding out a hand to Iceheart. “Then don’t make me regret putting my trust in you,” she said, and after a moment, Iceheart reached out to grasp her forearm. “Call the remainder of your men off. I won’t have more innocents dying to rash decisions.”

Iceheart’s smile was bitter. “Nor will I have any more falling to your blade,” she said, and Adalyn closed her eyes briefly. “We will meet again, Warrior of Light.”

She let go and took a step back before turning to walk away.

Adalyn let her, breathing slowly. Her own heartbeat felt loud in her ears.

An interesting decision, Midgardsormr said in her mind. Thou continues to surprise, mortal.

I don’t suppose you’ll restore the Blessing, now?

All she got was a rumble of laughter as Midgardsormr faded away once more.

Adalyn shook her head, her armour changing back to her thick coat, and she headed back up the stairs, pausing by the bodies of the fallen heretics to check if any still drew breath.

None.

Adalyn emerged from the cellar, blinking in the bright, clear light of the dawn. A cry of KWEH! from above drew her eye, and she waved when she saw the soldiers on chocoboback, circling the mill.

Artoirel was the first to land, his eyes wide as he looked Adalyn over. “Mistress Keene! Praise Halone, you’re alive! We came as swiftly as we could… Did you find them?” he asked, and Adalyn nodded, drawing a finger across her throat. “They’re… dead?”

Adalyn nodded again, and Artoirel turned, barking orders at the soldiers as they landed. She leaned against the wall, folding her arms and closing her eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over her.

She’d been awake all night.

She heard footsteps and the clank of armour, and she turned to see Artoirel emerging from the mill. The other soldiers were right behind him, and began spreading out to secure the perimeter.

“So they were lurking in the cellar of this farmhouse,” he said, shaking his head. “‘Tis a pity Iceheart escaped, but we must not let that detract from your accomplishment! You have dealt a telling blow against our enemies this day. I shall see to it your efforts are recognised.”

Adalyn gave him a tired salute, nodding once. Guilt gnawed at her stomach, but she had to believe she'd made the right decision.

“My men have things well in hand here,” Artoirel continued, looking out at the soldiers. “Let us return to Falcon’s Nest to give Ser Redwald our report.”

Adalyn was glad to share the chocobo with Artoirel, because she soon dozed off against his back, jolting awake when they landed at the outpost. She lingered by Artoirel’s side, nodding confirmation as he passed on the news of what had transpired at the abandoned mill, and with that done, he turned to her with a smile.

“And now I must return to Ishgard to deliver this information to the Holy See,” he said. “I daresay you could do with a well-deserved rest after all you have done for us.”

Adalyn didn’t have to be told twice; together, they travelled through the aether, the act of teleportation serving to wake her up a little more effectively.

The manor was quiet when she slipped inside, and she decided to make herself cocoa before going to bed; it wasn’t nearly as good as Haurchefant’s, though, and she curled up on the sofa by the fireplace, nursing her drink and missing him.

Maybe tomorrow she would have to see about paying him a visit.

She heard the front door open and Adalyn startled slightly, turning in her seat to see Artoirel pause awkwardly in the entrance to the parlour.

“Ah, Mistress Keene,” he said, and cleared his throat. “...Might I join you?”

Adalyn inclined her head and patted the space beside her, wondering what it was he wanted. Now that they were alone, she’d been expecting more glares, but instead as Artoirel sat, he looked rather shamefaced.

“I would speak plain, if you don’t mind,” he said, and Adalyn gestured for him to continue. “...From the first, I questioned your motives and your competence—unjustly, I now realise.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Rumours have a way of growing more fantastic as they spread, and quite frankly, those surrounding you beggar belief.”

Adalyn snorted and nodded, giving him a tired smile.

“Indeed.” Artoirel was quiet for a moment. “But Haurchefant swore that all the stories were true. He championed your cause and begged Father to grant you patronage…” His mouth twisted. “And Father listened. For all his wisdom, he has never been able to say no to my dear half-brother.”

Adalyn’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug. Haurchefant had mentioned his relationship with his brothers was strained; she supposed it couldn’t have been easy for any of them, not just him.

“Mother hated him, of course,” Artoirel said softly. “Even on her deathbed, she refused to acknowledge him. And… to be honest, she was not alone in her feelings. All of that bitterness and resentment I felt toward the legacy of my father’s unfaithfulness extended towards you. When we came upon the wounded knight, I knew immediately one of us would have to pursue the heretics alone—an onerous task, fraught with danger…”

Adalyn pointed at herself.

Artoirel nodded, closing his eyes. “And there you were—the Saviour of Eorzea, honoured guest of House Fortemps. My new comrade-in-arms. The dear object of Haurchefant’s affections..." He shook his head. "I told myself it was to be a test, but part of me... a part of me hoped that you would fail.

"Yet you duly accepted your task without fear, or any sign of protest, tracked the enemy through the storm and the darkness, single-handedly defeated them, and lived to tell the tale.” He laughed humourlessly. “Plainly Haurchefant had the right of it all along. That I doubted your strength bespeaks mine own weakness. But I will never doubt you again, Mistress Keene; on that, you have my word.”

Adalyn reached over, putting a hand on Artoirel’s shoulder. He stiffened and looked up at her, startled. She smiled, squeezing gently.

“You would have every reason to begrudge my apology,” he murmured. “I can see now that Haruchefant was not exaggerating about the kindness of your heart, either. With that in mind, what I tell you next, I tell not to cause you grief, but to warn you: my half-brother has always been flighty in his affections, and I fear to see your heart break when he loses interest—”

Adalyn shook her head, tapping the side of her temple.

“You already knew?” Artoirel said, confused. She nodded. “But then, do you not worry for that eventuality?”

Adalyn hesitated, drawing back. She gnawed her lip for a moment, then set her mug aside, pulling out her notebook. If that day should come, I would just wish them well, she wrote, squinting at the parchment as she struggled to keep her hand from smudging the ink. Regardless of his feelings for me, he was the first person to truly listen to me. He gave me my voice back. I want nothing but happiness for him.

She hesitated before adding another sentence. I love him.

Artoirel sighed. “Then far be it from me to tell you otherwise,” he said. “You know my thoughts on the matter. I wish you nothing but the best, although I must caution you: Ishgard does not look kindly on mixed couples, and Haurchefant's reputation does him no favours there.” He rose, smoothing down his doublet. In the doorway, he paused, turning back. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, closed it, and raised a hand in farewell.

Adalyn picked up her mug, listening to his footsteps as they faded. Her stomach was churning.

I love him.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, but several tears still slipped past to drip into her cocoa.

Chapter Text

Adalyn felt like she’d barely had time to catch her breath from the whole Falcon’s Nest ordeal when she was called to action once more.

No rest for the Warrior of Light, after all.

Emmanellain caught her after dinner the evening she and Artoirel had arrived back, leaning one arm against the wall over her head in a blatant attempt at being suave. Behind him, his pageboy—Honoroit, she thought the boy’s name was—facepalmed.

“Emmanellain de Fortemps, second son of Count Edmont de Fortemps,” he said, and Adalyn raised an eyebrow. “Second trueborn son, that is.”

Adalyn wished they could go back to Artoirel just trying to get her killed. Her dislike for Haurchefant’s younger brother only managed to sink further as he kept talking.

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking—what ill fortune to be born second in a society where the eldest inherits all! Oh, my brother would never cut me off, ‘tis true, but who could be satisfied subsisting on a meagre allowance, forever overshadowed by his sibling? Not I, old girl, not I!”

Adalyn wondered just where he was going with this train of thought, and she forced herself to keep a pleasantly neutral expression. She had a sneaking suspicion that ‘meagre allowance’ would keep many a family well fed for years.

“Which is why I need your help in the Sea of Clouds,” Emmanellain prattled on. “If the tales of my deeds can win me a place in the people’s hearts—or better yet, raise me higher in their ambitions than Artoirel—then I shall be ever grateful for your assistance. Ambitious, perhaps, but then I would have a legendary hero to do my bidding!”

He laughed; Adalyn smiled thinly in return.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way,” Emmanellain said, cuffing her shoulder. “I merely jest! Our task would be to aid the members of House Haillenarte, who have ever been steadfast friends to our house…”

Well, if she was to continue making a good reputation for the Scions, she couldn’t very well turn down an opportunity like that.

So it was that the next day saw her, Emmanellain, and Honoroit boarding an airship to the Sea of Clouds. Though they left the snow behind, the higher they travelled, the colder it became, and Adalyn soon resorted to conjuring little puffs of fire from her mouth to warm her fingers.

“I say,” Emmanellain called over the airship’s engines, “Coerthas might not be blessed with the warmest weather in the world these days, but compared to this it seems positively balmy!”

Adalyn just nodded.

“...And of course, our hero is wholly unperturbed,” Emmanellain said. “You don’t have to maintain the strong, silent persona all the time, you know.”

Adalyn caught Honoroit’s eye; the boy rolled his, and she grinned, hastily turning away to peer over the railing.

Despite the freezing air, the view was breathtaking; floating islands stretched as far as the eye could see, waterfalls that poured from one island to another, clouds drifting in between them like lonely sailing ships.

Their airship landed, and Emmannellain smoothed his hair down, looking excited. “Now, our first order of business will be to meet with Lady Laniaitte, who is in charge of the garrison here. Oh, and when we find her, just—just… follow my lead, yes?” He clapped Adalyn on the back when she raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Excellent!”

He set off, a spring in his step, and after taking a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, Adalyn set off after him.

She lingered at the aetheryte, pausing to breathe in the sweet smells of the grass and sparse trees, away from the ceruleum stink of the airship engines. Bitterly cold though it might have been, she couldn’t remember a more beautiful sight.

It might even make putting up with Emmanellain tolerable.

She found him chatting to a red-haired elezen woman whose irritation was plain even at a distance, but the woman lit up at once when she spotted Adalyn’s white coat.

“Mistress Keene! Welcome!” she said, and bowed deeply. “I am Ser Laniaitte de Haillenarte, commander of the forces stationed here at Camp Cloudtop. Strange though it may sound, I have long dreamed of meeting you. I am in your debt, you see, and shall ever remain so; were it not for you, my younger brother Francel would have been executed upon the word of a false inquisitor.”

Understanding dawned on Adalyn’s face, and she hastened to bow in return.

“Alas, a knight must go where duty demands, and thus I have been unable to seek you out,” Laniaitte said. She beamed. “But by the grace of Halone, I have been granted the opportunity to thank my brother’s saviour in person, and to call upon her generous aid besides! Truly, I know not what I have done to deserve this double blessing.”

“A-hem,” Emmanellain butted in, “as I was saying, ‘tis a pleasure to see you again, my lady Laniaitte! You cut an elegant figure as always—a steel-clad rose, equally at home on the battlefield or in a ballroom.”

Laniaitte’s smile became slightly fixed as she turned slowly to Emmanellain. “...Lord Emmanellain, if it is not too much to ask, I should be grateful if you would allow me to finish speaking with Mistress Keene.”

It was only through all of her willpower that Adalyn didn’t burst into silent laughter on the spot as Emmanellain’s mouth fell open, visibly taken aback.

Laniaitte began giving Adalyn a rundown of the garrison’s doings in the Sea of Clouds, Adalyn pulling out her notebook to ask questions. Their greatest airship was in need of repairs, and the garrison faced attacks from the Vanu Vanu with increasing frequency; Emmanellain kept butting in, trying to offer his opinions on things he clearly knew very little about.

Adalyn and Laniaitte shared an exasperated look. “I fear your work may be cut out for you in the days ahead,” she whispered, and Adalyn stifled a snort.

Laniaitte sent Emmanellain off to keep watch for Dravanians, and the lordling ran off at once, eager to prove himself up to the task.

“If you would be so kind as to keep an eye on him?” Laniaitte added to Honoroit, who gave her a long-suffering smile and a bow.

“As always, my lady,” he said, and hurried off after his master.

Laniaitte let out a deep, heavy sigh, shaking her head. “Truly, if it weren’t for our houses’ relationship, I would not go to such lengths to appease him,” she said, and Adalyn rolled her eyes, nodding. “But having you here more than makes up for his company. Francel speaks most highly of you.” She smiled. “And I can see why Lord Haurchefant is so fond of you as well,” she added, and laughed softly when Adalyn blushed. “You know, he saved my youngest brother as well? ‘Tis how he earned his knighthood. Alas, I’m afraid he seems to have used up the rest of the family bravery.”

Adalyn’s mouth thinned; she shrugged, glancing after Emmanellain. She could see the speck of his silhouette against the edge of the island, peering eagerly into the sky.

“Now then,” Laniaitte said, and cleared her throat. “I should like to put your skills to work.”

And once again, Adalyn fell into the familiar routine of chores, accompanying the other soldiers on patrol, helping to tend to the wounded. Apparently it was a rare thing to get any skilled healers in the remote outpost, so her services were received quite gratefully.

“You know,” Laniaitte said over dinner that night, “when you return to Ishgard, you should consider looking in on my eldest brother, Stephanivien. I have it on good word you’re a crack shot with all manner of firearms, and I’m sure he would be honoured to have you test his inventions.”

Adalyn chuckled. I’ll see what I can do.

She should have known the relative peacefulness of existence wouldn’t last long, especially where Emmanellain was concerned. He insisted on being given more rigorous work, and though Laniaitte looked reluctant at the idea, grudgingly agreed—and privately asked Adalyn to keep an eye on him.

Of course, it was in the one moment she looked away that he gave her the slip, and that was where everything went wrong.

She found Honoroit in a panic, yelling that Emmanellain had been captured by the Vanu Vanu, and Adalyn gestured for him to lead the way, her coat changing into her dragoon armour as she raced after him.

Wouldn’t that be a fine look if she let him die under her watch?

She and Honoroit stopped at the top of a cliff and crouched at its edge, peering down at the encampment below.

“The Vanu must have taken him to that village,” Honoroit whispered, though they were much too far away for the sentries to hear. “Perhaps to present to their chieftain…” He swallowed, looking up at Adalyn with large, terrified eyes. “I’ll return to Camp Cloudtop for help,” he said, determination setting in his face. “Yet… by the time I return, it may already be too late. So I beg of you, if you see the opportunity to rescue Lord Emmanellain, take it! I know he can be a trifle presumptuous… and insensitive… and, well… insufferable… but he doesn’t deserve this!”

Adalyn nodded and held her fist out; after a moment, Honoroit returned the bump, and then he was off running, disappearing around the bend.

Adalyn turned back to the gates, flipping her visor down. The island where the beastmen made their home was too far even for her to make in a single bound.

Through the front door it was.

Aether coiled around her to power her leap, and she went sailing through the air to land on the bridge in a silent crouch, taking a moment to charge up for her next jump. She landed on the island, behind a building made of canvas stretched over a wooden frame, and cast her senses out, trusting her gut not to lead her astray. Her armour shifted to a dark leather coat, and she faded into the shadows, a pair of knives falling from her sleeves into her hands.

She crept through the village, noiseless as a passing ghost, and her feet carried her up the hill to find what looked like a prison made from giant bones. Adalyn silently dispatched a pair of guards, her invisibility spell breaking for only a moment—

“Adalyn! ADALYN! I’M OVER HERE!” Emmanellain bellowed, and adrenaline shot through her as torches began lighting at his shout.

“Netherlings come to free prisoner!” a Vanu Vanu bellowed. “Spread word like thunder, and cast them into the cloud sea!”

“You swiving fool,” Adalyn mouthed to herself as she sprinted towards Emmanellain’s cage. She roundhouse kicked the latch, snapping it clean off, and Emmanellain burst forth like a frightened hare, his eyes wild as he raced past her.

“Not so fast!” Adalyn wanted to yell after him, but her shout died in her throat, just like they always did. She groaned and ran after, hearing the shouts of the Vanu Vanu behind them.

“Netherlings slink away like guileful gaelicats! Rally, warriors of Vundu! Let none escape!”

“Shitshitshit—” Adalyn poured on the speed, trying to signal to Emmanellain that she could get them out of this, but he swerved sideways, heading straight for the village.

“YOU DENSE SON OF A—”

They ended up at the edge of a cliff, too far from the next island for Adalyn to jump to, and forward was a contingent of warriors and spellcasters alike.

She would have been able to escape, but not without leaving the hapless lordling behind. So Adalyn exchanged her spear for a shield and sword, shooting a glare at Emmanellain. He seemed to get the message to stay behind her, cowering as she blocked a blast of razor wind that howled past her, leaving deep gouges in her shield.

She became a whirlwind of steel after that, but her fighting wasn’t as effective as usual, tasked as she was with protecting Emmanellain from the worst of the blows. As she defended him and tried to fight the growing numbers of Vanu Vanu back, her aether reserves were slowly whittled down, and when a stray arrow slammed into her leg, she fell with a silent scream, only just raising her shield in time to block a deluge.

“Help has arrived, Adalyn!” called a familiar voice, and Adalyn’s eyes went wide behind her shield; she snapped the arrow shaft and pulled it through her leg, biting back another scream as she healed the injury and staggered to her feet to see Haurchefant leading a squadron of soldiers to attack the back lines. The Vanu Vanu began squawking at the sudden attack, and several of them turned tail and fled.

“Haurchefant?!” Emmanellain yelled. “Is that you? Thank heavens—get us out of here!”

“Just keep Emmanellain safe a little longer, Adalyn!” Haurchefant yelled back in response, and Adalyn grit her teeth as she braced herself, exchanging her sword and shield for her staff. She threw up a force field, sweat beading at her temples as she felt the shuddering blows of the Vanu Vanu’s weapons against her bubble.

“Now!” Haurchefant said as the knights broke through the ranks of the Vanu Vanu, and Adalyn let her shield drop as she grabbed Emmanellain’s hand, dragging him forward. Haurchefant grinned at her as she ran past, and he gave the order to retreat, the knights turning tail and fleeing downhill with the Vanu Vanu in hot pursuit.

“Faring alright?” Haurchefant asked.

“Been better!” she signed back, falling to the rear of the squadron to blind their pursuers with a burst of light. It bought them just enough time to put a bit of space between themselves and the Vanu Vanu—but not nearly enough.

“Reinforcements!” Haurchefant called as more beastmen appeared, blocking off their right flank. He and Adalyn stood back to back as the knights readied to fight once more.

“Anger of Honu, mighty chief of Vondu, roils like the blackest storm clouds!” one of the Vanu Vanu squawked, pointing his staff at them. “Offer netherlings to the White! Cloud sea swells, and He comes!”

A low, mournful cry like whalesong echoed off the islands, and their heads shot up, looking for the source of the noise.

An enormous feathered whale burst from the sea of clouds, arching over their heads to the cheers of the Vanu Vanu. Emmanellain wailed, cowering behind them and covering his face.

“The White! The White! Mighty Bismarck, Lord of the Mists!”

“By the Fury,” Haurchefant said as Bismarck disappeared over the edge of the island. “It’s—it’s a primal!”

More Vanu Vanu arrived, surrounding them against another cliff.

“Damn it all,” Haurchefant said. He gave Adalyn a bitter smile. “So much for our daring rescue.”

“‘Tis still appreciated,” Adalyn said, and Haurchefant laughed weakly. “Together, then?”

Haurchefant nodded, and they readied their weapons once more.

The sound of an airship’s engines made them look up again, and Adalyn’s eyes went wide when she recognised the familiar blue sails.

“Get ready to jump!” she said, and Haurchefant nodded, relaying the order to his men. Adalyn grabbed Emmanellain’s arm, and as Cid brought the airship around, she dragged the lordling over the cliff edge with her. He screamed in her ear, throwing his arms around her neck in terror, and they collapsed on the deck in a heap as knights landed around them.

Haurchefant was the last to join them after making sure everyone else was safely on board, and he landed in a crouch beside Adalyn, his face scant ilms from hers. “Alright, there?” he asked, and laughed breathlessly against her mouth when Adalyn pulled him down for a kiss.

“Really, now, Haurchefant, must you do that right here?” Emmanellain complained, scrambling off of Adalyn and brushing himself down.

“Don’t think this means I’m done with you, Emmanellain,” Haurchefant said as he drew away. He helped Adalyn to her feet, his eyes widening when he saw the blood that stained her greaves. “Are you injured?”

Adalyn shook her head. “Not any more,” she said. “Though I expect I’ve added yet another scar to my collection.” She turned and saluted Cid. “Your timing is impeccable as always,” she added to him, Haurchefant bowing as he translated for her. “Thank you.”

Cid chuckled. “No need for thanks, lass. The gods know you’ve done the same for us on a few previous occasions.” He paused. “Okay, more than just a few. Though it was blind chance that happened to bring us together this time. The Holy See petitioned the Ironworks for assistance with this airship of theirs, and I had only just arrived in Cloudtop to see it when a young lad came skittering into the camp, babbling about his master being captured and you staying behind to rescue him. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“That doesn’t explain what you were doing in Cloudtop, though,” Adalyn said, turning to Haurchefant.

Haurchefant smiled, cupping her face and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I had thought to surprise you when Artoirel mentioned you had gone with Emmanellain to the outpost,” he murmured. “It seems I was right about you needing saving from him, though not quite in the way I’d imagined.”

Adalyn smiled and stole a brief kiss from him. “Luckily you got there just in time,” she said.

Haurchefant chased the kiss momentarily. “What can I say?” he murmured. “Though you hardly are one to need saving, my shield will be ever ready when you need it.”

“It was a very harrowing experience, I’ll have you know!” Emmanellain was saying to nobody in particular by the time they landed. “I could very well have died, you know! Me! Dead!”

“Imagine that,” Haurchefant murmured to Adalyn, shaking his head.

“On the other hand,” Emmanelain said, his chest puffing up, “by risking life and limb in the line of duty, I did succeed in uncovering the existence of a new primal! And that, old girl, is no mean feat!”

Adalyn realised he was addressing her, watching her hopefully for some sign of her approval. She just gave him a flat stare in return.

“I have made a historic discovery,” Emmanellain prattled on. “One which Lady Laniaitte will have no choice but to acknowledge! Yes,” he said happily, “I am rather looking forward to basking in the sunshine of her praise!”

“I think he’ll be kept waiting ‘til the end of days,” Adalyn said, and Haurchefant chuckled.

To nobody’s surprise but Emmanellain’s, when he demanded recognition for the hero of the day, Laniaitte turned to Adalyn to thank her for risking her life to save his.

As Emmanellain spluttered, Haurchefant put a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “If there is naught else to discuss, we would return to Ishgard forthwith,” he said. “The Holy See and the Temple Knights must be informed of this new threat without delay.”

“But of course,” Laniaitte said, and bowed. “Misstress Keene, Lord Haurchefant, when you return, pray give my warmest regards to the count.”

Adalyn nodded. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about my promise to look in on Stephanivien,” she added, and Laniaitte’s face lit up when Haurchefant translated.

“It would mean ever so much to me if you did,” she said.

Adalyn decided to forgo any formalities and pulled the other woman into a hug, smiling when Laniaitte returned it happily.

“I’ll admit, I’ve always been rather fond of airship travel,” Haurchefant said as they stood at the railing, his hand resting lightly on Adalyn’s back.

The spires of Ishgard came slowly into view, the storm picking up the farther they went. They’d decided to forego using the aethertye to see Emmanellain and Honoroit safely back, for which Adalyn was grateful. She’d missed Haurchefant’s company, so getting to spend the entirety of the trip back with him was a rare treat indeed.

“The chill of the wind on your face, the warmth of the blood pumping in your veins from the excitement…I find the whole experience incredibly invigorating.”

“You truly love flying that much, hm?” Adalyn asked.

Haurchefant chuckled. “Or mayhap it is simply the joy of having cheated death yet again,” he said, and he and Adalyn leaned their heads together briefly. “As soon as we return, I must make for the Congregation to inform Ser Aymeric of all that has occurred.”

“Thank you so very much for informing him of my skills as a dancer, by the way,” Adalyn said, grimacing. “It meant I couldn’t get away with treading on his toes at that bloody banquet.”

Haurchefant barked out a laugh. “I do apologise, my dear, but how could I not wish to sing your praises at every opportunity? Though I wasn’t aware you found the man so repulsive. I would have rather thought you might fall for his charms like so many other ladies of Ishgard.”

Adalyn stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the punchline that never came.

“‘Tis no secret the Lord Commander is quite the admirer of our esteemed Warrior of Light,” Haurchefant said, inclining his head. “Though I must say it’s a pity you don’t seem to share his affections—I might have asked to watch—”

Adalyn clutched the railing for support as she wheezed with laughter. “Now I know you speak in jest,” she managed to sign, tears in her eyes from the force of her silent guffaws.

“Well, if you find the idea so objectionable, I shan’t bring it up again,” Haurchefant said. “More’s the pity.”

Adalyn’s cheeks felt hot as she straightened up. “This is a conversation better suited to privacy,” she said, and Haurchefant sighed in defeat before nodding. “And don’t you dare speak a word of this to Aymeric, or I swear—”

“So it’s Aymeric now, is it?” Haurchefant said, a twinkle in his eye as Adalyn swatted his shoulder.

“I don’t trust the man one ilm,” she said. “The bastard has played the Scions for fools too many times in the past.”

Haurchefaunt hummed, rubbing his jaw in thought. “He’s shrewd, I’ll give you that, but truly Ishgard has known no better Lord Commander. He’s a good man and, dare I say, a good friend.”

“You’re certainly entitled to your opinion,” Adalyn said, and Haurchefant chuckled.

“Give it time,” he said as the airship docked. “Full certain am I that the two of you will enjoy each other’s company once he’s earned your forgiveness.”

Adalyn wrinkled her nose. “Allow me to at least accompany you to the Congregation?” she asked, and Haurchefant smiled.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

They made their way through the streets, Haurchefant asking her how she was enjoying Ishgard so far and Adalyn’s response was honest, perhaps brutally so.

It was less the conversation and more the time spent together that she cared about, though, which was all too short when they reached the Congregation.

“Emmanellain will have returned to the manor by now,” Haurchefant murmured as they stopped outside the doors. “Perhaps you ought to make sure the count gets the proper version of events?”

Adalyn sighed heavily but nodded; she wanted nothing more than to kiss Haurchefant, but realised that likely wasn’t wise, especially right outside the headquarters of the Temple Knights. So instead she took his hand, squeezing three times; Haurchefant’s mouth fell open before a broad smile spread on his face, and he twined their fingers together, squeezing three times in return.

“I shall be with you as soon as I can,” he murmured, before he let go to disappear into the building.

Adalyn watched him, her fingers still tingling. As she turned to begin walking back to the manor, a spring in her step, she felt at that moment she was the luckiest woman in the world.

Chapter Text

Just when Adalyn didn’t think she could get any more sick of Ishgard, something else had to happen to lower her opinion of the place. This time, it was the little matter of Tataru and Alphinaud being accused of heresy and sentenced to trial by combat.

Adalyn, of course, ended up taking Tataru’s place as her champion, and though she had won quite handily (Alphinaud helped), her muscles were sore, her limbs tired, by the time they trudged through the doors of Fortemps Manor.

She had an awful suspicion that there was something about those knights, something that gave them strength beyond mortal ken, but as to what… she could figure it out later.

Right now, all she wanted was a hot bath and a nap.

One of the servants had a hot bath waiting, to Adalyn’s surprise, but when he explained Haurchefant had told them to ready the baths for herself and Alphinaud after their trial, she nodded.

Ever so thoughtful, that one, she thought with a smile as she undressed, and slid into the hot water with a soft sigh of relief.

She remained in the tub until the water went cold twice over, reheating it herself with her thaumaturgy. Once, Tataru knocked on the door to make sure she was alright, to which Adalyn whistled in confirmation. Otherwise, she was left alone to soak, left alone with her thoughts.

The events of the day, of the last several days, really, made her nervous. Speaking with Aymeric always had that effect; there was something about the way he watched her that left her uneasy. Like he was hungry.

While she accepted that, Lord Commander or not, he had no authority over the archbishop’s personal guard, it left a bad taste in her mouth that he had seemed so unsettlingly calm about the prospect of a trial by combat.

How very convenient it had been for him to be able to re-authorise supplies to Revenant’s Toll so soon after the threat of being cut off. For Ishgard to fail to come to the Alliance’s aid when needed, while strong-arming them into the war against the dragons in turn.

For him to be urgently called away moments before the sultana’s death was made publicly known.

Even Alphinaud, who couldn’t smell Ilberd’s treachery from a malm away, didn’t trust the man.

Adalyn slid lower in the water, ducking her head to attack her hair with one of the many fragrant soaps.

Nobody in a place like this could become Lord Commander without a few skeletons in their closet. Why was it that Ser Zephirin, who was apparently the finest Knight of the Round—for whatever the Seven Hells that was worth—passed over in favour of him?

But surely Haurchefant knew better than she did. She believed in his judgement, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen a longtime friend turn on those who trusted them the most.

Something worth looking into, in the future.

She finally rose from her bath, fingers and toes heavily wrinkled before she directed a tiny spark of healing magic towards her extremities to smooth them again. She wrapped a towel around herself and realised she’d forgotten to bring a dressing gown with her; Adalyn dithered for a moment before shaking her head.

She made it back to her room without being spotted.

It was when she was in her room that she wished she’d been caught in her towel instead.

She was in the middle of drying off when she heard the door open, and she shrieked noiselessly, scrambling to throw the towel back around herself. Haurchefant let out a startled yelp and slammed the door shut, and Adalyn froze by her bed, chest heaving.

“I am so sorry!” Haurchefant said through the door. “A thousand apologies, Adalyn, I had thought you still in the bath!”

So what were you doing in my room? Adalyn thought to herself, still clutching the towel tightly shut in front of her. She realised she was a bit stuck for options to ask without opening the door.

She was already blushing furiously from the interruption, but the blush deepened when a thought wormed its way into her head, urging her to keep the towel on and go to the door.

So she did, wrapping the towel more securely around herself as she padded to the door and pulled it open.

Haurchefant straightened immediately, swallowing as he took in her appearance, his gaze travelling up her body before re-focusing on her face.

“Why were you in my room?” Adalyn asked, and Haurchefant looked relieved by the question.

“I had hoped to leave a gift for you,” he said, and held up the small black box in his hand that was tied with a simple red ribbon. “I return to Camp Dragonhead before the dawn, and thus thinking you still bathing, wished to disturb you not. I would sooner pluck out mine own eyes than lay them on you unbidden.”

Adalyn laughed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. The other let go of her towel so she could sign, using her elbows to keep it in place. “Consider yourself bidden,” she said, and stepped back, holding the door open a little wider.

A slow smile spread over Haurchefant’s face, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Adalyn glanced at the box questioningly, and Haurchefant offered it to her to open.

Inside lay a brooch bearing the Fortemps unicorn, affixed to a length of glossy black leather.

“I had hoped you might wear it, and know that your family is more than just blood,” Haurchefant said softly. “Might I put it on you?”

Adalyn nodded, looking up at him as he pulled the choker from the box and reached behind her neck to settle it at the base of her throat. His gaze was intense, his eyes not leaving her own, and Adalyn shivered when she felt his fingers brush over the nape of her neck

“It looks just as lovely on you as I had imagined,” Haurchefant said when his fingers stilled, but he didn’t pull away. “Adalyn… I…”

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him.

Haurchefant’s hands dropped to her hips, pulling her closer as her arms wound around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.

The motion loosened her towel, and it fell, catching on Haurchefant’s hands and leaving her chest bare. And then even that, too, slipped away, as he readjusted his grip, one hand pressed between her shoulderblades to draw her closer. His other hand squeezed the firm swell of her ass, and Adalyn’s fingers tightened in his hair.

His tongue slid gently along her lower lip, like a tender caress, and Adalyn opened her mouth to let him in. They’d shared kisses before, but none like this, his lips soft and eager on hers, his tongue teasing against her own.

Adalyn’s hands slid forward to cradle Haurchefant’s face as she leaned up on tiptoes to kiss him more thoroughly; her hands wandered down lower to fumble with the loose lacing at the front of his shirt, pulling the neck open to slip her fingers beneath the fabric. She was keenly aware of the growing bulge pressed between them, and her heart skipped a beat when Haurchefant stooped, wrapped his arms around her thighs, and lifted her into his arms.

Adalyn laughed noiselessly as she locked her legs around his waist. Haurchefant chuckled as well, dipping his head to trail kisses down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat.

“Do you know what my first thought was, when you walked into the keep that day we met?” Haurchefant murmured against her skin, and drew back to see her. Adalyn shook her head and tilted it curiously. “I thought, ‘by the Fury, this woman will be the death of me’, so entranced was I by your beauty, the confidence with which you carried yourself—”

Adalyn snorted, ducking her head.

“I speak in full seriousness,” Haurchefant said, and stole another kiss from her, then another. “Know you full well the reputation I have received, but I do not want you to think you mean anything less to me than the world, Adalyn Keene.”

Adalyn gave him a watery smile, her eyes suddenly stinging with emotion. She squeezed his shoulder thrice, and leaned in to kiss him again. The initial urgency was gone now, replaced with something slower, a smouldering heat that settled in her stomach and rose to her chest, leaving her wishing they could stay in this moment forever.

Haurchefant carried her to the bed and set her down, laying her out carefully, and Adalyn pulled his face down to meet hers again, their noses knocking together before Haurchefant tilted his head, the both of them laughing softly into the kiss. He took advantage of the brief pause to divest himself of his shirt, and then he was on top of her again, bracing himself on one forearm while his other hand trailed up her hip and over her ribs.

Adalyn arched into his touch, biting her lip as she looked pleadingly up at him. Haurchefant’s hand ghosted over her breast, her nipples peaking at the sensation, and he smiled, squeezing gently, massaging her breast beneath his palm, fingers rolling her nipple gently between them and teasing them to firmness.

Adalyn’s nails raked lightly over the skin of his back, and he groaned quietly. “A little more, my dear,” he murmured, and Adalyn obliged, digging in a little harder when she did it again. Haurchefant shuddered on top of her, pressing his forehead against hers. When he looked at her again, it was through heavily lidded eyes.

“Many a night I’ve imagined this,” he murmured, letting go of her breast to cradle her cheek. Adalyn leaned into the touch, sighing softly. “Sometimes tender and intimate… sometimes rougher, with more wild abandon…”

He leaned back to give Adalyn space to sign when she pulled her hands back between them. “I want you to make love to me,” she said, biting her lip. “Though I have never lain with another before that I can remember…”

Her blush deepened when Haurchefant brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Pray do not be afraid,” he murmured. “If there is aught you do not wish me doing, tap me thrice and I’ll stop at once; one tap if you so wish me to continue in what I’m doing, and two to go slower.”

Some of Adalyn’s nervousness faded, and a slightly mischievous grin crept onto her face. “Spent a lot of time thinking about this, have you?”

Haurchefant’s mouth curled in a faint smirk. “I’m hardly one to kiss and tell, so I shall simply leave it at the fact that some of my previous lovers quite liked to be tied up and gagged.”

Adalyn’s breath caught, and Haurchefant’s gaze flickered over her face.

“You seem rather excited by the prospect,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice, and he laughed when Adalyn closed her eyes and nodded, too embarrassed to look at him. He kissed her again, his hand trailing back down her side and over her hip, leaving fire in its wake. Adalyn shivered under his fingers, her knees tightening on his hips when he gripped her thigh.

“I will make love to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers as he spoke. “As sweetly and tenderly as you both desire and deserve. And then,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “if, at a later date, you’re still excited by the prospect of me tying you down and having my way with you, I shall certainly be the last person to complain.”

Adalyn’s breath hitched again as Haurchefant drew away, but it was only for a moment as he quickly removed his boots and breeches. When he rejoined her on the bed, he urged her to roll onto her side, and he lay behind her, drawing their bodies flush together. She could feel the firmness of his cock pressed between them against the base of her spine, and she swallowed; he felt massive.

“Your body truly is a sight to behold,” Haurchefant murmured, kissing the back of Adalyn’s neck, just below her choker. His arms slid around her; the hand beneath her tracing light circles over her chest while the one above brushed up the length of her thigh, over her hip, moving to the fork of her legs. “Have you any idea how a warrior’s muscles are my greatest weakness?”

“Your greatest?” Adalyn asked, somewhat awkwardly from laying on her side.

Haurchefant chuckled, placing another kiss on her shoulder. “You make an excellent point. No, that would have to be my second greatest weakness… with you claiming the victory.”

Adalyn giggled silently, and she felt Haurchefant laugh behind her. His hands paused in their teasing for him to squeeze her tightly, and she turned her head to steal a kiss over her shoulder.

The hug loosened, and then his fingers were back, teasing the top of her thigh, dipping closer towards her centre. Adalyn’s heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel his own where he pressed up against her. It hit her then, that for all of Haurchefant’s experience, and any partners he’d had in the past, he was with her, and just as excited by the prospect as she was.

The thought emboldened her, and she hitched her knee slightly to give him better access.

Haurchefant’s fingers brushed over her folds, and he leaned in to nibble at her earlobe as he did so, coaxing a shudder out of her. “I want to make you feel so good you lose yourself in the pleasure,” he murmured, his fingers continuing to explore her, drawing more tiny shivers out of her. “One tap for me to keep going, remember?”

Adalyn tapped the hand that rested on her chest, and Haurchefant smiled against her skin. His breath sent goosebumps springing up where it touched.

“As you wish,” he murmured, and his fingers slid a little higher, finding her most sensitive spot.

Adalyn gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily at the touch. Haurchefant immediately paused; and she realised he was waiting for her; she tapped his hand, and he kissed her shoulder in acknowledgement, beginning to rub her clit in small, firm circles, using her own natural lubricant in the process.

“Beautiful,” Haurchefant murmured, lifting himself a little higher to kiss her cheek. “Full glad am I to see you enjoying yourself… you don’t allow yourself enough time for personal pleasure, do you?” he added softly.

Adalyn hesitated, then shook her head, gasping when he coaxed another shudder out of her.

“Then, if I may,” Haurchefant said, and Adalyn turned to look at him, curious about his tone, low and husky, “I would like nothing more than to make up for lost time. Might I taste you?”

Adalyn’s heart skipped a beat, and she nodded.

In the span of a moment, Haurchefant was settled between her thighs, urging her to put her legs over his shoulders as he lowered his mouth to kiss her stomach, moving gradually lower until his tongue flicked over her clit experimentally, watching her through his eyelashes for her reaction.

She shook her head, but Haurchefant was undeterred; the next stroke of his tongue was long and firm, the heat and wetness of his mouth threatening to overwhelm her. She tapped his head, and he repeated the motion, stronger, and Adalyn’s back arched, her fingers gripping the bedsheets.

“Liked that, did you?” Haurchefant murmured, his breath tickling her skin. “Very well, then…”

Adalyn squirmed as his tongue found her clit again, working in firm circles over the sensitive bud. His fingers dug into her hips, holding them in place when she tried to buck up into his face, and still he kept it up, slowing only whenever he felt her shivers become more frequent and intense.

It was like he knew exactly when to stop just in time to prevent her from climaxing, and Adalyn whined in protest.

Haurchefant looked up, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “I’m sorry, my dearest… I must have missed that.”

Adalyn sat up, reaching for him, and Haurchefant moved up to meet her in the kiss, Adalyn’s mouth eager on his and heedless of the taste of herself still on his lips and tongue.

She rolled them over, and Haurchefant laughed breathlessly when her knees squeezed his hips, her heat pressed down on his cock where it lay against his stomach.

Adalyn rocked her hips, and Haurchefant groaned, turning his head to bite down on his knuckle. “Fury take me,” he said, his hands settling on her hips. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve laid mine eyes upon.”

Adalyn blushed down to her chest, and Haurchefant smiled, reaching up to trace where the pink faded into her skin. His hands wandered, fingers trailing over her numerous scars with tenderness. She could see the desire to ask about them on his lips before he changed his mind, for which she was grateful; there were far too many, with far too long stories attached to each one, and she had no desire to stop what they were doing now.

She was wet, achingly so, and painfully aware of how empty she was. “I want you inside of me,” she said.

Haurchefant smiled, his hands trailing over her ribs, squeezing her breasts. “Atop you, or shall you remain astride me?”

“Like this.” Adalyn let out a soft sigh when Haurchefant sat up to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, teeth scraping lightly over her skin as he suckled gently, sending a fresh jolt of desire racing down her spine. She tapped his shoulder three times, and he let go, concern in his eyes, but Adalyn shook her head. “I want to be able to talk to you,” she said, and Haurchefant nodded, laying back against the pillows, giving Adalyn a very nice view of his well-muscled chest and stomach.

“You’re not the only one who can appreciate a warrior’s body,” she said, and leaned forward to run her hands over the planes of his torso, then further down as she lifted herself off of his hips to take his cock in hand.

“True,” Haurchefant said, smiling up at her, “but yours is the only one I’m interested in admiring right now.”

He inhaled slowly as Adalyn sank down onto him, ilm by ilm, her walls clenching around him and squeezing tightly. She was so very hot and wet, and he filled her completely.

Adalyn took a moment to catch her breath, and their eyes met.

“Go on,” Haurchefant murmured.

Adalyn hesitated, her hands hovering uncertainly for a moment. “What am I supposed to—?”

“You’re supposed to move on me,” Haurchefant said softly, and his eyes widened when he saw Adalyn’s eyes shine with unspilled tears. He sat up again, leaving enough room between them for her to speak, and he cupped her face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, concern in his face.

Adalyn shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, and let out a tiny, hiccupping laugh. “Everything is… wonderful, Haurchefant. You’re wonderful.”

“I love you,” Haurchefant murmured, and Adalyn leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “Now and forever more.”

Adalyn’s mouth brushed against his in the gentlest of kisses, and she began to move on him, rocking her hips, adjusting her position slightly when Haurchefant briefly squeezed her hips to help guide her. One hand lingered there, but the other, he slipped between them, matching Adalyn’s rhythm to resume his attention to her clit.

Her head fell back, and Haurchefant nibbled at the underside of her jaw, kissing his way down her neck and pausing halfway down to suck hard enough to bruise.

The spasm that resulted from her was hard enough to hurt, and Haurchefant yelped, jerking away out of reflex. Adalyn froze, a look of horror on her face as he caught his breath.

“If I might suggest something, as much for… practicality’s sake, as well as my own safety,” Haurchefant said, visibly shaken, “it might be for the best if we concluded things with myself on top?”

Adalyn nodded, biting her lip, wrapping her arms around Haurchefant as he rolled them over to settle her amongst the pillows. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Haurchefant stole a kiss from her, drawing back to grin down at her. “On the contrary,” he said, “I think there is something incredibly attractive about a woman who could crush me in bed, even if I am forced to conclude such a thing would be rather unfortunate in practice.”

Adalyn giggled nervously, sighing when Haurchefant nuzzled at her neck. She spread her legs as far apart for him as she could as he braced himself above her, picking up where they’d left off.

He pushed back into her slowly, and far more easily this time. With him seated fully inside of her, Adalyn pulled him down for another kiss, struggling not to wrap her legs around him and pull him in deeper still. When Haurchefant drew back out, it was slow as well, withdrawing until he was almost all the way out and leaving Adalyn tugging insistently at his hair.

“Careful, dearest,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t wish you to rend me bald in our passion.”

Adalyn laughed sheepishly and let go to cup his face again instead, tracing over the planes of his cheekbones, over the curve of his nose, the arch of his brows, committing this moment to memory as Haurchefant’s movements gradually became faster, his cock rubbing against a spot inside of her that was like a live wire in her body, leaving her wildly overstimulated between his thrusts and the attention he paid to her breasts.

She was safe. She was loved. She was his.

Adalyn’s back arched as she clenched around him, her entire body wracked with pleasure that swept through her like a crashing wave. Her hips bucked up against his, and Haurchefant kept going, riding her through her pleasure to his climax, gasping her name as he spilled inside of her.

Adalyn’s hand crept over the bedsheets to find his when he collapsed, half on top of her. She squeezed his hand thrice, and Haurchefant let out a soft sigh, squeezing back.

“I love you, too,” he murmured.

They lay together for several long, blissful minutes before Adalyn shifted, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

“Oh—mine apologies,” Haurchefant said, giving her a sheepish smile. “You must be feeling dreadfully sticky… allow me to take care of that for you?”

Adalyn nodded, expecting he would get up to fetch a cloth; to her shock, Haurchefant settled between her legs again, and she shivered when she felt his tongue on her once more, licking away his own spend. Her toes curled at the sensation of his tongue inside of her, long and dextrous as he cleaned her inside and out before his lips closed over her clit, sucking just hard enough to make her writhe beneath him. When she came again, she silently cried his name, her hips lifting off the bed as she arched against his mouth.

Haurchefant slowly sat up, looking every bit the cat that got the cream as he smiled down at her, licking his lips. Adalyn sat up as well, shifting her weight to embrace him, nuzzling against his neck.

Haurchefant’s fingers danced lightly over her spine, sending tiny jolts of levin through her with every touch. “How are you feeling?” he murmured. “Good, I hope?”

Adalyn nodded against his chest, not willing to let go of him just yet. Haurchefant shifted, and Adalyn let him slide his arms beneath her, picking her up and settling her so she was draped across his lap.

She kept one arm wrapped around him, the other free to sign. “That was… amazing,” she said, and let out a small huff of laughter. “I don’t know what to say. What do you normally talk about, after?”

“Anything,” Haurchefant said softly. He reached up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind Adalyn’s ear. “Everything?” His eyes flickered down to the choker, and he smiled. “‘Tis a splendid look for you, wearing nothing but that,” he said, and chuckled when Adalyn’s blush returned. “I quite happen to like it.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And that’s why you love me,” Haurchefant said, and smiled into the kiss Adalyn stole from him.

They both startled at the sound of a knock on the door. “Mistress Keene?” Honoroit called. “Pardon the interruption, but an urgent message came from the cathedral just now.”

Adalyn and Haurchefant shared a look, panic on Adalyn’s face. “What?” she mouthed, sliding off his lap and scrambling to get dressed.

From the long pause before Honoroit spoke again, she wondered if he’d forgotten she couldn’t respond. “'Tis the archbishop, Miss. He has requested an audience with you.”

Adalyn froze, her eyes huge, and she turned to Haurchefant, opening and closing her mouth, unsure how to respond.

“You may inform the archbishop’s messenger that I will be coming as well to interpret for her,” Haurchefant said, raising his voice.

“Oh! Master Greystone! I didn’t realise you were in there, too…” Honoroit trailed off, and then cleared his throat. “Ah—I shall go inform him, then.”

His light footsteps hurried off, and Adalyn finished doing up her robe, grabbing her boots and hopping precariously on one foot as she struggled to pull her boots on one-handed as she signed. “The archbishop?!”

“Perhaps he wishes to congratulate you on your success in the trial,” Haurchefant said darkly, his fingers nimbly doing up the lacing of his breeches. “I shall return to my chamber and don my armour.”

Just in case, the unsaid thought hung in the air between them.

He pulled his shirt on and picked up his boots; Adalyn caught his arm before he could slip outside, pulling him in for a kiss.

Haurchefant leaned his forehead against hers, sighing softly. “Whatever it is, I shall be by your side,” he murmured. “I promise. If I must needs return to my post come the morrow without rest, then so be it.”

Adalyn cupped his cheek, her eyes searching his face before she nodded, stepping away. Haurchefant slipped out the door, and Adalyn squared her shoulders, going to the entry hall to wait, braiding her hair as she walked.

She found Count Edmont in the entry hall, standing at the window, peering out into the darkness. He turned at the sound of her soft footsteps, giving her a tight smile when he saw her. “Ah, Adalyn,” he said. “I take it Honoroit has informed you of the situation.”

Adalyn nodded, gnawing the inside of her cheek, trying not to think how scant moments ago his son had been balls-deep inside of her. “Haurchefant, too,” she said, signing slowly for him. Though the Count had made an impressive effort to learn so as to make her feel more at home, he still struggled to keep up when she spoke too fast.

Edmont nodded, his gaze dropping to the choker she wore. “I see my middle son has finally given you his gift,” he said, and then his eyes lingered on the blotchy bruise on her chest just below the choker. “Or gifts, as it were.”

Mortification swept through her, and Adalyn hastened to heal away the mark, her lighter clothing changing to her heavy coat as though that could act like a shield.

But Edmont just chuckled. “You make him happy, my dear,” he said. “And dare I say, you bring this old man a measure of joy, too.” His smile faded, expression becoming serious again. “But do be careful. Ishgard does not look kindly on mixed relationships. I say this only out of concern for you both; House Fortemps has already stained its reputation enough that this would hardly register.”

“Thanks,” Adalyn said dryly.

Haurchefant entered the room, dressed in his usual chainmail and with his shield slung over his back. He glanced between Adalyn and his father, bowing. “My lord,” he said. “Adalyn and I will take our leave, now.”

“A wise decision,” Edmont said. “It would not do to keep the archbishop waiting.”

When they stepped out into the cold, they walked apart, guest and guardian rather than lovers, but whenever they glanced at each other, and their eyes met, Adalyn’s heart beat a little bit faster.

Chapter Text

Adalyn should have known the archbishop, old bat that he was, would have dismissed Haurchefant—along with Aymeric and the Heaven’s Ward, however, was a surprise to them all. Adalyn was all too aware of the hostile stares the Heaven’s Ward gave her as they left, of the way Aymeric’s eyes lingered on her as he passed, and then she was alone with the archbishop.

There was something oddly familiar about his piercing blue gaze…

Any thought of what it was was swiftly driven out of her mind when he confessed to her that he had been in contact with the Ascians, and she could only stare in horror as he went on to explain that he planned to double cross them in the future—and wanted her help to do so.

Adalyn couldn’t even voice her concerns, let alone her protestations.

She was still reeling when he dismissed her.

“Adalyn?” Haurchefant asked when she emerged from the chamber, her eyes huge. She shook her head, and together they walked back to the manor, Adalyn filling Haurchefant in on the one-sided conversation. His expression was grimly thoughtful upon learning of the archbishop’s would-be allies.

“I’m afraid that this is where I leave you,” he murmured, and took her hand, squeezing three times. “Whatever it is that you decide to do: have heart. You still have your friends, and you are not without allies here, despite what many of the highborn might wish you to believe.”

“Thank you,” Adalyn said. “And… Haurchefant? Be careful out there.”

“Always, my dear,” he murmured, and let the aether carry him back to Dragonhead.

She turned, feeling like she was being watched, even though the street was deserted, and she ascended the stairs to the manor to find Alphinaud and Tataru anxiously awaiting her return. To say they were horrified when she shared with them what the archbishop said to her would be an understatement, and Alphinaud mused that at the rate things were going, they would soon run out of allies to turn to.

This was enough to spark Tataru’s memory; before everything had gone briefly to hell, she’d received information that Raubahn was soon to be slated for execution.

It was probably a sign of just how out of control Adalyn’s life was becoming that breaking into a high security prison with the help of Alphinaud and Yugiri to rescue the former Flame General was barely a day’s work for her. They brought him to the Waking Sands, where they were greeted with much more important news:

Nanamo was alive.

Adalyn could have cried with relief.

Adalyn and Estinien stood shoulder to shoulder, motionless as they watched the great wyrm rouse from his slumber. One great golden eye flickered open, peering down at them, hatred burning in his gaze.

“This is it, then,” Adalyn said quietly.

Estinien glanced sharply over at the sound of her voice, but he nodded. “Aye. Nidhogg wakes at last.”

The darkness shifted, Nidhogg dissolving with it, and they stood atop a thundering mountain as an entire swarm of black-scaled dragons took wing with a chorus of discordant song, blotting out the sun itself.

She was woken abruptly by the sound of Alphinaud rapping on her door. “Adalyn, you should get dressed. Grave news from Dravania.”

“Is it that overgrown lizard come to kill us all?” Adalyn tried to call, and began coughing, putting a hand to her throat when she realised her voice was gone along with the dream.

“I’ll have Tataru prepare something soothing for your throat,” Alphinaud added, and Adalyn flopped back against her pillows.

Even if seeing Nidhogg had been chilling… she would have liked to have kept her voice, if only for a little while longer. It didn’t sound like she remembered from the brief Echo vision she’d had of Cid’s past; it was more how she imagined she might sound now, if she were still able to speak. Less heavily Limsan, for one.

Adalyn briefly entertained the idea of going back to sleep before reluctantly getting out of bed, groaning softly. She raked her hair back into its usual braided style, fingers lingering on the metal clasp she’d borrowed from Minfilia what seemed a lifetime ago.

She sighed, finished getting dressed, and headed out to meet the others, trying to shove aside the lingering sensation of Estinien’s presence. It seemed that, while waiting to hear news of where Nanamo was being kept, they were about to face bigger problems.

Bigger, and significantly scalier.

Adalyn stopped dead in the parlour, her eyes wide when she saw Haurchefant waiting for her along with the manor’s other inhabitants. He stood abruptly, and she went running to him, Haurchefant catching her in a hug.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her hair.

“I missed you, too,” Adalyn said as she drew back, looking between the others. Artoirel was very pointedly looking in the other direction, but Emmanellain grinned, giving them a double thumbs-up. “What’s this I hear about dragons?”

“The Observatorium’s bell has tolled,” Artoirel said (Alphinaud had jumped at the chance to translate for Adalyn, at which Haurchefant looked pleased). “The Holy See has ordered Ishgard make ready for battle—”

“A band of trappers returning from the west claim they saw a cloud of dragons big enough to block out the sky itself!” Emmanellain cut in, and Adalyn’s heart sank.

Her connection to the Eye worried her, especially after seeing what it had done to Estinien, but what she’d glimpsed in her dream worried her even more.

“Nidhogg’s minions gather once more for war,” Edmont said, rubbing his chin, “but I would not have you take up arms in another of our conflicts. When first you came to Ishgard, I offered you my protection. If I cannot ensure your safety here, I cannot well accept your aid, much less ask for it.”

Adalyn squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath. “Regardless of how Alphinaud and Tataru feel,” she said, “this is my conflict as well as yours. Moons ago, the Eye chose me to serve alongside Ser Estinien as the second Azure Dragoon.”

Eyes widened, and Emmanellain opened his mouth, but as Adalyn kept signing, Alphinaud shushed him.

“But regardless of my personal stake in the matter, you opened your home to us when we had nowhere else to go. Though I cannot ask the others to fight, I will do whatever I can to help.”

“Hear hear!” Alphinaud said. “I, for one, am tired of running! If we are to shine the light of dawn, we must do so in the sight of our fellow man, not hunkered in a hole. Let it never be said we abandoned our allies in their hour of need.”

“I fully agree,” Tataru said, but she wrung her hands. “Still, Count Fortemps, could my friends and I have a moment to discuss…?”

“Of course, my dear,” Edmont said.

Adalyn caught Haurchefant’s eye as she trailed after Tataru and Alphinaud, giving him a slight shrug as they headed to a more private sitting room, where Alphinaud shut the door behind them.

“What’s on your mind, Tataru?” he asked, not unkindly.

“What exactly can we do?” Tataru said, wringing her hands. “I’m no fighter, but if you stay and fight, and get killed… But what other course do you have? Dragons and men aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“...With certain notable exceptions,” Alphinaud said, and Adalyn’s eyes widened.

It took Tataru another moment before she gasped. “You don’t mean… Iceheart?”

“...It might be doable,” Adalyn said thoughtfully. “We met again, recently, and she lamented lowering Ishgard’s defenses… said it wasn’t supposed to be a slaughter…” She paused, gnawing her lip as she thought back to the conversation. “And from what I understand, she left Dravania on good terms with Hraesvelgr, one of the First Brood.”

“So there’s hope,” Alphinaud said, a gleam in his eye. “If we can persuade Iceheart to act as our intermediary, we may yet be able to convince Nidhogg to abandon his bloody course.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure ab—” Adalyn began, when someone rapped on the door.

It was Haurchefant. “Adalyn?” he asked softly, and her eyes widened when she realised the niggling that remained in the back of her mind wasn’t a holdover from her dream. “Ser Estinien came calling for you; shall I show him in?”

She, Alphinaud, and Tataru looked at one another. In an instant, Adalyn made her decision.

“Please,” Adalyn said. “I think he’ll want to hear this.”

Estinien looked wholly out of place in the opulent manor, and he remained standing near the window, his arms folded as he listened to Alphinaud describe their plan.

He let out a humourless chuckle when Alphinaud got to his idea of parleying with Nidhogg. “Well, then,” he said, turning to look at them. His expression was inscrutable behind his helm. “If there is to be a meeting, I would accompany you. Even with your intermediary, Nidhogg’s bloodrage may render him deaf to reason. However, the mere attempt may afford our forces precious time to prepare.”

His head turned slightly towards Adalyn.

She nodded. “And in the event we are unable to persuade him, I’d like to think the two of us together should be able to… end things.”

Estinien’s mouth quirked in the ghost of a smile. “Did I not say, Warrior of Light? With the both of us bound by common cause, there is naught that could stand in our way.”

“Well, if we are to risk a face-to-face meeting with the dread wyrm, I for one would feel safer in the company of the Azure Dragoons,” Alphinaud said, folding his arms thoughtfully. “However, I should ask that we only resort to violence if my words failed to find their mark. Is this acceptable?”

“Perfectly,” Estinien said. His mouth thinned. “I shall assume Iceheart enjoys similar diplomatic protection until instructed otherwise.” He was quiet for a moment, and Adalyn got the sense he was choosing his next words with care. “A word of advice: think carefully before divulging the particulars of this plan to Ser Aymeric. ‘Twould not do to have the lord commander accused of consorting with heretics.”

“Indeed,” Alphinaud said softly. “I thank you for your council, Estinien. We shall be honoured to have you with us.”

Estinien gave a jerky nod. “I am glad to be of service.”

“Right, then!” Alphinaud said, and clasped his hands together. “Even should we succeed in winning Iceheart to our cause, our plans for parley will swiftly come to naught should the Holy See decide to strike first against the Horde. We must petition the lord commander’s aid ere we set forth.”

Adalyn groaned, even though she knew the lad was right.

Alphinaud nodded. “I only hope that Ser Aymeric will be willing to muzzle Ishgard’s forces on the strength of our vague assurances.”

“If such a request were to come from the Warrior of Light,” Estinien said, shooting Adalyn a hard look, “I see no reason why he would have cause to deny her.”

Adalyn made a face at him. “Maybe because he’s a scheming bastard who has manipulated us in the past?”

Estinien let out a bark of laughter. “He’s a bastard, I’ll grant you that much,” he said, “but I have it on good authority he’s fond of you, if you can imagine that.”

“Whose authority? Haurchefant’s?”

Estinien smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I will say this for your plan: it will make keeping secrets from the Holy See almost entertaining.”

Alphinaud cleared his throat. “If we’re in agreement,” he said, “let us inform Count Edmont we have a plan, and then Adalyn, Estinien, and I will make for the Seat of the Lord Commander with all due haste.”

“And I’ll stay here and keep up the search for the missing Scions,” Tataru said brightly. “And now that we know the sultana is alive, I’m sure we’ll be hearing word of that before long, too!”

Haurchefant and Adalyn took the opportunity of the others’ distraction to slip away to the kitchen so Adalyn could snag a slice of the trapper’s quiche the others had for breakfast.

“We’d thought you could do with a bit of a lie-in,” Haurchefant said softly, sitting at the table with Adalyn while she wolfed down her food.

“It’s appreciated,” she said as she ate. “Dreams have been weird as of late.”

“How so?”

Adalyn paused, setting her fork down. Her fingers hesitated as she tried to decide what to say. “I think my connection to the Eye is getting stronger,” she finally said. “I dreamt of the Horde last night, just the way Emmanellain described it. And although I’ve been trying to ignore it, I’ve been getting better at sensing Estinien’s presence, especially when he is close by.”

Haurchefant’s eyebrows flew up at that. “Forgive me, but that is utterly fascinating,” he murmured. “Never before have there been two Azure Dragoons in a single generation; if the two of you shall be accompanying Master Alphinaud on this journey he’s planning, I’m sure you will have much and more to discuss.” He grinned broadly, and Adalyn groaned, already knowing what he was going to say. “Just imagine, if the two of you already have such a strong bond—”

Adalyn kissed him; mostly to shut him up, but she had been missing him. “Tell me, Haurchefant,” she said, when she drew back, “why are you so fascinated with the idea of me being with another man?”

“Or woman,” Haurchefant said breezily, and Adalyn’s cheeks burned as her thoughts jumped unbidden to Ser Lucia. “I do tease because it’s fun to see that lovely blush of yours,” Haurchefant said, reaching up to cup her cheek. “But also because I do not desire you to feel… tied down by me. Your adventures take you to all sorts of amazing places, and you’ll meet so many amazing people. Which is not to say I wouldn’t be overjoyed should you keep returning to me,” he added, and Adalyn let out a huff of laughter. “But should anyone else catch your eye, I certainly don’t want you to hold back on my account.”

“Is this your way of saying you’ve met someone?” Adalyn asked.

Haurchefant’s eyes widened. “Perish the thought! No, my thoughts are still quite consumed by you.”

“Flatterer.”

“‘Tis hardly flattery if it is the truth,” Haurchefant said. He traced his finger over Adalyn’s cheekbone, letting his hand fall to squeeze her knee. Once, twice, three times.

Adalyn covered his hand with her own, leaving her other free to sign. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “once we return from our journey, you and I can discuss this properly. I’m not… opposed to the idea. But right before running off to stop a war hardly seems the right moment.”

Haurchefant laughed softly, stealing a brief kiss from her. “Then I eagerly await your safe return,” he murmured.

They were ushered into Aymeric’s office, and the Lord Commander positively beamed at their arrival. Adalyn was genuinely unsure if he was happy to see them, or putting on a very good act.

Fine. Maybe she would give him the benefit of the doubt… but only because Haurchefant trusted the man. Certainly not because a pretty elezen smiled at her.

“Unlike the visitors we have amassing outside our walls, may I say that you are most welcome here?” Aymeric said. By his shoulder, Lucia shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye.

“That depends,” Adalyn said, and Aymeric sat forward, watching her intently, “on if I can say you don’t need to lay it on thick on my account?”

Alphinaud’s eyes widened, and he stammered, either unwilling or unable to translate at speed, but Aymeric laughed softly, sitting back in his seat.

“And if I were to say that your presence was, in fact, a genuinely welcome sight?” he signed, his ‘accent’ oddly similar to Estinien’s. He smiled when Adalyn raised her eyebrows at him. “With war looming on the horizon, the Warrior of Light shall always be welcome here.”

Despite herself, Adalyn felt her mouth twitch. “Well, then—if I were to say we believe we have a chance to stop this war before it can resume in earnest?”

“Now who’s laying it on thick?” Estinien muttered.

But Aymeric folded his arms in surprise, his eyebrows flying up. “Go on,” he said slowly.

“I can divulge little at this time,” Alphinaud said, “but I must nevertheless request that you advise the Holy See to refrain from launching any…” He waved a hand. “Preemptive sorties whilst we seek to put our plans in motion.”

Aymeric frowned, and Adalyn’s heart sank. “I will gladly lend my support to any endeavour that could spare the blood of my countrymen—but I would know more of the cause you would have me champion. Will you not share aught of this mysterious undertaking?” His gaze flickered towards Estinien.

But Estinien shook his head. “Know that I have offered my lance to aid in this endeavour. I cannot claim that its success is assured, but our actions should serve to delay Nidhogg’s advance at the very least.” He scoffed. “Which is more than can be said for the ill-conceived counterattack advocated by the See’s more vocal crusaders. They offer glorious death, but little hope of victory.”

“Aye,” Aymeric agreed. “Their proposal does not inspire confidence. Our resources should rightly be spent shoring up the city’s defenses.”

“You claimed to have followed my exploits eagerly in the past,” Adalyn said, and Aymeric inclined his head. “So know you full well what I am capable of. I say this not to boast, but to make you remember I have faced odds innumerable before and triumphed handily.” She glanced at Estinien. “And with the both of us together, Estinien believes—and I believe—we have a very good chance of succeeding. All I ask is you have faith.”

Aymeric’s expression softened as he looked between them. “The Azure Dragoon and the Warrior of Light, sallying forth to face the dread wyrm Nidhogg…”

He closed his eyes, falling silent as he bowed his head. Adalyn shifted from foot to foot, glancing up at Estinien—wondering yet again just on whose authority he had it that Aymeric was, as he put it, fond of her.

Standing next to him now was like being beside an open flame, the heat in her chest rekindled in full force. She didn’t know what to make of it, and wondered if he felt it as well.

At last, Aymeric opened his eyes. “I must admit, the mere thought does much to dispel my misgivings,” he said, and Alphinaud’s breath hitched at his words. “Go, then—carry out your plan. I shall do what I can for you within the Holy See.”

“Thank you, Ser Aymeric,” Alphinaud said, and bowed; neither Adalyn nor Estinien followed suit. “Your faith in us shall not be misplaced.”

“Take care in your… endeavour,” Aymeric said, and smiled faintly. “I shall be eagerly awaiting your safe return.”

When they left, Adalyn heard Lucia say quietly as the doors shut, “Very subtle, Aymeric.”

She glanced at Estinien, wondering if he, too, had heard, but if he did, his stony expression gave nothing away. She couldn’t stop turning Aymeric’s parting words over in her mind—words that were a near-echo of Haurchefant’s.

Chapter Text

They decided that, barring any other leads, the best place to start the search for Iceheart would be the last place Adalyn had met her, and so she, Alphinaud, and Estinien set off for the western highlands, teleporting to Falcon’s Nest and heading north.

“Is it particularly far, this mill?” Alphinaud called over the wind.

“Chased the heretics through the night,” Adalyn signed over her shoulder. “We’ll be walking a ways.”

She’d decided to stick with her dragoon armour for their quest, however long it took; two Azure Dragoons of Ishgard on a diplomatic mission would be a better look than one, even if it might initially be met with hostility.

And if said hostility devolved into bloodshed, well, it was as a dragoon she’d been trained to fight dragons. Pick the right tool for the job, after all.

By the time they reached the mill, night had already fallen, and they pressed on by the light of the flame Adalyn conjured in her hand.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Alphinaud asked as Adalyn led them to the basement.

“Anything,” Estinien said, and paused in front of a scattered pile of papers. Adalyn saw his shoulders seem to slump, but then he stooped, beginning to gather them off the floor. “Though their writings would be a good place to start.”

Adalyn broke down several rickety pieces of furniture to use as firewood, and with Alphinaud watching curiously, she showed him how to arrange the tinder, kindling, and fuel in the fireplace before breathing on the flame she called to her hand, setting the wood ablaze. Down in the basement, outside of the biting wind, it was surprisingly cosy, and Adalyn removed her helmet, setting it aside as she curled up on a pile of straw to leaf through the letters.

Alphinaud settled beside her, and she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair as they read.

The fire was starting to burn low when she felt the boy’s head drop onto her shoulder, narrowly missing the spikes there. Adalyn gingerly lifted him off of her so as not to wake him, and settled him in the straw, where he promptly cuddled up against her side.

She stifled a laugh, not wanting the motion to disturb him, and quietly clicked her tongue to get Estinien’s attention. He seemed grateful for the distraction as he lifted his head immediately.

“Could you add more fuel to the fire?” she asked. “I would do it myself, but I seem to be trapped by a little lordling.”

Estinien chuckled and set his papers aside, getting up to tend the fire. Adalyn sighed and closed her eyes briefly, smiling as the warmth in the room grew.

“Thank you,” she said.

“...You are welcome.”

Adalyn tilted her head. “Your accent,” she said, and she could almost picture Estinien raising an eyebrow behind his visor. “It’s very similar to Aymeric’s.”

Estinien let out a quiet huff of laughter. “‘Twould be because I’m the one who taught him,” he said, and he nodded when Adalyn’s eyes went huge. “He wished to speak with the famed Warrior of Light on her own terms, and if I ever considered anyone a friend, he’d be the closest thing.”

Adalyn nodded slowly, giving Estinien a shrewd look. “So ‘tis your authority that informed you he is, as you put it, ‘fond’ of me.”

“Took you long enough. Aye.” Estinien crossed his arms, realised he wouldn’t be able to sign, and uncrossed them again. “He’s quite determined to win your trust. I’m not about to attempt to change your mind, but I should say there are far worse people to trust than Aymeric.”

It was only through context that Adalyn guessed what Estinien’s name sign for the lord commander was supposed to be; instead of spelling out Aymeric’s name, he swiped his finger across the ear that Aymeric always wore his cuff on.

She raised an eyebrow at this, and Estinien cleared his throat.

“You two are close indeed,” Adalyn said.

“We have papers to read through,” Estinien said pointedly, and rapped the back of his hand against his stack of letters for emphasis.

Adalyn’s grin just widened, and she went back to her reading, though occasionally, she kept glancing back up at Estinien. The heat she could feel was only rising in her chest, and she jolted suddenly when the heat crescendoed into blind rage.

Estinien looked up sharply at her; Alphinaud mumbled something in his sleep and turned over.

“You sense it, too,” Estinien said, and Adalyn swallowed, nodding. “The lad is so hopeful of our mission succeeding, but you know as well as I that Nidhogg won’t be so easily swayed.”

Nidhogg’s name was a vicious thing, like hatred and flame combined.

“I feel his rage all the stronger,” Adalyn said, biting her lip. “Ever since we left Ishgard. It… terrifies me.”

“The Warrior of Light, scared?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” Adalyn looked down at Alphinaud, her heart aching. “I was scared, facing down my first few primals, and even now there are times I wonder if the next one might be the one where I fail. I was terrified for Alphinaud and the other Scions when the banquet turned to hell. And…” She looked back up at Estinien. “And as Nidhogg’s rage grows, I’m scared of what happened to you happening to me, too.”

Estinien shook his head. “We know the risks, now,” he said. “And we know how to prevent it. We remember our training. We forge ahead. And when the time comes, we shall face Nidhogg together.”

Adalyn nodded. She hesitated. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“...That depends.”

“Your name,” Adalyn said. “In Sign, I mean. What is it?”

Estinien’s head turned towards the fire. “Ash,” he said, his fingers flicking like he was trying to rid them of soot residue. “Because when Nidhogg slaughtered my family, leaving me the only survivor, I was found covered in the stuff, and couldn’t speak from breathing too much in. Before I properly learned Sign, I was unable to tell Alberic my name, so he called me thusly.”

“That seems…” Adalyn trailed off.

“Practical.”

“I was going to say cruel.”

Estinien shrugged. “Call it what you like. ‘Tis my name. Use it or not, it makes no difference to me…” He smirked. “Though if you’re going to insist on spelling my name out every time, I suggest you just stick with ‘E’ and save us both the trouble.”

Adalyn let out a huff of laughter. “Very well. ‘Ash’ it is.”

Estinien nodded, and inclined his head. “I suppose I ought to ask you yours in turn.”

Adalyn shrugged. “I don’t have one,” she said. “Aside from you, Haurchefant and Alberic are the only ones I’ve spoken with extensively in Sign.”

Estinien studied her for a long moment, to the point that Adalyn began to shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. At last, he touched two fingers to his brow before half-closing his hand twice. “Hope.”

“...Hope? I…” Adalyn swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t. Either continue reading, or rest. I’ll keep vigil.”

Adalyn nodded, picking up her forgotten sheaf of parchment. “Thank you.”

Estinien just grunted in response, but when Adalyn next glanced up from her letters, his mouth held the faintest traces of a smile.

Adalyn wholly blamed Estinien revealing Aymeric’s name sign for her dream that night. She wasn’t just watching; she was Estinien, as he fucked Aymeric into the mattress, the lord commander muffling his cries against the pillow as Estinien's hips snapped forward, driving deep with each thrust.

Even in her dream, she got the sense Estinien was holding himself back, afraid of hurting his lover, even as he bent his head to bite Aymeric’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Aymeric’s gasp—of pain, of pleasure—his face contorted as he reached behind him, seeking Estinien’s hand, their fingers twined together—lingered in Adalyn’s mind far more than she would have liked, to the point that Alphinaud openly asked if she was feeling alright over breakfast.

Adalyn inhaled her coffee and began choking until Estinien reached over and thumped her soundly on the back. She’d never been gladder for his visor; she didn’t think she could look him in the eye.

Haurchefant would tease her mercilessly if he knew.

They found in the heretics’ letters that a purple signal fire near the Dreaming Dragon was their way of arranging a meeting, and so they set out to do just that, trudging back through the endless blizzard in search of the frozen lake.

“‘Tis said that the Azure Dragoon of five hundred years past slew a dragon of gigantic proportions, and its body landed in the lake,” Estinien said as they walked. “Over time, ash from the neverending war settled over the remains and petrified them, leaving an island in its place…”

Adalyn found herself getting distracted from the history lesson, her eyes focused far too intently on the way his mouth moved, and her thoughts kept drifting back to her dream. Something conjured up by some degenerate corner of her imagination—but it had felt so real.

When they reached their destination, she was the first to volunteer for the task of collecting the yak fur needed to colour the flames’ smoke. She set off to do just that, leaving Estinien expressing his incredulity that Alphinaud had never gathered firewood before.

Once she was finally away, Adalyn took the chance to catch her breath. No, she decided, it wasn’t her fault—it was Haurchefant’s, for putting the idea of other partners in her mind in the first place.

She had a godsforsaken war to put an end to, and here she was, daydreaming like an infatuated schoolgirl.

“Get it together, Keene,” she mouthed to herself, and went in search of fur.

“I should have known it would be you.”

They turned away from the signal fire at the sound of Iceheart’s voice.

Adalyn flipped her visor up, ignoring the look she could feel Estinien giving her. “Iceheart,” she mouthed, signing along so the others could understand her. “‘Tis good to see you again.”

Iceheart raised an eyebrow. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. Why are you here?”

“Isn’t it clear?” Adalyn gestured behind her at the fire. “We wished to speak with you.”

“You seek to stem the Dravanian tide with talk, you mean,” Iceheart said, and Adalyn spread her hands. Iceheart chuckled. “A romantic notion. If you but knew the truth—the spark which lit the flames of this animosity—you would understand the futility of your quest.” She closed her eyes. “Shall I relate it to you? The sordid history my gift has shown me? That which the Holy See has taken such pains to suppress?”

“You have mentioned it before,” Adalyn said, “but I’d like to hear it in full, rather than in these half-hints you keep dropping.”

Iceheart’s expression was grave. “‘Twas more than a millennium past when an elezen tribe first sought to claim the lands of Coerthas as its home,” she said softly. “Unfortunately for them, Coerthas was already home to dragonkind, and they were not inclined to make way for the invaders. Thus did a bloody war begin—a war which might well have rumbled on until one or the other side was exterminated, had it not been for the resolve of a single woman.”

“Shiva.”

“Indeed,” Iceheart said, and began to tell them the tale of Shiva and Hraesvelgr, who found love amidst the war but knew that, with Shiva’s lifespan, such love could not last.

“Unable to bear the thought of their separation, the maid bid the wyrm consume her, that their spirits might be entwined for eternity.”

Alphinaud looked pale; Adalyn’s mouth fell open, and she was glad for her visor that hid most of her expression.

Estinien's was, as ever, inscrutable.

According to Iceheart, at least, the deed brought an end to the war, and man and dragon learned to live in peace for nigh on two hundred years, until a band of knights, seeking to claim the power of the dragons for themselves, decided to take it by force and cut out Nidhogg’s eye.

“And until he prises it from the hands of the traitors’ progeny, no amount of conciliatory words will stay his fury.”

Adalyn had never let herself linger on the wyrm’s rage before; after seeing Estinien consumed with the beast’s hatred, she didn’t dare seek out that connection she shared with Nidhogg, but even from what little she’d glimpsed, something didn’t seem quite right. The rage ran deeper than that.

Estinien shifted beside her, shaking his head. “You are wrong, Lady Iceheart,” he said, and they turned to look at him. “Lest you misunderstand, I do not doubt your vision of the past—’tis true that Nidhogg greatly desired to reclaim the Eye. Indeed, it was for that very reason that I kept it with me as I roamed the land, attempting to draw him away from the city.”

He reached into the aether, and Adalyn recoiled as he drew forth a familiar crimson orb.

“Good gods,” Alphinaud breathed.

“Estinien,” Adalyn said slowly, “don’t tell me you stole that again.”

Estinien shook his head. “After that particular incident, Aymeric pulled some strings. He claimed, not untruthfully, that Nidhogg had fixed his sights on the city itself, rather than on the reclamation of his eye. With this in my possession, my connection—and Adalyn’s—to the wyrm is only strengthened.”

“And you didn’t think this important to mention earlier?” Adalyn demanded.

“I had thought you already knew,” Estinien said, unconcerned. “When we discussed how Nidhogg’s rage grew stronger since our departure from the city, it seemed clear enough to me you had sensed it, too.”

“And if one of us were to lose control—?”

“And I told you I am in full capacity of my mind—”

Iceheart folded her arms. “So if not for the Eye,” she cut in, “you believe he targets the capital for another reason?”

“I believe reason has all but left him,” Estinien said quietly. “Through the Eye, Adalyn and I can feel much of what Nidhogg feels. The dragon’s thirst for vengeance will not be quenched by aught less than a sea of blood.”

He held the Eye out to Adalyn. She hesitated before reaching out to put a hand on it; she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it was glassy and cool, as if carved from crystal. She closed her eyes—

Rage shot through her, and she staggered back, snatching her hand away with a gasp.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud asked, reaching out a hand to steady her.

Her heart was pounding, her breathing ragged. “I’m… I’m fine. But it is as Estinien said. I have caught glimpses into Nidhogg’s mind in my dreams as well. I didn’t dare think too closely on it, lest I make myself vulnerable to his influence… but I’m forced to agree. Nidhogg is lost to reason.”

Alphinaud looked not dismayed, but thoughtful. “If not Nidhogg, then… might we not seek an audience with Hraesvelgr instead? He has thus far shown no inclination to aid in the invasion of Ishgard, and may yet welcome our efforts to broker a peace.”

Iceheart scoffed. “You still believe that a peaceable solution can be found?”

“Is that not what you and your followers wished for?” Adalyn pointed out. “For man and dragon to live together in peace once more?”

Iceheart gave her a long, hard look. At long last, something seemed to softed. “Very well. I will take you to him.” She tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. “Our road will lead us to Dravania, and from there we shall ascend unto the clouds, where Hraesvelgr resides…”

Hope relit in Adalyn’s chest; for the first time since they’d set out, she really believed they had a chance at succeeding.

She staggered, dropping to one knee in the snow, her limbs wracked with sudden weakness even as strength seemed to course through her body.

When her vision cleared, Alphinaud had caught her arms once more, his small face pinched with worry. “Adalyn? Is aught amiss?”

Curious, Midgardsormr rumbled in her mind. The vestiges of thy mistress’ blessing are not as faint as once they were.

You mean this was not your doing? Adalyn asked, trying to steady her breathing.

Nay. Thy will to succeed grants thee unusual fortitude, and you have reclaimed a part of the Blessing of Light. But will it be enough…? She heard the dragon laugh, his voice fading.

“I’m fine,” Adalyn said again. She took a deep breath. “Warrior of Light stuff…”

A hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see Estinien waiting for her. She grasped his wrist, and he pulled her to her feet.

“Well then, Warrior of Light,” he said, a slightly teasing note to his voice, “if you are done collapsing on us, let us continue west, to the land of the dragons.”

As Iceheart turned away, he lowered his voice. “But be on your guard. With the mistress of heretics as our guide, we may yet find that we are being led to our graves.”

Chapter Text

Iceheart—or Ysayle, as she introduced herself to them—led them to the Dravanian forelands, where the trees that clung to the rocky foothills of Abalathia’s Spine arched overhead, their roots as thick as their trunks themselves forming natural archways that dragons could fly through.

But there wasn’t a dragon in sight, not a one—but that didn’t mean they weren’t nearby.

Estinien caught Adalyn glancing repeatedly towards the horizon, and he nodded. “So you sense them, too,” he said, his voice low. “The Horde gathers westward.”

“I expect we’ll be seeing dragons ere long,” Adalyn said.

“Aye.” Estinien’s head turned toward the horizon to follow her gaze. “But should they wish to challenge two Azure Dragoons together, they are more than welcome to try.”

They decided to head for Tailfeather first, a small trapping and trading outpost, where they could gather information and seek lodgings for the night.

From asking around, it seemed that the dragons weren’t the only threat to the area; recently, the local beastmen, the insectlike Gnath, had been growing more aggressive, attacking travellers even in broad daylight.

Adalyn wondered over dinner just how long it would be until they uncovered the existence of yet another primal, and she would have to kill that one, too. Her stomach lurched at the thought of leaving Bismarck to continue absorbing aether from the land, and she set her spoon down, burying her head in her hands.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud asked, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Would you like the list in alphabetical order, or chronological?” Adalyn asked, not lifting her head off of one hand.

She heard Estinien shift in his seat, the mechanical snikt of his armour’s spikes as they unfolded themselves when he rose.

“Come, Warrior of Light,” he said, and Adalyn lifted her head just in time to catch her spear when he tossed it at her. “Moping into your stew does nobody any good. I challenge you to our rematch.”

Damn that man. He somehow knew exactly what to say to drag her out of her foul mood. Adalyn would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t been looking forward to testing herself against him. She stuffed the last of her bread into her mouth, jumped to her feet, and shoved her helmet back onto her head.

“Trust a pair of dragoons to find hitting one another with pointed sticks their idea of a good time,” Ysayle muttered. “I shall stay here and watch your meals go cold.”

“Might I come along?” Alphinaud asked eagerly. “I feel I have a lot to learn from observing how you fight.”

Adalyn replaced her spear on her back and gestured for him to follow, grinning broadly.

“This is something I’ve been looking forward to,” Estinien said, and Adalyn nodded, pounding her fist into her opposite palm. “With my thoughts clear, ours shall be a much more even match.”

“Bold words from a man who has already lost once before.”

“Bold words from a dragoon whose training is but a fraction of my own,” Estinien shot over his shoulder.

Adalyn laughed silently, falling into step beside him as they left the hunting lodge in search of a good location to conduct their duel.

They found a large clearing amidst the foothills, surrounded by the enormous roots of the trees that stretched heavensward, with plenty of shattered boulders to make the terrain interesting but not cumbersome. Adalyn and Estinien took up positions on opposite sides of the clearing, Alphinaud perching on one of the boulders and looking on with interest.

“‘Til one of us yields?” Estinien called, and Adalyn nodded.

“Let’s be careful not to hurt our spectator, shall we?” she said, flipping her visor down and drawing her spear.

Alphinaud chuckled. “It would be most appreciated, thank you!”

The clearing fell silent as Estinien and Adalyn sized one another up. Though he was nearly a fulm taller than she, she knew the same strength coursed in her veins, and while he had years of training and experience to back him up, her own raw, supernatural talent would be more than a match for him.

Estinien struck first, shooting across the clearing like a missile, and Adalyn leapt over his attack, soaring higher and higher even as he, too, kicked off from the ground. As she twisted in midair, he met her, sparks flying from their lances as they traded blows. The sounds of steel rang out in the night, and then it was silent as Adalyn landed—and Estinien dived.

She rolled out of the way, unhindered by her armour’s smaller spikes, and Estinien landed lightly on his feet, aether gathering around his lance. He hurled it forward, and Adalyn leapt again, twisting out of the way; she could feel the heat even through her armour as it passed a hair’s breadth behind her.

Adalyn landed atop one of the massive roots as Estinien called his lance back to his hand and leapt after her.

The root was broad enough they didn’t even have to balance as they fought; Adalyn began to laugh when she realised just how evenly matched they were, though Estinien remained grimly silent, focused completely on their battle.

He hooked the shaft of his lance behind Adalyn’s ankle, and she went tumbling from the root to land flat on her back with a crash that sent birds taking flight. Barely winded, she made to get up, only for Estinien to land beside her, the tip of his lance hovering over her chest.

“Yield,” he growled.

By way of response, Adalyn kicked upwards with enough force that the lance sparked off her own breastplate; her kick connected solidly with Estinien’s stomach, and he was launched into the sky.

He didn’t lose his grip on his weapon, and when Adalyn leapt after him, he was ready to parry her strike. The sheer power of her attack sent him flying backwards into one of the tree’s massive trunks, which he kicked off from, flames flickering around his weapon once more.

Adalyn bared her teeth when she realised she wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time, and she braced herself for the hit. The shockwave that erupted upon impact ruffled the very boughs, and it was her turn to be sent careening into a tree—but she seized Estinien’s lance in hand, ripping it from his grasp as she was blasted away.

He landed on a root below, waiting patiently for her to drop, and when she did, hurling his lance to the ground yalms below, he ducked inside her reach to punch her squarely in the jaw.

The sheer audacity startled Adalyn, the blow rattling her enough that she lost her grip on her own weapon, but she recovered quickly, driving her shoulder into Estinien’s ribs and using her lower centre of gravity to unbalance him. They fell, the both of them scrabbling to get the upper hand, and landed on the ground with Adalyn’s knees locked around Estinien’s neck and his forearm blade pressed beneath her chin, other hand gripping the back of her helmet so she couldn’t pull away.

For a very, very long moment, they lay there, Adalyn atop Estinien’s chest and hardly daring to breathe, feeling his own breath coming in ragged gasps against her thigh.

“Call it a draw, then?” Estinien finally panted, and Adalyn managed a small noise of agreement, loosening her grip. Estinien let go, and she scrambled off him, hastening to stand. She offered him her hand, and after a moment of looking at it, he clasped her forearm.

They heard applause, and turned to see Alphinaud standing as well, a broad smile on his face. “I do say, that was quite the impressive display!” he said, hopping down from his perch and moving to retrieve their fallen spears. He brought the weapons to their owners, still beaming. “I feel quite privileged to have borne witness to it.”

“Good match,” Adalyn said to Estinien, who nodded.

“I can scarce remember the last time I was challenged so,” he said. “Let it not be said you are undeserving of the title, lass.”

“I’m honoured that you think so,” she said, giving him a small bow. “And that I should share the title with one so skilled as you. I can see why they say you are Haldrath reborn.”

“Hmph.” She could feel Estinien giving her another one of those hard looks from behind his helmet. “Seeing as you were the one who took on his visage when last we fought, I think we both know who the more likely one of us that is.”

Adalyn just laughed awkwardly, waving him off. “Shall we return to our suppers?”

Estinien gave her another one of his rare smiles. “After a match like that? I think I could go for seconds.”

Estinien had long since given up on trying to make any sense of his dreams involving the Warrior of Light, from imaginings how she’d received her scars to how her voice might sound were she capable of speech, so when he found himself in Aymeric’s bedchambers not with his lover but with her, he didn’t question when Adalyn drew him in for a fierce kiss.

“It’s those damned thighs of yours,” he growled against her mouth. “Pressing on either side of my head—”

“Would you shut up and take your armour off?” Adalyn said into the kiss, and just like that, his armour was gone, leaving him in his protective undergear that Adalyn hastily set about unlacing, stripping him to the waist.

Dream logic. Better to just go with it—and go with it he did, ripping open the front of Adalyn’s robes as he pushed her back against the wall.

He’d expected her to fight back with as much strength as she’d displayed in their match, but instead she went willingly, with a needy groan as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Oh, fuck, Estinien,” she gasped when his lips closed over her bared breast—another imagining from his dream, surely there was no way they were that large in reality—and her hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place as his tongue teased her nipple. “Don’t hold back on me, now—aaah!”

She was so vocal, so needy, and Estinien grinned against her skin as he kissed his way up her neck, nipping bruises along the way and relishing in the tiny mewls that he drew from her.

“Just—fuck me, take me, use me—” Adalyn’s nails dug into his back with enough force to draw blood from anyone else, and he realised with another thrill that he didn’t need to hold back.

He pulled her off of him, but when Adalyn protested, he put his fingers to her mouth, and she accepted them eagerly. His other hand, he used to tear the rest of her clothing away, and he spun her around to shove her chest against the cold stones of the wall. Her quiet squeal around his fingers went straight to his groin, and the next thing he knew, his own clothes were gone, and he thrust into her from behind, finding her already wet and ready for him.

“Say my name,” he said against the back of her neck, grabbing hold of her hair. He withdrew his fingers from her mouth, wrapping his arm around her waist and finding her clit.

Adalyn bucked back against him with a groan. “Estinien,” she gasped. “Fuck, you feel so good—harder—harder—!”

Her fingers bit into the stones where her hands were braced against the wall, and Estinien heard something crack. He pulled Adalyn’s head back, her cry music to his ears as he bit down on her shoulder.

To claim her as he claimed Aymeric, even though he was certain had they not been holding back in their match, she would have easily bested him—to hear the cries and moans that issued from that beautiful mouth, her lips swollen from the force of their kisses—the bruises that blossomed over her skin in the shape of his teeth—

He didn’t want this dream to end.

When he spilled inside of her, his seed dripping down her thighs as he pulled out (those damn thighs, always those damn thighs), Adalyn turned, her chest heaving as she grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him down for another crushing kiss.

“Bed,” she growled against his mouth, and Estinien couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss at how similar she sounded to him in that moment. “Now.”

Estinien would have gone quite willingly as it was, but it was the way Adalyn pushed him down on the bed, her knees gripping his hips as she ground against him that left him breathless.

The only person he’d ever let take control before was Aymeric, but surely, in this dream, he could allow himself to be vulnerable, to let go.

His back arched as Adalyn raked her nails over his chest, her eyes hungry as she studied the planes of his muscles, and Estinien stiffened beneath her.

“That eager for me again already?” Adalyn murmured, squirming when Estinien grabbed her hips, fingers digging into the firm muscle of her backside.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said—and flipped them over, pinning Adalyn’s hands above her head with one hand, “but you talk too much.”

Adalyn’s laugh was low as she locked her legs around his waist once more, pulling their hips together. “Maybe you should shut up and put that lance of yours to better use.”

Estinien needed no further invitation, lining himself up with her still-dripping slit. He pushed into her in a single thrust, and Adalyn cried out, her back arching, breasts heaving as he withdrew and slammed into her again. The bed shuddered beneath them, the frame threatening to crack from the force of their lovemaking.

No, that was too gentle a word for this raw, primal fucking, the sounds of slapping flesh and breathy moans filling the room. When he came again, Adalyn twisted a hand free to grab his hair, pulling him down for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue, long and dextrous, claimed her mouth as surely as he claimed the rest of her. Her tongue slid against his own, exploring his mouth, her groan lost in the kiss.

He rode her through his orgasm until Adalyn tugged insistently on his hair, pulling his head away.

“I hope you were planning on doing something about the mess,” she whispered, a wicked smile on her face.

The dream shifted, and Estinien was on his back, Adalyn astride his face as his tongue probed inside her, tasting himself mixed with her own slick. She shuddered atop him and threw her head back, her hands splintering the headboard in the throes of her climax.

Estinien turned his head, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her inner thigh, nosing at the apex of her legs while his hands roamed Adalyn’s sides, up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, back down to her hips. She was trembling, and he eased her off his face, settling her beside him.

“Seven hells,” Adalyn said, and gave him a cheeky grin. “If only I could have a dream like this every night.”

Horror swept through Estinien and he woke abruptly, sitting up straighter where he had dozed off against the wall. His eyes found Adalyn in the dark when she, too, jolted awake from the sudden interruption to her dream. They stared at one another in dead silence, neither wanting to give voice to their thoughts first.

It was Adalyn who finally lifted her hand to sign. “We never speak of this again.”

Estinien gave a jerky nod and stood, moving almost noiselessly despite his armour as he slipped out of the lodge. He needed air, and right now he couldn't bear to be in the same room as Adalyn after what they had just shared, dream or no dream. That she had experienced it too made it terrifyingly real... but how real was it when none of it actually transpired?

None of it save the emotions involved, that was. And that was the worst part of it, the attachment. The distraction. The inevitable loss.

Outside, he leapt up onto the rooftop, where he sat, keeping watch for any sign of dragons until the sun rose. 

Chapter Text

Adalyn and Estinien refused to look at one another over breakfast, while getting ready for the day’s travel, while walking on their journey to Anyx Trine. Adalyn ended up falling to the back of the group, listening to Alphinaud chatter animatedly about this fact or that he’d read in the New Eorzean Geographic about Dravania, but her gaze kept flickering to Estinien walking ahead of them beside Ysayle. Their heads were bent in quiet conversation about Vidofnir, the dragon Ysayle hoped to meet with there.

It was still hard to believe Estinien of all people was willing to go along with this plan, but he was a man of his word; although his and Ysayle’s voices occasionally rose in argument, he never once went for his lance.

Unlike the lance he used last night when—

Adalyn cut that particular thought off before it could go any further.

She volunteered to take first watch that night when they reached some crumbling ruins near a river that would serve well as the basis of shelter. Estinien gladly went with Alphinaud to supervise the lad’s latest attempts at gathering firewood, leaving Adalyn to set up camp with Ysayle.

Adalyn tugged the tarpaulin tighter, securing its fastenings, when she felt the other woman’s eyes on her. “What is it?” she asked, frowning slightly.

Ysayle just inclined her head with a knowing smile. “I had wondered at the effects of two people sharing in the Eye’s power,” she said. “You and Ser Estinien are not subtle in the slightest.”

Adalyn’s face burned, and she hastily turned away, paying much more attention to her task than was absolutely necessary, and remained focused when she felt Estinien’s presence approaching.

“I must say,” she heard Alphinaud as they returned with the firewood, “the architecture of these ruins seems Ishgardian in nature. The style, if not quite identical, betrays a definite resemblance.”

Ysayle chuckled as she accepted the firewood from Alphinaud to begin setting it in their constructed pit. “You have a scholar’s eye, Master Alphinaud. This structure is, in fact, over a thousand years old, a remnant of an age when our ancestors and dragonkind lived together in peace.”

Estinien scoffed as he leaned against the leeward wall. “You claim this as evidence of our harmonious past? I was taught that these ruins were constructed by heretics, in honour of your Dravanian masters.”

“Ever the stubborn fool,” Ysayle said, shooting him a dirty look. “How desperately you cling to the false teachings of your beloved Holy See!”

Estinien straightened, squaring his shoulders in a way Adalyn hadn’t seen from him earlier in the day. Her own hackles rose as she felt the spark of rage burn in her chest, and she jumped to her feet, putting an arm in front of him. He growled, and she glared up at him, silently daring him to break his word.

“That is enough, the both of you!” Alphinaud said, stepping in front of Ysayle. He held his hands out, looking between Estinien and Ysale, his eyes narrowed. “You threaten the success of our mission with your bickering! Adalyn, pray reason with these two!”

“Alphinaud is right,” Adalyn said, not lowering her arm. “Whatever it is you were taught…” She looked at Estinien, then to Ysayle. “Or what you learned from your vision… we will find the truth soon enough.”

“Quite!” Alphinaud said when neither one seemed ready to back down. “Lest you forget, our goal is to prevent a war which will claim countless lives. If we are to accomplish this, petty squabbling will help none of us!”

Even from behind his visor, Adalyn could tell Estinien was glaring daggers at Ysayle. She stepped more fully in front of him, forcing him to look down at her.

“If you do not trust in her vision,” she said, “would you at least trust in my own?”

To her surprise, he nodded immediately—a single, jerky movement, but a nod nonetheless.

“There is a likely chance when we meet Hraesvelgr, my Echo will trigger like it did for Ysayle,” she said. “If what I see corroborates her story?”

“If you see anything,” Estinien pointed out, his voice low. “But… very well.” He looked back up at Ysayle. “I will keep my counsel until we have more proof than the word of a heretic.”

Ysayle sniffed and turned away, going back to her task of readying the fire. “You’ll also keep that lance on your back when we reach Anyx Trine, unless you wish to escalate the war further.”

“Believe me,” Estinien growled, “that is the last thing any of us want. On my word to the Warrior of Light, I shall start no fight… only finish it.”

Adalyn looked back up at Estinien, but he had already turned away, making himself as comfortable as he could be propped against the wall, still wearing his armour. She wondered if he ever actually removed it—

Her face flushed at the memory of their shared dream once more, and she hastily leapt to the top of the ruin, perching there to keep her vigil.

“He truly is beyond salvation,” she heard Ysayle sigh from below.

Estinien took the second shift, which afforded them both a merciful amount of overlap where neither had to worry about the other invading their dreams.

But Adalyn knew the moment Alphinaud’s watch was up, for Estinien faded into her dream beside her. She turned her head away, hugging her knees and staring at the swirling mass of dragons that surrounded the thunder-shrouded mountain.

“It would seem the two of us in such close proximity to the Eye together has only served to strengthen our connection,” she said at last.

She still didn’t look, but she heard him settle beside her, heard the quiet click as he removed his helm and set it aside.

“Do you suppose Nidhogg can see us, as well?” she said.

She sensed, rather than heard, him freeze briefly beside her. “Only when we can see him, I would wager,” Estinien said at long last. “Otherwise, he would have reclaimed his eye long ago.”

Adalyn nodded stiffly and risked glancing at Estinien out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her, too, his expression wary.

No, not wary. Uncertain.

But then he caught her looking, and his expression shuttered again.

“I, er,” Adalyn said, and cleared her throat. “At least now we know we have this as a means of communicating if need be.”

“You assume distance won’t affect it,” Estinien said, his voice stiff. “After all, these blasted dreams only started once we set off on this quest.”

"In earnest, perhaps," Adalyn murmured. "But I believe they may have been happening ever since I, too, was chosen by the Eye."

"And what makes you believe that?"

“...Your brother was named Hamignant, wasn’t he?” Adalyn said quietly.

Estinien swung around to look at her. “You saw him, then.” His voice was tired, bitter, and he closed his eyes.

“I saw the day from whence your thirst for vengeance comes,” Adalyn said, her voice going softer still. “Estinien, I’m s—”

“Sorry won’t bring them back from the dead,” Estinien ground out. “They or any others who fell to Nidhogg’s flames. The only thing that’s left for them is to put an end to this war so that no one else has to know the suffering of losing the people they love.” His mouth curled in a bitter smile. “You don’t realise how lucky you are, not having anyone left to lose.”

They lapsed into silence, listening to the discordant song of the Horde in the distance.

At least the nightmare of the present kept those of the past at bay.

The meeting with Vidofnir almost ended in bloodshed scarce a moment after it began, but thankfully, Ysayle was able to ease the tensions between dragon and dragoon—though it was a near thing.

Adalyn was slightly more preoccupied by other matters, namely Alphinaud volunteering her to slay the primal that the Gnath had indeed summoned, in exchange for Vidofnir granting them passage to Sohm Al.

“Ha! Thou believest thy friend equal to the task, where dragons have failed?” Vidofnir laughed, shaking her great white head. “‘Tis beyond thee, mortal. But thou art welcome to try, nonetheless.” And thus saying, she took to the skies once more, her broad wings stirring up dust.

Estinien shook his head, glancing at Adalyn. “Must you now defeat a primal, that we might treat with a wyrm? I’m starting to see how you gained your reputation for surmounting the insurmountable.”

Adalyn just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

Ysayle watched Vidofnir go, dismay on her face. “And so yet another bid for peace ends with bloodshed…” she murmured.

“Surely you know that a primal cannot be suffered to live,” Adalyn said. “Not when their very existence drains the land itself of aether.”

“I speak not of the primal, but of the Gnath who have summoned it,” Ysayle said, turning a cold glare on Adalyn. “What of those who will stand between us and their god?”

Adalyn let out a slow sigh. “There’s no saving them, now,” she said. “Once a primal has tempered someone, they are lost wholly to its will. Their minds are no longer their own, and never will be again.”

“And so once again the task of slaying a primal falls to you,” Alphinaud said. He sighed. “Would that I, too, possessed the Echo…”

Ysayle sighed as well. “At least now the mystery of the Gnath’s newfound belligerence is laid to rest.”

“I would have thought you might applaud them,” Estinien said sourly. “Summoning a primal to further their goals… after all, is that not what you did?”

“I did not reach out to Saint Shiva to further my own ends!” Ysayle snapped. “I desired her strength only to forge anew the peace between man and dragon! But what a fool I am to speak of peace to you—a bloodthirsty savage who murders without thought or compunction!”

“Enough!” Alphinaud cried as Estinien bristled. “Enough, I say! If the Gnath have truly brought forth their deity from the aether, it is up to Adalyn now to defeat it or watch our hopes fall apart!”

“And how lightly you propose the destruction of this god, Master Alphinaud,” Estinien said, his lip curling. “Has it occurred to you that we may be sending the Warrior of Light to her death?”

“No, I—” Alphinaud hesitated, then slumped. “You have the right of it, Estinien.” He turned to Adalyn. “Once again, I have presumed too much of you,” he said. “Pray, forgive me. I…”

Adalyn smiled softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You presumed rightly,” she said. “Don’t you fret. I’ll see this primal slain.”

“...Wait,” Ysayle said. “Adalyn, you need not face this foe alone. I, too, bear the Echo, after all. Let us share this burden together.”

Estinien barked out a laugh. “Do you imagine yourself a second Warrior of Light?”

Adalyn straightened abruptly. “I cannot risk you getting hurt, my lady,” she said. “You know better than most my strength, having faced me in battle as a primal yourself.” She turned to Estinien, her jaw setting as she flipped her visor up, narrowing her eyes at him. “Unless you are suggesting coming with me and getting yourself tempered, stop rising to her bait and stop provoking her, gods damn you. I will go alone.”

“And if this primal is to be your last?” Estinien said, folding his arms.

Adalyn hesitated, recalling her words from the mill’s basement. It was true she was terrified—but only in the quiet moments after battle, whenever she was brutally reminded of how close she came each time to death.

In the moments before, however, her blood positively sang with anticipation of the next fight, the newest challenge. Even as she had groaned at the thought of yet another primal she would be expected to handle alone, a part of her thrilled at the thought.

Ysayle cleared her throat. “At least let me go with you,” she said. “If anything goes wrong, we shall escape together—doubtless the task would be made easier with help.”

“Nothing I say will make you change your mind, will it?”

Ysayle smiled. “Absolutely not. I suggest we get going; the longer we remain here bickering, as you like to call it, the more time we waste in ending this war.”

Chapter Text

“You do not disappoint, Warrior of Light,” Ysayle said, exhaustion in her voice as Adalyn helped her back to their camp, her arm around the elezen’s waist to support her. “I’m starting to see why so many place their faith in you.”

She gave Adalyn a tired smile, exhausted despite the healing magics Adalyn had poured into her after she’d thought to single-handedly challenge Ravana as Shiva… and failed. “Never since we first fought have I seen you draw upon the full extent of your power—and never from afar ‘til this day. You were a marvel to behold, Adalyn.”

Adalyn blushed beneath her helmet, glancing away.

When they returned to camp, Alphinaud was waiting, peering into the forest for any sign of return, and he came running the moment he spotted them. “Adalyn! Lady Ysayle!” he called—before he remembered himself, slowing to a walk the last few fulms. “Thank the Twelve! Are you alright?” he asked, looking worriedly at Ysayle.

She gave him a tired smile. “I am fine, Master Alphinaud, thanks to the Warrior of Light’s ministrations. All I require now is a night of rest.”

Estinien approached at a much more measured pace, giving Ysayle a hard look. “Did the Warrior of Light not say she would be better off going alone?”

Ysayle sighed; Adalyn adjusted her grip on the other woman. “That we survived at all is a miracle,” she murmured.

Estinien just smirked and turned to Adalyn. “I, for one, never doubted you,” he said. “Unlike some. You were gone so long Master Alphinaud here nigh lost his wits with worry. Fretting like a maid for her sweetheart, he was!”

“Estinien!” Alphinaud protested, his pale cheeks flushing pink. “Was that truly necessary?”

Adalyn just grinned and ruffled his hair.

Estinien chuckled as well, smirking at Alphinaud’s obvious embarrassment. “Not truly necessary… but certainly true.”

“A-hem!” Alphinaud said, pulling out from under Adalyn’s hand. “The important thing is, our friends have returned to us, and our end of the bargain with Vidofnir is fulfilled,” he said. “We shall return to Anyx Trine come the morrow.”

He turned to go back to the camp; when he was out of earshot, Ysayle gave Estinien a reproachful look. “You are unkind, Estinien. For all his experience and intellect, Alphinaud is still but a boy. ‘Tis natural for him to feel concern for his companions.”

Estinien shrugged. “You really should have seen him fretting; ‘twas rather amusing.”

Ysayle pursed her lips. “Tease him no more. Master Alphinaud is to be applauded for his sense of responsibility. Given his years, ‘tis little wonder the burden weighs heavy on his shoulders.”

Estinien looked to Adalyn for help; she lifted her free shoulder in a shrug.

“I think I must agree with Ysayle on this,” she said. “Especially after you put the fear of my possible failure in the lad.”

Estinien sighed. “I can see I am outnumbered,” he muttered. “Very well; I’ll apologize to him.”

Adalyn smiled as she watched Estinien go, then glanced at Ysayle. “Let’s get you comfortable, shall we?”

Ysayle grumbled to herself as she allowed Adalyn to help her to her bedroll, getting as comfortable as was possible given their rather primitive camp. “Truly, aside from your connection through the Eye, I don’t understand how you can even stand that man’s presence.”

Adalyn could only offer her a wan smile. “Sometimes, I wonder much the same.”

Up past creeping vines, through fire and fury, they climbed higher, the dragons growing ever more aggressive. Adalyn cleared the way, Estinien hot on her heels, Alphinaud and Ysayle bringing up the rear—

The moment they felled Tioman, Adalyn dropped to one knee, her hand clutching at her breast as grief and rage tore through her.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud asked, desperate in his desire to reassure himself she was alright.

“‘Twould seem Tioman is the last,” Estinien managed, his own hand clenched over his chest.

And then—

White-hot fury and rage sang through them.

“Nidhogg,” Estinien gasped, his hand curling around his lance. “He roars.”

“He knows we are here, then?” Ysayle demanded.

“His fury,” Estinien managed. “It bleeds through the Eye.”

Adalyn staggered to her feet, her head turning sharply towards Estinien.

He smiled, though it looked thin. “Fear not,” he said. “I am yet my own master.”

“So long as you are certain,” Adalyn said.

Even from behind his visor, Estinien looked pale.

Adalyn didn’t feel much better, herself.

When they emerged at the top of Sohm Al, the sight that greeted them was the stuff of legends. An aether storm raged amidst the floating islands, leven striking between clouds, the purple waves of energy threatening to rend reality itself. The magnificent ruins of an earlier civilisation stretched into the sky, the once pristine stones worn by time, but made no less grand by the passing of the years.

“It’s… beautiful,” Alphinaud murmured, and Adalyn’s hand settled between his shoulders.

“‘Tis truly the stuff of legend,” Estinien agreed softly. “We are the first mortals to lay eyes on such a sight in…” He trailed off. “The gods know how long.”

He glanced at Adalyn as Alphinaud and Ysayle turned away to keep walking. “Can you feel it?” he murmured, and Adalyn closed her eyes, bowing her head.

Nidhogg’s rage was potent, almost tangible, now. They were close enough she could taste it.

She nodded.

Estinien touched her shoulder, but a moment later, let his hand fall.

They needed no more words.

The air above the clouds was colder even than that which Adalyn had experienced in Camp Cloudtop, and she shivered, calling flames to her fingers to warm her breath before breathing on the firewood Alphinaud had proudly collected and arranged all by himself.

With the fire to warm them, the magnificent, wondrous sky overhead, it was like so many nights she’d spent in the Shroud, back when she was an adventurer trying to make her way in a world that had forgotten her.

Adalyn smiled, closing her eyes as she listened to Alphinaud describing how he had found the firewood just like Estinien had taught him. Estinien made small grunts of acknowledgement while he prepared their supper, but he never once told the lad to stop talking.

In this quiet moment of peace, she could almost ignore the swell of rage that simmered in her heart.

Where did she end and the dragon begin? She didn’t want to think about it, but the closer they drew to Hraesvelgr and the inevitable confrontation with Nidhogg, she knew she and Estinien would have to be careful, lest they get overwhelmed and consumed.

She felt eyes on her, and looked up to see Estinien watching her as he tipped the prepared vegetables into their cook pot.

“You look like you’re deep in thought,” Ysayle said, settling beside Adalyn.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. The only person she felt would truly understand her concerns was Estinien, and even then, he had made it clear his own view on the matter. Killing Nidhogg was all that mattered.

Ysayle sighed and tipped her head back, looking up at the umbral storm that swirled overhead, shot through with crackles of blue levin. The massive ruins of Zenith—their destination come the morning—stood tall and proud, silhouetted against the sky. “It truly is an awe inspiring sight,” she murmured, to which Adalyn could only nod in agreement.

“This place is far from the barren mountaintop I had pictured in my mind,” Estinien said.

Ysayle’s gentle smile instantly vanished. “Well, dragoon? Do you believe these ruins were also built by heretics to deceive the faithful of Ishgard?”

Estinien’s jaw set, and he was silent for a long moment. “Never would I have believed so much land lay hid above the clouds,” he said at long last. “Dravania is… not as I imagined it.” He turned away to prod at the stew.

Ysayle just shook her head. “How can one not be moved by such a breathtaking sight?” she asked, and Alphinaud let out a quiet sigh of agreement.

“It truly is magnificent,” he said. “Though I cannot help bit feel the fates make mock of us. To be so close…” He frowned, looking up at the ruins.

Adalyn whistled quietly to get his attention. “One more day,” she said when he’d looked over. Her lips twitched as she added, “Besides, I daresay it gave you the chance to practice your firewood-gathering skills.”

Ysayle laughed, and even Estinien snorted; Alphinaud spluttered for a moment before spreading his hands in defeat.

“This is very true!” Alphinaud said. “I’m quickly starting to learn that few things compare to the simple pleasure of sitting beside a crackling campfire of one’s own making.”

Estinien barked out a laugh. “So speaks the great explorer! Until recently, you wouldn’t have recognised firewood if it came with kindling and a flint.”

Alphinaud chuckled. “‘Tis well you instructed me so patiently, then! But yes, left to my own devices, I would have been compelled to signal Ysayle with a pile of damp leaves.”

“‘Tis a good thing you had us, then,” Adalyn said as Ysayle moved to help Estinien distribute bowls of stew.

Alphinaud accepted his, but didn’t eat, staring down at the simple traveller’s stew. “Indeed,” he said, his voice soft. “I was born the pampered son of a Sharlayan dignitary, and alongside my twin, became the youngest student ever to be accepted into the Studium.” His mouth curled in a humourless smile. “How proud I was to match wits with scholars and philosophers… how ignorant of mine own shortcomings. That hubris invited manipulation and betrayal… and led to the downfall of the Scions.”

Ysayle inclined her head, looking sombre. “We are all of us guilty of similar ignorance. How many men lay down their lives, never knowing what it is they fight for? Never questioning that which they have been taught to believe?”

Adalyn was surprised when she didn’t shoot Estinien another glare, instead staring contemplatively down at her own bowl as she sat beside Adalyn once more.

“‘Twas only upon meeting Hraesvelgr that I learned the truth hidden within our history,” she said at long last. “Were it not for that chance encounter, I would never have vowed to tear down the Holy See, and expunge the falsehoods with which it fans the flames of conflict. I would have lived and died in ignorance. That the truth has driven me to do terrible things, I cannot deny… but I would rather sin in the pursuit of peace than imagine myself virtuous for perpetuating a needless war.”

Estinien shifted in his seat, and Adalyn glanced over at him, but he resolutely remained eating his stew. He still hadn’t removed his helmet, let alone raise his visor, and she wondered suddenly if it wasn’t his armour in more ways than one.

They fell silent for a long moment, the only sounds being spoons scraping and quiet chewing.

She should have known it would be Alphinaud who would speak first. “If this journey has taught me anything, it is the importance—and difficulty—of holding to one’s convictions in the face of failure… and of striving always to replace one’s ignorance with knowledge.”

“You are well on your way, Master Alphinaud.” Estinien set his bowl in his lap, offering the boy a crooked smile. “At your age, I was but a fool swinging a spear, with scarcely a thought in my head.”

“Not much has changed, then, has it?” Adalyn said, grinning faintly.

Estinien gestured rudely in her direction, and she snorted into her stew. “I don’t deny it,” he said. He scraped his spoon idly around the bowl. “Even now, I struggle to acknowledge the misconceptions under which I have laboured. But…”

He looked up towards the ruins, and they all lifted their heads as well. Levin flashed behind the tallest of the spires, illuminating the umbral energies that swirled like clouds.

“Sitting here, amongst these grand ruins,” Estinien said quietly, “how can I deny that man and dragon once lived in peace?”

The rage in Adalyn’s chest pulsed like a heartbeat, matching time with her own. Or was it her own heart that changed its pace?

Estinien shook his head, his mouth twisting. “But for all that such an age existed, we are now in a time of war. Nidhogg killed my family, and no quirk of history will exonerate him. I may be ignorant of how the Dragonsong War began, but if we do not put an end to this conflict now, I can say for a certainty that it will only breed more vengeful souls such as mine.”

The fire was beginning to burn low, and Estinien sighed, getting up to add more fuel. When he sat again, Alphinaud reached out like he wanted to put a hand on his arm, but then let it fall.

“In my hands…” Though Estinien didn’t turn his head, Adalyn could feel his gaze shift towards her. “In our hands lies the power to vanquish the great wyrm. If Ishgard’s survival rests on me wielding that power, I will slay Nidhogg myself… orders or no.”

Ysayle jumped to her feet, her hands clenching. “Estinien,” she said, her voice shaking with barely-suppressed emotion. “You gave your word!”

Estinien just lifted his head to look at her. “My word is contingent on the success of our parley. Show me the strength of your convictions, Lady Iceheart. Convince Hraesvelgr of the righteousness of your cause.”

Looking somewhat mollified, Ysayle slowly sat back down. At long last, she offered Estinien a small smile. “Doubt not but that I shall, dragoon.”

Adalyn set her own bowl down; though she only needed one hand to sign, she felt that both would allow her to better get her tone across. “I suppose that makes it my turn, does it not?”

“The great Warrior of Light has her own confession to make?” Ysayle asked, and though the tone was in good humour, it still stung Adalyn more than she cared to admit. “Consider myself shocked.”

Adalyn gave her a wan smile. “For all that I am expected to be perfect—the perfect warrior, the perfect healer, the one who will do any task that needs doing, no matter how menial… sometimes I wonder how much of that is because I genuinely feel like I should be doing these things, and how much is my simply going along with whatever people ask of me because I can’t tell them no.”

She cleared her throat, biting her lip, and her fingers hesitated as she tried to think of how to put it.

“And I’ll admit, the rather unique position I’m in… I have my biases, my assumptions, and no one to correct me because they cannot hear me give voice to my thoughts. So instead I just smile and nod and be the good hero, and sometimes the grudges I harbour are simply allowed to fester. Being on this journey has already forced me to reevaluate so many things I had thought about the three of you alone.”

She grinned wryly at Alphinaud. “For example, for the longest time I thought you quite insufferable because I never got the chance to properly know you… to talk… to tell you all these thoughts I have bounding around my head with nowhere to go. Now I realise how much you deeply care about your cause; it’s not just a means to further your ego.”

“I suppose I still have a long ways to go in that regard,” Alphinaud said sheepishly. “‘Tis a difficult thing, to encounter a seemingly unstoppable opponent and know all that needs doing is to point you at them.”

“And you wouldn’t be wrong.” Adalyn let out a soft huff of laughter. “In the end, regardless of who tells me to go, I’ll still do what needs doing.” Her fingers were gentler now. “But it’s still nice to be asked, first.”

Estinien spread his hands. “‘Tis only to be expected of people like you and I,” he said. “Those in power wield us like weapons, not because they have a hope of controlling us but because they know we have that selfsame sense of duty.”

Ysayle gave him an appraising look. “They say the Azure Dragoon has a reputation in Ishgard,” she said, and Estinien began to chuckle. “That he comes and goes as he pleases, and only truly answers to himself but holds the High Houses in utmost disdain.”

Estinien just grinned; it looked more akin to baring his teeth. “There are some whose opinions I value enough to… take into consideration,” he said, and nodded when Adalyn swiped her finger over her own ear cuff. “But the power struggles of the High Houses, with their airs of superiority due to the circumstances of their birth?” He snorted disdainfully.

“Even House Fortemps is not immune to those games,” Adalyn said. Her hand went to her throat, where her choker was hidden beneath her armour. “I’m well sure my own memory loss has exacerbated my need to find family to fill that hole in my life, but theirs was the first I felt I could truly call my own.”

“I expect it shall only be a matter of time before it’s made official,” Alphinaud said cheekily, and Adalyn let out a tiny squeak of surprise. “Upon our return, I should be surprised if Lord Haurchefant doesn’t simply propose on the spot.”

Adalyn’s cheeks burned, and she hastily got up to refill her bowl. “Anyone for seconds?” she asked—and thankfully, that was that, though Estinien made no effort to stifle his laughter as Ysayle joined in.

Chapter Text

Convince Hraesvelgr of the righteousness of your cause.

Adalyn could have laughed at how badly it had gone. Despite all their conversations surrounding primals, it seemed Ysayle hadn’t fully grasped she hadn’t summoned the true Shiva into herself—and Hraesvelgr took offense at the insinuation, comparing what she had done to the Allagans’ own summoning of Bahamut in ages past.

But, despite it all, they now knew the truth of the Dragonsong War, how Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg’s brood-sister Ratatoskr was butchered by men, her eyes consumed for their power… power which now coursed in the veins of every Ishgardian.

Dragons, as nigh-immortal beings who experience time so very differently from men, still mourned her slaughter as if it happened yesterday.

Adalyn could have laughed. She also could have cried.

The rage that simmered in her chest had been roiling for a thousand years of raw grief. Nidhogg, for all his power, had never opted to wipe out Ishgard not because he couldn’t. His was a war of punishment, of vengeance, and it would be eternal.

She couldn’t imagine an existence so hellish, being completely incapable of moving on. Of healing.

At this point, killing Nidhogg wasn’t just a last resort. Though Adalyn knew she held no right to pass judgement, she couldn’t help but feel that it would be a mercy.

Ysayle remained staring after Hraesvelgr long after the great wyrm left them atop the ruin and the dust from his wings settled once more. “What manner of phantom have I welcomed into my heart?” she whispered in horror.

Estinien just shook his head and turned to Adalyn. “As predicted, Iceheart’s faith in the wyrm was misplaced, which leaves us but one recourse. You know I have the right of it, Warrior of Light.”

Adalyn nodded, bowing her head.

“Our grand mission of peace was destined to fail from the first,” Alphinaud said quietly. “Nothing will deter Nidhogg from his course.”

Estinien folded his arms. “With that in mind, I for one am intent on continuing to the east. Nidhogg’s lair—the Aery—is said to lie in that direction. And the Eye tells me he is near—”

“You cannot still mean to slay him?!” Ysayle cried.

Estinien rounded on her. “You cannot still mean to stop me. I have been true to my word, and aided you in this fool’s errand with Hraesvelgr. But your efforts at parley have come to naught, Lady Iceheart. I would see Ishgard saved, and for that, Nidhogg must die.”

“With the tale of our ancestors’ vile betrayal yet ringing in your ears, you speak of continuing this war?!” Ysayle demanded, her voice rising.

Adalyn stepped in front of her, bristling. “Of ending it,” she said. “What the forefathers of Ishgard did was monstrous, but a man’s life is no less precious than a dragon’s just because he lives but a fraction of the span. You would speak of peace, Iceheart?” She shook her head, flipping her visor up to glare at Ysayle. “Or peace only for those you believe more deserving?”

Ysayle’s face contorted, her fists balling at her sides. She took a half-step back, slowly shaking her head.

“A moment,” Alphinaud said, looking between Adalyn and Estinien. “Estinien, you yourself spoke of the great wyrm’s strength—that you believed him powerful enough to raze your city to the ground… And while I do not doubt your strength, nor Adalyn’s, you would propose to contend with the beast in his own lair?!”

Estinien drew the Eye forth, and it took all of Adalyn’s willpower not to recoil. Aether swirled around it, and she thought her breath might be stolen from her chest at the rage she felt emanating from the accursed thing.

“In close combat, this will afford us an advantage,” Estinien said. “And with two Azure Dragoons working in unison, who can say what might be possible?”

“...I think I know where the lair is,” Adalyn said. “Or at the very least, what it looks like. The thunder-shrouded mountain…” She glanced at Estinien. “You know the one.”

He nodded, putting the Eye away. “So it shall only be a matter of finding it… and putting an end to this war.”

Alphinaud grit his teeth, looking down. “The story of this nation grows bloodier by the moment,” he murmured. “Must death always be answered with more of the same?”

Estinien gave the boy a long look. “Such is the way of things, I fear. I shall consider it a miracle if mine armour is not stained crimson ere this conflict is ended.”

Thus saying, he turned and walked away, making for the ramp to begin heading east.

After a moment, Alphinaud turned to follow; Adalyn hesitated when she realised Ysayle made no move to do the same.

“That I should be blinded by my own lies,” Ysayle said, her voice breaking. “Everything I believed… Everything I thought I was… Gone…”

“Ysayle,” Adalyn said.

She got no response, even when she put a hand on Ysayle’s shoulder.

“Leave her,” Estinien called over his shoulder. “Your words will not reach her now, and we have not the time to wait for her to gather up the pieces of her shattered faith.”

Still, Adalyn hesitated.

“...Leave me,” Ysayle said quietly. “And go, put an end to this horrid war.”

Adalyn squeezed her shoulder and let her hand fall.

She set off, falling into step behind the others, with Estinien in the front, and Alphinaud protected between the two of them.

“Estinien… pray tell me I am wrong…” Alphinaud said, staring up at the floating island.

They didn’t dare make a fire, huddled amidst the ruins at the edge of the sky. Below them yawned the abyss of clouds, with a single slip too close to the edge threatening to send one of them falling for malms to their death.

Above was the island of jagged stones and shrouded in aether; what Adalyn and Estinien had, until then, believed to be the top of a mountain floated untethered from the rest of the continent, too far even for a dragoon to jump.

At this distance, Nidhogg’s soul blazed like an inferno.

“Aye,” Estinien said, his voice low. “That would be the Aery. I feel Nidhogg’s presence through the Eye—his caustic hatred gnawing at my soul…” His helmet turned slightly towards Adalyn.

After a moment, she nodded, folding her arms as if that could shield her from the rage. She studied the storm of aether for a long moment before turning to Alphinaud. “The barrier is not unlike the one we had to penetrate before we could face Garuda, don’t you think?”

Alphinaud nodded slowly. “I was thinking much the same,” he said. “Mayhap it is time we called upon Master Garlond. ‘Twill be just like the good old days, no?”

Adalyn nodded; Estinien’s mouth curled in an unpleasant smile. “Then let us waste no more time, and return to Ishgard.”

Adalyn and Alphinaud found Cid in the Skysteel Manufactory, and while Alphinaud explained to Cid their latest plight, Adalyn drifted away, wondering if she wouldn’t be able to uphold her promise to Laniaitte and find Stephanivien in the meanwhile.

Aymeric was in his office when he heard the quiet tap on the window. He didn’t even have to look to know who it was, and he rose immediately to let Estinien in.

“I’m surprised to see you back so soon,” Aymeric began as Estinien slid inside, shutting the window behind him—and then he was silenced when Estinien pulled his helmet off and dragged Aymeric into a desperate kiss.

Aymeric’s hands braced on Estinien’s chest, careful of the spikes between them, and though he returned the kiss eagerly, something held him back. “Estinien?” he asked softly, drawing away. “What is going on?”

“Am I not allowed to steal a moment with my lover when I have the chance?” Estinien asked, and tried to kiss Aymeric again, but Aymeric turned his head aside; Estinien’s lips grazed over the top of his ear, and he shivered.

“The last I saw you, you were in here with the Warrior of Light and Master Leveilleur asking my blessing to leave on a mission of such great import, you could not tell me the details,” Aymeric said. “And now you are back with nary a word of greeting, only a thought to apparently bend me over the desk—”

“If that is what you want—”

Aymeric took a step away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Estinien,” he said, his voice pained, and he forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. “What is going on?”

Estinien didn’t chase after Aymeric; he leaned back against the desk, the spikes of his armour folding themselves against his back. “In all the time we have known each other,” he said, his voice low, “have I ever given you reason to doubt the strength of mine own conviction?”

“...No,” Aymeric said softly, and he folded his arms. “But I would be lying if I said I was not desperately worried about this plan of yours, even though I am full certain that there is naught you and the Warrior of Light are incapable of together.”

Estinien barked out a hoarse laugh. “I don’t doubt that, either,” he said, and glanced away. His expression was stony, but the look in his eyes was uncertain.

When he looked back at Aymeric, there was only determination. “We’re close to the end of our mission,” he said. “And I will not let the chance I may not return prevent me from this one last stolen moment with you.”

Aymeric’s heart sank. “No, what are you—don’t speak like that, Estinien!” he said, shaking his head. “If it is to be so dangerous—”

“Might I remind you of your duty, Lord Commander?” Estinien said, and Aymeric grit his teeth, his fingers tightening on his arms. “Which is not to me, but to Ishgard and her people.”

Aymeric closed his eyes briefly. “I need no reminder,” he said softly. “And you know that, if need be, I will put duty over you…” He opened his eyes, tilting his head back slightly to look Estinien in the eye. “Like you would do the same were our positions reversed. But that does not mean the thought makes my heart ache any less.”

“Nor mine,” Estinien said softly.

Aymeric stepped forward, and Estinien didn’t resist when he drew their foreheads together.

“If you promise your safe return, then I shall believe you,” Aymeric murmured. “Though I will still pray to Halone to guide your lance.”

Estinien’s hands settled at Aymeric’s hips, thumbs brushing over the curve of his hipbones through his trousers. “You know as well as I do that the Fury need not guide my lance,” he said, and smirked against Aymeric’s mouth as he kissed him.

Aymeric groaned as Estinien pulled their hips together, grinding against him. There was no secret as to what both of them wanted; flush against one another, they were both already hard and aching. “I have paperwork to do, you know,” Aymeric said, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

“Do you ever not?”

“...You make an excellent point.”

Estinien let go of his hips, fingers deftly beginning to undo the high collar of Aymeric’s undershirt as Aymeric shrugged out of his coat, draping it over his chair. “Is this—?” He groaned softly when Estinien’s mouth found the bruise he’d left on his throat some days prior, levin racing up his spine at the touch. “Is this to be just myself undressing?” Aymeric asked breathlessly. “Or shall I help you out of your armour?”

Estinien lifted his head. “You,” he growled, “talk too much.”

Which meant Estinien wished to take charge, like he so often did. Aymeric didn't mind in the slightest.

“Stand right there,” Estinien said as he pushed off the desk, kneeling before Aymeric. “Hands on the desk. Don’t move.”

Aymeric braced his hands against the desk, a shiver running through him as he felt Estinien’s fingers find the buttons at the front of his breeches, pulling them open and yanking them down as far as they would go before they got caught on his greaves.

Estinien slowly leaned in, breathing in his scent, feeling Aymeric’s thighs trembling in anticipation as Estinien turned his head, his tongue darting out to lick a long, slow strip along the underside of his cock.

Aymeric hissed, his knuckles going white as he pressed harder against the desk, willing himself to remain still as Estinien reached the tip, tongue exploring the already-weeping slit.

“If I didn’t know better,” Estinien murmured, his breath hot against skin, “I might even think you eager for me.”

“You know I am,” Aymeric said, and bit back a groan when Estinien’s lips closed over the head of his shaft. They could never risk being too loud, not with the guards always stationed outside his door. “I always am,” Aymeric breathed, his voice unsteady as Estinien took more of him into his mouth. “Every time I hear you rapping on my window—”

A hand flew up to his mouth to stifle a moan when Estinien swallowed him to the hilt, tongue and throat working together in utter physical bliss that was immediately lost when Estinien drew back.

“I said,” Estinien growled, his fingers digging sharply into the backs of Aymeric’s thighs, “don’t move.”

Aymeric obligingly placed his hand back on the desk, and Estinien nipped sharply at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Aymeric’s saliva-slicked cock pressed against his cheek for the briefest of moments before Estinien drew back and took him fully in his mouth once more.

Though Estinien had oft made suggestive comments about bending Aymeric over his desk, ever since his first day in the office of the Lord Commander, Aymeric had always imagined he’d meant it in a significantly less subservient position.

Not that he was complaining, having Estinien’s demanding tongue quickly bring him to climax. Aymeric could only bite down on his lip in an attempt to swallow back another load moan, even as Estinien swallowed his seed.

“Hells,” Aymeric gasped, before Estinien stood, grabbing his hair and claiming his mouth. Aymeric could taste himself on Estinien’s lips and tongue, heady with the thought of reciprocating for his partner.

But when Aymeric’s fingers sought the front of Estinien’s armoured breeches, Estinien caught his hands, shaking his head.

“When I come back,” he murmured, “I’ll consider letting you return the favour. But I seriously doubt you would thank me for it if I allowed you to do so now, seeing as I haven’t bathed in nigh on a week.”

Aymeric let out a soft sigh as Estinien let go, reaching around him to squeeze his ass with a smirk. “And here I thought that was just your natural musk,” he said, and the two men shared a quiet laugh. “I trust that means you have no intentions of dying heroically, then?”

“Or at all.” Estinien kissed him, slower, more gently this time, though he still tugged at Aymeric’s lower lip with his teeth as he drew back. “But I’ll be damned if I return to find you too busy with work to at least welcome me back properly.”

Aymeric chuckled weakly and sighed. “You know my home is always open to you,” he said softly.

“Ah, well,” Estinien said, and pulled away, giving Aymeric the space to do up his trousers. “You would wish to be rid of me within a week.” He gave Aymeric one of his crooked smiles. “‘Tis best to keep things the way they are. There is no sense in fixing that which already works.”

Aymeric would have been willing to argue whether or not it actually did work, when Estinien’s head turned sharply towards the door. “The Warrior of Light,” he said, and Aymeric’s heart thudded that little bit faster at mention of her. “She draws near.”

Aymeric hastened to do up the neck of his collar and throw on his coat while Estinien hastily fitted his hair back into his helm. “Am I about to learn what this endeavour of yours entails?” Aymeric asked, already knowing the answer.

Estinien tugged the shoulders of Aymeric’s coat a little straighter before he stepped away. “For your own sake,” he said, “I sincerely hope not.”

Aymeric nodded, sitting back at his desk and hastily combing his fingers through his hair; outside, he could hear the voices of his guards, and he glanced at Estinien for confirmation as he straightened his papers.

“She’s just outside,” Estinien murmured.

Aymeric nodded and raised his voice. “Let her in,” he called.

There was a pause, and then a breathless Adalyn stepped into the office. Aymeric blinked, hoping his face didn’t look as hot as he felt under the collar. Adalyn’s tightly-fitted shirt left very little to the imagination with its deep collar, and both it and her teal side skirt were heavily stained with grease. On her hip was a glowing aetherotransformer, and over her back was slung a very, very large firearm.

“Run all the way from the Manufactory to show off your new outfit, did you?” Estinien asked dryly.

Adalyn looked down at herself, grunted, and her clothes shifted to her dragoon armour. She flipped her visor up to beam at Estinien. “I was sent to find you, seeing as you’re about as easy to locate as a grain of sand in Thanalan, otherwise,” she said. “Our transport is ready. We leave as soon as you join us at the airship landing.”

Aymeric smiled. “I wish you luck on your continued mission,” he said, and was gratified by a rare smile from the Warrior of Light.

Or maybe, considering the way she had smiled at Estinien earlier, they were rare only for himself. “I’ll leave you to your... farewells,” she said, and Estinien grunted as Adalyn twiddled her fingers and turned to slip back out the door.

Aymeric smiled after her, then turned to look at Estinien, who had already crossed to the window. “Do look out for yourself,” Aymeric said softly. “If not for your own sake, then for mine.”

Estinien glanced back over his shoulder; Aymeric thought he caught the faintest traces of a smile before he unlatched the window and was gone once more.

Chapter Text

“So tell me,” Estinien called from above Adalyn, and alighted beside her, falling into step with her as she hastened back to the airship landing, “when did that Haillenarte lord get one of his blasted firearms into your hands?”

“About two bells ago. And then I spent most of that time helping him and the Ironworks engineers with our Aery problem,” Adalyn said, glancing at him.

“So it is now but a short flight away,” Estinien said, and Adalyn nodded. “And yet, what a long and winding path it took to reach this point.”

“We still have a long ways to go, all things considered,” Adalyn said. “How proficient would you say you are in flying newly-invented miniature airships?”

Though she couldn’t see his face, she just knew Estinien was arching an eyebrow behind his visor. “I think I may just have to ask you to run that by me again.”

The manacutters were still by no means perfected from Biggs and Wedge’s original designs; despite having worked out most of the final kinks, they would not be capable of flight for extended periods of time, and so were loaded up onto the Enterprise to take them as close to their destination as possible.

Adalyn and Estinien stood at the bow of the airship, watching the clouds rush past as they leaned against the railing.

“I know it was for the best,” Adalyn said, “but I still cannot help feeling a touch guilty, leaving Alphinaud behind.”

Estinien shook his head. “I have pricked Master Alphinaud’s pride, I fear. But had I been less forceful, the boy would have insisted on accompanying us to the Aery.”

Adalyn made a small noise of agreement in the back of her throat. It hadn’t missed her, the note of panic in Estinien’s harshness when he’d shut Alphinaud down. While Alphinaud might be coming around to respect her, it was Estinien to whom he truly listened.

She couldn’t bring herself to be upset about it. She was just glad he seemed to care about the lad as much as she did.

Estinien inclined his head, humming thoughtfully. “With a few more campaigns under his belt, I have no doubt Alphinaud will make a fine field commander. But one does not practice on an adversary such as Nidhogg. We shall be hard-pressed enough without the added worry of carrying a novice.”

“If the plan doesn’t work,” Adalyn said. “Or, Twelve forbid, works too well and we also suffer for your attempts to stifle Nidhogg’s strength through his Eye—”

“Then you must do whatever it takes to end this.” Estinien glanced over at her. “I am under no illusions that without the wyrm’s strength, you and I would be ordinary dragoons—but the Warrior of Light is something else entirely. Our victory will be hard-won, but if any alive can best the wyrm, ‘tis surely we two.” His mouth curled in a faint smile. “I shall be glad to have you at my side.”

“And I, you.” Adalyn considered for a moment, looking Estinien over. “Aymeric would not be jealous to hear you say as such, would he?” she added teasingly, and her hands flew up to her mouth to hide her grin when Estinien froze, his mouth falling slightly open.

“...Of course you would see it through our blasted connection,” he muttered.

“Or from the fact that both your lips were quite swollen upon my arrival,” Adalyn said.

“Spend a lot of time looking at them, do you?” Estinien shot back.

Adalyn didn’t back down. “It would be hard not to, after a certain dream we shared—”

“You have made your point,” Estinien said quickly.

Adalyn snickered to herself, glad her visor hid most of her blush. “Either way, ‘tis not my secret to share,” she said. “Though if I may ask, I thought Ishgard took no issue with such relations?”

Estinien growled in the back of his throat and looked away. “Officially, no,” he said. “Unofficially, Aymeric is of a noble house, minor though it may be. ‘Tis only expected that he shall one day wed and produce an heir.” He snorted. “And I myself have had more than enough of people feeling entitled to the details of my life as the Orphan of Ferndale, the Azure Dragoon…”

Adalyn bit her lip and tapped his shoulder to get him to look at her. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

“Hmph.” She could feel his appraising gaze as he studied her for a moment. “If I might offer some advice, not as a colleague but as a friend: ere we return triumphant, there will be no shortage of lords who will be vying for your hand, a mixed union be damned. I expect the truth of your being the second Azure Dragoon will be out by the eve of our victory, and being the Warrior of Light and one of the heroes who slew Nidhogg… let’s just say there will be more than a few who will take it as a personal offense to find your heart already belongs to a bastard son. You would do well to be on your guard.”

Adalyn’s cheeks pinked, but she nodded. “Thank you, Estinien,” she said.

He snorted. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “After all, we still have a war to finish.”

Biggs and Wedge really outdid themselves this time, Adalyn thought as she and Estinien piloted their little ships closer to the Aery. The controls were intuitive and responded at a touch, and already she was thinking of ways they might be able to improve on the design to allow for a greater range of flight.

It made for a distraction from the growing unease the closer they got to the Aery.

“He is near,” Adalyn signed to Estinien, and he nodded; they separated, keeping their manacutters far enough apart that a single blast of fire wouldn’t take them both down.

The beating of massive wings sent a jolt of adrenaline through Adalyn’s body, and she twisted in her seat to see the great horned head of Nidhogg emerge from the aether storm with a roar.

Estinien brandished the Eye, and Nidhogg roared again. “Thou wouldst use mine own eye against me?! Time hath done naught to dilute thy kind’s depravity!”

His chest swelled like a bellows, his malice-filled eye shifting from Estinien to Adalyn.

She swerved out of the way just in time as an enormous blast of fire rent the air, the explosion clipping the stabiliser fin on the back of her manacutter and sending her spiralling.

“ADALYN!” she heard Estinien yell over the ringing in her ears. Adalyn just grit her teeth, hoping he could still sense she was alive. She braced herself, knuckles white on the controls as she forced the manacutter towards a gap she spied in the tangled nest of stone columns for a crash landing.

Adalyn jumped clear, rolled to her feet, and cast her senses wide. Estinien was still above, Nidhogg right behind.

They’d agreed to meet at the highest point of the Aery should they get separated, and so Adalyn began running, even as Nidhogg’s voice roared through her mind.

“To me, my children!”

“Oh, Seven Hells,” Adalyn mouthed as an endless swarm of dragons began pouring forth from the crevices of the nest, eyes blazing, jaws snapping.

Forget this.

Adalyn’s armour shifted, and she hauled her oversized gun off her back. Aether bullets ripped through scales, and the first line of dragons fell as Adalyn ran forward, not letting up her assault.

If the gods had seen fit to bless her with an incredible reserve of aether, she wasn’t about to waste it.

She was no less agile for her new choice of weapon, though, and as she ducked and wove through the dragons’ snapping jaws, occasionally deflecting a swipe of claws with one of her armoured gauntlets, hurling incendiary devices whenever she had a spare moment, the dragons’ numbers thinned until those remaining realised they weren’t going to win.

They turned tail and fled, leaving the way clear for Adalyn.

She found Estinien near the top of the Aery. His armour was scratched and dented, one of his helmet’s horns snapped off, but he grinned wolfishly at her when she joined him.

“I wondered if that abysmal racket was your doing,” he said. The Eye glowed in his hand, and Adalyn could feel the hatred rolling off of it in waves—or was that—?

Another roar above them, and Adalyn shifted back into her dragoon armour. Her bullets might have been dangerously effective against Nidhogg’s lesser kin, but she didn’t want to test Stephanivien’s inventions against an elder wyrm.

Not when so much was riding on their success.

Estinien brandished the Eye when Nidhogg landed before them, and the wyrm staggered, snarling. Estinien fell to one knee, bracing himself on the ground.

“Now, Adalyn!”

For all that he was affected, wielding the Eye, Adalyn’s own strength felt no less diminished. She sprung, spear aimed at Nidhogg’s other eye, and he swung his massive head. She twisted in midair, barely avoiding one of his enormous horns, and kicked off from the ground again.

Adalyn hung in midair for the space of a heartbeat, and Nidhogg roared, blasting fire at her. She dived, her spear piercing the flames as a shield of aether extended around the tip, and she slammed into Nidhogg’s back, her spear sunk deep into his scaly hide.

Nidhogg roared, and she wrenched her spear free in a spray of crimson, narrowly avoiding the blood that gushed out. She leapt again, only for one of Nidhogg’s wings to swat her out of the sky. Adalyn crashed against a stone pillar, and it cracked and toppled.

She wrenched herself free and rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting her legs crushed, and she let out a breathless laugh as she brandished her spear.

Is that the best you can do, wyrm?

She shot forward, ducking beneath Nidhogg’s snapping jaws, and she thrust upwards into his neck, viciously tearing through flesh as Nidhogg roared in pain and fury. The rage that swelled in her chest only fuelled her attacks, and she darted and weaved, jumped and dived, hoping to weaken the dragon enough that she would get a clear strike at his remaining eye.

Or…

Adalyn’s next jump saw her spear biting into the base of one of Nidhogg’s wings, and she whistled shrilly to Estinien.

She felt the wyrm’s strength come surging back as Estinien leapt, his spear slamming down in the top of Nidhogg’s skull.

The deafening roar shook stone from the ceiling, and Nidhogg took flight, desperately trying to shake his attackers. He rolled, and Adalyn, already exhausted from the battle, lost her grip.

She went hurtling to the ground yalms below, and when she landed, it was with enough force to leave a crater where her body had fallen.

She lay there, dazed and trying to catch her breath, her vision swimming as she struggled to see the battle.

Nidhogg writhed in midair, and she could only pray that meant Estinien was still alive.

And then, with the scream of a dying animal, Nidhogg plummeted like a stone, the hatred fading from her heart.

Adalyn forced herself to her feet, her heart in her throat as she watched the enormous body plunge into the fathomless depths. Numbly, she summoned her spear back to her hand; its head was still dripping with blood.

A lithe figure fell out of the sky to land in front of her, and Adalyn began to laugh, crying tears of relief when it straightened. Estinien stood tall, his armour stained crimson, and in his hands was the eye he had prised from the dragon’s skull.

Adalyn staggered forward, and Estinien put the eye away to catch her by the arms. They held onto one another, both trying to catch their breath.

When Adalyn finally drew back, she cast an appraising look over Estinien. “You have blood on your face,” she said, and Estinien laughed hoarsely as they slowly sat, Adalyn’s legs feeling wobbly in the aftermath of the fight. Every part of her hurt, and she placed a hand over her heart, pouring healing magic into herself. It helped soothe her aching limbs, though she still couldn’t believe she had survived her fall.

Around them rose the discordant chorus of dragonsong, but not so much as a single wyvern showed itself. It seemed, for the moment at least, they would be afforded a respite.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, and Estinien shook his head, to her relief.

“Nay, merely worn,” he said. “Though I ought to ask you the same, considering the beating you endured.”

Adalyn let out a huff of laughter and shrugged. “I have no idea how it is I yet live, but I’m certainly not complaining.”

“Indeed…” Estinien looked out over the edge where Nidhogg’s body had vanished. “‘Tis difficult to believe it is finally over.” His jaw set. “He gifted my people a thousand years of suffering… Now I gift him an eternity in darkness.”

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, mindful of the spikes.

Estinien sighed, bowing his head. “Though Nidhogg is fallen, my heart is yet heavy… and this stain of corruption pleases me not,” he added, looking down at himself.

Adalyn grimaced. “I ought to have warned you, I had to rid myself of the armour I wore when I faced Vishap on the Steps of Faith,” she said. “It seemed no amount of scrubbing would remove the stain.”

Estinien grimaced as well. “Then when all has been put to rest, I must needs forge my armour anew.”

“The Eye,” Adalyn said. “When you used it against Nidhogg, I felt no difference in my strength, though it seemed to have sapped most all of yours.”

“Then perhaps your own skills as a dragoon have surpassed mine own,” Estinien said, sounding… not resentful of the fact. Merely resigned.

But something didn’t sit right with Adalyn.

“The one you plucked from Nidhogg’s skull just now,” she said. “Might I see it?”

Estinien drew it forth, and they both examined the glowing golden orb.

In unison, they looked up at one another.

“It doesn’t match the other,” Adalyn said, as Estinien drew the original Eye forth. Crimson and gold, both eyes roiling with aether.

“Do you suppose—?” Estinien began, when Adalyn’s vision went blank, and she slumped sideways.

By the time her head hit the ground, her mind was already a thousand years in the past.

The Echo always let her see into the minds of others as if she were truly them, but even so, there was a horrifying familiarity to this memory.

He was Haldrath the Dragonseye, returned from a deadly duel with Nidhogg. He had torn both the dread wyrm’s eyes from his skull, and returned to his father’s knights—the ones who were still alive.

His father was dead, which by all rights as prince made him the new king. Instead, he turned away as he swore to roam the lands, fighting the vengeful horde as his penance for his deeds, leaving Ishgard in the hands of those knights who chose to remain.

Durendaire. Dzemael. Haillenarte. And Fortemps.

When she came to, her helmet had been removed, her head supported on Estinien’s knee. He breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes opened.

“Are you well?” he asked, and Adalyn nodded, forcing herself to sit with a groan. “What ailed you? Another vision?”

As Adalyn relayed to him what she had seen, his expression darkened. When her hands stilled, Estinien held out the golden eye, whose twin they had both seen before.

“You have borne witness to history,” he said as they looked at the eye, “to the culmination of the first battle with Nidhogg. The legend of Ishgard’s founding tells that our ancestors were led to the land of Coerthas by the valiant King Thordan. In the midst of their journey, they came to a wide chasm, where they were set upon by a great wyrm—Nidhogg. A furious battle then ensued, with King Thordan leading the van. Though the brave king was slain defending his people, his son, Haldrath, the first Azure Dragoon, fought on undaunted… and with a mighty thrust of his lance, he gouged out Nidhogg’s eye, forcing the wicked creature to retreat.”

Estinien pulled out the crimson eye once more, studying it for a long moment. “Thus did this eldritch orb become a sacred treasure of Ishgard, lending its strength to every knight deemed worthy to bear the title of Azure Dragoon. A rousing tale, is it not?” He scoffed. “Would that I could still believe it. But your vision only opens up new questions: If Haldrath took both of Nidhogg’s eyes, then how came this eye to be lodged in the wyrm’s skull… and what became of the second eye Haldrath claimed?”

Adalyn pursed her lips and nodded. “I think ‘tis past time we paid Hraesvelgr another visit.”

Chapter Text

With Adalyn’s manacutter no longer in flyable condition, their only option for leaving the Aery—short of taking the aetheryte back to Ishgard—was for Adalyn to jury-rig Estinien’s so the engines had enough power to carry the both of them.

“I wasn’t aware you were such an engineer,” Estinien said as he watched Adalyn work.

She looked up and clamped her penlight between her teeth to sign. “Neither was I. But then again, it seems there are lots of things I just… happen to be quite good at.”

Estinien shook his head. “A man could devote himself to a single profession for a lifetime and not even come close to your skill,” he said, folding his arms. “I don’t suppose even the Warrior of Light knows what it is that makes her such a legendary figure?”

Adalyn just shrugged and grimaced as she tightened a bolt. “I wish I did, but that knowledge is locked away with the rest of my memories.” She sighed. “Some days it feels like I’m hardly deserving of the praise when people like you have worked hard to get where they are.”

“Ah, yes,” Estinien said dryly. “People such as the Azure Dragoon, who draw their power from the stolen eyes of great wyrms, you mean.”

Adalyn made a rude gesture at him. “You still had to train with the lance before being chosen. I simply picked one up and knew what to do… the same as every other thing in my life. Now, shush. I need both my hands to work—you can help by keeping watch.”

She grabbed the penlight from her mouth, peering at the stabilisers.

Estinien grunted and turned away, leaving Adalyn to her work.

When she was finally satisfied with her modifications, Adalyn snapped the engine’s cover closed, and Estinien climbed into the pilot’s seat, Adalyn perching behind him and clinging to the main sail.

“If you fall,” Estinien said over his shoulder as they took off, “I shall tell Master Alphinaud that it was entirely your fault. In fact, I think I’ll even make it a lesson to him of the dangers of recklessness.”

Adalyn snickered, pulling her machinist’s goggles back down over her eyes to protect them from the wind.

The manacutter covered in hours land that had taken them days to traverse on foot, and Adalyn watched in awe as they crossed mountains and hills, the ruins of the old kingdom spread out before them. She wondered what was on Estinien’s mind, but she couldn’t converse with him while he was occupied with the controls, and so contented herself with daydreaming about Haurchefant.

It really had been a shame there was no time to see if he was in Ishgard when they’d returned. She knew Alphinaud was merely jesting that Haurchefant would propose when they met again, but she couldn’t help but entertain the notion.

It was much easier to do so now that the rage inside of her was gone. She hoped that Nidhogg’s spirit could finally find peace.

As Zenith came into view, Adalyn squinted, then gasped quietly when she recognised the lone figure at the top of the tower.

“I see her, too,” Estinien said as Ysayle came more fully into view. “‘Twould seem she has scarce moved since last we parted.” He shook his head. “Hraesvelgr’s confession will soon shake her from her stupor.”

Ysayle looked up at them as they drew closer, her expression stony. Estinien brought the manacutter down, landing it nearby, and Adalyn hopped off her perch, groaning and rolling her shoulders.

“‘Twas you, was it not?” Ysayle said bitterly. “The furious screams of the dragons carried far. You have slain Nidhogg—what more could you desire from this place?” She stepped forward, balling her fists. “Will you not allow Hraesvelgr to mourn the death of his kin in peace?!”

“Spare us your sanctimonious judgement, ice maiden,” Estinien said, vaulting over the side of the manacutter. “We have a gift for the great wyrm… and a mystery that can no longer lie buried.” He folded his arms. “Lady Iceheart—the Dragonsong War has all but consumed your life and claimed many of your followers. ‘Tis time you learned the truth of its beginning—the whole truth—that we may at last bring this bitter conflict to an end.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Hraesvelgr to arrive, drawn as he was by his missing eye. And so, they learned, though he himself had never raised a claw against Ishgard, he had surrendered half his power to Nidhogg to enable him to wage his bloody war.

Though Adalyn wondered at the wisdom of returning Hraesvelgr’s eye, she also knew there could be no further chance at peace if they only perpetuated the sins of the past.

His eye restored, Hraesvelgr took to the skies once more, bidding they leave and take their misery and bloodshed with them.

“Well,” Adalyn said bitterly, “at this point I can scarce say I blame Hraesvelgr; Ratatoksr was his sister, too, after all. His vengeance was just less direct than Nidhogg’s.”

Estinien’s arms were tightly folded, his mouth twisting unhappily. “I lost my family to Nidhogg’s flames,” he said at long last. “And ‘twas with fury in my heart I took up the lance. Every blow I struck, I struck in the name of vengeance. We were not so different, he and I.”

Ysayle bowed her head. “I will not judge you for your deeds—I have not the right. Too many innocents have perished in the name of my ‘greater good’.”

Estinien just grunted. “We are still short a great wyrm’s eye,” he said. “Of the pair Haldrath took from Nidhogg, only the one I bear is known to us.”

“You don’t suppose it might—?” Adalyn began, when Estinien held up a finger, and answered his linkpearl.

“Lord Commander,” he said brusquely. He paused for a moment, listening, and his mouth curled in a bitter smile. “Aye, the Warrior of Light and I yet live…”

The smile vanished instantly. “What?” he asked, and his tone had Adalyn instinctively shifting her weight for a fight. “In the city?! A battle with whom?!”

Adalyn’s clothes immediately changed to her white coat, and she called her staff to hand, her blood racing through her veins in anticipation.

“At once, Lord Commander,” Estinien said. “Hold firm ‘til our return.” His hand fell and he turned to Adalyn. “Fighting has broken out in the city. Lord Aymeric was sparse with the particulars, but it seems some commoners threw open the gates to a force of heretics.”

Ysayle gasped. “I gave no order to attack!”

Estinien just shook his head. “Let us away, Adalyn,” he said, and began casting the spell to return to Ishgard. Adalyn hastened to do the same.

“Wait!” Ysayle said, and they did. She placed a hand over her heart, her face earnest and pleading. “I would join you. There has been enough violence. I will appeal to my people in the city and make them see reason.”

Estinien didn’t even hesitate. “Come, then, Lady Iceheart. Let us write the final chapter in this damnable war.”

When they returned to Ishgard, the city was burning.

Civilians ran screaming through the smoke-filled streets, flames leaping through broken windows to consume the buildings from the inside-out. It seemed the heretics had already been through, leaving destruction in their wake.

“This way, just through here!” a familiar voice called, and Adalyn turned, her heart leaping when she realised Haurchefant was ushering a family to safety. He waved the mother with her children down a quieter side road, and turned to see who had arrived at the aetheryte; his smile upon seeing Adalyn vanished when he realised who was behind her.

“It’s okay,” Adalyn signed as they ran forward to meet him. “She’s a friend.”

“You mad, brilliant woman,” Haurchefant said happily, and pointed with his sword. “The fighting has moved this way. Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” Estinien said, and together they raced through the streets, following the flames.

They caught up to the heretics before the gates that led to Ishgard’s upper levels, and Adalyn threw herself into the midst of the fray, summoning a blinding flash of light that left knights and heretics alike staggering backwards, stunned. It was enough for Ysayle to make herself heard: the war was over. There was no more need for fighting.

While the heretics were more than happy to lay down their arms, it still took Estinien and Haurchefant standing between the knights and the heretics to convince the knights to stand down, and Haurchefant directed them to begin providing aid to those injured in the riot.

Back along the streets they’d travelled, people were already working to put out the fires. Estinien shook his head as they looked out over the damage. “Let’s see how long this peace lasts,” he said bitterly.

“Aye, that was rather too close for comfort,” Haurchefant said, sheathing his sword. “‘Tis good to see you again, Adalyn,” he added, and his eyes slid in the direction of Ysayle’s retreating form. “I must confess, I was more than a little dismayed to see you in the company of the Lady Iceheart. Whatever is going on?” He looked between Adalyn and Estinien, his eyebrows creeping higher.

“‘Tis a very long story that I promise to tell you in full later,” Adalyn said, her fingers fumbling in her haste to speak. “The short of it is that Estinien and I travelled to the Churning Mists, and together we killed Nidhogg.”

“So what Iceheart said was true,” Haurchefant breathed. “Were these words not from your own mouth—so to speak—I could scarce believe them, and yet… Nidhogg dead, the heretics pacified—Father and Ser Aymeric must know of this!”

“Then let us break the news of this to them together,” Estinien suggested, to Adalyn’s surprise. “I will bring Ser Aymeric to Fortemps Manor.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Haurchefant said. “Adalyn and I shall make our way there, then.”

Estinien nodded, and leapt to the rooftops, disappearing over the buildings.

Haurchefant let out a soft sigh and turned to Adalyn; she smiled as he pulled her in for a hug.

“I know we have oft been separated for far longer periods of time in the past, but when I heard of this mysterious mission of yours, I missed you ever so much whilst you were gone,” Haurchefant murmured. “Had I known you were off to face Nidhogg himself, I would have been beside myself with worry. Adalyn—”

He kissed her fiercely, holding her tightly enough he lifted her off the ground. Adalyn laughed into the kiss, heedless of any warnings they’d been given about being too open with their relationship. The delayed relief was beginning to hit her now that they were back in Ishgard and the heretics had heeded their leader’s call to stand down.

The war was finally over.

“I missed you terribly, too,” she said when Haurchefant set her back on her feet. “Though truth be told, I think I may have missed warm baths a bit more,” she added, and they chuckled.

“I was certainly not about to comment on your newfound fragrance,” Haurchefant said. He smiled. “But let us not waste any more time lingering here. I know my father will be overjoyed to hear the good news.”

They hurried back to Fortemps Manor where Avreaux ushered them inside to find Edmont in one of the sitting rooms. He stood, bracing himself on his cane, a smile of relief crinkling his eyes.

“Praise Halone you are safe!” Edmont said, limping forward. He grasped Haurchefant’s shoulder, then Adalyn’s, and she swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat.

Haurchefant smiled. “My safety was never in doubt, Father. But we bring the most wonderful tidings! Ser Estinien is on his way, along with the Lord Commander, that he and Adalyn might give you their report together.”

“Is Alphinaud here?” Adalyn asked, a sudden horrible thought striking her. Had the lad been caught up in the fighting?

But Edmont nodded, and the relief was back once more. “Avreaux, see to it we are all gathered here when our guests arrive, and have tea ready when they do,” he said, and the servant bowed, turning to go in search of Alphinaud. “Adalyn, please, do sit. You look as though you have been through quite the ordeal.”

“Shall I make cocoa?” Haurchefant murmured, and Adalyn lit up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she nodded.

“I would be ever so grateful if you did,” she said, and Haurchefant gave her a brief, but lingering, kiss that left her cheeks pink when he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

Adalyn glanced at the count out of the corner of her eye and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious.

Edmont gestured to the sofa, and Adalyn sat, her hands clasped over her knees uncertainly.

“Full glad am I to have you returned safely to us,” Edmont said, “if not necessarily soundly. Do you need me to send for the chiurgeons?”

Adalyn shook her head, holding up her hand as green tendrils of healing magic swirled around her fingertips.

“Yes, forgive me my forgetfulness,” Edmont said, and sat beside her. “‘Tis but the worrying of an old man.”

He sniffed, then coughed delicately. Adalyn grinned sheepishly, pinching her nose as a question.

Edmont chuckled, a bit ruefully. “My apologies. I expect there is little opportunity for bathing when one is on the road for any length of time,” he said, and when Adalyn nodded, they shared a quiet laugh.

“In full seriousness,” Edmont said softly, “I shall be able to rest well tonight, knowing you are in good health. When you and your companions said you would not be back for some time, I had feared it might be months ere we were graced with your company again…”

He cleared his throat, hesitated, and raised his hand. “Though it... will give me... more time to practice,” he signed.

Adalyn’s eyes welled up with tears, and she hastened to wipe them on her sleeve. “That you’re trying is too kind,” she said, and grimaced apologetically when she got a blank look in return. “Thank you,” she said instead.

Edmont smiled. “You are most welcome.”

Alphinaud joined them, beaming when he saw Adalyn. “I trust this means the mission was a success?” he asked.

“Resounding,” Adalyn said, and hastily put a finger to her lips. “Estinien is on his way with Aymeric in tow. I shall tell you all about it, then.”

Haurchefant returned with a tray of mugs, and Adalyn accepted hers eagerly, taking a moment to appreciate the fragrant smells before drinking deeply.

They didn’t have to wait long before Estinien and Aymeric arrived, accompanied by Lucia. Aymeric sat in the armchair opposite Adalyn, Lucia standing beside him, and Estinien collapsed the spikes of his armour to lean against the wall nearby, folding his arms. Avreaux brought in the requested tea, which Aymeric helped himself to at once, ignoring Lucia’s soft sigh.

It was Estinien who started them off first, to little fanfare. “At Master Alphinaud’s proposal, we have attempted to parley with the dragons. When that proved to be unsuccessful, the Warrior of Light and I instead set forth to slay Nidhogg, and succeeded.”

The room went silent save for the crackling fire, which sounded much too cheerful in the moment.

“...Well, then,” Aymeric said, and settled back in his chair, his expression inscrutable. “This sounds like it shall be quite the tale.”

It was Adalyn who ended up telling most of the story, with an awestruck Haurchefant translating for her and Estinien filling in what few small details she left out. From their quest to recruit Iceheart, to their failed parley with Hraesvelgr, their slaying of Nidhogg, the return of Hraesvelgr’s eye, the uncovering of the truth behind the Dragonsong War.

When Adalyn finally lowered her hands, she found her cocoa had gone cold, and she hastily reheated the mug between her hands. Haurchefant took advantage of the opportunity to reach for his own mug; Adalyn reached over to reheat it for him as well, and he briefly leaned his head against hers in thanks.

“That man and dragon once lived together in harmony,” Aymeric said, setting his teacup down and steepling his fingers, “and that it was man’s treachery which shattered the peace and plunged our peoples into war…” He sighed heavily. “It goes against every core tenant of our faith, and yet…”

Edmont nodded. “The same scripture also describes the origins of the High Houses. Were it exposed as false, the legitimacy of our rule would be called into question.”

“With no offense to you, my lord,” Adalyn said, “but I have been questioning it since my arrival in Ishgard.”

Edmont laughed softly when Haurchefant translated for her. “And I can hardly blame you for that, after all you have been forced to endure at the hands of my peers. I doubt any among them knew the truth of our origins, however; on that, I am all but certain.”

“But if the Holy See knew of this and chose to remain silent,” Aymeric said, folding his arms, “their crimes would be grievous indeed. Regardless,” he said, and looked up, determination in his eyes, “this state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue.”

“Ser Aymeric!” Edmont said sharply. “You cannot mean to raise this matter with the archbishop!”

Aymeric nodded, his jaw setting.

Haurchefant sat forward, his eyes intense. “Pray consider what you are proposing! If the Holy See chose to conceal the truth for centuries, what reason would they have to reveal it now? While we have no reason to doubt our friends’ story…”

“At best, you would be branded a heretic and clapped in irons,” Alphinaud said, his eyes wide.

Aymeric just straightened his shoulders. “Then, at least, the archbishop will have shown his true colours.” He looked around the room. “My friends, this war will never truly be at an end until the truth is made known. You must see what lies on the horizon if it is not. When ruled by fear of a common enemy, we were united. But now we have none. ‘Tis but a matter of time before the old order is called into question. The disenfranchised will rise up, united, and blood will flow in the streets once more.”

He stood, and bowed his head. “A divided Ishgard will not survive.”

Lucia, who had been largely silent through Adalyn’s story, stepped forward. “Tread carefully, Lord Commander,” she said, her voice low. “You know not what you are walking into, other than a nest of vipers.”

Aymeric turned to look at her. “I must have faith, Ser Lucia,” he said. “All I can ask is that you do the same.”

Adalyn cleared her throat, waiting until she had Aymeric’s attention. “In the interest of fairness, how long shall we wait before we are to mount a rescue party?”

“Have care, my dear—your words border on treason,” Edmont said sharply. “Should they reach the wrong ears, you would be declared an enemy of Ishgard.”

“I fully agree with her,” Lucia said, matching his tone. “If the lord commander does not return from the Vault with relative swiftness, I mean to go and fetch him myself.”

“Ser Lucia, I cannot let you take that risk—” Aymeric began.

“That is a risk I am willing to take,” Lucia said, lifting her chin. “Lest you forget, my lord—I am not born of this land. My loyalty is to you alone. If you truly mean to do this, then I shall not stop you… just as you cannot stop me when the inevitable happens.”

But Aymeric shook his head. “Fury willing, the archbishop will be one to see reason.”

“And if he isn’t?” Estinien said, his voice low.

Aymeric closed his eyes. “Before you left on what I now realise was your quest to slay Nidhogg,” he said quietly, “you asked if you had ever given me reason to doubt the strength of your conviction. I ask you now if I have ever done the same.”

Estinien growled and looked away. “...You have not.”

“Then let me do what I can to prevent needless conflict,” Aymeric said. He looked around the room. “If it is at all possible more bloodshed can be avoided, then I shall speak with the archbishop first—alone. And because I know it is folly to try convincing you not to come after me should I fail… all I ask is you go about it carefully.”

Lucia saluted, a hand over her heart. “As you wish, my lord.”

“Well, then, my friends,” Aymeric said softly. “May Halone’s blessings be upon us all.”

He turned and left, not a moment of hesitation in his stride.

“Hmph,” Estinien said, watching Aymeric go. “Of all the people… He should know better.”

Alphinaud frowned. “Far be it from me to criticise a man for his blind idealism, but he might at least have pretended to consider another course.”

“I believe we have our Warrior of Light to thank for that,” Estinien said, his head turning towards Adalyn. “The tales of her exploits have been filling his head with all sorts of dangerous ideas.”

“‘Tis always a dangerous decision to stand up and do what must needs be done,” Adalyn said, lifting her chin. “That Aymeric was the first to do so among us is admirable.”

A slow smile curled Estinien’s lips. “He would be delighted to hear you say so.”

“Is it… wise, to let him go?” Alphinaud asked tentatively. “I sympathise with the Lord Commander’s desire for reform, but to approach the archbishop in this manner bespeaks an idealism to which I did not think Ser Aymeric prone.”

Lucia sighed, smiling briefly at the floor. “Though he comports himself as a realist, he has long dreamt of reform. ‘Twas that idealism that first drew me to him—that which made me swear an oath to serve. We must not think of ways to hinder his cause, but ways to aid it—even should the Holy See cry heresy.”

She crossed her arms. “But I speak only of what may come to pass. If the rumours regarding his heritage are to be believed, we have naught to fear.”

Estinien scoffed, folding his own arms in turn. “Lies and slander.”

“...Forgive me,” Alphinaud said slowly, “but what rumours are these?”

“That Ser Aymeric is the archbishop’s bastard son,” Lucia said simply.

A memory slammed into Adalyn with all the force of the Echo—the archbishop’s brilliantly blue eyes, peering down at her from his throne. It was there and gone again so quickly none save Estinien noticed her sudden sway, and she clenched her fingers on her knees to keep her hands from trembling.

“Senior clergy are not permitted to marry and sire children,” Lucia continued, oblivious to Adalyn’s moment of distress. “But even the holiest among us are not immune to temptation.”

Alphinaud frowned. “I labour to believe it… Ser Aymeric, the archbishop’s son?”

“He has never been publicly acknowledged as such, but the rumours have plagued him since childhood,” Lucia said, pursing her lips. “That he rose to his current position, despite being despised as a bastard, and accused of profiting from his father’s influence, bespeaks the quality of his character.”

She shot Adalyn a look out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, and Adalyn winced.

“But,” Lucia continued, “it is my hope that on this occasion, the burden of his birth will work in his favour. Should our worst fears be realised, the archbishop will not be so quick to execute his own flesh and blood, affording us time to mount a rescue.”

Estinien uncrossed his arms. “Bastard or trueborn, he is our nation’s best hope. If the Holy See dares threaten him, I shall lead the charge against the Vault myself!”

“Hear, hear!” Haurchefaunt said. “The future of Ishgard rests on Ser Aymeric’s shoulders; I too will do mine utmost to aid his cause!”

“Haurchefant, be reasonable,” Edmont began.

But Haurchefant shook his head, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. “A knight lives to serve, Father—to aid those in need. The people need Ser Aymeric now more than ever—and we may be his only hope.” He took a deep breath, holding his head high. “There is no greater calling for a knight than to save the life of his fellow man. I swear to you, on the sigil of our house, that I shall do this and make you proud.”

Edmont looked helplessly to Adalyn, as if hoping she would convince his son otherwise.

Adalyn simply nodded and reached over to take Haurchefant’s hand in both her own. She needed no words.

“...Even you?” Edmont shook his head. “Romantic, reckless fools, the lot of you.” He sighed heavily. “So be it—make ready with all haste. If we must risk the fortunes of our house to bring this truth to light, then so be it. But are you truly prepared to do this? To face the Heaven’s Ward in battle, if you must?”

Haurchefant smiled. “Have no fear, Father,” he said. “My arm will not falter; my shield will not break. I promise you: we shall prevail!”

Chapter Text

Lucia quickly laid out the plan as to how they would infiltrate the Vault should the worst come to pass. With as many knights as normally guarded the place, even Adalyn and Estinien working in tandem would be hard-pressed to not be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers—never mind that a good number of them were likely unawares of the truth they would be rushing to defend.

Estinien set off to inform the dragoons they were to stand down. This was the easy part of the plan; there was no love lost between the dragoons who were so often used as pawns, and the highborn who saw their lives as expendable.

Meanwhile, Adalyn and Alphinaud were in charge of inciting the revolutionaries in the Brume—the ones who more than likely had thrown open the gates to allow the heretics in. They weren’t to fight, but to draw away a large portion of the soldiers guarding the cathedral.

From there, the numbers within would, gods willing, be thinned enough to make launching an attack a viable option.

But first things first: tracking down the leader of said revolutionaries.

Asking around the Brume got them far too many cold shoulders and side-eyes; on more than one occasion, Adalyn was spat upon, and one particularly unpleasant fellow threatened to cut out Alphinaud’s tongue if he didn’t stop his translating for her. It was only at Alphinaud’s insistence Adalyn didn’t drop the man headfirst into a snowdrift.

But slowly, following a series of clues, they began to piece together a picture of who they were looking for: the half-elezen, half-hyur daughter of a nobleman and a maidservant’s tryst, the mother cast aside the moment she was discovered to be with child.

The sneers, the looks of contempt, reserved for this mysterious girl made Adalyn sick to her stomach. It was one thing to have her friends warn her of the reactions her relationship with Haurchefant would garner, but to see them, albeit secondhand, for herself, opened her eyes to just what they were warning her of.

Eventually, they came to meet the Mongrel—or, more properly, Hilda Ware, a young woman with raven hair and ruby eyes, who made Adalyn’s heart skip a beat when she saw her.

Gods, Haurchefant really was getting to her.

At a table by the fireplace of the Forgotten Knight, they regaled Hilda with the tale they had learned, of the betrayal of King Thordan and the Knights Twelve, and how the Holy See had likely kept the truth from everyone for centuries.

How Aymeric had gone to confront the archbishop and was like as not going to be executed for heresy.

“Well,” Hilda said, setting her tankard down with a heavy thunk, “seems to me that’s what the good ser wants. Seems he thinks a noble sacrifice will serve to prove his claims.”

Adalyn’s knuckles went white on the table; the wood splintered, and she hastily folded her hands in her lap.

Hilda’s ruby gaze flickered down to the marks her fingers had left, then up to Adalyn’s face. She raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s a bit touchy,” she noted.

“Miss Ware,” Alphinaud said, and although he was more composed than Adalyn was, she could hear the note of anger in his voice. “We cannot stand by and allow Ser Aymeric to be killed. Ishgard has need of him—and we have need of you.”

Hilda sighed. “Look, you’ve got a good heart, I can see that. Willin’ to risk your neck for someone else, even when his troubles ain’t yours. But what’s this got to do with me?”

“When this knowledge is made public,” Adalyn said, “high and lowborn, neither will matter any more. But until the truth is brought to light, the highborn will continue to profit off the backs of you and yours, all thanks to the lies of the church. If Ser Aymeric dies, our best hope for Ishgard’s future dies with him.”

Hilda folded her arms, her head bowed in thought.

The hairs on the back of Adalyn’s neck prickled, and she dived at Hilda, tackling her to the ground as the flames of the fireplace leapt out at her. They seared Adalyn’s back, and she howled noiselessly, rolling sideways to smother the flames.

From the doorway above, they heard a loud tutting. “Ahh… the unmistakable scent of heresy,” a man drawled. Ser Charibert stood on the landing, wearing the resplendent robes of the Heaven’s Ward, and a cruel smile.

Healing magic gathered around Adalyn’s hands, swirling through her injuries, but no matter how much aether she poured into them, they still seemed to burn.

“And what do we have here?” Charibert said, smirking. “The honoured guests of House Fortemps consorting with the queen of rats? Plotting insurrection, I shouldn’t wonder—that simply won’t do.”

Hilda levelled her gun at Charibert, firing off a burst of rounds, but the bullets ricocheted off a shield of aether that sprung up around the knight without him so much as lifting a finger.

Adalyn forced herself to her feet, her burned coat giving way to her armour, and she leapt, whirling her axe in a deadly arc of steel.

Charibert jumped backwards at the last moment, and Adalyn’s axe bit into the floor before she wrenched it free, chasing him out into the courtyard.

Her back still burned, blisters bursting where they rubbed against her armour, but she fought through the pain, her axe whirling through Charibert’s blasts of fire as she struck at him again and again but never found her mark.

“My, my, such fury!” Charibert laughed. 

Flames encircled the pair of them, licking at Adalyn’s feet, and she bared her teeth. Her armour became blackened robes, and she raised her staff, calling down a localised blizzard that howled like the fiercest Coerthan winter.

“Defend Ser Charibert! Kill the rebels!” Adalyn heard, and she swayed backwards, away from a blast of flames that narrowly missed her nose. Temple Knights rushed into the courtyard, and she groaned at the thought of dealing with them and this beast of a man all at once.

“If it’s a fight you want, then come and get it!” Hilda yelled, and shots rang out over the roar of spells.

“Let us handle the Temple Knights!” Alphinaud called.

Determination swelled in Adalyn’s chest at the sound of his voice, and she slammed her staff against the ground, flames of her own exploding at Charibert’s feet. Smoke filled the courtyard, obscuring their vision, and Adalyn grit her teeth, summoning wind to blow it away.

“I heard you could use a hand!” she heard Haurchefant say, and then he and Lucia were beside her, driving back the knights that had slipped past Alphinaud and Hilda.

Charibert began to laugh. “The noble bastard and the mongrel bitch. How very fitting.”

“This mongrel bitch is going to put a bullet between your eyes,” Hilda snarled. Her bullets ricocheted off Charibert’s aether shield, and Adalyn was forced to throw up one of her own before she and the others were struck by the rebounds.

“Filthy rats,” Charibert spat.

“Enough of this!” Lucia yelled, swinging for his neck.

Charibert deftly avoided her attack and leapt, far, far higher than Adalyn would have a prayer of following. Still, she ran forward and leapt to a lower spire, jumping her way higher in pursuit—but when she reached the top, he was nowhere to be seen.

Adalyn hissed through her teeth, casting her senses wide, but all her instincts could tell her was he had fled in the direction of the Vault.

He would be long gone already.

She clenched her fist, gauntlet creaking from the motion, and jumped down, leaving her stomach behind as she plummeted. Her landing wasn’t as graceful as she would have liked, and she stumbled, falling to one knee.

“Adalyn!” Haurchefant said, and then he was kneeling beside her, gripping her arms. “Are you alright?”

Adalyn held up a hand, wincing, and she leaned against Haurchefant as she poured healing magics into herself. Maybe it was something about his presence that soothed her, but her healing felt more powerful with him there. The blisters on her back smoothed and cooled, and she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Haurchefant pressed a kiss to her forehead and helped her to her feet, and Adalyn leaned gratefully on his arm. He squeezed her hand thrice, and Adalyn returned the gesture, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“I never liked him,” Lucia said, her lip curling as she looked after Charibert. “Not since his days as an inquisitor. He took far too much pleasure in his work.” She turned to Adalyn. “If you are still in fighting condition, we have need of you yet.”

Adalyn straightened, rolling her shoulders to stretch out the fresh scar tissue that spread across her back. It was taut, but nothing that would prevent her from swinging an axe or firing a bow, and so she nodded.

“Good,” Lucia said. Her face was grim. “Your old friend, Ser Grinnaux, announced the lord commander has been imprisoned under suspicion of heresy, and that the Heaven’s Ward had been granted full authority in his stead.”

“Then the Heaven’s Ward now commands the Temple Knights,” Haurchefant said softly.

Lucia nodded. “Those still loyal to Ser Aymeric answer to me. Alas, that amounts to but half our number. The other half, who opposed his promotion to lord commander, have gathered at the Vault as ordered.”

Hilda folded her arms. “Bolsterin’ the guard already, eh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re expected.”

Lucia turned to give her an appraising look. “I take it you’re in charge around here?”

“Hilda,” she said, grinning. “And yes. The young master was just persuadin’ me to join his laust cause. Convincin’ little beggar, isn’t he?”

“He can certainly be that,” Adalyn said, smiling. “Does that mean you have your answer?”

“We’re sick of livin’ in the leavin’s of our ‘betters’,” Hilda said, her grin now more akin to baring her teeth. “If you’ve a mind to change things ‘round here, then we’ve a mind to join you.” She reloaded her firearm, and now that Adalyn had the chance to get a better look at it, she realised it was one of Stephanivien's. “But you’ve got the wrong of it, thinkin’ we’re the ones what let the heretics in.”

“If not you, then who?” Lucia asked.

“You Temple Knights, of course. Reckoned it was your beloved Ser Aymeric’s doin', at first, but then I heard how he lost his head. My next best guess would be the Heaven’s Ward. That way, they’d have the perfect excuse to go door-to-door through the Brume. Slaughter the heretics and their ‘sympathisers’ in one fell swoop.”

“But the Heaven’s Ward’s scheme did not account for Lady Iceheart’s intervention,” Haurchefant mused. “And so, they have been forced to improvise.”

Hilda nodded. “A fine bloody mess, ain’t it?” She hefted her firearm. “But enough talk. Your friend’s rotting in a cell; let’s not keep him waiting.”

The attack was to be twofold. Haurchefant, Estinien, and Lucia would breach the underground gaol of the Vault to rescue Aymeric; however, it was Adalyn and Hilda’s distractions that would give them the opportunity they needed to do just that.

With Hilda and her people drawing the Temple Knights away from the Vault, that left Adalyn to storm the building itself, drawing the remaining guards to the upper levels and leaving her allies to face only token resistance at the gaol.

Gods willing, they would make their way higher in the wake of Adalyn’s destruction, and join her to confront the archbishop together.

Adalyn paused outside the Vault doors, her hand on the freezing black iron. She took a deep breath.

This wasn't going to be a battle. It would be a slaughter.

Axe in hand, Adalyn shoved the doors open and sprinted forward, putting two fingers to her mouth and whistling shrilly to alert the guards to her presence.

Come and get me.

The response was immediate, and Adalyn led the Temple Knights through the nave, carving a path of death as she went.

She bared her teeth when she saw Ser Adelphel waiting for her; the young knight’s mouth curled in a cruel smile when he saw her.

“I trust you know your life is forfeit,” he said, and they met in a screech of steel, their weapons sparking as they fought.

Adalyn was no stranger to the strength of the Heaven’s Ward this time, though, and she made short work of him—until aether swelled around him, and before her eyes, the knight transformed into a hulking, armour-clad giant. She dived out of the way, of the next swing of his sword sending up a shockwave that split the polished marble floor.

“Bow down before me!” he roared, his voice resonating off the vaulted ceiling.

Adalyn had only seen a transformation like this a handful of times before, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t nearly identical to Ysayle’s summonings of Shiva.

The Heaven’s Ward are primals.

Adalyn laughed as she rolled to her feet, adjusting her grip on her axe.

This will be child’s play.

She ducked under the next swing of the sword and swung upwards, axe embedding itself in Adelphel’s breastplate.

He staggered, the glowing eyes behind his helm dimming slightly. “But—but—how—?”

He wrenched Adalyn’s axe from his chest and disappeared. Adalyn cursed to herself, catching her axe as it fell and sprinting up the stairs. He’d likely retreated to where more of his brethren were—and if any of her allies were to face them, she ran the risk of them getting tempered.

She wasn’t going to lose Haurchefant like that.

Adalyn raced higher, cutting down any who dared bar her way.

“Stop her! She’s just one woman!”

“Kill her! KILL HER!”

“Halone, guide my blade!”

If Halone was on their side, the goddess wasn’t listening.

Ser Grinnaux was the next to try and stop her, and when Adalyn stepped into his chamber, she rolled her neck and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

When last they faced off, it had been to prove Alphinaud’s and Tataru’s innocence through trial by combat. Then, Adalyn hadn’t been expecting the strength of the Heaven’s Ward, and had held back out of fear of slaughtering one of them.

This time would be different.

Grinnaux bared his teeth, transforming before her eyes. “I’ll cut you to pieces!”

She heard the shouts of more knights coming up from behind—hopefully the ones guarding the gaol had been summoned and the second phase of the plan would begin.

Let’s dance.

Adalyn was a whirlwind of steel, and Grinnaux was soon forced to retreat, tail between his legs.

Very well, then—if she were to face the entirety of the Heaven’s Ward at once, so be it.

Higher and higher she climbed, leaving the steps running red with blood. When she burst through the doors at the top of the highest spire, Adalyn’s eyes went wide when she saw the massive airship from Camp Cloudtop approaching.

She ran along the battlements, gritting her teeth when she saw Charibert waiting for her. Behind him, the archbishop and Ser Zephirin were retreating beyond a pair of doors, which closed behind them.

Charibert wasted no time in transforming and summoning his flames once more. Adalyn charged through the fire, axe becoming staff as she summoned a blizzard to counter the flames.

“We’re with you, Adalyn!”

Adalyn slammed her staff against the ground, summoning a force field that Charibert’s flames washed harmlessly around. “Stay back!” she signed frantically, and Haurchefant held an arm in front of Lucia and Aymeric. “They’re primals!”

“They’re what—?!” Estinien gasped.

The doors behind Charibert were thrown open. “Fall back!” Zephirin bellowed, and the flames vanished along with the knights.

Had Adalyn been capable of speech, she would have been spitting curses through her teeth. She turned to the others, her eyes widening when she took in Aymeric’s haggard appearance, leaning heavily against Lucia. For the short time he’d been in captivity, the damage was extensive.

“Are you mad, climbing all this way in that state?” she demanded, running forward to heal his numerous burns. Aymeric was visibly favouring his arm, and Adalyn reached for that first, but Aymeric waved her off.

“Worry about me later,” he said. “We must put a stop to this before it is too late!”

Adalyn shook her head, keeping a hand on him as they hurried through the doors, healing him as they went.

“We can still make it,” Haurchefant said determinedly, as they burst through to the airship landing.

The archbishop was in the midst of boarding, accompanied by the un-transformed Heaven’s Ward.

They weren’t going to make it.

Adalyn drew her bow, aether gathering on the string in the shape of an arrow. She loosed it, and it split into a dozen more arrows as it flew. The aether exploded against an invisible shield, and Adalyn grit her teeth, shooting ineffectively again before pulling out her firearm.

She sprinted forward, aether bullets spraying. One hit was all she needed, just one good hit—

“Look out!” Haurchefant cried, and Adalyn was sent sprawling as he shoved her out of the way with his shoulder.

She looked up in horror as the lance of pure aether drilled into Haurchefant’s shield, and with the horrible sound of shattering metal, his shield broke.

Haurchefant fell beside her, and Adalyn scrambled to cradle his head, healing magic swirling around her hands as she placed them over the gaping hole in his stomach. Through it, she could see the blood-stained stones beneath.

No, no, no, stay with me, Haurchefant, stay with me!

“You… you are unharmed?” Haurchefant asked. His voice was faint, breathy, and he coughed weakly. Blood stained his mouth. “F-forgive me—” His face spasmed. “I could not bear the thought of… of…”

Adalyn sobbed as she desperately tried to work her magic—but no magic could fix what was naturally unfixable.

Not like this.

She didn’t notice as the airship pulled away, barely noticed at all when Aymeric knelt on Haurchefant’s other side, pulling the knight’s head onto his lap so Adalyn could keep trying, fighting against the inevitable.

All she was doing was prolonging his torture.

Haurchefant raised a trembling hand, and Adalyn clasped it in both of hers. She could barely see his face through her tears.

“Oh, do not look at me so,” Haurchefant murmured. “A smile better suits a hero…”

A smile. She could smile for him.

So Adalyn did, blinking away her tears, and Haurchefant smiled back up at her.

He squeezed her hand once. Then twice.

His fingers slipped from her grasp as his hand went limp.

When Adalyn screamed, the only sound was silence.

Chapter Text

“When all others had forsaken us, Lord Haurchefant took us in…”

It had taken all of Estinien’s strength to pull Adalyn away from Haurchefant’s body, but once the Temple Knights had borne him away, she went limp, sobbing noiselessly until her tears ran dry.

“A knight lives to serve, to protect, to sacrifice… there is no greater calling.”

He was temporarily placed in the mausoleum of the cathedral to await burial; being a bastard son, he wasn’t legally permitted to be buried in the Fortemps plot, despite Edmont’s wishes.

When Adalyn first returned to the manor, she found the count waiting for her. Her hands and coat were still stained with his son’s blood, but he pulled her into a hug, and she held him as he wept.

She had already shed enough tears to last a lifetime.

“His sacrifice shall not be forgotten.”

When Aymeric’s injuries proved too stubborn for even the most skilled chirurgeons to treat, Adalyn insisted on seeing to them herself, as much out of a desire to be useful as out of a sense of duty.

She arrived at Borel Manor and was shown up to Aymeric’s room, which she numbly noted looked incredibly similar to the room from her and Estinien’s shared dream.

Aymeric offered her a tired smile from his bed. “Adalyn,” he said softly. “You really needn’t have troubled yourself so for me, but I am forever grateful that you came.”

Adalyn shrugged, glancing away. “It helps to keep busy,” she said, and clicked her fingers at Aymeric. “Robe, off. I refuse to send the Lord Commander back to work with him in anything less than perfect condition.”

Even under better circumstances—ones where Haurchefant were still alive, for instance—the sight of Aymeric’s body wouldn’t have been distracting to Adalyn in that moment. He was her patient, and she treated him as such, starting with the wounds he indicated were the most painful.

“The chirurgeons have already done all they can,” he said as Adalyn sat beside him, her callused fingers carefully beginning to undo the dressings on the arm he’d been favouring that horrible day. “But I daresay having such an adept healer as yourself will do wonders.” He sighed. “Lucia is doing a fine job in my stead, I am certain, but I should like to return to my work instead of laying about in bed all day.”

Adalyn made a small noise of agreement, wincing when the last of the dressings fell away from his arm. The worst of the injury was blackened and burned, and scabbed over where blood had wept through the cracks. The outside edges swelled with blisters, some of which had burst as she removed the bandages.

Aymeric glanced down at his arm and chuckled weakly. “For all our own healers are quite adept at treating the burns caused by dragonfire… Ser Charibert’s techniques are another matter entirely.”

Adalyn traced a careful finger around the edge of the burn, which started in the crook of Aymeric’s elbow and drew a jagged line to his shoulder. “Lucia mentioned she never liked him,” she said, aether gathering at her fingertips. “I’m beginning to see why.”

She remembered how difficult it had been for her to heal her own injuries caused by the inquisitor, how she’d only seemed to gather the strength to do so when Haurchefant was by her side.

But Haurchefant wasn’t by her side now, and never would be again.

Adalyn swallowed back the lump in her throat, and she forced herself to concentrate on Aymeric’s burns, clinging to that memory of Haurchefant’s soothing presence as she worked.

Slowly, his skin began to knit back together, Adalyn weaving the magic with much more care than she’d had for herself. Aymeric let out a soft sigh of relief when Adalyn drew her fingers away, and he gave his arm an experimental flex.

“Better?” Adalyn asked.

“Very much so,” Aymeric said, and Adalyn nodded, turning her attention to the rest of his injuries.

Charibert was a brute. Adalyn kept her face carefully neutral as she worked, but if this was what Aymeric looked like after the chirurgeons’ treatment, she shuddered to think how badly off he’d been when the others had found him. When she got to the burns on the bottoms of his feet, her hands briefly stilled.

He’d climbed all that way like this?

It was no wonder he’d needed to lean so heavily against Lucia for support. A wonder at all he’d even been able to walk. Then again, the heat of battle could push people far beyond their mortal limits, as she herself knew all too well.

When the last of the burns were healed, Adalyn stood, turning away to give Aymeric a measure of privacy as he pulled his dressing gown back on.

“Thank you,” Aymeric said, and Adalyn turned when she heard him rise from the bed, stretching carefully. “You really are as good as they say.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. “Not good enough.”

A hand settled on her shoulder; she kept her eyes closed. “‘Tis my understanding that there was nothing to be done,” Aymeric said softly. “All I can offer are my deepest apologies; had I not tried confronting my father—”

Adalyn’s knees buckled, and she was transported into Aymeric’s past, watching as he faced down the archbishop.

The archbishop never even tried to deny Aymeric’s accusations; rather, he readily admitted to keeping the truth from Ishgard, to Aymeric’s shock and dismay. His reasoning, he explained, was that Ishgard did not deserve to suffer for the sins of their ancestors—but to keep the people united against their common foe, a more compelling narrative was needed to drive the righteous to their cause.

“This is your solution?” Aymeric cried. “This is how you protect our people? You have given us a lost cause! A death sentence! With your compelling narrative, you but doom our countrymen to give their lives for a lie!”

“And they do so gladly!” the archbishop said, completely unfazed. “Highborn and lowborn alike are proud to serve—to fight and die for their country.” His blue eyes were piercing as he studied Aymeric. “And what would you say to them, my son? What would you tell the wives who have lost their husbands, the mothers who have lost their sons?” He paused. “That their loved ones died for naught?”

“I…”

Aymeric, normally so eloquent with his words, was at a loss for any.

Adalyn came to in Aymeric’s arms, and she sat up abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you alright?” Aymeric asked, his face full of concern.

Adalyn let her hand fall. “‘Twas a vision,” she said, and hesitated. “I saw when… when you went to confront your father. How he already knew…”

“So this is the power of the Echo,” Aymeric said softly. “Would that it had shown you a finer moment from my past.” He looked away. “To be frank, I am embarrassed to recall it.”

Adalyn shook her head. “I don’t think there really is a good answer to that question,” she said. She turned away. “But we shall have to find an answer regardless.” She sighed; she couldn’t bring herself to look back at Aymeric. “I owe you an apology as well for ever doubting your quality of character. But please… no more heroics like your attempt at self-sacrifice. I don’t think we could afford another rescue operation like the last.”

“Adalyn…”

She slipped out the door. Aymeric didn’t call out after her, for which she was grateful.

Perhaps it had been cruel of her to throw that in his face. After all, hadn’t she been the one to tell the others off for expressing their doubts for his plan? Hadn’t she been the first to suggest charging in, ever the triumphant hero, to stage a rescue mission before he’d even left?

If she hadn’t been so focused on the archbishop, she would have noticed the incoming attack.

If she hadn’t run forward out of cover.

If she had been a little bit faster to reach the landing.

If she had. If she hadn’t. If she only.

Adalyn shuddered, pressing her hands over her face. His blood was on her hands. His, and the scores of Temple Knights she had slaughtered on her charge through the Vault.

Perhaps the gods had seen fit to punish Haurchefant in her stead.

She wandered aimlessly through the streets, streets that she’d once walked through with Haurchefant, laughing together as they talked. Now, it was just dark, oppressive stones looming on all sides like a tomb.

Is this it? Is this all that awaits?

Adalyn slowly turned, peering over the walkway she was on, and her eyes widened when she saw a corpse slumped against the wall below, a pair of Temple Knights laughing amongst themselves.

“That’s more than far enough. The rats will take care of the rest.”

Well, then. Survivors of her attack on the Vault, drawn away by Hilda’s people?

She looked around, and, seeing no one else, vaulted over the wall.

The Temple Knights whirled at the sound of her landing, their eyes going wide behind their helms.

Open your eyes. Look.

Adalyn’s gaze shifted from one knight to the other.

Do you see now? Do you see?

Adalyn’s fingers closed on the hilt of the corpse’s sword.

She blinked.

The Temple Knights were gone, but the corpse was standing—alive—peering at her carefully from behind their helm.

Their eyes were a startlingly bright shade of magenta.

“You alright?” they—she—asked carefully. “You looked like your thoughts were a thousand malms away.”

Adalyn looked around, then down at the sword in her hand. She tried to offer it back to the mysterious woman, who just chuckled and shook her head.

“I think that belongs to you, now,” she said. “The name’s Fray, by the way.”

Adalyn reached for the card in her belt, but Fray held up a hand.

“No need to ask who you are. Adalyn Keene, the vaunted Warrior of Light.” She crossed her arms, looking Adalyn over. “And I know Sign, before you start anything silly like attempted pantomime.”

Adalyn could have sagged with relief. “What happened?” she asked. “I thought there were Temple Knights here… and you were…”

Fray remained silent, watching her expectantly.

“...Dead,” Adalyn said, feeling rather silly as she did so.

But she’d been certain of what she had seen; was she simply going mad?

Fray just chuckled. “Before you get carried away,” she said, “we need to talk about what’s happening to you—what’s growing within you.” She began circling Adalyn, her hands folded behind her back. Studying her, like an insect pinned to a board. “There’s a darkness within us all—nothing dangerous, mind—but not everyone has the power to control it. You, on the other hand…” She stopped in front of Adalyn. “Attempting to do so without proper training, however, well… you just might get hurt.”

Adalyn laughed, a hollow whisper of a sound. “I’m not afraid of that any more.”

“Hmm.” Fray inclined her head. “We dark knights are free to follow our hearts—to defend the weak and punish the guilty as we see fit. You would know all about that desire for justice, wouldn’t you?”

Adalyn’s fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword. She closed her eyes and nodded; her chest felt painfully tight.

She could hear the amusement in Fray’s voice. “Then consider my blade yours to use… and perhaps we shall meet again, Adalyn Keene.”

There was no sound of footsteps, but when Adalyn opened her eyes again, the alley was empty.

Adalyn would have sworn she’d imagined it all, but the weight of the bloodied greatsword in her hand told a different story.

Absentmindedly, she cleaned the blade and sheathed it on her back, where it settled like a familiar weight that belonged there.

Aymeric was back in his office before dawn the next day, despite Lucia’s protestations he needed rest.

What he needed was to work. His father had made mention of Azys Lla as he was fleeing, and he fully intended to ask the Scions—or what little of them remained—for their help in tracking down the Heaven’s Ward, especially given Adalyn’s recent realisation that they were summoning primals unto themselves.

Primals with powers uncannily similar to those described in the holy scriptures, as wielded by King Thordan and his knights.

A thousand years of fervent, devoted prayer to fuel them… it almost didn’t bear thinking about.

The reports that would need writing after the events at the Vault were numerous, and Aymeric kept having to pause whenever one of his men came in bearing yet more news pertaining to the bloodbath.

Sixty-five knights all told had met their deaths at the hands of the Warrior of Light—sixty-five more deaths that could have been prevented had he not been so set on his course.

There were letters to be written to their families, the matter of pensions sorted, state funerals to be arranged.

Good men died on the field of battle in war every day, but this was a new horror entirely. Had the people not been lied to for a thousand years, how many of them would still be alive?

He wondered how Adalyn felt. If she even knew. If she took note of every enemy she felled, or if each one was just another footnote in her long history of fighting.

Haurchefant’s death made sixty-six.

Aymeric knew there was no one to blame for that but himself. And Adalyn, it seemed, fully agreed.

The sharp rapping on his door instantly identified his guest as Lucia, and she entered bearing a new stack of missives. “Ser,” she said, setting the leather-bound folders on his desk. “There’s one in particular you should take a look at. Last night, a pair of Temple Knights were discovered dead in the Brume, along with the body of an executed suspected heretic.”

“A retaliation by the lowborn, perchance?” Aymeric said, holding his hand to her.

Lucia handed him the proper folder without needing to be asked. “Perhaps,” she said. “Although we’re awaiting the proper moment to reveal the truth to the public, you of all people know how rumours have a way of getting out.” She raised a pointed eyebrow.

“Too well,” Aymeric said under his breath. He sighed heavily. “Anything else in particular that you feel requires my urgent attention?”

Lucia shook her head. “No, Lord Commander. That would be all.”

“Very good.” Aymeric considered for a moment. “In that case, I would have you send for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. It seems Ishgard faces a new primal threat, and I would have their expertise.”

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight,” Fray said.

Adalyn was laying on her bed in Fortemps Manor, a hot washcloth draped over her face and a large glass of brandy on the bedside table. She sighed heavily; every muscle in her body ached.

She heard the pacing of the dark knight’s boots, the soft clink of metal and creak of leather. Adalyn was already beginning to accept she had gone mad; that no one else had come to investigate the sound of a voice in her room was proof enough of that.

“You tracked the Heaven’s Ward to the Sea of Clouds.”

Adalyn nodded, not lifting her head from her pillow.

“They were searching for some key to this Azys Lla place, and that key was on one of the islands there.”

Nod.

“But that island was devoured by a flying, feathered whale—and instead of deciding the key would be safe inside the belly of the beast—”

“The Heaven’s Ward are themselves primals,” Adalyn said, her fingers flicking in irritation. “To retrieve the key would have been trivial for them.”

“And so, in all your heroism, you decided to kill the mighty Bismarck and take the key yourself, which ended with you getting struck by levin multiple times before falling a malm and a half and smashing through several more islands—!”

“'Tis what the brandy is for.”

Fray’s pacing stopped. “And all for what, I ask you? The archbishop to show up with his pet Ascian and take the blasted key anyway!”

“You forgot the part where we had a chance meeting with Emperor Varis, and Lucia turned out to be a Garlean defector.”

Fray sat heavily at the edge of her bed—or was Adalyn just imagining the way the mattress dipped? “Oh, yes, that small detail,” she sniffed. “Forgive me for prying, but I’m rather of the opinion that allowing the people who killed your beloved to escape is of greater importance, here.” Fray’s voice took on a harder edge. “You saw Ser Zephirin on that airship and let him get away.”

Adalyn rolled over, shoving her pillow over her head. Her limbs screamed in protest at the movement.

It did nothing to shut out Fray’s voice, which rang clear as day in Adalyn’s mind.

“To protect the weak from the strong, you yourself must be strong,” Fray hissed. Adalyn could feel the woman’s eyes watching her expectantly. Hungrily. “Strength is pain. Strength is suffering. Strength is sacrifice. And in sacrifice, there is liberation. Who else but you knows what true loss is like?”

Plenty of people, Adalyn thought, gripping the pillow tighter.

The pillow was ripped away, and Adalyn found herself pinned down by the wrists, paralyzed, helpless. The cold metal of Fray’s faceplate pressed against her nose, those vivid magenta eyes staring intensely into her own.

“One foot in front of the other,” Fray breathed, and through the grille of the faceplate, her breath smelled like rot. “Over and over again. To the ends of the world and back again… and if time has no end… still forward and onward… over and over again… until you sit upon a throne of bone and blood…”

“Adalyn?”

She sat up, breathing heavily. Fray was gone, and Tataru’s voice was outside the door.

“I’m so sorry if I woke you, but there’s been news from Ul’dah! Come join us in the sitting room!”

Her brandy was still untouched. Adalyn scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed the glass, her hand shaking as she lifted it to her lips.

Haurchefant should have let her take the hit. If she could survive a fall like that with only a very sore body to show for it, surely she could have endured Ser Zephirin’s attack.

It was like the Ascian had said: she had grown far beyond the limits of mere mortals.

She wondered what pointless quest they had need of her for, now.

“You resent them, don’t you?” Fray said, and Adalyn jumped, whirling to see the dark knight sitting in one of her room’s armchairs, one leg crossed over the other. “You resent how they can never see you as anything but a tool. A tool with the occasional independent thought, a tool they might treat with some modicum of respect, but a tool nonetheless.”

“They’re not like that,” Adalyn muttered, pressing her hands over her face. Her voice even sounded like Fray’s.

But Haurchefant was never like that to begin with.

“They’re not like that any more,” Adalyn amended, feeling very small.

Fray chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “Ah, keep telling yourself that. You forget: I can see all that lurks in that dark heart of yours. Remember this feeling. Treasure it. I want it smouldering within you when next they tell you to risk life and limb to do the work of a dozen men and then some.”

Adalyn took a deep breath and moved to get dressed, ignoring the figure in the corner. When next she looked, Fray was gone… but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching.

Adalyn found Alphinaud and Tataru waiting for her with a breakfast of scones and jam. She sat, yawning, and helped herself to the closest one.

“How fare you after a night’s rest?” Alphinaud asked, and Adalyn grunted. “Well, perhaps you will be feeling in somewhat higher spirits after Tataru tells you of the progress she has made in the search for our friends!”

“Look at how quickly he’s gotten over Haurchefant,” Fray sneered. Adalyn jumped, turning in her seat to see Fray leaning against the wall, arms folded.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud asked, frowning. “Is something the matter?”

Fray made a shooing motion at her. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. ‘Tis like I’m not even here.”

“...Nothing,” Adalyn said, turning back to her friends. Her friends. “I merely thought I heard something. Please, Tataru, do share.”

Tataru beamed at her. “When you fled the victory feast, you used the ancient watercourse beneath the city, right?” she asked. At Adalyn’s nod, her smile grew. “Well, shortly after things returned to normal in Ul’dah, I asked Marshal Tarupin to have the tunnels searched.”

“A logical place to look,” Alphinaud said, glancing at Adalyn. “It was there that you lost contact with Minfilia, Thancred, and Y’shtola, was it not?”

The scone tasted like parchment in Adalyn’s mouth, and she set it back down. “I suppose that is one way of putting it,” she said. Minfilia disappearing in a flash of light was hardly the way she would have phrased it.

“Dare I ask what the marshal found?” Alphinaud asked.

“Um…” Tataru hesitated. “I don’t actually know. Pipin’s message just said that there had been a discovery, and we were to come to the Hall of Flames at our earliest convenience…”

“Nothing like playing the messenger, as befitting of a great errand girl such as yourself,” Fray murmured.

Adalyn ignored her. “Very well. I shall be leaving shortly… and praying we don’t get accused of regicide yet again.”

Pipin’s discovery, as it turned out, was the first bit of good news they’d had in a very long while.

Urianger met them at the Hall of Flames to see what the vice marshal had for them: Y’shtola’s wand, reclaimed from the collapsed tunnel. Urianger was able to deduce Y’shtola’s last spell cast with it had been a prototype of the one commonly used to return to modern aetherytes—a prototype with potentially deadly results.

“Potentially,” Adalyn said, latching onto the word. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fray turn her head aside. “Which means there’s still a chance.”

Urianger nodded. “‘Tis like that Y’shtola’s passage hath left traces in the Lifestream. Could we but follow these from the point at which the magick was invoked, we may yet find her.”

So they set out from the city together. Even in her lighter robes, the heat of Thanalan felt oppressive after the colder climes of Coerthas, but Adalyn was glad for it.

The further away from that place, the better… though she couldn’t say being in Ul’dah was exactly bringing back good memories, either.

She kept her eyes focused squarely on Urianger’s back as they walked, refusing to acknowledge Fray as the dark knight fell into step beside her.

“Has it even occurred to you that you’re like as not only setting yourself up for bitter disappointment and further heartbreak?” Fray asked.

Adalyn briefly closed her eyes, giving a tiny, imperceptible nod.

She could sense Fray’s annoyance radiating off of her. “A dark knight accepts she cannot save everyone—that sometimes, she is fortunate just to save herself. Sacrifice is to renounce that which binds you. To recognise that which matters—and forsake all that does not.”

Adalyn’s fists clenched at her sides. If I were to forsake the Scions after they sacrificed themselves for me, then I am hardly fit to call myself a hero.

Fray sighed heavily. “At the very least, you must realise that you cannot continue to carry all these burdens… unless you wish to die a slave.”

Adalyn stopped dead in her tracks.

Alphinaud kept walking several more paces before he turned to look at her. “Adalyn?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s simply…”

Alphinaud glanced around, nodding slowly. “Being here calls to mind that fateful day,” he murmured.

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, but Alphinaud drew away. After a moment, she continued after him.

They found the mouth of the tunnel and descended, Adalyn calling fire to her hand to light the way. The deeper they went, the sicker Adalyn felt; when they passed the location where Minfilia had disappeared, she paused for a moment, looking aimlessly around.

What did you even want with her, Hydaelyn? Adalyn thought.

Fray chuckled humourlessly. “Ever do you wonder what role the Mothercrystal has in mind for you to play,” she murmured. “If we’re not all just pawns in Her long game…”

Adalyn turned away, hurrying after the others.

“Evidence of Y’shtola’s passage will have been made faint by time,” Urianger said when they reached the partially-cleared rubble. He affixed his aether goggles to his face, peering at their surroundings. “But mayhap some few scant traces yet remain to guide our steps…”

He held out Y’shtola’s wand, and Adalyn felt the weave of aether bend around him as he cast his spell. “The trail leadeth to the north and east,” Urianger said at last, “unto the bosom of the Twelveswood.”

“And yet, Gridania has reported no sightings,” Alphinaud said slowly, “which means… she is still adrift…”

Urianger’s face was grave as he removed his goggles. “If it do be so, I fear for our friend. Contrary to its name, the Lifestream is more akin to a raging torrent. Linger overlong in the midst of this maelstrom, and the aether that formeth one’s soul shall surely be scattered, ne’er to be reformed.”

“She has already been missing for weeks,” Adalyn said, and Alphinaud closed his eyes. “But…” She pounded her fist into the opposite palm. “If she can yet be saved, I will not let it be said we gave up without trying! It would seem our next order of business is to return to Gridania, then.”

“Ever the hopeful hero,” Fray murmured. “When this, too, ends with bitter disappointment, I hope you remember my words… Warrior of Light.”

Adalyn oftentimes wondered what it was about her that the elementals had seen fit to bestow their gifts upon her. She never really paid more than lip service to them, even if she did agree that protecting the forest was important.

Even when the elementals had whispered to the padjali to train her in the ways of white magic, Adalyn couldn’t understand their motives, though she had communed with them often enough in her earlier days as an adventurer.

But she did know enough to help Kan-E-Senna think of a possible solution to their not-so-little problem. And, she was happy to report, if they needed a person with similar aether to their missing friend’s, she happened to know Y’shtola’s sister, who was living in Gridania.

“I didn’t realise you knew Y’shtola’s sister at all,” Alphinaud said, blinking.

Adalyn shrugged. “We have… worked together, in the past,” she said, and grimaced. “Before this whole Warrior of Light business really started. I wished to learn more about the business of summoning, if I was to be the Scions’ slayer of primals. To make a very, very long story short: ‘twould seem I am as deft in the weaving of the spells of ancient scholars as I am with any other discipline I put my mind to.”

Fray scoffed. "All these gifts, and yet you still couldn’t save him."

Adalyn closed her eyes.

But I could still save her.

The plan worked. Mostly.

When Y’shtola was pulled from the Lifestream, naked as the day she was born, a sudden rush of fear gripped Adalyn’s heart. She knew the story of her own discovery, of course—everyone in Gridania did, by this point.

Adalyn had lost her memories and her voice. If she—the godsforsaken Warrior of Light—had travelled through the Lifestream and ended up in such a condition, what might Y’shtola’s be like… if she even woke at all?

When she finally did, Adalyn couldn’t breathe the same sigh of relief Alphinaud and Tataru did. They were allowed in to see her, and Tataru flung herself at Y’shtola, hugging her tightly as she cried.

“Oh, Tataru,” Y’shtola said gently, patting her back. She turned her head towards Adalyn and Alphinaud, and Adalyn’s blood turned to ice.

Y’shtola’s once-vibrant eyes were a clouded, milky white.

Adalyn let out a slow breath, barely managing to control the trembling in her hands.

“Adalyn,” Y’shtola said, relief in her voice. “You are safe… thank the Twelve.”

But—she was blind, surely? Adalyn hadn’t thought her footfalls were so obvious—

“And Alphinaud,” Y’shtola said warmly. “Something has changed about you—or mayhap the change is with me? I seem to sense the aether around me more keenly than before.”

So that explained it, then.

Adalyn leaned against the wall, her arms folded tightly, barely listening as Alphinaud and Tataru filled Y’shtola in on all that she had missed while she was adrift.

How many more people would sacrifice themselves for her?

“Poor little hero,” Fray murmured from where she leaned against the wall beside Adalyn. “It must be difficult, being so useful to the world at large that people will throw their lives in danger for the sake of yours. A true hero would not need to rely on their sacrifices. A true hero would be strong enough to face her burdens alone.” There was a heavy sigh. “I’m tired… so… very tired…”

She felt eyes on her and looked up to see Y’shtola peering curiously at her—no, at the spot over her shoulder. Adalyn glanced behind her, but Fray was gone once more.

When she looked back, Y’shtola’s eyes were narrowed slightly, but she didn’t say anything otherwise.

The thought that Adalyn might not be hallucinating after all was at once comforting and terrifying.

A true hero would not have let him die, Fray’s voice whispered in her mind.

Adalyn closed her eyes. I know.

Chapter Text

When Y’shtola was well enough to travel again, she, Alphinaud, and Adalyn set off for Dravania once more, in search of Y’shtola’s old master. Matoya, Y’shtola said, was the leading expert on aetherial research, and would like as not be able to help them pierce the barrier to Azys Lla.

Adalyn couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d gone off on a quest to bring down Allagan defenses. The Adalyn of her past would have laughed, but she missed G’raha. He would have doubtless had that excited gleam in his eye as he told everyone all about the lost continent, about the experiments the Allagans no doubt conducted there, about all the ancient relics he might hope to find on their expedition.

“Just one more person you failed to save,” Fray murmured.

Adalyn ignored her.

Their journey found Adalyn walking ahead of the others most of the time, keeping an eye out for any potential threats. She wasn’t included in Alphinaud and Y’shtola’s conversations, which suited her just fine; though Alphinaud was more than adept at translating for her, there was something particularly isolating at the thought that Y’shtola wouldn’t be able to see her signing, fluent or not.

Strangely enough, the fact she could no longer sense Estinien was isolating, too. She had gotten used to his presence, a near-constant at the back of her mind, and if she was being wholly honest with herself, she missed being able to talk to him in their dreams.

It was… nice. Nice to be able to hear her own voice, even if it was imagined.

The same thoughts chased ‘round and ‘round her head as she sat watch one night, perched atop the arch of a root while her companions sheltered beneath the tree. Fray sat with her, not speaking, but Adalyn could feel the disappointment rolling off the apparition in waves.

She heard gentle footsteps below, and peered over the edge of her perch to see Y’shtola looking up at her.

“I could not sleep,” Y’shtola said, folding her arms. “A long soak in the Lifestream, followed by a long journey… I would not recommend it to anyone.” She considered Adalyn for a long moment. “I had wondered if we might talk.”

Adalyn shrugged, replaced her spear on her back and jumped down to the ground, landing lightly as her armour changed back to robes. She spread her hands expectantly.

Y’shtola inclined her head with a knowing smile. “If you were to use your notebook and pen, I’m sure you’ll find I am just as capable of reading as I was before.”

Adalyn’s eyes widened, and she hastened to pull them out. Scared to ask. Life force to see aether?

“Straight to the point, I see,” Y’shtola said. She smiled. “I will not deny, the spell I am using to grant me sight is taxing, but ‘tis well worth it if I am to continue my duties as a Scion.” She glanced at Alphinaud’s sleeping form. “But I will also ask you not tell anyone else. There is little point in worrying them needlessly; I am well aware of the risks, and mine own limits.”

Adalyn privately felt there very much was a need to be worried, but she simply nodded. Wanted to talk?

“Yes…” Y’shtola’s gaze slid sideways, and Adalyn turned to see Fray standing at the edge of the clearing, arms folded. “I’ll confess, I’m not entirely certain what it is I keep seeing, but it would appear some sort of aetherial entity has taken a liking to you.”

Adalyn snorted despite herself, though her hand shook slightly as she wrote. One way to put it.

Y’shtola tapped her knuckle against her chin in thought. “What has me most intrigued, though, is that there appears to be a direct link between it and yourself. Picture, if you would, a tree with a singular branch growing from it. The two of you are, in essence, one being, connected.”

“And here I was wondering if you were clever enough to figure it out on your own,” Fray said, leaning over Adalyn’s shoulder. Her rancid breath was hot on Adalyn’s ear.

She stilled, glancing at Y’shtola out of the corner of her eye. Can you hear her?

Y’shtola slowly shook her head. “Nay, and I suspect only you will be able to.” She considered Fray for a long moment, and Adalyn wondered how much Y’shtola’s senses were able to discern. “Have a care, Warrior of Light. I know not what sort of phenomenon this may be, and though I intend to ask my old master when we meet with her…”

No telling what might happen til then.

“Indeed.” Y’shtola sighed. “I keep thinking about what it will be like, to return to my homeland after all these years… It seems sleep will not come easy to either of us tonight.”

Adalyn shook her head. She hadn’t been sleeping well most nights, lately.

“Might I trouble you for your company, then?” Y’shtola said.

Adalyn shrugged and gestured vaguely before nodding.

Y’shtola settled in beside her, and Adalyn shifted to get a better look at her.

How feeling since return? Adalyn scrawled.

Y’shtola pondered the question for a long moment; Adalyn kept her eyes fixed on the sorceress, ignoring Fray when she sat on Adalyn’s other side.

“One does not simply ‘drift’ in the Lifestream,” Y’shtola answered at long last. “It is a constant struggle to hold on to your very essence. The experience has hardened me in ways I can ill explain.”

Worried for you. Think similar happened to me.

Y’shtola nodded slowly. “It certainly seems like a plausible theory, at least, though how Master Louisoix might have also used the Lifestream to send you not just through space, but time as well, eludes me.” She shot Adalyn a faint smile. “How fortunate for us I escaped with my memories intact; we might be in a spot of trouble had I not.”

Adalyn’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t muster up a smile in return. Sorry still don’t remember you.

“Let’s not waste time apologising for things that were not our fault, hm?” Y’shtola gave Adalyn a piercing look; Adalyn glanced away, only to see Fray sitting there.

She could hear the smirk behind Fray’s helm. “Gods know we have plenty of other things to apologise for.”

Master Matoya was nothing like Adalyn expected, and everything like she should have expected: no-nonsense, gruff, irascible. Though, Adalyn supposed, she would be, too, having her solitude intruded upon.

Thankfully, the old magician was in full agreement that the Heaven’s Ward needed to be stopped, and for a moment, Adalyn felt her adrenaline surge at the prospect she would be facing them soon.

…As soon as she retrieved the necessary research to do so.

Because nothing could ever be so straightforward as penetrating an ancient Allagan defensive barrier.

Adalyn knew she was being ridiculous. Petty. Unreasonable.

But her vengeance was being delayed by the need to breach a library warded by magical defenses, and of course, she was to do so alone.

“You see? You see!” Fray crowed in her ear as Adalyn sprinted through the ruins of the Sharlayan colony, refusing to slow down as she leapt over crumbling rooftops. “See how they use you! Like a rabid hound snapping at its chain, waiting to be unleashed on all who dare stand in their way! Because oh, vaunted Warrior of Light, they know what you truly are! Stop holding back and unleash your true power!”

Adalyn found the staircase leading up to the library, and upon reaching the magnificent double doors, her robes shifted into her warrior’s armour—but rather than drawing her axe from the aether, it was Fray’s sword, and she swung, darkness arcing from the blade to blast through the ward and blow the doors off their hinges.

“Remember all those who have wronged you,” Fray snarled; the speed of Adalyn’s passage left scattered pages flying off the floor in her wake.

“How time and again you always did what they asked of you!”

Darkness swirled around Adalyn as the library’s guardians swarmed her.

“How you never complained!”

She tore into them with a silent scream, her blade flashing as it cut them down without mercy. Every one of her enemies felled, she imagined as the Heaven’s Ward, succumbing to her righteous fury.

“Never faltered!”

Through chamber after locked chamber, whorls of darkness gathering around her hand and blasting her way clear, Adalyn ran, the rage more potent than any she had felt through Nidhogg.

“Ever the dutiful hero!”

This rage was hers.

“And where did it get us?!”

The guardians were slaughtered, cut down like blades of grass, dark, swirling smoke trailing from their corpses as Adalyn ran past them without a second thought.

“Where did it get us, Weapon of Light?”

All she ever wanted was to do the right thing, and yet. And yet. And yet.

“Where did it get him?!”

Adalyn’s breathing was ragged as she wrenched her sword free from the corpse of the final guardian, deep in the bowels of the restricted section. She sheathed it on her back, not even bothering to clean off the black blood that dripped from the blade.

“Our heroic deeds are built atop a pile of the dead,” Fray said, circling Adalyn. “Oh, the bards sing our little song of hope, but we know. We know there is no glory in being what we are. What we truly are.”

Adalyn moved towards the book that her gut told her was the one she’d been sent to find. As she pulled from its shelf, Fray’s hand closed over hers.

“Tell me, Adalyn Keene,” Fray purred. “That display of power—it felt good, didn’t it?”

Adalyn closed her eyes.

Fray just chuckled, letting go. “Deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. Deep, deep down below the surface, that darkness makes us no better than a monster.”

“Ah, Warrior,” Y’shtola said, hardly looking up from her reading when Adalyn stalked back into Matoya’s cave. “You have the tome, yes? Then hurry and show it to Matoya that I might be free of her stifling attention.”

Adalyn slammed the book down on the table with a thud that echoed around the cavern. Y’shtola slowly lifted her head; Alphinaud opened his mouth, but Adalyn shot him such a venomous glare that he immediately closed it again.

“I take it you found the tome,” Matoya said, in a tone that booked no room for attitude. “Very well, let’s see it, then…” She picked it up off the table and began thumbing through it, muttering to herself.

“Do you see how they look at us?!” Fray said, her hand closing on the back of Adalyn’s neck. “See how the little lordling stares at the blood that stains your soul! But you, you know well the price of war, of combat. If he is to send us into danger on a whim, let him see the fruits of our labour!” She laughed, throwing her head back. “All that matters now is exacting our justice!”

Chapter Text

“You, girl.”

Adalyn lifted her head to see Matoya standing in front of her, sizing her up.

Adalyn pointed at herself; beside her, Fray mockingly copied the gesture.

“Shtola tells me you’ve been having a little problem with your aether.”

Adalyn just smiled vaguely and shrugged.

“What’s the matter?” Matoya said, arching her eyebrow. “Coeurl got your tongue?”

“Ah—forgive me, Master Matoya,” Alphinaud called from where he and Y’shtola were poring over the tome Adalyn had retrieved. “Adalyn is mute, wholly incapable of speech.”

“I know that,” Matoya said, raising a hand and squinting at Adalyn. “Hmph. It’s just like Shtola suspected.” She turned away. “Your aether is damaged—left your voice and your memories behind in the Lifestream. You’re fortunate Louisoix’s spell didn’t turn out worse.” Matoya snorted. “The reckless old fool…”

Adalyn glanced sidelong at Fray, who spread her hands before lacing her fingers behind her helmeted head. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “I’m wholly unrelated to that little mix-up.”

“Master Matoya,” Y’shtola said. “About the other thing we discussed?”

“Ah, yes.” Matoya turned back, giving Adalyn a hard stare. “I’ll have to look into it further, but have a care in the meantime. If your aether is already being expended on that—” She waved her staff vaguely in Fray’s direction. “—well, you’re siphoning your own life force into it. Just because you’ve been blessed with an abundance of aether doesn’t mean you ought to go expending it all willy-nilly like you have.”

But I haven’t even been doing it on purpose, Adalyn wanted to say.

“Smile and nod,” Fray said through gritted teeth, so Adalyn did.

To build the aetherical ram that would pierce the barrier around Azys Lla, they would first need a source of aether that the Enterprise would be capable of carrying; in other words, they needed something other than several tonzes of crystals.

“There is always the Eye,” Adalyn suggested, which the others agreed seemed their best option. The only problem now was actually finding the blasted thing, because Estinien had disappeared to gods knew where, and Adalyn could no longer sense his presence.

They returned to Ishgard to ask Aymeric to get in touch with the wayward dragoon via linkpearl, and after that, all they had left to do was wait for Estinien to arrive.

Which left Adalyn wandering the streets of Ishgard aimlessly, Fray stalking at her side.

“We should be training,” Fray said dourly, her arms crossed, every line of her body beneath her armour tense. “We should be preparing for when we face down the Heaven’s Ward! We should be ready to seize Ser Zephirin by the throat, to pull his entrails through his stomach, make him choke on his own blood as we watch the light leave his eyes—”

Adalyn pressed her hands over her face, trying to tune her out.

“Adalyn Keene?”

Adalyn turned at the sound of the voice, her hackles instinctively raising when she took in the Temple Knight.

“Kill him,” Fray hissed.

Adalyn inclined her head, pointing at herself.

“I bear a message from Ser Aymeric,” the Temple Knight said, but there was something in his voice that just put Adalyn further on edge. “‘Tis unwise for me to deliver it in public, though; might you accompany me?”

“Does he really think we’re that stupid?” Fray laughed. “Go on, then! Strike him down on the spot!”

Adalyn nodded, and the Temple Knight turned, leading her away from the main streets.

If he truly means me harm, she thought, ignoring Fray spitting curses through her teeth, then this will be the last mistake he’s ever going to make.

Adalyn wasn’t surprised, just disappointed, when it did indeed turn out to be a trick. The Temple Knight took her through a winding series of back alleys, where he attempted to slay her as revenge for his fallen brothers.

He didn’t even manage to unsheathe his sword halfway before Adalyn struck, tendrils of darkness erupting from her hand to puncture his torso in a half-dozen places.

She lifted her hand, her eyes cold, and the knight stared down at her in horror before the light left his eyes.

“I was wondering when you were going to kill him.”

Adalyn released the spell as she turned, and the body crumpled to the ground behind her.

Standing at the mouth of the alley was an auri man, the pale grey of his skin and hair contrasting with his dark horns. Adalyn’s eyes were immediately drawn to the enormous greatsword on his back, before flickering to meet his gaze.

He was like her, she realised. He had that darkness about him, too.

“I pray you do not make a habit of following men plotting to kill you into secluded areas,” the dark knight said, folding his arms. His eyes narrowed. “Though at least you seemed to have that handled.”

“I can handle myself,” Adalyn signed angrily, even though she doubted he would understand.

He didn’t respond; instead, his eyes flickered to the sword on her own back. “I heard whispers that the Warrior of Light was wielding Fray’s sword in battle; I did not realise he had also taught you the arts.”

He?

Adalyn frowned, squinting at him in confusion. How in the Seven Hells did he know Fray’s name?

The man held out his hands. “I understand you to be mute. Pray come closer that I may read your words.” When Adalyn hesitated, he sighed. “I am not so foolish as to attempt to challenge the Warrior of Light…” His eyes shifted to the corpse behind her. “Unlike some people.”

Despite herself, Adalyn snorted, and she approached, pulling out her pen and notebook. You know Fray?

“We’ve met,” the man said shortly. “I would like to know what has become of him.”

Beside her, Fray cackled. “Oh, this is going to be delicious.”

What do you mean? Adalyn asked. Fray is… Her pen hovered, and she glanced over her shoulder at the apparition lounging beside the corpse of the Temple Knight. A part of me. I think. Keep seeing her, no one else can.

For the first time, the man seemed to be given pause. “I see,” he said at long last. “Then that means he is dead.” He sighed, pinching the scaled bridge of his nose. “We trained together, Fray and I,” he said, letting his hand fall. “His was a strength beyond reckoning. When he vanished, I feared the worst. Thank you, at least, for confirming my suspicions.”

Adalyn inclined her head.

“We who consort with the darkness are never truly whole,” he said, his voice low. “There will ever be a part of us, yearning to be free… I suspect that Fray’s soul, or what was left of it, saw in you a kindred spirit, and manifested to you, in his—or her—own way.” He gave her a faint smile. “It warms my heart to know you carry on his legacy.”

Adalyn closed her eyes; behind her, Fray groaned loudly.

“My name is Sidurgu,” he said, and held out his hand; after a moment, Adalyn took it, and they clasped forearms. “No need to ask you yours, Adalyn Keene… However it is you came to walk the path, know that it is not an easy one. Whilst we draw our strength from our passions, you must take care not to let them consume you.”

“For the love of the gods,” Fray groaned, pushing off from the wall and draping herself over Adalyn’s shoulders. “We get it—too much unchecked power, the corruption of aether, blah, blah… blah.” She grabbed Adalyn’s face between her fingers, jerking her head aside to force Adalyn to look at her. “Why do you listen to his pathetic mewling? You, who have always mastered any discipline you have tried? Who is he to lecture you in the ways of the art?”

Adalyn jerked away, from both Fray and Sidurgu.

Sidurgu folded his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly as Adalyn straightened. “Whatever form she has taken,” he said, “she is only as real as you permit her to be. But if you do not learn how to control it, to walk the path of darkness without falling completely to its sway… it will consume you.”

Adalyn’s jaw set.

Sidurgu shook his head. “I will not keep you longer,” he said. “But should you be wanting for guidance… ask for me at the Forgotten Knight.” He turned away. “We’ll meet again, Warrior of Light.”

Adalyn watched him go.

Fray wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her voice crooning. “He could never understand,” she said softly. “The vengeance that eats at your heart, that desire for justice that surges through your veins… He does not seek to teach. Only to control.”

Adalyn was silent.

Her linkpearl blipped, and Adalyn pulled away again, grateful for the distraction.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud’s voice came through, and Adalyn clicked her tongue in response. “Ser Aymeric has requested our presence at the Congregation. Pray join us there at once.”

Adalyn clicked again and closed the connection; when she turned around, she found herself nose to nose with Fray’s helm.

“How long will it be,” Fray said, pressing in closer, and Adalyn leaned back, “before you realise that it is a futile endeavour to resist the desires of your heart?”

Adalyn shoved Fray away and stormed past her, her armour changing back to her heavy, white winter coat.

“Fight it all you like, Adalyn Keene!” Fray called after her. “Deny it all you like! Run all you like! You’ll never be able to escape yourself!”

Chapter Text

Adalyn didn’t see Fray for the rest of her journey to the Congregation, though the apparition kept shouting at her in her head, threatening to drown Adalyn’s thoughts. Mayhap it was that some of her inner turmoil showed on her face, because the guards outside of Aymeric’s office hesitated before letting her in.

“Adalyn,” Aymeric said, lighting up when she stepped through the doors. “‘Tis wonderful to see you again, my friend.”

Adalyn nodded, casting her gaze around at the others in the room. Estinien was leaning against the wall behind the Lord Commander’s desk, and he gave her a curt nod; Y’shtola and Alphinaud were awaiting her as well.

It didn’t miss Adalyn how Y’shtola’s sightless eyes flickered towards Fray, and she grimaced.

“Is aught amiss?” Alphinaud asked, frowning slightly.

Adalyn quickly shook her head.

“It would hardly do to let the others know their precious Weapon of Light is going mad!” Fray said beside Adalyn’s ear. “Tell them, and watch their misplaced faith in you flicker and fade! All it would take is one slipup for them to lose that last shred of hope.”

“Y’shtola has informed me that the aetherical ram is complete, and she could not have done so at a finer moment,” Aymeric said. “With the Azure Dragoon channeling the power of the Eye, the way to Azys Lla shall open, and you will be free to face my father.” His expression was grave. “Adalyn, I am under no illusions that in the end, it will have to be you alone who confronts him and the Knights Twelve. But there is no telling what you’ll find beyond the barrier—and full glad am I to know you will face it with the most steadfast of allies.”

Y’shtola smiled. “Until but recently, Ishgard has kept her doors firmly shut to outsiders. Now, however, we may fight together to secure the future of the realm, thanks to Adalyn. Truly, she is the beacon of hope towards which all men are drawn.”

Estinien snorted derisively. “Spare us the hyperbole. ‘Tis not for praise that we fight.”

Y’shtola turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh? In light of all we have achieved, I felt it only meet to express my gratitude.”

Estinien folded his arms. “All that we have achieved? Hmph. Spoken like a true outsider. Until the war is over, we have achieved nothing. The coming battle is a chance to excise the root of this conflict. Only then may you speak of achievement.”

Y’shtola’s smile faded. “‘Twas not mine intent to make light of your struggle. If I have given offense, then I apologise. But if I may speak freely, you would do well to be wary of the Eye. Even now, it burns with insatiable hatred, watching unblinking for a sign of weakness. Should you falter for so much as a moment, it will surely consume you.”

“Save your concern. I will consume the Eye ere I let it consume me.”

Adalyn shot Estinien a warning look. “If at any moment you should feel yourself weakening, promise me that you shan’t hesitate to let me take control of the Eye. I refuse to lose anyone on this mission who might be spared that fate.”

Estinien nodded curtly. “Aye, on that, you have my word.” He gave Adalyn a wry smile. “Though I hope it will not come to that.”

Fray cackled. “Would that not be a fine fate for us?” she said. “To have resisted me all this time, only to fall to the madness of a slain wyrm? The irony is not lost on me, I’ll grant you that.”

“Well then,” Alphinaud said, squaring his shoulders, “if that is all, I say we make for the airship landing at once. We have tarried long enough, and Azys Lla awaits.”

“Ah, excellent timing!” Cid said happily when they reached the airship landing. “We’ve just finished our work on the Enterprise. She’s so much improved, I’ve decided to give her a new name to suit: The Enterprise Excelsior! …Or simply the Excelsior, if pressed for time.”

Adalyn cast her gaze over the restored airship, smiling faintly to herself. “She looks like an airship reborn,” she said, and Cid chuckled when Alphinaud translated for her.

“Once again, she’ll carry Eorzea’s protectors into battle,” Cid said. “I can hardly think of a more fitting maiden voyage.”

“Azure wings to bear us to the final battle… I must admit there is poetry to it,” Estinien mused.

“Adalyn!” Emmanellain called, and she turned to see him waving frantically as he approached the landing, accompanied by his father and brother. “I hope you weren’t planning on running off without bidding us farewell!”

Adalyn forced a smile for him and shrugged; she yelped silently when Emmanellain caught her up in a hug, spinning her around.

“Oh, do put her down,” Artoirel said. “That’s the Warrior of Light you’re swinging about; the least you could do is show some respect.”

Adalyn shook her head, squeezing Emmanellain’s arms when he set her back on the ground. She looked at them curiously in turn, glancing at the cloth-wrapped bundle in Artoirel’s arms.

Edmont stepped forward, resting a hand on Adalyn’s shoulder with a small smile. “It feels as if it were only yesterday when first we met…” His smile turned sad. “You came to us as a fugitive seeking asylum, and now you bear the hopes of our nation upon your shoulders.”

He turned to Artoirel, who stepped forward, unwrapping the bundle in his arms. Adalyn’s throat felt tight as the cloth slipped away to reveal Haurchefant’s shield, the blackened hole through the crest a cruel monument to that day.

“He would not have told you,” Edmont said softly, passing his cane to Emmanellain and lifting the shield in his hands, “but when Haurchefant begged me to accept you into our household, he described you as ‘hope incarnate’. At the time, I assumed he was waxing lyrical, as was his wont. But I have come to see that he simply spoke the truth.”

Adalyn blinked away the tears that threatened to spill as Edmont turned to her, lifting his gaze to meet her own. “You are hope,” he said. “A shining beacon that shall guide the people of Ishgard through the raging snowstorm.”

As he handed the shield off to Adalyn, he forced a smile for her. “...A memento. Were Haurchefant here, he would have wished to fight at your side in the battle to come. Take care, my dear, and return to us.” His voice was soft. “I could not bear to lose a daughter as well.”

Adalyn ran her fingertips carefully around the edge of the jagged hole. She looked up and nodded, swallowing hard. “I will come back. I promise.”

She held onto the shield a moment longer before letting it be absorbed by the aether, and she took a deep breath, turning to the others.

Aymeric met her gaze. “Do whatever you must to end my father’s madness. May the Fury watch over you, my friend.”

Adalyn nodded, and together, she and her companions boarded the airship, waiting as Biggs and Wedge completed their last-minute checks.

“Wait a moment,” Y’shtola said, turning back. “Is that…”

A familiar figure was sprinting towards the landing, brown robe flapping about his sandaled feet. Adalyn couldn’t imagine how cold Urianger must have been as he drew to a stop, panting heavily, his hands on his knees.

“Twelve be praised, thou hast not yet set forth!” Urianger finally said when he’d stopped gulping down air.

“Urianger, it has been too long,” Y’shtola said fondly. “Why do I get the feeling you did not journey all this way simply to see us off?”

“Thou art perceptive as ever,” Urianger said, straightening up. He reached into the sleeve of his robe, producing a familiar white crystal, which he offered to Adalyn. “‘Cross sand and snow have I journeyed, that I might deliver this gift unto thee.”

She took it, her eyes wide. Even if she could have spoken, she didn’t know what to say.

“White auracite,” Y’shtola breathed. “But whence did it come?”

“To mine amazement, it lay hid amongst Moenbryda’s last effects,” Urianger said softly. “‘Twas but blind chance, or providence, that I did hap to spy it. Let no man claim that my late friend e’er erred for lack of foresight.” He nodded at Adalyn, expression grave. “In the place whither thou goest, servants of Darkness do lie in wait. Pray give unto me thy pledge that thou wilt strike them down and avenge our fallen comrade.”

Adalyn nodded and glanced at Alphinaud, jerking her chin slightly at Urianger. “I will,” she said. “The people we held dearest both sacrificed their lives for the sake of our mission. I shall see this to the very end; on that, you have my word.”

Alphinaud’s voice was tight as he translated for her, and she reached over, giving his shoulder a small squeeze.

Urianger smiled sadly. “That which man thinketh a trifle in the having, he mourneth as a treasure in the losing. A tired platitude, but one which shall haunt me unto my dying day.”

“Alrighty, the old girl is ready to fly!” Cid called, taking up his position by the wheel. “Say your farewells—the Excelsior waits for no one!”

“We can do no more than see you off with prayers for your safety and success,” Edmont said. “Yet know that wheresoever you may go, my son’s spirit goes with you. May the Fury grant you strength!”

Aymeric raised a hand in farewell. “Return to us—all of you!”

The Excelsior’s engines roared to life, and the airship began to pull away. Adalyn waved at the group that had gathered to see them off, and only lowered her hand when the clouds hid them from her sight.

“How very touching,” Fray sneered. “You and I both know they would not care about you in the slightest were you not so useful to them.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. Perhaps not, she thought. But that doesn’t mean their hopes for our success are any less genuine.

“By the Twelve, it’s like you refuse to hear yourself!” Fray threw up her arms, fading from view. There will be a reckoning soon, I promise you that.

Adalyn paced restlessly around the deck of the Excelsior, her stomach tying itself in knots. When was the last time she had eaten? Or slept, for that matter?

Something kept niggling at the back of her mind, an unrepentant sense of danger, but whenever her pacing brought her to the stern of the airship, there was naught to see but the smog that surrounded the floating continent.

As they approached the barricade, Y’shtola nodded to Estinien, who drew the Eye forth from the aether.

“Remember, you promised,” Adalyn said, coming to stand by his side.

“If I am to trust you with this duty should I fail,” Estinien said, glancing down at her, “then trust that I will know when to do so.”

Adalyn nodded. “Then… be careful.”

Estinien raised the Eye, and aether began to swirl around it as he channeled the nigh-boundless power contained within to the ram. “Eye of mine enemy! Render unto me your power!”

He staggered, and Adalyn braced herself against him as the Eye exploded with aether. The ram absorbed it as fast as it was unleashed, but Estinien was trembling with the effort of keeping it contained.

“No… you will not claim me!” he snarled. “I am the master!”

“Estinien!”

“I can still do this!” Estinien called to her over the horrible screech as their aetherial ram collided with the barricade. “I am yet myself, Adalyn!”

The Excelsior shuddered, the engines wailing as Cid pushed them to their limits—

And with the sound of shattering glass, they pierced the barricade, the Excelsior racing through the gap.

“We’re through!” Alphinaud cried giddily.

Estinien lowered the Eye; though he seemed outwardly calm, his hands trembled ever so slightly as he returned the Eye to the aether.

“Alright, there?” Adalyn asked, biting her lip.

“Aye, lass,” Estinien said softly. He smirked. “I’m almost insulted you thought I was unfit for the task.”

“Forgive me for worrying,” Adalyn said. “I’m sure I needn’t remind you of the circumstances under which we met.”

“Not when you have made it your mission to never let me forget,” Estinien said, and cuffed her shoulder.

The roar of engines—of much, much bigger engines—sounded behind them, and they whirled to see the massive Garlean airship rising from the smog. Adalyn’s armour shifted to her robes as she flung her arms wide, creating a defensive barricade around the Excelsior as the first round of missiles came flying.

Even with her shield, the Excelsior still shuddered from the force of the explosions, and Adalyn’s barricade shattered as she fell to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

“Damn it!” Cid roared. “The bastards were waiting for us to open the door for them!” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to try to shake them! Hang on to something!”

Estinien seized Adalyn about the waist, hauling her back to the main mast. She grabbed hold, reaching out for Alphinaud and pulling him towards her as more missiles slammed into the hull.

“We’re all going to dieeee!” Wedge screamed, clinging to the starboard side.

“She won’t take much more of this!” Biggs called over the blasts that shook the Excelsior. Despite Cid’s best efforts, the Garleans’ magitek targeting was more than a match for his flying. All it would take was one good hit to blast them out of the sky.

A dragon’s roar echoed over the sounds of battle, and Adalyn’s head shot up, her eyes going wide when Hraesvelgr flew up from beneath them, accompanied by a half-dozen dragons of his brood. Perched on top of the great wyrm’s head was a familiar figure, her silver hair billowing in the wind.

As they watched, she leapt, her arms tucked against her sides as she plummeted towards the Garlean airship.

Alphinaud gasped. “Is that… Ysayle? What does she mean to do?!”

Ice began to creep up Ysayle’s body, and Adalyn realised she was about to summon her goddess into herself for one last time. She clung to Alphinaud, looking on in horror as the ice surrounding Ysayle shattered, and Shiva flew forth, raising her hands to stop another barrage of missiles.

Shiva looked over her shoulder at the airship, and she smiled as she signed. “Thank you, Warrior of Light.”

The ice-encased missiles reversed course, and Shiva flew with them, summoning more ice around her body, turning herself into a missile of her own.

The ice punctured through the hull of the Empire’s airship with a series of explosions, and with a massive groan of metal, it began to keel sideways through the air.

“NO!” Alphinaud screamed, his voice breaking as he lurched forward. Adalyn tightened her hold on Alphinaud, refusing to let go, refusing to lose him, too.

The airship fell, and the Excelsior flew on unimpeded, Hraesvelgr’s roar echoing behind them.

Alphinaud sobbed as Adalyn slowly released her grip on him, and he turned, burying his face against her shoulder.

Estinien let a gauntleted hand rest on top of Alphinaud’s head, looking out over the clouds.

“Fare you well, my lady,” he murmured.

“Ysayle,” Alphinaud whispered. “I… I cannot believe she is gone…”

Estinien let his hand fall, and he folded his arms, turning away as he bowed his head. “Though we walked opposing paths, Iceheart was a worthy woman. Her deeds will not soon be forgotten.”

Alphinaud’s arms tightened around Adalyn before he stepped back, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Twelve grant her mercy…” He swallowed, sniffled, and blinked away fresh tears. “Brief though our time together was, Ysayle was a true friend—a gentle soul who fought for her beliefs. She… she would have made a fine Scion.”

“What is a Scion but one who fights for our cause?” Y’shtola said gently. “Our hopes survive thanks to her sacrifice. Let that be enough.” She looked out over Azys Lla, frowning slightly. “Yet I cannot help but wonder: how came she to know of our presence here?”

“From Hraesvelgr, I would wager,” Estinien said. “He will have felt my channeling of the Eye’s power.” His mouth curled in a bitter smile. “It would seem they were able to make peace with one another, in the end.”

How many more? Fray whispered in her mind, and Adalyn closed her eyes. How much death shall continue to follow wheresoever you go? How many more will sacrifice themselves for you?

“She gave her life because she believed in us,” Cid said, and directed the Excelsior towards the floating continent. “We owe it to her to see our mission through.”

Chapter Text

Oh, G’raha. You would have loved it here.

Azys Lla was every bit the Allagan eyesore she’d come to expect. Adalyn kept a hand between Alphinaud’s shoulders as Cid brought the Excelsior down for a landing.

“Will you be alright?” she asked.

Alphinaud took a deep breath. “I shall be fine,” he said, but there was still a faint tremble in his upper lip.

“Unless I’m mistaken,” Cid called, “from what I know of Allagan design, there should be a terminal somewhere around here that’s linked to the isle’s operational heart. If we can find it, we should be able to learn something of the archbishop’s whereabouts.”

For want of better options, it was as good a plan as any, and they split up, Adalyn pressing her hands over her face when Fray fell into step beside her.

“Why can you not just allow me a moment’s peace?” Adalyn demanded. “What will it take to make you go away? I never asked to have you in my head! Ysayle is dead now—gave her life to save mine, as did Haurchefant! And yet you refuse to let me grieve!”

Fray laughed humourlessly. “You turn to the darkness when it suits you, only to cast it aside when it does not! You know that there is no escaping it, so why do you fight against destiny? That grief, that rage, ‘tis what makes us strong.”

Adalyn shook her head.

“You cannot deny the truth that has been staring you in the face since the moment we met,” Fray snarled, and Adalyn froze when Fray appeared before her, sword pressed beneath Adalyn’s chin.

“We are so quickly approaching what could be the greatest moment of our life,” Fray hissed. “But until we are as one, we will forever be left screaming soundlessly into the void. Our voice unheard, the darkness in our heart left to fester and rot from within!”

Her eyes blazed. “Say my name. Say it. My real name. Our real name!”

The sword pressed harder against Adalyn’s chin, drawing a bead of blood. She didn’t dare move; she hardly dared to breathe. She felt frozen in place, but forced herself to lift her hand. “Fray—”

“Come now,” Fray said, and laughed, a high, cold sound, “you knew Fray was dead from the beginning, but you didn’t care! Hurting and alone, lost and afraid, adrift in the wake of the death of our beloved, and so you conjured me! A woman who was free to say and do the things you would not—could not.”

Adalyn closed her eyes.

“No, open your eyes!” Fray snarled. “Look at me! Look at me!”

Reluctantly, Adalyn did so, as aether began to fluctuate around Fray’s form.

“Do you see, now?” Fray said, her voice changing, matching the one Adalyn had only ever heard in her dreams. “Do you see?”

The darkness coalesced, and Adalyn found herself staring at… herself.

Esteem’s eyes were blazing. “Everything up to now, I have watched and waited. Patient. Hoping that you would stop being such a coward, fettered by your fear of loss. Everything up to now has been your story…”

She swung her sword, and Adalyn rolled backwards, flipping out of the way as her mirror slashed through the air.

“Everything after now will be mine!” she roared, and charged.

Adalyn’s own sword was out in an instant, parrying Esteem’s attack. Esteem just laughed, spittle flying from her mouth, matching Adalyn blow for blow. “You can’t really kill me, you know!”

Tendrils of darkness erupted from her hand, and Adalyn cut through them, lunging forward. Esteem parried and struck again, shoving Adalyn onto the defensive.

“Oh, you can try! But you’ll fail. You may as well put the blade at your own neck!” Esteem laughed.

“Adalyn!”

She heard footsteps running, heard Estinien’s voice.

“What in the—?” Alphinaud gasped.

“Stay back!” Y’shtola warned, throwing her arm out in front of them. “This is a battle she must fight alone.”

Esteem’s sword slammed against Adalyn’s, their arms trembling as they struggled, blades locked together before Adalyn tore away with a shower of sparks, darkness arcing from her sword. Esteem leapt over the attack, sword raised in an overhead swing.

“She needs help,” Estinien said, drawing his lance, but Y’shtola shoved the head of the weapon away.

“Our interference will only make things worse!”

Adalyn staggered back beneath Esteem’s attack, barely managing to bring her sword up in time.

Estinien growled. “Come on, Adalyn! I know you’re stronger than this!”

Esteem laughed derisively, looking over her shoulder at them. “Really, now? This is a private affair, if you don’t mind!”

“I think you’ll find we do mind!” Alphinaud snapped. “I know not what you are supposed to be, but you will not hurt our friend!”

She had to keep fighting for his sake. She couldn’t let this phantom win.

“Your friend?” Esteem shrilled. “Carry on pretending otherwise if it pleases you, but that’s rich coming from you!” She blocked Adalyn’s next attack with a casualness that belied the sheer force of the strike. “You, who admitted to only seeing her as your personal Warrior of Light! Your key to solve any primal threat!”

Adalyn hissed through her teeth, energy gathering around her blade. That may have been true once, she thought fiercely, but no longer!

Her next blow shuddered up her arms, and Esteem’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Esteem chuckled. “Well, now, things are certainly coming to a head!” She turned to call to the others. “Like what you see, Azure Dragoon? Is it a lust for her power or her body that drives you to defend her so fiercely? Because it is certainly not because you think of her as your equal!”

Estinien’s jaw set, his fingers flexing on his lance. As Adalyn’s and Esteem’s blades locked once more, he calmly said, “You know that has never been true. Adalyn—fight it! Do not listen to her lies!”

Adalyn disengaged, darkness swirling around her to form a protective shield when Esteem slashed at her. I’m trying. I’m trying.

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?” Esteem bellowed, her strikes unable to connect through the shield. “Flailing about like a wild beast in a battle against yourself? Serve, save, slave, slay, it makes no difference! You will never be anything but a monster!”

Her next blow shattered the shield, and Adalyn was blasted backwards. She blinked, hard, fingers scrabbling for purchase on her sword as Esteem rushed her.

“We have never lost our faith in you, Adalyn!” Y’shtola said. “And you should likewise not lose faith in yourself!”

Adalyn swung.

She felt the pain as her sword connected, and Esteem fell, clutching at the gaping wound in her chest. Instead of blood, dark smoke billowed from the wound, leaking aether. Esteem began to laugh breathlessly, bracing herself on one knee.

“It would seem… I have underestimated myself… but no matter.” Her head turned to where the others were watching. “They have borne witness to the darkness within us. To what is beneath the mask.”

“Adalyn, do not listen to her!” Alphinaud said, and he ducked under Y’shtola’s arm, running forward with determination in his eyes. “No matter what she says, we will never forsake you!”

Estinien approached as well, and though he seemed reluctant to do so, replaced his lance on his back. “Had you given up on me when I fell sway to Nidhogg’s thrall, I would not be here today,” he said brusquely. “‘Twould be a poor way to repay you if I let you fall to your own demons.”

Esteem let out a strained laugh. “Such a fantastic display of willful ignorance…”

Y’shtola folded her arms, her tail lashing behind her. “It is not from ignorance that we speak, but love.” Her eyes fell on Adalyn, and she smiled. “I am full aware that I have had little opportunity to get to know you as you are now, but I daresay I consider you a friend, too. Not because you are the Warrior of Light, but because of the goodness of your heart.”

“Hear, hear!” Alphinaud said.

Esteem’s hand curled over the gash in her chest. “Is that what this is to be, then? Wipe the slate clean? Forgive and forget?” She barked out a laugh. “Convince yourselves she can be controlled? The Warrior of Light! Our Weapon of Light!”

She looked up at Adalyn, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It isn’t too late, Adalyn. We can… we can still be… free…”

Adalyn looked up at Alphinaud, who offered her his hand.

Slowly, she reached up and grasped it, and he helped her to her feet.

“...Adalyn?” Esteem asked, her voice small.

Adalyn squeezed Alphinaud’s hand and let go, approaching her mirror, who staggered upright, watching Adalyn with a mixture of hurt and betrayal.

Adalyn held out her hand, and Esteem closed her eyes.

“So this is your answer,” Esteem murmured. Slowly, she raised her own hand, fingers trembling as she laced them with Adalyn’s. “...Listen to my voice, then. Listen to our heartbeat. Listen…”

Darkness enveloped them, blotting out the world, leaving nothing but the pair of them standing together, their hands still linked.

“I’m sorry you’ve been hurting,” Adalyn said softly. “I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much pain. I miss them too… the guilt that eats away at me, threatens to consume me, some days it all feels like it’s simply too much to bear. But that is why we keep fighting: so no one else ever has to know that same pain.”

She squeezed Esteem’s fingers. Once, twice, three times.

After a long moment, Esteem returned the gesture.

“If this is how it must be, then so be it,” Esteem murmured. “But know that whenever you tire of this charade, I shall be here… waiting to take the reins.” She smiled broadly. “You need only ask.”

The darkness faded, and Esteem disappeared with it, reabsorbed back into Adalyn’s aether.

I forgive you.

Adalyn turned and was immediately tackled about the waist by Alphinaud, hugging her fiercely.

“Don’t you dare give me such a fright like that again!” he said, his voice muffled by her jerkin. “Oh, Adalyn, I’m so sorry we ever gave you reason to doubt us!”

Adalyn’s hands hovered uncertainly before she placed them on Alphinaud’s back, and she leaned her cheek against the top of his head, closing her eyes.

I’m sorry.

“We thought we heard fighting,” Cid said, and Adalyn jerked upright, her eyes wide as she looked at the Ironworks engineers approaching. “Is everything alright?”

Adalyn looked at Alphinaud, at Estinien, at Y’shtola, who gave her a tiny nod.

Adalyn nodded to Cid, smiling faintly. “It will be.” She ruffled Alphinaud’s hair gently. “Would you keep me company on our search for this node?”

Alphinaud gave her a watery smile. “Nothing would make me happier... And, if I may, I would like to ask you some questions.”

Adalyn’s silent laughter felt strained. She caught Estinien’s eye; he shrugged and made a small shooing motion at her. “You can give me the story in full later,” he signed. “Look after the lad. He needs you right now.”

Adalyn put her hand between Alphinaud’s shoulders, and they drifted away from the group. Still, even with the privacy afforded by their distance, it took Adalyn a few attempts before her fingers cooperated enough for her to talk—but then the story spilled forth, and Alphinaud listened.

Chapter Text

It was Wedge who found the node they were looking for, and through it, they were able to discern where in the floating isles power was being diverted to: the Aetherochemical Research Facility.

So Adalyn, Alphinaud, Estinien, and Y’shtola set off, leaving the Ironworks engineers in charge of fixing up the Excelsior in preparation for their departure.

Now that she’d had a moment to catch her breath, to feel less overwhelmed from the loss of Ysayle and the battle with herself, Adalyn realised there was something tugging her towards the very centre island.

“You sense it, too?” Estinien murmured, and Adalyn swung around to look at him. “The presence of dragons…”

Adalyn nodded slowly, but there was something else about it. Something ancient and familiar. The presence of dragons was known to her, as well, but whatever this was, it was something else, similar, but wholly distinct.

The guidance node led them through the floating isles. Adalyn was almost glad for the twisted chimerical experiments left behind in the wake of their Allagan masters, driven to madness over the course of thousands of years of imprisonment.

It was a mercy to put them down, but she could hear Esteem whispering in the back of her mind: See how your blood sings in the battle? They may have accepted you, but we both know the truth.

Deeper into Azys Lla they travelled, led on by the floating node, not stopping or slowing for anything… until they came upon the remains of the Garlean airship.

They flattened themselves behind a prominent outcropping, peering around it to see foot soldiers swarming around a hastily-constructed base camp.

“So they managed to land,” Alphinaud said bitterly. “Repairs on their vessel appear to be well underway.”

“I doubt they will leave any time soon, however,” Y’shtola said. “Nay, they will remain here long after they have stripped the isle of all its secrets.”

Estinien growled in the back of his throat. “Whether or not they mean to linger, their presence here and now is an unwelcome complication.”

“Indeed,” Y’shtola agreed. “Let us avoid confrontations unless absolutely needful.” Her pale eyes flickered as she looked over the encampment. “These soldiers bear the sigil of the VIth legion, ordinarily deployed within Ilsabard. They are a long way from home.”

We can make short work of them, if you just let me take control, Esteem whispered.

Shut up.

“Wait,” Estinien said, as the soldiers began moving in the direction of the centre of the camp. “Something is afoot…”

They crept as close as they dared, Adalyn and Y’shtola working in tandem to weave a spell that kept them shrouded.

The Garleans, it would seem, had their eyes on the Allagan technology that would allow them to bind primals—a sound enough idea in theory, but in the wake of Bahamut’s calamitous return, one that only ever ended horribly.

Estinien shook his head. “Whatever folly the Garleans mean to commit, they can wait. We must remain focused on our task.”

“Yes, of course,” Alphinaud said, and a humourless smile graced his features. “It would not be polite to keep the archbishop waiting.”

Again and again and again, Esteem said as Adalyn found herself leaving her companions behind once more. Again and again and again they sacrifice themselves for you, that you might keep on fighting the good fight. Are you not tired of it all? Surely it would be easier to let me—

I said shut up!

Estinien had passed the Eye on to her as he, Alphinaud, and Y’shtola prepared to hold off the Garlean ambush. Though Adalyn had torn through the first wave of attackers, as more kept coming, she realised they were losing precious time.

And the others had come to the same conclusion.

She pressed ever onwards, and the presence of dragons grew stronger, their song echoing mournfully off the hills, until she rounded a bend to see numerous sinuous, scaly beasts flying aimlessly about the sky, their lamentations filling the air.

The node chattered blithely about how the Allagans had captured these particular specimens from the southern continent. Adalyn paid it little heed as she kept running, her lungs burning, worry gnawing at her heart.

You left them behind, Esteem said. And you still deign to call yourself a hero?

“So thy journey hath led the to this accursed place,” Midgardsormr said, and manifested by Adalyn’s head; she skidded to a stop, staring at the dragonling in anticipation of what he might have to say. “Canst thou hear it, mortal? The ceaseless keening of my kindred, steeped in five thousand years of suffering…”

Adalyn nodded, biting her lip.

“Long before the Ishgardians and their base betrayal, there lived still more wicked men whose ambitions knew no bounds,” Midgardsormr said, and settled on her shoulder. His tail curled around her throat. “Fearful of our might and covetous of our power, they devised a means to enslave dragonkind. Their vile misdeeds did set in motion a train of events whose repercussions are felt to this day.”

His head turned towards the west, his eyes unblinking. “Beyond, thou wilt find one of my first brood. Hark thou unto her words. Partake thou of her pain. Think thou upon the suffering that the conflict betwixt our kinds hath begot.”

And thus saying, he disappeared.

Wait! Adalyn thought. I wasn’t through with you! How is this supposed to help?

The Father of Dragons didn’t respond.

Seeing little other option, Adalyn pressed on, sneaking her way through the sparse vegetation until in the distance she spied what looked like a great set of black, leathery wings. The sight of them made her heart ache; they were pierced through with wicked spikes of metal, chains looping through flesh and hooked into bone, keeping the dragon restrained.

How long had she been suffering like this?

Adalyn broke into a run, but she nearly tripped when she heard the dragon’s voice resonate in her mind.

“Who cometh to this forsaken place and disturb my solitude?”

“Tiamat, my child,” Midgardsormr said, and he manifested once more.

“...Father?” Tiamat breathed. “Can it truly be you?”

“None other. My form is such that I may journey with Hydaelyn’s chosen—a mortal who desireth to end the war between man and dragon…”

Adalyn shifted anxiously from one foot to the other as Midgardsormr filled her in on all that she had missed since her imprisonment at the hands of Allag. She was all too aware that the more time they wasted, the lower her chances became of stopping the archbishop.

She jumped when she realised Tiamat was addressing her, now. The dragon spoke of her beloved’s murder at the hands of Allag, of how the Ascians approached her offering to resurrect him—how she had been betrayed, and brought back Bahamut as the primal who would, millennia later, cause the Seventh Calamity.

“It hath been five thousand years, my child,” Midgardsormr said gently. “Wilt thou not forgive thyself?”

“The release of death is denied me here, yet I desire not freedom,” Tiamat said. Her great, glowing eyes remained unblinking. “Nay, Father. I shall live with my regret until the world itself hath ceased to be.”

She is like me, Esteem whispered. The grief, the pain. Will we ever be whole?

Something hot and wet dripped down Adalyn’s cheeks, and she realised she was crying.

Will we ever be allowed to heal?

…We could, Adalyn thought. If we allowed ourselves to.

Adalyn staggered, clutching at her chest, at her head, and she heard Hydaelyn’s voice ring clear in her head.

“The Light abideth within thy heart again,” Hydaelyn’s voice came, gentle as the summer rain. “But glory not in thy success, for the servants of Darkness are ever close at hand.”

“Minfilia,” Adalyn gasped. “Is she alright? Is she there?”

There was a long pause, and Adalyn dreaded the worst. But then, when Hydaelyn spoke, it sounded like there was a smile in Her voice. “Worry not, my child,” She said. “Thy friend is safe within my embrace. Receive of me my blessing once more… and go forth, to shine thy Light on all creation.”

When Adalyn’s vision cleared, it was to see Midgardsormr out of the corner of her eye, perched on her shoulder.

“Strong art thou, mortal,” he rumbled. “The covenant bound me to thee, but ‘twould seem our fates were mingled from the first.”

He began to glow, and he lifted off of Adalyn’s shoulder, the light growing ever brighter until she had to look away. “Though I will not fight thy battles, I will yet lend thee my wings.”

The light died, and Adalyn’s eyes went huge as a much, much larger dragon alighted on the ground before her, shaking himself out and spreading his wings, looking very pleased with himself. “Come, mortal!” Midgardsormr said, and Adalyn ran forward to vault onto his back, her knees gripping his sides. Midgardsormr rose with a great beating of his wings, and Adalyn clung to his neck, turning to look at Tiamat as they left her behind. “We go to cast out the Darkness!”

“So not even the vaunted Warrior of Light can unmake an Ascian without relying upon mortal contrivances.”

“You,” Lahabrea snarled as Adalyn whirled, raising her rapier.

Archbishop Thordan and the Heaven’s Ward approached, the knights bearing a great stone sarcophagus upon their shoulders.

The power radiating from within was one Adalyn knew all too well, and her breath caught in her throat.

The archbishop’s mouth curled in a cruel smile. “The Eye you possess was Nidhogg’s left, but its twin…”

He waved a hand towards the sarcophagus as it was slid open to reveal a greyed but otherwise preserved corpse, clad in the traditional dragoon mail. Fused to his breastplate was the other Eye, the one whose power sang in Adalyn’s very veins.

“It has lain here, joined to the person of Haldrath, the first Azure Dragoon. And now, using its power to take unto my flesh the soul of the legendary King Thordan… I am become a god!” The archbishop was enveloped in blinding light, and Adalyn hissed, throwing up her arms to shield her eyes.

“A god who knows not cessation, whose being is sustained by a millennium of fervent prayer and the Eye’s nigh-bottomless reservoir of aether!”

Before Lahabrea could so much as scream, Thordan descended upon him, and his entire being was dissolved as the primal consumed him.

Thordan and the knights began to glow, rising from the floor.

Esteem, Adalyn thought to herself as she rushed forward, exchanging her rapier for their two-handed sword, I need you.

She could picture Esteem’s wicked grin. I thought you would never ask.

This was no longer a fight for control, but a dance of partners. Adalyn darted between Thordan’s legs, making a beeline for the one that was Zephirin, only to slide across the floor beneath the swing of Grinnaux’s enormous axe.

Laughter burst from her mouth as Esteem took over more fully, and the unexpected sound gave Grinnaux a moment of pause before Adalyn’s sword cleaved through his axe, slicing the head clean off.

She leapt, running along the shaft, and plunged her sword into his helm. The screams that filled the room were music to her ears.

She kicked off from Grinnaux’s head, flipping over a blast of fire from Charibert.

“You should know better than to play with fire,” Esteem tutted, and she dived out of the way of another blast, severing the tendons in the priest’s ankle, sword slicing through armour like it was made of paper. When Charibert fell, she pounced on him, plunging her sword into his back. His howl of pain and disbelief was swallowed as his body, too, dissolved into aether.

“Warrior of Light or no, she is but one woman!” Paulecrain bellowed. “We are the Heaven’s Ward! Ours is the righteousness of the Fury!”

“Dear me,” Esteem said, and twisted to avoid his strike with his massive lance. “You poor, delusional fool if you think your goddess will save you now!”

She blocked the next attack without so much as flinching, and the lance shattered, metal splinters flying through the air. Darkness rose to envelop her, and the shards glanced off harmlessly.

Adalyn’s stomach turned, and she whirled, her eyes going wide when she realised Zephirin had raised a glowing lance of pure aether.

My arm will not falter.

She raised her sword.

My shield will not break.

The lance slammed into her shield of darkness, and Adalyn staggered, falling to one knee as she fought back against the magic drilling into her defenses. Her every sense was screaming at her; if she let slip for even an instant, she would meet the same fate as Haurchefant.

With a scream that rent her throat, she shoved against the attack, and magic exploded from her, the lance impaling Zephirin. His form shimmered and burst apart, and Adalyn turned, levelling her sword at Thordan.

“Let’s finish this.”

She and Esteem were one as they tore through the remainder of the Heaven’s Ward, her every nerve aflame with the raw power of her fury and grief.

The attack that shattered Thordan’s sword shuddered up her arms, and Adalyn dropped to the floor, staring coldly down at the archbishop where he had fallen.

Gone was the primal that towered over her; in its place was the frail old man who had aspired to godhood.

“How… how can this be?” he wheezed, lifting his head to stare at her in horror. “A millennium of prayer and the Eye’s power combined—and still you stand? Who—what are you?!”

Adalyn just closed her eyes and turned away, listening to his body dissolve behind her. One hand came up to lightly touch the choker hidden beneath her armour.

It was finally over. Why did it have to hurt so much?

A quiet footstep behind her, and she turned to see Estinien approaching.

He gave her a crooked smile. “I had hoped that mine would be the hand to end it… but knowing you, there was little chance of that.”

Adalyn just looked away, sheathing her sword. She was too tired to even joke about him deliberately being late to the party. “The others—do they yet live?”

“Aye, they do; they are safely back aboard the Excelsior,” Estinien said. He stooped, picking up the Eye from where it had fallen. “‘Twould seem that this has served you well.”

Adalyn nodded. She felt hollow inside, her hands trembling. She half raised one to speak, then let it fall.

Estinien turned to where the archbishop had fallen, and moved to pick up the other eye where it lay abandoned on the floor. “Its twin… at long last…” He rose, and let out a soft sigh. “All that remains is to take them beyond the reach of man and dragon both. With this task accomplished, my toils shall finally be at an end.”

They both felt the aether surge as one, but it was Estinien who fell to his knees with a cry of pain.

“Thou hadst done well to resist mine influence,” Nidhogg crowed triumphantly, “bathed in my power and blood as thou wert. Alas, in thine anticipation of comfort, thou hast lowered thy guard!”

Estinien! Esteem cried, and Adalyn sprinted forward, trying to wrench one of the Eyes from his hands to no avail. Estinien twisted and writhed in pain as aether roiled over his body, his shouts becoming an inhuman scream.

“The keening of my fallen kindred, their smouldering desire for vengeance,” Nidhogg snarled in their minds. “Mine eyes have partaken of a thousand years of pain—a pain which I shall bestow upon thee! Drink deep of my rage, mortal… AND BECOME ME!”

Adalyn was blasted backwards as Estinien’s body exploded, black scales erupting along his body as it grew to massive size. Nidhogg reared back, his wings spread in triumph, restored to his full power once more.

He slammed down atop Adalyn, and she screamed silently as his claws punctured her torso, driving through her shoulders and narrowly missing her lungs.

“Haldrath, mine old enemy,” Nidhogg rumbled. “Long have I awaited the opportunity to reclaim my stolen eye from thy body.” His hot breath washed over Adalyn’s face. “This form is less impressive than the last. Weak.”

Adalyn hardly dared breathe, her thoughts hazy through the pain. She could feel the claws that curled through her body, and every breath she took was agony.

“Estinien,” she mouthed. “Please…”

Nidhogg’s chest swelled like a bellows, his throat glowing.

Adalyn choked on her scream when the dragon suddenly wrenched his talons free, and he fled, disappearing through the shattered wall in the direction of the Aery.

He could have killed her. She was at his mercy.

Estinien yet lives, Esteem whispered in horror.

Adalyn managed to lift a hand, pouring all that she had into healing the extensive damage wrought by Nidhogg’s talons.

“Nidhogg, my child,” Midgardsormr said sadly as he manifested beside Adalyn. “What hath thine rage made of thee..?” He turned his head towards Adalyn. “Come, Champion of Hydaelyn. Let us away from this place.”

Adalyn wanted nothing more than to remain laying where she had fallen, but she reached for Midgardsormr, hauling herself up by his neck and all but falling on top of him when he crouched to let her mount.

The rage had settled in her chest once more, as potent as it had ever been. She could feel Estinien’s—Nidhogg’s—presence growing fainter as he fled.

I’m sorry, Esteem said, and fell silent.

She clung to Midgardsormr, closing her eyes as the wind blew past her face.

How many more people would she lose before the end?

Chapter Text

“So much has happened since you died,” Adalyn said.

She brushed away a patch of snow and settled on the icy ground, her coat insulating her from the worst of the cold and damp. She drew Haurchefant’s broken shield from her aether and settled it against his headstone with a sad smile.

In the distance, rain clouds were gathering over Ishgard.

She had skipped the funeral. Funerals were for the living, after all, not the dead, and she’d had places to be, things to do.

Haurchefant would have understood.

But.

It didn’t mean the ache was any lesser for it.

“I don’t even know where to begin, really,” Adalyn said, tucking her feet beneath her. “Estinien is… gone, consumed by Nidhogg. Ishgard has rejoined the Alliance… you would be so pleased about that one.” She ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We finally found Thancred—he’s alright, for the most part, but something about being in the Lifestream left him unable to manipulate aether… We were so close to him on our journey, Haurchefant, and we had no idea…”

Adalyn laughed bitterly. “Then there was the whole business with the primal in Dravania the size of a city, capable of manipulating time… Nothing that could bring you back, though. Believe me, the thought crossed my mind.”

She sighed and shivered, setting out a pair of mugs and pouring cocoa from her thermos. She placed one atop the grave, tears welling up in her eyes before she blinked them away. “I still haven’t got the recipe quite right,” she said as she picked up her own mug. “But I shall keep trying.”

Adalyn shifted slightly, taking a sip from her mug. So close, and yet never quite there.

“You know,” she said, “I had thought, maybe… since my monthlies have ceased, I might be… pregnant. With your child. But when I voiced my thoughts to Y’shtola, she said I was mistaken, that my aether showed no such change. ‘Twas the stress, most like, of everything.”

She closed her eyes. “Gods know I would not be able to raise a child—our child—in the wake of everything,” she finally said. “Hells, the abuse I put my body through daily would make it impossible to carry to term as it is. But…” Her fingers faltered. “Sometimes I cannot help but imagine.”

She was silent, wrapping both her hands around her mug as she looked out over the horizon. The wind howled around her, threatening to tear her hood from her head before she shifted slightly away, tugging it down a little further.

“Aymeric has told the public the truth about the Dragonsong War,” she finally said. “There have been… understandably mixed reactions.” She laughed breathlessly; a few tears slipped from the corners of her eyes before she wiped them away. “I’m afraid I rather left him stuck for options when I arrived in the city upon the back of the Father of Dragons with the news I had slain the archbishop and the Heaven’s Ward.”

She bowed her head. “They’re dead, Haurchefant. All of them, including Zephirin. And I… I feel nothing. Not even the satisfaction of revenge. What good is vengeance when it cannot bring back the dead?”

Adalyn sipped at her cocoa, watching the steam rise from the one she’d set on Haurchefant’s grave. High on the cliff overlooking Ishgard, near the fortress he had watched over so diligently in life, now he could keep vigil over the city he loved forever.

She attempted a smile, but could barely manage a twitch of her lips. “I keep trying to smile as you bid me to do, but it is so hard without you. I…”

Her fingers stilled for the longest time.

“I miss you.”

Adalyn remained by the grave until Haurchefant’s mug had gone cold, whereupon she tipped the contents out, bowing her head before letting the aether carry her away to Ishgard.

Freezing rain poured down on her head, and Adalyn gasped at the sudden cold that drenched her head and soaked her hair, straight through her hood. She fished her linkpearl out and slipped it back into her ear; she hadn’t wanted to be disturbed.

“—interrogating the arsonists as we speak,” Y’shtola was saying, and Adalyn’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Gods willing, we shall have more information ere long.”

“If we could but determine the motive behind the fires,” Alphinaud said, before Thancred interrupted.

“Is that you, Warrior of Light? About damn time you joined us!”

Adalyn clicked her tongue anxiously, already beginning to run in the direction of the Congregation.

“Much has happened while you were away,” Alphinaud said. “‘Tis just—just hurry to the Congregation at once!”

Adalyn whistled, her pitch questioning.

“There was an assassination attempt,” Thancred said brusquely. “Lord Aymeric will live, but he is in poor condition. The chirurgeons request your presence in the infirmary at once.”

An icy hand clenched around Adalyn’s heart, and she poured on the speed, running faster than she had ever run in her life.

“Fires have also broken out around the city in spite of the rain,” Y’shtola continued. “In the course of investigating, it has become clear that this is the work of someone of influence—though we have yet to identify the culprit behind the arsonists.”

Adalyn hissed, leaping up the next level of spires without bothering with the stairs.

We cannot lose anyone else.

Adalyn burst through the doors of the Congregation to find the Scions talking to Hilda and Lucia. She didn’t so much as slow down to acknowledge them, rainwater flying in her wake as she sprinted to the infirmary.

She passed a chirurgeon in the corridor, who pointed without needing to be asked; Adalyn tore into Aymeric’s room, dropping to her knees beside his bed as she poured everything she had into her healing magics.

We will not lose anyone else.

Even through Aymeric’s laboured breathing, he managed to muster up a smile for her. “Adalyn,” he murmured, and lifted a hand towards her as the injury healed. “You’ll catch cold like that.”

Silent, hysterical laughter bubbled past Adalyn’s lips, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks in earnest. She grabbed Aymeric’s hand, pressing the back of it to her forehead as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Oh, my dear,” Edmont said softly from Aymeric’s other side. He rose from his chair, limping around the bed to place a gentle hand on Adalyn’s shoulder. “Full glad am I to see you unharmed. When we were unable to contact you, we had feared the worst.”

When Aymeric struggled to sit up with a quiet groan, Adalyn let her sopping coat shift to her dry robes, and she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She felt Aymeric freeze briefly beneath her before he gingerly hugged her in return.

She didn’t care. Estinien had loved him too much for her to lose him in the wake of his transformation.

And, her past feelings be damned, she didn’t want to lose him, either.

“What happened?” she demanded when she drew back. “Aymeric, I cannot apologise enough for not being here when you needed me…”

Aymeric placed a ginger hand to his ribs. “An assassination attempt, as you have likely surmised,” he said. “Pray, worry not about me. I have endured far worse in my youth.”

“Do not dare say such things,” Adalyn said fiercely. “You know full well how desperately I worry.”

A flash of guilt flitted across Aymeric’s face, and his hand settled on her shoulder. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “Full well did I neglect to consider how these circumstances would have seemed for you. But pray, do not worry yourself on my account.” He gave her a small smile. “I shall have you know, the finest healer in the land has seen to my wounds, and I find myself quite hale and hearty already.”

Adalyn let out a strained laugh, and she thumped Aymeric’s arm. “You… complete… arse.”

Aymeric gave her an only somewhat taut smile. “I shall take your insult for the compliment I am certain you meant it as.”

“I take it this means you are feeling well?” Edmont said, and Aymeric nodded. “Oh, praise Halone… my dear ser, you gave this poor old man such a fright.”

“Do forgive me, Count,” Aymeric said. “‘Twas hardly mine intention to do so, but grateful am I for your presence at my bedside.”

“All better, then?” Lucia said from the doorway, and Aymeric’s head shot up. Lucia smiled faintly at them. “Had I understood in full the potency of the Warrior of Light’s healing capabilities, I would have sent a search party out for her sooner.”

“I can only offer my most sincere apologies,” Adalyn said, with a rush of affection for Aymeric as he faithfully translated for her. “I had removed my linkpearl so I would not be disturbed; I realise now how foolish a decision that was.”

“I can see my arrival came but a moment too late,” Artoirel said as he came into view. He smiled faintly. “Ser Aymeric—’tis good to see you hale and hearty once more. A weight has been lifted from my mind to know the salve I came to deliver seems to no longer be needed.”

Aymeric barked out a laugh. “All thanks to the Warrior of Light’s ministrations, I can assure you,” he said as he stood, swaying slightly before Adalyn steadied him. “I do believe that is twice now she has healed me from otherwise difficult injuries; I owe her a debt of gratitude.”

“You can best repay me by surviving,” Adalyn said, and squeezed Aymeric’s arm. “And not just because I would be sorely put out should you die ahead of schedule.”

“I can promise you,” Aymeric said, putting a hand over his heart as he bowed to her, “I have absolutely no plans of dying before my time, don’t you fret.”

Nobody ever does, Esteem whispered.

Adalyn just gave Aymeric a faint smile and nodded.

Lucia cleared her throat. “I do not mean to diminish this moment,” she said, “but until we identify the ones who ordered the fires set, our work is far from finished.”

“And time is of the essence,” Aymeric said. “These men would sooner put their own city to the torch than see it change. When our enemies learn that we have apprehended their arsonist, there is no telling how they will react—”

The doors burst open and a Temple Knight came sprinting in; Adalyn immediately reached for her staff, but the knight doubled over, panting. “Lord Commander! An armed mob has seized control of the Vault!”

“And now we know,” Aymeric said, almost to himself. “Tell us what happened, ser—spare no detail.”

The nightmares she had about the Vault were going to be back with a vengeance that night, Adalyn just knew it. Storming the place for a second time to rescue the hostages taken by disgruntled members of the clergy awoke far too many memories, racing desperately through the building with Aymeric and Artoirel by her side.

True, they had managed to rescue all the hostages without losing anyone, but the day came far, far too close to ending in tragedy.

When she closed her eyes, she could all too clearly picture Maelie’s terrified face as she was dropped from the spire, the surge of horror as she raced past the murderous priest and dived after the girl, her fingertips stretched out to try and catch her hand.

If Vidofnir hadn’t turned up just in time to catch the lass, Adalyn would have landed atop a splatter on the ground.

She shuddered and got up despite her every fibre of being screaming from exhaustion, pacing restlessly around her room before realising she couldn’t bear to be alone with her thoughts. Her nightclothes shifted to her dragoon armour, and Adalyn slipped out her window, leaping to the rooftops and disappearing into the night like a phantom, making a beeline for Borel Manor.

She told herself she was only doing this to check up on him. That between the assassination attempt and the fighting which soon followed, she was doing her job as a healer to make sure her patient hadn’t strained himself, especially given his torture at the hands of Charibert had not been all that long ago.

But when Adalyn alighted on Aymeric’s balcony to find him hunched over his desk, still burning the midnight oil, she knew it was only for purely selfish reasons she had gone to see him rather than wake Alphinaud.

Her gentle rap on the glass had Aymeric’s head shoot up, a look of utter hope on his face before he quickly schooled his expression and rose to let her inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Warrior of Light, so late in the evening?” Aymeric asked as Adalyn shut the window behind her, her armour shifting back to her soft robes.

Adalyn pressed her forehead against the freezing glass, closing her eyes for a moment as a wave of exhaustion washed over her, before she turned and hugged him.

“Oh, my friend,” Aymeric murmured, and Adalyn felt his hands settle over her back, holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat, fluttering in his chest, and she took comfort in the noise, knowing that it meant he was alive. “Life has been so unkind to you as of late.”

When Adalyn drew back enough to sign, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Forgive me the late hour,” she said, her fingers tremulous. “After everything that has happened, I… needed to make sure you were not feeling the excitement of the day.”

Aymeric gave her a gentle smile. “Thanks to your timely ministrations, I am none the worse for wear for having a knife slipped between my ribs. Your concern is touching, but I can reassure you I am doing quite well.”

Adalyn nodded, her gaze darting restlessly about the room as she shifted from one foot to the other. “‘Tis only that, now that Estinien is… gone, I feel I owe it to him to look out for your wellbeing. And…” Her fingers faltered. “I know how hard it is, to lose a lover so suddenly.”

Aymeric’s smile faded, and he briefly closed his eyes. “So you know about that,” he murmured, and Adalyn nodded. He took a deep breath, folding his arms uncomfortably. “I miss him,” he said at long last. “And it pains me to know how Nidhogg ripped him away from us, body and soul alike. Perhaps it is a mercy that I have been kept so busy with my work I have not had the time to properly grieve.”

“He may yet still be alive,” Adalyn said, and Aymeric’s eyes widened. “After I slew the knights of the Heaven’s Ward, when Estinien was transformed, I was… caught off-guard.” Her free hand went up to touch her chest, just above one of the places where Nidhogg had impaled her on his talons. “He wounded me, badly, and I truly thought for a moment I was staring at the inevitability of my death. But then he flew away, Aymeric. Nidhogg could have killed me, and I would have been powerless to stop it.”

“You don’t know Estinien’s soul could be saved,” Aymeric said, his voice low. “Perhaps it was a lingering remnant of his essence in the wake of the transformation. Or, the longer time passes, the more of him has been consumed.”

Adalyn’s face contorted. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “If there is yet a way to save him, then I shall find it! There is still hope for him!”

Aymeric leaned back against his desk, his own face dark and inscrutable. “Warrior of Light,” he said at long last, “do not mistake my resignation for hopelessness, but pragmatism. Do you not think I want nothing more than to see Estinien returned to us? We both know that in our line of duty, sacrifice is sometimes, regrettably, inevitable.”

He looked away. When next he spoke, his voice was taut. “Our duty is, first and foremost, to the people who count on us to keep them safe. Estinien knew that full well, and would insist we do whatever it takes to put an end to Nidhogg’s reign of terror. Permanently.”

It was like a lance to the heart. Adalyn closed her eyes and nodded. She knew, deep down, that Aymeric was right, that when she faced Nidhogg again, there would be no opportunity to hold back out of fear of hurting Estinien.

“It would be what he wanted,” she said at long last, “and when the time comes, I promise I will not hesitate to do what I must. But until then, I will not stop searching for another way.”

“Then that is all I can ask of you,” Aymeric said softly. He sighed heavily, glancing over his shoulder at the timepiece mounted over the fireplace. “The hour grows late,” he said, and Adalyn stifled a yawn at the reminder. “Might I offer you a cup of tea? I’m afraid I’ve been a rather dour host.”

“I’m not a fan of tea,” Adalyn said apologetically, and grinned when Aymeric put a hand to his chest, mock-affronted.

“You wound me far more deeply than any would-be assassin,” he said, and they shared a quiet laugh. “If not tea, then would something stronger be less objectionable? Brandy?”

Adalyn smiled. “I would love that.”

“Then I shall return with all due haste,” Aymeric said. He inclined his head and slipped out the door, and Adalyn sank down onto the window seat to wait.

When Aymeric returned bearing a decanter and a pair of crystal glasses, he found Adalyn sound asleep, curled up on the window seat with her head pillowed on her forearms.

His smile softened, and he set the drinks down before disappearing from the room once more, returning with a thick blanket from the sitting room. He draped it over Adalyn, and her face scrunched in her sleep at the touch.

“Sleep well, Warrior of Light,” Aymeric murmured, sitting back at his desk and picking up his quill pen once more. The brandy remained untouched beside him.

Chapter Text

There was nothing but darkness.

Despite the stifling void that surrounded her, though, Adalyn knew in an instant she wasn’t alone, and she pressed forward, following the thread of fate that bound her soul to another’s.

Slowly, Estinien’s prone form came into view—or what she thought was Estinien.

Or, she feared, what had once been Estinien.

The form was humanoid, at least, and clad in that crimson armour, but it was wrong, with horns curling forth from his ribs; the ragged, leathery wings half-draped around himself were not quite large enough to hide the black, scaly, clawed feet.

“Estinien,” Adalyn gasped, and sprinted towards him. At the sound of her voice, the form curled more tightly around itself, tail lashing in agitation.

“So this is to be the newest form of mine torment,” Estinien said, his voice a deep growl. Adalyn only ran faster, falling to her knees beside him. At this distance, his form was much taller, easily ten fulms in height. “Leave me,” he rasped. “Before Nidhogg consumes your soul, too.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Adalyn cried, and reached for Estinien’s helm.

A taloned hand shot out to seize her wrist, and she froze, but didn’t pull away as the talons dug into her arm, not quite hard enough to draw blood. “You can’t,” Estinien said. “I have tried, believe me. It won’t come off.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me,” Adalyn ground out. Estinien still hesitated for a very long moment before he let go, the fine scales on his hand rolling with the motion. Adalyn found herself mesmerised for a moment before she shook herself and reached for his helm once more.

There was a quiet click, and she heard Estinien freeze.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“...Nay. But… what lies beneath, I do not know.”

Adalyn swallowed, but slowly, gently, removed the helm, giving Estinien a watery smile when she got a good look at his face.

Lines of crimson energy ran deeply beneath his skin, which melded into more of the black scales that trailed down his neck and disappeared beneath his armour. He kept his eyes closed, his head turned aside, unable to bear seeing her reaction.

“Well,” Adalyn said after a moment, and smiled faintly, “‘twould like as not see you branded a heretic by the church, but it really is not as bad as you’re imagining.” She placed a gentle hand on Estinien’s face, her thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone.

Estinien’s face contorted, and when a tear slipped out, she used her thumb to catch it.

Strange, how similar he looked, yet how different he felt beneath her hands at this size.

“Oh, Estinien,” Adalyn breathed. “Would that there was more I could do to offer you succour…”

When Estinien finally opened his eyes, they were crimson. “When at last you face Nidhogg,” he said, his gaze flickering over Adalyn’s face, “you must promise me that you will stop at nothing to kill him.”

“Aymeric said much the same,” Adalyn murmured.

Despite himself, Estinien chuckled hoarsely. “At least he has yet to lose sight of what’s important.”

“He misses you dearly,” Adalyn said, biting her lip. “I… think I actually fell asleep in his chambers—not like that,” she snapped when Estinien let out a bark of rumbling laughter. “If you must know, I wished to see him after—” She broke off, unwilling to tell Estinien about the assassination attempt. There was nothing he would be able to do but worry, after all, and the man was in enough distress as it was.

Estinien just grinned; his teeth were razor sharp in his mouth. “Had he wished to seek comfort in your arms, I should be glad to know he was in good company.”

“And what of you?” Adalyn said softly. “You would be so ready to give up on yourself that the thought of your lover so quickly taking another causes you no distress?”

Estinien snorted, shaking his head. “‘Tis not like we did not take others to bed as well,” he said. “Though rare were such occasions for either of us—” He broke off, looking away. “Adalyn,” he finally said, “upon your waking, tell Aymeric—tell him… oh, he already knows.”

“We have some time ‘fore I’ll rise,” Adalyn murmured. “Might I keep your company until then? Hold the nightmares at bay?”

Estinien glanced back at her. “Whose nightmares?” he asked bitterly. “Mine, or your own?”

“Who says it cannot be both?” Adalyn said softly. She still hadn’t removed her hands from Estinien’s face; her thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, her heart speeding up as she did so.

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, and he groaned—a sound both needy and dismayed. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Adalyn said, but let her hands fall as she tried to swallow back the sting of rejection.

But Estinien caught one of her hands between his own, careful of his claws. “I could hurt you,” he said, his voice low.

Adalyn couldn’t help the spluttering laugh that burst from her. “You think I do not already hurt?” she asked, and placed her other hand on top of Estinien’s, fingers trailing over the fine scales that covered the back, extending up his forearm. “That I haven’t been hurting? Besides,” she added, grinning humourlessly, “‘tis only a dream, after all. Whatever you wish to do to my body won’t be affected in the waking world.”

“What a pleasant dream it could be to share,” Estinien murmured. Still, he hesitated, looking down at himself, and his mouth twisted with disgust. “If you’re offering out of a sense of obligation—”

“I’m not,” Adalyn said, and kissed him.

Estinien growled into the kiss, his tail lashing around Adalyn and pulling her closer to him.

It was a strange sensation, being pulled astride his lap when he was significantly bigger than he ought to have been—bigger in more than one sense, she noted, a flash of heat pooling in her stomach when she felt the growing bulge beneath her.

Estinien’s clawed hands dug into Adalyn’s back, and she inhaled sharply as blood blossomed across the back of her white robes. Estinien froze, but Adalyn grabbed the back of his head, tilting her own for a better angle.

“The pain is good—don’t stop,” she whispered, and Estinien tore the cloth away, leaving her clad only in her leather trousers and boots. Despite herself, despite her racing heart and the way she was trembling with anticipation, she laughed softly against Estinien’s mouth. “You really love tearing my clothes off of me.”

“How can I not, when you drive me mad with lust?” Estinien buried his face in the crook of Adalyn’s neck, breathing deeply. “...You smell like Aymeric,” he said, with a quiet note of longing. “I…”

He surged forward, kissing Adalyn deeply, desperately, and with a tenderness that caught her completely by surprise. He was careful with his teeth, his lips soft on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he deepened the kiss.

It reminded her far too much of Haurchefant, and she closed her eyes before any more tears could fall, allowing herself to lose herself to the kiss.

When Estinien drew back, the fire in his eyes was akin to a low smoulder. “When you wake,” he murmured, “pass that on for me?”

Adalyn swallowed. “I can certainly try,” she said at last. She licked her swollen lips, her gaze darting downwards as she drew back to run an appreciative eye over Estinien.

She felt him flinch when her hands settled at one of the seams of his armour, and she paused. “Estinien,” she said, “if you do not wish to—”

She felt his tail tighten around her waist, coiling and squeezing, holding her in place. “I am under no illusions that I look… monstrous,” Estinien said, and closed his eyes. “Truly, even my helm refused all my attempts to remove it before your intrusion into my mind once more. How you have not already turned away in disgust, I will never understand.”

Adalyn’s knees squeezed his hips, grinding against him through their clothing, and Estinien groaned at the sensation. “It helps to know the heart that lies beneath this armour and these scales,” she said, her hand settling on his chest. The armour melted away at her touch, and Adalyn traced curious fingers over Estinien’s scales, not unlike those of an au ra’s but covering far more skin.

She brushed lightly over the base of his throat, where finer scales gave way to soft flesh, and Estinien shivered.

“‘Tis truly not the monstrous form you believe it to be,” she said, “but that it is not your own would be cause enough for distress, I imagine.”

Estinien’s hands settled on her shoulders before sliding lower, talons raking shallow scratches over her chest; when he reached the scars Nidhogg had left, he paused, looking up with a silent question in his eyes.

“Do it,” Adalyn hissed, and yelped when Estinien was suddenly atop her, talons digging in, his breath hot on her face before claiming her mouth with his, swallowing her yell of pain.

The pain wasn’t just good, it was wonderful, even if nowhere near as intense as the real thing. Adalyn moaned as Estinien rutted against her, gripping him with her knees and keeping him close. “Fuck,” she groaned, her head falling back. “We should have tried this sooner.”

“I know not where man ends and dragon begins,” Estinien said, and withdrew his talons, watching in fascination as Adalyn’s wounds closed at once, and she sighed at the loss of the pain. “Or how much of this is only because we find ourselves trapped in my mind, and here I am, begging for my release.”

Adalyn captured his mouth in another kiss, nipping at his lower lip; she was vaguely aware of the fact her trousers had disappeared at some point, leaving her in naught but her boots, and she smiled against his mouth as she felt his length slide between her legs, coating himself with her own slick. Gods, he was huge, with strange ridges whose texture made her shiver in anticipation of being filled. “Then let me be your release. Whatever you do, though—don’t stop. I beg of you.”

They both wanted, needed to forget, and something in Adalyn’s voice was all the urging Estinien needed. He bit down on her shoulder, and as Adalyn screamed, her hips bucking up, Estinien thrust into her.

Between the sharp teeth in her shoulder and the draconic cock in her dripping slit, Adalyn’s vision briefly went white as she saw stars, and she cried Haurchefant’s name as Estinien pounded into her with a force she knew would be impossible to endure in the waking world.

She was on the verge of climaxing when Estinien suddenly pulled out, and Adalyn whined in protest before his clawed hands seized her about the middle as he knelt, and lifted her back onto his cock with deliberate slowness. She was so small compared to his enlarged form that her feet couldn’t touch the ground, her legs hooked on either side of his thighs, spreading herself open for him.

Adalyn’s breath caught as Estinien sank into her ilm by ilm, and she stared with fascination at the small but very noticeable bulge that appeared within her abdomen, growing larger and more prominent the deeper she took him. She squirmed, but Estinien’s tail coiled tighter, holding her firmly in place.

“That you can take my cock so easily is damn impressive,” Estinien said, his breath on her ear. One taloned finger traced carefully between her breasts before he roughly grabbed them with both hands, squeezing tightly and pulling Adalyn’s back against the scaly planes of his chest.

“To be fair—ahh!—I think this would be impossible in reality,” Adalyn said breathlessly as Estinien lifted her off his cock, fucking her onto him once more. “Oh, fuck, Estinien! Harder!”

Estinien complied, his grunts punctuated by Adalyn’s moans as she felt her climax building towards completion—

“—dalyn. Adalyn!”

Her eyes snapped open, and a wave of simultaneous regret, annoyance, and shame swept through her when she realised Aymeric was shaking her shoulder.

“Oh, thank the Fury,” he said softly. “You were moaning in your sleep—I had thought to wake you from your nightmare—”

Adalyn pushed her hair out of her face, huffing with disbelieving laughter as she sat up, blinking the gunk from her eyes. There was a throbbing between her legs, and she took a deep breath, trying to come down from the high. “‘Twas no nightmare, I can assure you,” she said, and the most beautiful blush spread rapidly over Aymeric’s cheeks, tinting them pink. “Aymeric,” she added as a thought occurred to her. “How much did Estinien tell you about what my being the second Azure Dragoon meant?”

Aymeric slowly sat beside her on the window seat, folding his hands in his lap. “I know that through your shared connection to the Eye, you are aware of each other’s presence,” he said slowly. “Beyond that, I’m not wholly sure what you mean—how it differs from any other person who bore the title.”

Adalyn nodded and rubbed her eyes; this was about to get awkward. “We can also, sometimes, walk in one another’s dreams,” she said. “He is still in there, locked away in his own mind, but were he to be freed from Nidhogg—”

Aymeric held up a hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “for at least confirming the suspicions you had. But it does not change the reality of what will likely need to be done.”

“I know,” Adalyn said, and Aymeric closed his eyes, bowing his head. Adalyn put a hand on his knee to get his attention. “And Estinien knows,” she said. “He asked me to pass on a message before saying you would know without needing to be told… so instead, he asked I pass on a gift.”

“A gift?” Aymeric asked, longing mixed with confusion.

Adalyn’s heart was pounding in her chest, and she was still riding the high from her dream, emboldened by her unresolved lust as she turned more fully towards Aymeric. His breath hitched when her hands settled on either side of his face, and her gaze dropped briefly to his lips before she met his brilliantly blue eyes, her brows raising in a silent question.

“...Go on,” Aymeric whispered, and Adalyn leaned in to kiss him with all the tenderness Estinien had shown her.

Aymeric’s mouth was tentative, but not timid, his lips soft against her own. The taste of tea upon his tongue wasn’t nearly so unpleasant mixed with the taste of him, and Adalyn’s head swam with heady longing when Aymeric’s mouth was replaced with Haurchefant’s, and she could just imagine herself back in her room at the manor, kissing him, knowing he was safe and alive.

When she drew back, something of the memory must have shown on her face, because the concern on Aymeric’s own was immediate. “Adalyn?” he asked gently, reaching for her hand, but she drew away, shaking her head.

“Should I see Estinien again,” she said, not looking at him, “is there a message you would have me pass on?”

Aymeric was silent for so long that Adalyn thought she had finally succeeded in angering the man. But when he spoke, all she heard was barely-contained exhaustion. “Tell him for me that… I miss him dearly,” he finally said. “That we will not allow Nidhogg to win. And…” His voice was so soft as to be almost inaudible. “Thank you for the kiss.”

The words were meant for Estinien, but Adalyn couldn’t help but wonder if he had been addressing her, as well. She simply nodded, and stood to unlatch the window, her robes shifting to her dragoon armour once more.

“Adalyn.”

She paused, but didn’t turn back.

“I hope you might consider visiting again, some time,” Aymeric said softly. “We still have that drink to share, after all.”

Adalyn slipped out the window without another word. She made it back to her room at Fortemps Manor as dawn was breaking over Ishgard, and she curled up on her bed, where she lay staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came.

Chapter Text

“Ah, good. We were afraid you might have left.”

Adalyn glanced up from her packing to see Artoirel standing in the open doorway to her bedroom. He gave her a small smile. “Would you do my brother and I the honour of joining us in the entrance hall when you’ve finished?”

Adalyn nodded; Artoirel gave her a small bow and left.

It would be strange to leave Fortemps Manor, which she had come to think of as home, but with the missing Scions slowly beginning to make their way back to Mor Dhona, she would be needed at the Rising Stones with everyone else to ensure the reforming of the organisation went smoothly.

She didn’t mind. Although she hoped she would still be welcome at Fortemps Manor even after she left… the place felt colder, knowing Haurchefant would never visit it again.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, letting it be absorbed into her aether, and took a deep breath, smoothing down her bedsheets before turning to join the others.

She found Artoirel and Emmanellain waiting in the entrance hall as promised. Honoroit was standing by Emmanellain’s elbow, holding a shield emblazoned with the Fortemps unicorn.

Adalyn stopped before them, looking curiously at them; Emmanellain caught her eye before looking away, a tiny frown creasing his brow.

“Honoroit, if you’d please,” Artoirel said, and Honoroit stepped forward, holding up the shield that looked much too big for him.

Adalyn’s breath caught in her throat, and she accepted the shield, her thumb brushing along the edge. She looked up at Artoirel; even if she could have spoken, she didn’t know what to say.

Artoirel smiled gently at her. “A shield fit for a true knight. An expression of our gratitude to you and yours, long overdue… Ser Adalyn of House Fortemps.”

The lump in Adalyn’s throat felt uncomfortably tight. The oversized sword on her back vanished, and she slid the shield into its place, where it settled, the weight of it feeling right. She knelt, bowing her head.

Oh, Haurchefant. You would be so proud.

“Rise, please,” Artoirel said, and Adalyn hastened to stand, calling her longsword to her hip as she did so. Artoirel glanced at it, and his smile grew slightly. “You look ever the part, I must say,” he said, and Adalyn gave an awkward bow. “My father sends his apologies he could not be here to grant you the title himself, but duty as ever calls.”

Adalyn nodded, hastening to pull out her notepad. Please pass on my deepest regards, she wrote in her unsteady hand, struggling to keep it legible. It is an honour.

“I shall be certain to,” Artoirel said. He folded his arms, his expression heavy. “...But there is something else I would discuss ere you part. Something which cannot leave this room. My father will soon step down as head of our house.”

Adalyn’s eyes went huge.

Esteem gasped; Adalyn mentally squashed her back down.

“Ser Aymeric was not the only one to fall under suspicion following the death of the archbishop,” Artoirel said grimly. “There are some who believe my father complicit in a coup d’état. Thus he intends to renounce his title to absolve our house of suspicion and secure the support of our peers.”

Must be another way? Adalyn scrawled.

Artoirel shook his head. “So I said to him. Alas, he will not budge.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, thinking. “Ever since I was a child, I knew that I would one day succeed my father, and the thought of it filled me with pride. Yet once I learned the day was at hand, my heart was filled with naught but dread. Our legacy is built upon the lies of our forefathers. In accepting this title, am I not perpetuating this injustice? Why should I become the next count?”

Adalyn thought for a long moment, her eyes closed as her pen hovered over her notepad. When the words finally came, they flowed more easily than she expected them to. A knight lives to serve.

Artoirel gave her a sad smile. “You sound just like him. Aye, I suspect that is what Haurchefant would have said. ‘To aid those in need…’” He sighed heavily and nodded to the shield on her back. “When you look on that shield, I trust you will remember his words. And should I once more find my resolve wavering, I ask that you show me the way.”

He cleared his throat. “Adalyn… had things turned out any differently, I am of no doubt you would have married into our family ere long. Even though this is… no longer the case… I hope you might still be a sister to us.”

Adalyn stepped forward and hugged him tightly; she felt Artoirel let out a soft huff of laughter, and he rested his chin briefly on the top of her head.

But when she let go to hold a hand out to Emmanellain, the lordling’s expression flickered—hurt, hatred, a glare replaced with exhaustion, before he turned on his heel and left without saying a word.

“My lord?” Honoroit asked in alarm, trotting after him.

Adalyn watched them go, Emmanellain’s rejection weighing heavy on her heart. Any words he might have said could not have been nearly so painful.

Artoirel looked after his brother, to Adalyn, and back, anguish on his face. “Pray excuse us.” He bowed, and hurried after his brother. “Emmanellain! Emmanellain!”

Adalyn let the aether carry her away to Mor Dhona, where she forced herself to put on a smile to greet her comrades.

Adalyn kept dreaming of Estinien. It was a strange routine they fell into each night, one she never would have imagined herself falling into, but in the wake of their lovemaking, Adalyn kept Estinien appraised of their rebuilding of the Rising Stones, and of the letters Aymeric sent to her with his well wishes passed on to Estinien.

And, in turn, Estinien told her much the same: to give his regards to Aymeric. He spoke to her often of the Lord Commander, and fondly, in a way that Adalyn doubted he would have ever dared share in any other circumstances.

Though Adalyn tried not to think too hard on it, she got the sense Estinien felt his life was on a countdown, that it was only a matter of time before he died by her hand.

Locked away in his own mind as he was, he knew less and little of Nidhogg’s plans.

“But the moment I learn anything from the bastard, you can be certain I shall let you know,” he said, and moved to cover her again.

She said she was offering him her companionship, and while it was certainly true, there was always the quiet pang of guilt she had every time she woke. The pleasure Estinien gave her kept the nightmares at bay, but left her withdrawing into herself at the Rising Stones during her waking hours.

“Have you even visited Aymeric since that night?” Estinien asked one night, curled protectively around Adalyn, his clawed fingers carefully trailing over the bruises he’d left on her arms.

The wounds never carried over to the real world. In a way, she wished they would. She deserved no better.

“No,” Adalyn said quietly, shivering when Estinien’s tail traced over her bare thigh. “But I still write to him, to let him know you are still… alive.”

Estinien snorted, his hot breath ruffling her hair. “It feels more like a living death, truth be told.” His tail crept higher, wrapping over her waist, pulling her closer to him. “I shudder to think how far gone my mind would be without your presence.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. “I know ‘tis hardly a comparable situation,” she said, her voice small. “But most days, it seems I cannot wait for sleep to take me, just so I can try and forget everything with you.”

“And what will you do once you have slain Nidhogg?” Estinien asked, rolling them over so Adalyn was on his chest. “Do not say you will have found a way to save me; we both know ‘tis far more likely I will die with him.”

He reached up to catch a tear with the back of his talon, and Adalyn blinked hard, shaking her head.

“I try not to think about it,” she said quietly.

“You and Aymeric—”

“Don’t.”

“You could be happy together,” Estinien said, his own voice strained. “Adalyn, the man has been hopelessly enamoured with you for far too long at this point. I would not see him mourn to the point of forgetting to move on—and neither would Lord Haurchefant,” he added sharply when Adalyn shook her head.

She tensed, scrambling to sit upright. “And who are you to speak of mourning the dead to the point of forgetting to move on?” she snapped. “You, who were so consumed by grief for your family that you neglected to appreciate the love you shared with Aymeric while you had the chance?”

Estinien’s chest rumbled, his eyes blazing. “Get. Out,” he snarled, and Adalyn jolted awake with a gasp.

“Nobody asked your opinion anyway!” she signed angrily to the ceiling, and fell back against her pillows, pressing her hands over her face.

Lord Commander, Adalyn’s letter began.

He always looked forward to her letters, seeing how much her penmanship was improving in leaps and bounds, but this time, it was back to its usual shaky hand. He frowned as he settled back in his chair to read, dreading something was terribly wrong.

The Scions might have a lead on our missing Antecedent. I shall be travelling with them in search of her and will like as not be unable to write for some time.

Estinien sends his regards as always.

—Adalyn

P.S. The birch syrup was his idea.

Aymeric turned his attention to the small parcel that had arrived with the letter, tugging at the blue ribbon holding it closed. He smiled sadly as he lifted out the jar, labelled in Adalyn’s own hand.

It was the little gestures like this that broke his heart the most. That had always been a point of contention earlier on, before Aymeric realised it was not through words that Estinien showed his affection.

And now the man was locked away inside his own mind, in a body not his own. Aymeric could scarce imagine the hell it was.

Wherever Adalyn would be travelling, he could only pray the Fury would bring her safely home.

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, too.

“Bring her back to us. Whatever it takes, do you hear me? Whatever it takes.”

Thancred’s words stuck with Adalyn as she descended the Antitower, making short work of the magical guardians that had turned wild in the absence of Sharlayan. Her new shield felt like it had been made for her—and, in a way, she supposed, it was.

Are you sure you cannot let me out to play? Esteem pleaded. Just this once. Who could it hurt?

Adalyn grit her teeth and delved deeper, ignoring the whining of her subconscious. She didn’t trust herself after what happened the last time.

When she reached the lowest possible point of the spire that hung over the Aetherial Sea, she paused to catch her breath, looking around. None of the Scions had had the faintest clue what she would have to do upon reaching this place, and for all she knew this would turn out to be yet another dead end.

She sheathed her sword and slowly sat cross-legged on the floor, closing her eyes as she let her hands rest on her knees, trying to quiet her mind in meditation.

Rather than casting her thoughts out, she allowed herself to just be, to listen to the sounds of the raging sea of aether below.

And then she heard it.

“Hear… Feel… Think…”

Adalyn felt her soul leave her body, and the last thing she was aware of was her body slumping sideways to the floor.

When she opened her eyes, she was floating. Before her was the enormous form of the Mothercrystal, Her gentle light bathing Adalyn in a blue glow.

“Though time and space hast thou journeyed unto me… as I knew thou wouldst,” Hydaelyn said—but the voice was different from what Adalyn remembered. Movement from above caught her eye, and she looked—and gasped when she saw Minfilia floating down towards her.

But something was wrong. Though the face was the same, the hair still that warm honey blonde, her pupil-less eyes glowed with the same blue light as the crystal.

She stopped before Adalyn, a gentle smile on her face. “We are the Word of the Mother,” she said. “We who were once called ‘Minfilia’.”

“What…?” Adalyn whispered in horror, staring at the person before her. If it could even be called a person.

“Much time hath passed for thee, since the bloody banquet,” the being said. “Since… since I hearkened to Her word. Mother… Hydaelyn guided me, that I might be swept up in the Flow and delivered unto the Aetherial Sea…” She bowed her head. “There, adrift and alone, Her voice silent once more, I prayed… For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. To Her, I would make an offering…”

She drifted closer, and Adalyn recoiled. Though the face was still kind, seeing Hydaelyn wearing Minfilia like a skin left her own crawling at the thought.

“We speak now with one Voice,” the Word said, reaching for Adalyn, and gentle hands took Adalyn’s own gauntleted ones. “One Will. One Word. Unto thee we bequeath the most precious of gifts: the truth which lieth at the heart of this world. Thus do we beseech thee once more: Hear… Feel… Think…”

“Minfilia?” Adalyn asked, and her voice broke. “I don’t understand—are you you? I came here in search of you, not—what did she do to you?”

“Naught that Minfilia did not offer freely, without coercion,” the Word said, and smiled.

That did little to ease Adalyn’s concerns, but when she opened her mouth, the Word shushed her.

“Time is of the essence, and Hydaelyn grows weak. If thou art to fulfil thy duty, then thou must come… and listen well.”

The Word tugged on Adalyn’s hands, drawing her higher. “Before there was life, in the depths of the Aetherial Sea, Light and Dark did once dwell as one. But the Darkness coveted power, and the balance was broken. Thus was I forced to banish Him unto the distant heavens, to forever remain apart. A moon bound. In sundering the star did we cry out, and the barriers ‘twixt planes chance to falter.”

“The Ascians keep making mention of a Rejoining,” Adalyn said slowly, thinking back to the times she faced Lahabrea. “Do they speak of the same Sundering?”

The Word nodded gravely. “Across ten and three were we then divided. Reflections of the Source, each possessed of a shard. Zodiark longeth to be made whole. For His restoration, for His resurrection, His servants labour without cease. They seek to tear down the barriers which surround the Source. Thus do they rejoice in their Ardor—in your calamities—for each marks a Rejoining. Seven times have they succeeded.”

“But what does a Rejoining mean?” Adalyn asked. “The Calamities must be stopped, yes, but what should happen were the Ascians to win?”

Their movement came to a stop above the top of the Mothercrystal, where they remained, drifting. “Seven times hath the Darkness grown stronger. Seven times… have I failed. The Ascians cannot be suffered to continue. This… this is my final…”

Her voice broke, and the Mothercrystal shuddered as the Word doubled over, clutching at her chest.

“Minfilia?!”

“The Crystal’s power is all but spent. With what remains, I will return you to the shore of the Aetherial Sea.”

Adalyn’s form began to glow, and she lunged, trying to grab for Minfilia’s hands once more, only to find herself being pulled away by an unseen force.

“Blessed child,” the Word said, her voice growing faint. “Go forth and seek… seek…”

“MINFILIA!” Adalyn screamed, before the Word shattered into a thousand thousand shards of light.

She landed on the floor of Matoya’s cave, and heads whipped around upon her arrival.

“Adalyn! Thank the Twelve!” Alphinaud said, dropping his book and rushing to help her stand.

“Did you find her?!” Thancred demanded. “Did you find Minfilia?!”

Guilt settled in her stomach like a stone.

Just one more who we were unable to save, Esteem murmured.

“Thancred, I…” Adalyn’s fingers faltered.

“No,” Thancred said, taking a half-step back, shaking his head. “No, Minfilia, tell me—she’s alright, surely?!”

With a heavy heart, Adalyn told them what she had seen, Alphinaud relaying her words to the Scions. When at last she let her hand fall, she was met with a long silence.

It was Krile who spoke first. “As unbelievable as it sounds, I see no reason to doubt her—the Word’s tale. No one was more sensitive to the will of Hydaelyn than Minfilia. And…” She hesitated. “If Hydaelyn has grown so weak that She can barely make Herself heard, it is not hard to see why Minfilia, having joined with Her, might struggle to maintain her own form.”

“What?” Alphinaud said, rounding on her. “Why would she need to ‘maintain her own form’? Are you saying—are you saying she’s gone?”

Krile bowed her head; Alphinaud looked desperately to Adalyn, who couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

“But that cannot be!” Alphinaud cried. “Not now, not after all we have accomplished!”

“She threw herself on the fire to fuel a brighter tomorrow, boy,” Matoya said sharply. “You’ll just have to usher it in on your own.”

“Must you be so ungentle?” Y’shtola snapped.

Matoya opened her mouth to tell off her old pupil, but at Y’shtola’s furious look, seemed to think better of it, and instead looked at Alphinaud, her gnarled fingers tightening on her staff. “Tell me about the Scions, boy.”

“The… the Scions of the Seventh Dawn labour for Eorzea’s salvation…” Alphinaud said slowly. “Whenever the realm is threatened, be it by primal, Ascian, Garlean, or any other, we take up arms in her defense, that all in Eorzea may live to see a brighter tomorrow.”

Matoya scoffed. “And that’s very noble of you. But in chasing after these lofty goals of yours, you seem to have lost sight of some basic truths.” She stared at Alphinaud down the end of her nose. “To win a war, you must be willing to do whatever it takes. To fight, to kill, and, if necessary, to die. The path you’ve chosen is paved with the dead. Walk it with your eyes open, or not at all.”

Alphinaud’s eyes welled up with tears, and he bowed his head. Adalyn wanted to go to him, to put her arms around him and tell him it would be alright, but the words felt like a hollow lie.

Y’shtola bowed her own head for a moment, before she lifted it once more to give Matoya a hard look. “I know the truth of which you speak, and have from the first. If the Ascians will go to any lengths to resurrect their god, then we must needs be as committed to our cause—to unmask them and their schemes, and to crush them both utterly. Come,” she said, lifting her chin to the others. “There is much to be done.”

And thus saying, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

“Y-yes, of course,” Krile stuttered, and after a hasty curtsey to Matoya, hurried after Y’shtola as fast as her short legs could carry her.

Wordlessly, Thancred followed, his footfalls heavy.

“Thancred, wait!” Alphinaud cried, reaching out for him.

Thancred didn’t so much as glance behind him.

“No…” Alphinaud mumbled, letting his hand fall. “No, this is… all wrong…”

“‘Tis a blessed few who get to choose how and when and for what they die,” Matoya said, and her voice softened somewhat as she glanced at Adalyn. “Not that you need reminding, I suppose. But that boy…” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “For all the suffering he has known, he still clings to the notion that there is a cosmic justice, a morality by which we are saved or condemned. And there isn’t.”

Adalyn closed her eyes, her heart weighing heavy in her chest. She went to Alphinaud and put a hand on his shoulder; he threw his arms around her waist, hiding his face against her.

“She’s… she’s not coming back, is she,” he said, his voice small. “Every time we lose another friend, I have to ask myself if there was not another way…”

Adalyn had no words of comfort to offer him.

Chapter Text

In the Rising Stones, Adalyn threw herself into aiding the Scions where she could, but more often than not she found herself lending a hand in the kitchens, where she could easily use the fact of having both hands occupied as an excuse to not talk to anyone.

It was nice, too, to be appreciated for something other than her fighting skills. Just for once.

“You have got to stop taking all your meals in your room,” Esteem said one evening.

Adalyn stalwartly ignored her; the apparition wearing her face had screamed and wailed inside her head like an inconsolable toddler until she relented and allowed her to manifest, but that didn’t mean she was going to entertain the thing any further.

“You can hear them out there,” Esteem said as a burst of laughter came from the dining area. “Enjoying themselves. Why won’t you join them?”

“You know why.”

“Afraid you’re going to be happy, are you?” Esteem snorted. She pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against and plopped down in the chair opposite Adalyn. “Tell me, Warrior of Light, is that what he would have wanted for us?”

And back inside you go, Adalyn thought, her knuckles going white on her fork as Esteem was re-absorbed into her aether.

Esteem raged and howled inside her head; Adalyn idly listened, picking at her salmon meuniere while outside, her allies laughed and joked amongst themselves.

Thancred wouldn’t be with them, she knew. He had also taken to staying in his rooms when he wasn’t off on a mission.

She couldn’t blame him. Minfilia had been like a little sister to him, after all.

She stood abruptly, pushing her half-eaten plate to the other side of the small table, and Esteem fell silent as Adalyn left her room, making a beeline to the bar.

The guilt came back in full force when she realised F’lhaminn was tending it; they still hadn’t told the poor woman her adopted daughter was likely gone for good. They couldn’t destroy what hope she had left that Minfilia would return.

Adalyn set a handful of gil on the counter and pointed to the bottle she wanted, nodding her thanks before taking her leave.

This is not what I meant by enjoying yourself, Esteem said grumpily.

Would you just shut it and let me have this?

Back to the sleeping quarters, where she stopped outside of Thancred’s room, knocking quietly.

“Who’s there?” he called from inside.

Adalyn whistled in response.

“...Come in, then,” came his heavy sigh.

Still, Adalyn hesitated before pushing the door open. Thancred sat at his own little table, salmon meuniere half-eaten. He crossed one leg over the other, giving Adalyn an appraising once-over. He’d removed the cloth that covered his other eye; there was no need for it at the moment, she supposed.

“My compliments to the chef,” Thancred said after a moment, and Adalyn forced a smile, bowing slightly before holding up the bottle of plum spirits, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. “That’s some strong stuff,” Thancred noted.

Adalyn nodded, gesturing between the two of them, and he finally cracked a faint grin.

“Well, if you’re of a mind to share, don’t just linger in the door.”

Adalyn sat across from him, using one of her knives to dig the cork out, offering the bottle to Thancred for the first drink.

He gave her a humourless smile as he accepted, then passed it back to her. “I know the look of a guilty woman when I see it,” he said, and Adalyn paused with the bottle halfway to her lips. “Out with it, then. What’s on your mind?”

Adalyn set the bottle down, folding her hands in her lap. “Mn’fh’lh,” she managed to say.

“Minfilia?” Thancred asked softly, and Adalyn nodded, unable to look at him. “Hm.”

He sat back, and though she resisted the urge to look, she could feel his eyes on her. “I never blamed you for what happened to her, you know,” he said at long last. “Besides, I’m sure you already blame yourself enough as it is. I…” He sighed heavily and nudged the bottle towards her; Adalyn picked it up and took a swig. The spirits burned as they slid down her throat. “I put too much on your shoulders, telling you to bring her back at all costs. I fear… nothing short of a miracle could bring her back, now.”

Adalyn offered the bottle to him. “I’m sorry,” she signed. One of the few the other Scions understood easily, along with please and thank you.

Thancred shook his head and took another swig. “I’m sorry, too,” he said heavily. He gave Adalyn a long look, along with the bottle. “Tataru filled me in on what happened in Ishgard. Terrible gossip, that woman, but it at least answered some questions we had. And Y’shtola told me about…” He gestured vaguely towards his head. “Your, ah, permanent resident.”

Adalyn gave Thancred a humourless smile of her own, closing her eyes as Esteem manifested.

The simulacrum staggered, nearly falling to the floor before righting herself. “Oh, I see how it is,” she said huffily, folding her arms. “Only call on me when I’m wanted, is that it?”

Thancred stared. “Somehow, no amount of description in the world could have prepared me for this. Er.” He glanced between Adalyn and Esteem. “Is she… you? Or speaks for you?”

“I’m her, she’s me, we’re us,” Esteem said, waving a hand. “But I’m Esteem, and I speak for myself, whatever the swiving hells myself means. Think of me as the voice in our Warrior of Light’s head.” She snickered, then became serious again. “She came to you because of the guilt about losing Minfilia, and wanted to make sure you were doing well.”

Adalyn winced, but didn’t deny it.

Thancred slowly took another drink; his eyes never left Esteem. “That is… very kind of you,” he said at last.

Esteem laced her fingers behind her head. “Also, because you’ve been where we are before,” she said. When Thancred inclined his head questioningly, Esteem grinned. It looked more like she was baring her teeth. “After our friend Lahabrea—he’s dead, by the way, dead for good,” she added at Thancred’s slight flinch, “after he possessed you, you did… this.”

She gestured to the bottle as Adalyn took it. Adalyn shot her a glare.

“I would hardly call one bottle shared with a companion the same thing,” she signed angrily, and drank.

Esteem scoffed. “No, but you fear it will become something more. You’re already doing the whoring, even if it is only in your sleep so far—”

Thancred cleared his throat, cutting her off. “Adalyn, I wish I knew what to tell you,” he said. “Other than you have my sympathies for your lost love.”

Adalyn glanced away as she handed the bottle back.

Esteem hiccuped. “Good gods, woman, how much have you two had to drink already?”

Adalyn rolled her eyes. “Not enough, if you ask me.”

She waved a hand, and darkness rose up to envelop Esteem once more.

“All I’ll say is,” Thancred said, taking the bottle back, “...be careful. And,” he added with a wry smile, “if you ever wish to share a drink, far be it from me to turn you down.” He took a generous gulp and passed the bottle back to Adalyn. “Though I doubt I could have a prayer of matching the Warrior of Light drink for drink,” he added, and the two shared a laugh.

“Thank you,” Adalyn said. Though uncertainty still gnawed at her insides, she did feel somewhat lighter for having given voice to her fears.

Thancred inclined his head. “Any time,” he said, and raised an imaginary glass in a mock-toast. “To drowning our sorrows.”

“To drowning our sorrows,” Adalyn mouthed in agreement, and drank.

“Adalyn?” Alphinaud asked, poking his head into the kitchens one afternoon to find her rolling out pastry dough. “Oh, good—I had hoped I might find you here. I received a missive from Ser Aymeric just now. ‘Twould seem he is planning a ceremony of some sort, and would like you to attend.”

Adalyn didn’t know if she could bear to face Aymeric after the last time they had spoken.

Perhaps some of her uncertainty showed on her face, because Alphinaud spread his hands. “He did not divulge the details, preferring instead to explain in person. Mayhap you should pay him a visit?”

Well, then. At least it seemed some of the man’s penchant for manipulation still lingered. Despite herself, Adalyn let out a huff of laughter, drawing a baffled look from Alphinaud. “Very well,” she said. “I shall depart once these apple strudels are finished baking. Would you like to be my first victim?”

“If they are anywhere half as delicious as the sachertorte you made the other day, I should be delighted,” Alphinaud said, and they shared a smile. “And… do pass on my regards to Ser Aymeric when you see him, would you?”

Adalyn nodded and went back to rolling out her dough, but her appetite for the strudels had disappeared.

The guards who regularly stood attendance outside of Aymeric’s office knew her well by now, and let her pass without incident; inside, the lord commander was alone, and when he looked up to see his guest, his smile was instant and radiant. “A pleasure to see you again, my friend,” he said as the doors shut behind her. “I take it you received our invitation?”

Adalyn nodded, stopping before his desk and bowing stiffly. “Alphinaud sends his regards, and said you wished to discuss the details in person?”

“I hope you will forgive me my selfishness,” Aymeric said, giving Adalyn an apologetic smile. “It has been far too long since we’ve had a moment to speak. Have you been well?”

“Well enough,” Adalyn said. It was, after all, technically the truth. “What was it you needed?”

“Straight to the point, then,” Aymeric said, his smile fading slightly.

Adalyn nodded, and folded her arms, waiting expectantly. She kept her eyes affixed to a point over Aymeric’s shoulder, not trusting herself to keep from looking at his mouth.

Aymeric cleared his throat. “When the True Brothers of the Faith seized the Vault, I feared the worst. Yet in adversity were we blessed with the promise of peace between man and dragon, through Vidofnir’s timely rescue of an innocent child. Timely, I say, though ‘miraculous’ or ‘providential’ might better describe the event. The gods themselves could not have devised a more fitting symbol of hope.”

Adalyn nodded curtly, wondering where he was going with this.

“Needless to say, we could scarce let such an opportunity pass us by, which is why I set about making formal arrangements for a peace conference between our peoples. You and yours have done more to bring us together than any, and it is only right that you attend.”

Adalyn arched an eyebrow. “The last event I attended like this ended with my being accused of regicide,” she said. “Though the Scions and I have had our names cleared, I am not so fain to attend…”

“I had thought you might say as such,” Aymeric said. “But I confess, that is not the only reason I would be glad to have you there.” He laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his desk as he studied Adalyn. “Given Nidhogg’s implacable opposition to the peace, it is possible that he and his followers may attempt to disrupt proceedings… in which event, your presence would be most welcome.”

Adalyn finally met Aymeric’s eyes; though he kept his expression carefully neutral, she could see the pain hidden in his gaze.

“If the Lord Commander requires my presence,” she said at last, “then I will do whatever is necessary to ensure this conference goes smoothly.”

Aymeric gave her a small nod, neither of them giving voice to the truth they had had to come to terms with. “Thank you, Warrior of Light,” Aymeric said, and Adalyn bowed stiffly before turning to go. “Ah—one more thing,” he added quickly.

Adalyn turned back, surprised by the sudden emotion in Aymeric’s voice.

“A drink,” he blurted out, his cheeks pinking. “We should make time for one. Once the conference is concluded, I mean. By my reckoning, ‘tis long overdue.”

Adalyn hesitated, biting her lip. Aymeric’s hopeful smile faded, and Adalyn looked away, closing her eyes.

You could be happy together, Estinien had said.

What would Haurchefant want? Esteem whispered.

Adalyn opened her eyes to see Aymeric watching her nervously. She mustered up a smile and nodded. “I would love that,” she said, and Aymeric’s smile returned in full.

“Aymeric asked if I should like to share a drink with him sometime soon,” Adalyn said that night.

Estinien pulled her close to, his talons digging into her hips and holding her flush against his own. “And what did you tell him?”

“I said I would love to.”

Estinien chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in the back of his throat. “It’s about damn time, then,” he said, and his eyes darkened with lust. “Will you still continue to grace me with your presence in the meanwhile?”

Adalyn wrapped her legs around his waist, baring her teeth in a grin. “So long as you will continue to have me.”

“I certainly plan to,” Estinien said, and pulled her down on top of him.

Chapter Text

When Adalyn arrived at Falcon’s Nest to help with the preparations for the ceremony, she found them well underway, with Artoirel and Emmanellain there to lend their aid.

Though Artoirel embraced her warmly, Emmanellain barely acknowledged her.

Fine. This was just fine. It was better than trying to deal with him hanging off her every word, though Adalyn suspected she knew the reason for his sudden coldness.

She couldn’t be upset with him. After all, she blamed herself for Haurchefant’s death, too.

Word of Adalyn’s selection as a second Azure Dragoon was common knowledge by this point, and though Adalyn had requested she attend the ceremony as a knight of House Fortemps, she grudgingly accepted Aymeric’s pointing out that it would be a much greater symbol of peace if an Azure Dragoon was present at the peace conference.

It felt wrong. Like she was taking Estinien’s place, in multiple aspects of his life.

Then again, who was she to judge? She had already replaced Haurchefant with Estinien… for however long that would last.

His death would be on her hands, too. How very fitting.

At Thancred’s urging, she decided to take a moment to relax as best she could, and headed to the barracks that had been converted to a temporary tavern for the attendees of the celebration. Adalyn made herself comfortable in a back corner and set her helmet on the table beside her, accepting a steaming mug of mulled wine from a barmaid with a nod of thanks.

“Let’s get some colour back in them cheeks, eh?” the woman said, and winked.

“Thank you,” Adalyn mouthed, signing as she did so, before reaching for the mug, taking a generous gulp.

“‘Fraid food’ll be a bit longer than usual,” the woman continued. “We’ve got a lot of hungry folk to feed, what with the conference and all.”

Adalyn nodded, reaching for her notepad. No worries. Serve others first. I can wait.

“Oh, it’s fine, really,” the woman said. She kept staring at Adalyn. “So you’re the Warrior of Light?” she said softly. “The second Azure Dragoon? The one who single-handedly made peace between man and dragon?”

Not single hand, Adalyn scrawled. Had help. She set her pen down to take another drink, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“Well,” the woman said, and let out a huff of laughter. “Would you look at the fruits of your labour?” She turned to the crowd, looking at the soldiers laughing and talking. “So many people with cause to celebrate,” she murmured. “To think there could be peace in our time, after all them years of fightin’... When I heard about the conference, I knew I had to come. I knew I had to be here—to do my bit.” She looked back at Adalyn. “My husband, he… he died fighting the dragons, you see…” Her voice turned bitter. “And here we are, about to break bread with them.”

I’m sorry.

Adalyn’s pen hovered; it felt like her words were too little, too late. At least n

Her pen skidded across the parchment as she slumped over the table. Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears.

Kill her! KILL HER! Esteem roared over the pounding in her head.

Adalyn struggled to her feet, her gaze sluggishly dragging over her mug before it landed on the barmaid, who took a half-step back in fear.

“How?”

The woman’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“How is it you yet survive?”

Adalyn tried to reach for her spear propped against the wall, but her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, knocking her chair over as she fell.

Everything went black.

“Don’t you give up on me just yet!”

“Adalyn! Adalyn!”

“Wake up, you must wake up!”

When she awoke, her head was pounding, and Adalyn rolled onto her side to promptly empty the contents of her stomach into a bucket that was hastily thrust under her nose.

Esteem was silent, which was both a relief and a terror. Adalyn groped blindly for anything she could use to haul herself upright, only for a hand to catch her own. She blinked blearily to find Aymeric watching her anxiously, he and a teary-eyed Alphinaud beside her bed.

How long had she been out?

When she placed a hand to her chest, her healing magics cleared her head somewhat, but she still felt as though she was about to be violently ill.

“Oh, my friend,” Aymeric murmured. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shite.” Adalyn managed to sign, Alphinaud translating aloud for some reason. Her entire hand shook, and she realised there were tremors all over her body. She felt cold. “What…?”

“You were poisoned,” Thancred said, and Adalyn looked up to see him leaning against the wall, arms folded. “With a strong enough dosage to kill a cyclops. The chirurgeons are astonished you survived—not that I ever doubted you.”

“The barmaid,” Adalyn said urgently, but Thancred shook his head.

“Already detained,” he said. “When you passed out, one of the soldiers ran for help, and in the commotion she slipped away… and decided to try rallying the people against the peace protest.”

Adalyn’s heart sank. “Has it already happened?”

“‘Tis not until the morrow,” Aymeric said reassuringly. “I arrived not long after your collapse. But…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am told that Lord Emmanellain, in a panic, ordered one of House Fortemps’ knights to stop the woman, and she was shot twice. She will live, but it was a near thing…”

Thancred’s mouth twisted. “The people will not soon forget the image of a young lordling ordering the public execution of an unarmed protester—one whose words resonated with the hearts of many.” He glanced away. “After all,” he murmured, “who among us has not lost loved ones?”

“I’m so sorry,” Adalyn began, but Alphinaud cut her off, shaking his head.

“Do not dare apologise for this,” he said furiously, wiping his tears with the heel of his hand. “Adalyn, what would we do if you had died? How do you think we would feel—how I would feel? After everyone else we have lost, I couldn’t bear the thought of…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back more tears, and Adalyn’s heart sank. She struggled to sit up, fighting back nausea, and reached out for the lad, drawing him into a hug.

“I’m here,” she said, Aymeric giving voice to her words so she needn’t let go of Alphinaud. “Don’t you cry. I’ll be perfectly alright.”

She drew Alphinaud down to sit beside her on the bed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before leaning her cheek against his hair. The guilt was back in full force again. How could she promise him she would be alright when he had already lost so many people?

She looked up at Aymeric. “I still plan to attend the peace conference if you would have me.”

Aymeric pursed his lips, looking consternated. “My friend, you need rest—”

“And you need me,” Adalyn said, her jaw setting. “This peace conference has already seen enough discord; if I’m not in attendance, it will only serve to cause more panic.” When Aymeric still hesitated, Adalyn huffed impatiently. “And what are we to do if Nidhogg decides to show his face?”

“Will you even be feeling well enough to face him, should it come to that?” Aymeric asked softly.

Adalyn closed her eyes. “I shall have to be.”

The day of the peace conference dawned bright and cold. Adalyn forced herself out of bed early and went in search of Aymeric, who lit up like the sun when he saw her approaching, clad in her drachon armour and looking every bit the Azure Dragoon.

“I take it this means you are feeling well?” Thancred asked, and Adalyn nodded, flipping up her visor so they could better see her face.

“A bit of rest, and I feel right as rain,” she said. It was a lie, but not much of one; physically, she felt fine, but her emotions were tightly wound as a coil, anxiety curdling in her stomach. This peace conference was to be a symbol of hope for man and dragon alike, and with everything that had happened the day prior, today had to go perfectly.

“The presence of Vidofnir grows near,” she added, trying to squash down the growing nerves.

Aymeric’s smile only grew wider. “Full glad am I to hear it,” he said, and clapped Adalyn on the shoulder, careful of the spikes. “Still, I ask that you take it easy today; you had quite the trying ordeal not a day prior.”

Adalyn forced a grin. “Really? And here that whole business had entirely slipped my mind.”

Aymeric laughed, his eyes shining. “Today marks the start of a new era for peace, my friend,” he said. “When this is over, we shall have to share that drink!”

Adalyn froze, her smile fixed on her face.

Aymeric didn’t seem to notice. “Pray forgive me, but I must finish attending to the last minute preparations. I shall see you all very soon.”

He bowed and left; Adalyn watched him go, the dread only mounting higher.

Thancred chuckled. “Gods help me, I think it might be love,” he said, and Adalyn spun to stare at him. “And did you see the way his eyes lit up when you said you were well? ‘Twas a look of boundless relief and joy. One would think a politician more practised at concealing his emotions.”

Adalyn’s face burned, and she hastily flipped her visor back down.

Thancred’s expression became serious. “Do be careful today, hero. I don’t think Alphinaud’s heart could take it, otherwise.”

She followed his gaze to where Alphinaud was animatedly chatting with Artoirel, the both of them nursing steaming mugs of tea as they waited for proceedings to begin.

Adalyn sighed and nodded, giving Thancred a casual salute before going to take up her position on the platform where the stone relief would be unveiled. From behind her visor, she could keep an eye on the crowd without any one individual knowing if she was watching them.

The dread kept building in her chest, and as Lucia and Aymeric climbed the stairs to the platform, accompanied by a pair of bow-wielding knights, she realised with a surge of horror that it was more than just dread.

“Nidhogg approaches,” she said, and Aymeric paused, leaning over to Lucia to murmur a translation for her. Lucia’s expression hardened, and she nodded.

“How far?” Aymeric signed to her.

“I’m not certain, but he draws ever nearer,” Adalyn said.

Aymeric nodded and murmured something else to Lucia, who turned and hurried away. From her vantage point on the platform, Adalyn watched as she began rounding up knights scattered about the crowd.

“We shall continue with the proceedings as planned,” Aymeric said, his voice low as he took his place beside Adalyn. “Be on your guard.”

“You needn’t tell me twice,” Adalyn said, swallowing as she felt the presence of Nidhogg grow closer.

Would today be the day she had to kill Estinien?

Vidofnir arrived to the gasps of the crowd, and Aymeric stepped forward to greet her. Adalyn barely listened as they exchanged pleasantries, her focus taken entirely up by the rapidly approaching dread wyrm.

She stepped slightly off to the side, scanning the skies for any sign of Nidhogg.

He was so close now, the rage swelling to an inferno in her chest.

The relief was unveiled to reveal a beautifully carved rendition of Hraesvelgr and Shiva, which drew a chorus of oohs and ahhs from below.

“Father and his beloved,” Vidofnir said wistfully. “The dream they shared shall be ours once more.”

“NEVER!” bellowed a voice that made Adalyn’s blood run cold.

Her head shot up to see not Nidhogg but Estinien standing atop the nearby spire, looking for all the world like she remembered him—save for the great, crimson eyes embedded in the armour of his shoulder and forearm, twitching in opposite directions.

She leapt, and the abomination leapt to meet her, lance glinting in the morning sun.

Adalyn caught the briefest glimpse of his face beneath his visor, skin glowing with lines of energy, his eyes turned red with hatred.

But it was still the face she knew.

For only the briefest of moments, doubt crept into her mind, a hundred thoughts flashing past in a heartbeat. She had dreaded the possibility that Estinien’s transformation was irreversible, yet here he was, more man than dragon, his lance aimed straight for her heart.

An inhuman roar tore from his throat, and Adalyn twisted at the last second, but she’d hesitated a second too long.

The lance ripped through her with the full strength of the dragon, and Adalyn’s vision went white as she plummeted.

Is this what it felt like, Haurchefant?

She crashed through the scaffolding, barely clinging to consciousness. Above her, she dimly heard Vidofnir roar through the haze of pain.

Adalyn felt something hot and sticky flowing over her gauntleted hands, seeping into the gaps in her armour, through the leather of her gloves.

Oh. She was bleeding.

Alphinaud will never forgive me if I die.

The thought was enough to muster up the strength to stand, healing magic swirling around her as she staggered from the wreckage, where Emmanellain caught her. He was saying something, his face pale, eyes darting between her and whatever was happening above.

Adalyn clung to him for support, turning in time to see Aymeric loose an arrow at Estinien’s heart.

Estinien’s form rippled and exploded, and Nidhogg rose on tattered wings, the arrow bouncing harmlessly off his scales. Below him, Vidofnir was collapsed on the platform, barely stirring.

“Child of Dravania!” Nidhogg roared. “Art thou so forgetful that thou wouldst forsake kith and kin, and consort with the spawn of Thordan? That thou wouldst dare contemplate peace! Hearken unto me, all of you! The final chorus is nigh, and all will be held to account! All will bathe in the flames of retribution! Till the coming of that day, look you on your sins and despair! For none shall escape my wrath! None shall escape my revenge!”

Adalyn closed her eyes, swaying against Emmanellain’s side as Nidhogg flew away, the arrows of the knights falling short.

“Adalyn!” Emmanellain was saying, and Adalyn nodded faintly. “Oh, please, please, be alright! I’m sorry, do you hear me? I couldn’t bear it if you were to—”

“Make way!” Y’shtola barked. “Lay her down, unless you wish the Warrior of Light to bleed out against you!”

“Adalyn!”

Hands removed her helm, and Alphinaud’s white face appeared above her. She grinned woozily up at him before she groaned, the soothing sensation of healing magic flowing through her.

“Sh’t’lh,” she gasped.

“Save your strength,” Y’shtola snapped. “Alphinaud, you’ll be more useful aiding me than sitting there weeping! She will be fine!”

That was the last thing Adalyn remembered before, for the second day in a row, unconsciousness claimed her.

“Haldrath, mine old enemy. Thou art more difficult to kill than I had anticipated.”

“No matter. Thou shalt soon know the embrace of eternity.”

When Adalyn woke again, she felt sore all over.

She ran her hands over her body, naked beneath the bedclothes. As she looked around, she realised she was in her room not in the Rising Stones, but Fortemps Manor.

A pitcher of water and a glass were on the bedside table, which Adalyn helped herself to immediately. The movement stretched something on her stomach, and Adalyn pulled the blankets down to see a thick, jagged scar that cut across her abdomen.

Adalyn’s fingers trailed over the scar, the memory of the peace conference slamming into her, and she flinched.

She gathered healing magic to her fingers, running them over the injury. Y’shtola had done a wonderful job patching her up, but as she let the aether soothe her aching body, exploring what damage had been done, she paused when she realised something was missing.

Well, then.

It seemed a cruel stroke of luck she had never been carrying Haurchefant’s child. And now, she would never carry one at all.

Adalyn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

She was alive. The peace conference had been an utter disaster, but at least Alphinaud would be spared the pain of losing another friend.

She rose and dressed, wrapping herself in her white winter coat, and slipped out the window—but rather than leap up to the rooftops, she took the long way ‘round, her footsteps falling as quietly as the snow that blanketed the city.

Esteem was silent. Adalyn wasn’t sure if she was glad for it, or if she missed the company.

Adalyn wandered through the streets, her hands tucked up into her armpits to keep her fingers warm, her breath fogging in front of her. When she stopped outside of Borel Manor, she spent a very long time staring at the door, before she took a deep breath and lifted the brass knocker.

The sound of it felt much too loud in the early morning.

Adalyn waited, wondering if she shouldn’t just leave, but then a light flickered on inside, and she could have cried with relief.

Rather than a servant, Aymeric answered the door, tousle-haired and wearing a dressing gown, candle in one hand and sword in the other. His mouth fell open when he saw who was standing outside. “Adalyn?” he breathed.

She tried to muster up a smile for him, but couldn’t so much as make her mouth twitch into the vaguest semblance of one. “Forgive me the late—or early—hour, Lord Commander… Might I come in?”

“Yes, of course—please—” Aymeric ushered her inside and shut the door, setting the candle on a table in the entry hall and propping his sword beside it. He turned to Adalyn, his hands hovering uncertainly before he placed them on her shoulders. “Lady Y’shtola said you would live, but still I feared the worst. That you are already out of bed is nothing short of miraculous.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. “I am, for good or for ill, more difficult to kill than most seem to realise,” she finally said.

“For good, I should think,” Aymeric said softly. “We were all beside ourselves with worry.”

Adalyn still couldn’t bear to look at him. “You needn’t have bothered. I failed you. I failed all of you—”

“Do not say such things,” Aymeric said fiercely. “You are alive, and that is all that matters.”

“I promised!” Adalyn said, throwing his hands off her shoulders and taking a step back, pressed against the door. “I promised you that when the time came, I would not hesitate to kill Estinien, but I did! It was for only a moment, but it was enough for Nidhogg to—to—” She ducked her head, desperately fighting back tears. “‘Tis no fault but mine own that the peace conference was a disaster, that Nidhogg yet lives! I am no Warrior of Light, Ser Aymeric! The faith you and everyone else have in me is misplaced!”

Aymeric didn’t speak for the longest time, and the shame burned. She turned to go, wishing she had never come.

“Wait.” Aymeric’s voice was soft. “Please.”

Adalyn paused with her hand on the doorknob, though she didn’t look back.

She heard Aymeric pick up the candle and his sword. “‘Tis early enough I think some breakfast would not go amiss. Do you agree?”

Adalyn hesitated.

“I’ll cook,” Aymeric said, a gently teasing note to his voice, and that piqued Adalyn’s curiosity despite herself. She looked up at him, and he smiled, inclining his head towards the kitchen before turning and padding away on slippered feet.

Chapter Text

Adalyn’s heavy coat changed to her lighter robes as she followed Aymeric to the kitchen, where he pointed her to the well-scrubbed table. “Please, sit,” he said. “Let me think… how do you feel about orange juice?”

He turned back to her, but Adalyn shook her head, hovering awkwardly by the table. Though she trusted Aymeric, the memory of her poisoning was painfully fresh in her mind. “I would rather help, if that isn’t too objectionable.”

Aymeric gave her a gentle smile. “Do you doubt my handiness in a kitchen, my lady?”

Despite herself, Adalyn snorted. “While I won’t deny my surprise that a pampered nobleman knows how to cook—though I have yet to judge this for myself—if I shall be unable to speak with you, I would rather keep my hands occupied than sit here uselessly while your back is turned to me.”

Aymeric nodded, glancing around the kitchen as he rolled up the sleeves of his dressing gown. “In which case, would you be so kind as to fry up some popotos for us, while I get started on the omelettes?”

Adalyn nodded, and soon, the kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering sounds of sizzling butter and smells of sautéing onions. Adalyn watched Aymeric out of the corner of her eye as she worked; he remained focused on his task, but she could tell from the way he deftly whisked the dodo eggs that he was a practised hand at this.

“You know,” Aymeric said softly, not looking up, “when I first heard of you, it was not as the Champion of Eorzea, the Warrior of Light, slayer of primals and hero to the people.” He added milk to the eggs, along with salt and pepper. “It was at a state banquet, and Count Edmont mentioned to me that Lord Haurchefant had started learning Sign, that he might impress you.”

Adalyn swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the mushrooms she was busily dicing while her popotos and onions crackled and popped in the butter.

“From the beginning, he knew you were a symbol of hope,” Aymeric said softly. “But first and foremost, it was not your strength of arm that drew him to you. It was the strength of your heart, of your desire to help others, even at great cost to yourself.”

He sighed, tipping the egg mixture into a pan. “You and I are not so different in that regard, I think,” he said after a long moment. He chuckled quietly. “Far too often has Lucia chided me for not getting enough rest—but such is the burden of duty, is it not?”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“However,” Aymeric said, sprinkling Adalyn’s excess of chopped onion onto one half of the cooking omelette, “if there is one thing I have learned in the course of duty, it is that although the burden of failure rests heavy on one’s shoulders, we cannot allow it to drag us down. ‘Tis entirely possible to do everything right and still fail, but that is not an indicator of one’s strength of character.”

He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to Adalyn. “‘Tis simply sometimes the way of things. It is what we do in the wake of such moments that truly reveals who we are.”

Tears dripped down Adalyn’s cheeks, and she hastily turned her head to wipe them on her shoulder before they could fall on the food.

“You are more than just the Warrior of Light,” Aymeric said softly. “You are so very dear to the people who love you… moreso than I think you realise.”

Adalyn swallowed down the lump in her throat as she tipped her mushrooms into the pan to cook with the popotos, closing her eyes as the sizzle filled the room.

“Full certain am I that your faith is entirely misplaced in me,” she finally said. “But… thank you, Lord Commander.”

She heard Aymeric clear his throat. “I apologise if this is too forward of me, but… might I hug y—?”

Adalyn buried her face against him, clinging tightly, like a drowning man to a piece of flotsam in a storm. She felt Aymeric’s hand settle at the back of her head, and she desperately fought back sobs, unwilling to risk dirtying his dressing gown.

His nails scratched lightly through her hair, the sensation soothing in its familiarity. Adalyn squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his body, listening to his heartbeat. It sounded fast to her, but steady, and not for the first time she was reminded of Estinien urging her to take the man to bed.

But she didn’t want that—at least, not like this. Not right now.

Here in his arms, it felt like she could be protected from the world she fought so hard against.

It felt like she did with Haurchefant.

She might very well have stayed there until the sun rose, and set again, but before long, Aymeric awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah… forgive me, but the omelette—”

Adalyn immediately let go, tugging her robes straight as she stepped back. “Of course,” she said hastily. “I would not want our breakfast to burn.”

Aymeric chuckled as he added cheese to the omelette, before he folded it over and flipped it in the pan. “‘Twould seem a terrible waste after all the effort,” he said. “How fare your popotos?”

Adalyn turned back to her own pan, giving them a prod with the spatula. “Well enough, I think,” she said, and turned to grab the seasoning at the same time Aymeric reached for it. Their hands brushed together, and Adalyn jerked hers back, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Well, then,” Aymeric said, with another chuckle that sounded far too forced as he picked up the seasoning, “let it not be said I was too harsh a taskmaster!”

Adalyn mustered up a smile. “‘Tis hardly the most difficult meal I have ever prepared… and many hands make for light work, is that not so?”

“This is very true,” Aymeric said softly. “And not just in the kitchen, I believe.” He tipped the omelette onto a plate and cut it in half, sliding one of them onto a second plate while Adalyn dished out the popotos. “Full well am I pleased to know you are feeling better, because I’m of a mind to meet with Hraesvelgr.”

Adalyn nearly dropped the pan.

Aymeric stooped as if to catch it, but Adalyn steadied herself, though her eyes were huge as she looked up at him. “What?” she mouthed.

Aymeric set the plates on the table, gesturing for Adalyn to sit; she did so, waiting for him to speak. He settled across from her, pouring them both orange juice that Adalyn eyed nervously. He picked up his glass, contemplating its contents.

“I will speak plain,” Aymeric said at long last. “After the events of the peace conference, it became clear that no force we can muster would be capable of besting Nidhogg, possessed with the strength of both his eyes. But if we could recruit an ally of equal strength…”

“Hraesvelgr made clear that he has no interest in the affairs of men,” Adalyn said, shaking her head. “You might sooner move a mountain before he agrees to lend us his aid.”

“It will be no small undertaking,” Aymeric agreed, and took a sip of his orange juice. Adalyn’s hand twitched with the sudden urge to swat the glass away from him, and she forced herself to steady her breathing. “But much has changed since your visit to Sohm Al, and if there is even a chance that the dragon may be swayed, I must plead our case.”

He set the glass down, his gaze intent on Adalyn. “Whatever price the dragon asks of me, I shall pay it—such was my oath to defend the people of Ishgard.”

Adalyn picked at her food, but didn’t eat, instead pushing popotos around her plate with her fork. “One of the last things I remember before I fell unconscious,” she finally said, “was you loosing an arrow at Estinien’s heart. Never could I doubt your commitment to Ishgard, but it must surely weigh heavily on your mind…”

Aymeric closed his eyes. “Estinien would never forgive me had I not taken the shot,” he finally said. “I… I did not wish to pry, but have you seen him, since?”

Adalyn shook her head. “I have not,” she said. “I’m not even certain how long it has been since that all came to pass…”

“You’ve lain unconscious in Fortemps Manor for a full day and night,” Aymeric said softly. He swallowed. “When Lady Y’shtola informed us you were stable, I am not ashamed to admit I wept with relief.”

Adalyn bit her lip. “I’m sorry I worried everyone so…”

“Please, do not apologise,” Aymeric said softly, reaching over like he wished to take her hand before he drew back. “Adalyn…” His voice was soft. “I am just glad you are still with us.”

Adalyn nodded, glumly taking a bite of her omelette at long last. Her eyes flew wide, and Aymeric smiled as she hastened to help herself to her food.

“I take it you approve?” he asked.

Adalyn nodded again, her cheeks bulging. “Consider me impressed, Lord Commander.”

“Please,” Aymeric said, “just Aymeric would be perfectly alright.” He cleared his throat. “I rather happened to like the casualness our, ah, friendship had fallen into, but I fear things have become… awkward, in the wake of your visit that evening.”

Adalyn swallowed down her mouthful of food, her face reddening. “That,” she signed quickly, her fingers fumbling in their haste, “was a gift from Estinien, nothing more.”

Aymeric delicately speared one of the popotos on his fork, lifting it to his mouth as he watched Adalyn with an arched eyebrow. He chewed slowly, and Adalyn began to squirm under his continued scrutiny.

“Aymeric, it meant nothing,” she insisted. “How could it, when I still—when he—when it was all so recent—”

Aymeric set his fork down, lacing his fingers together. “Forgive me, I should not have assumed.” He glanced away. “‘Tis easier to explain complicated feelings away when one has the distinction between the waking and dreaming worlds, I suppose,” he murmured.

She hadn’t thought of it like that before, but it made a certain amount of sense. Adalyn picked at her omelette, biting her lip.

“I miss him,” she said at long last. “I miss Haurchefant so desperately, ‘tis like a great gaping emptiness in my chest—one I have tried to fill with Estinien, without the guilt of moving on too soon, but things are never quite so simple as that, are they?”

“No,” Aymeric murmured. “I suppose they’re not.” He cleared his throat. “For whatever you value my opinion, I think you are being far too hard on yourself, Adalyn. Seeking solace and comfort in the wake of immense grief is not something to be ashamed of.”

Adalyn didn’t respond, and Aymeric lapsed into silence while they ate. Though the food was delicious, she couldn’t enjoy it properly, and before long, resumed simply pushing bits of food around on her plate while Aymeric finished his own meal.

“By the by,” Aymeric said when he set his fork down, dabbing carefully at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “while you were unconscious, I spoke with Lady Y’shtola and Lady Krile to see if they had gleaned anything from the… interruption to the peace conference.”

Adalyn’s head shot up. “Estinien?”

“Indeed… their observations were much the same as your own, that the man’s spirit yet lingers, tangled with Nidhogg’s own. I had hoped you might have spoken with him while you were unconscious, but alas.” Aymeric shook his head. “The Scions have reason to believe that if the eyes could somehow be excised from Estinien, there might be a chance, but the dangers of attempting such a feat would be numerous. For one, there is every possibility that whoever removed the eyes—”

“Meaning, most likely, myself.”

Aymeric nodded. “—would be in just as much danger of becoming Nidhogg’s next host, and there are no guarantees that the separation would not cause irreparable damage to Estinien’s soul…”

“He is already as good as dead if we don’t try.” Adalyn took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she thought back to Azys Lla. “Nidhogg said something about how Estinien was bathed in his blood, before taking control. I think that may well be why he was so susceptible to Nidhogg’s corruption…” She opened her eyes. “Because I had held both the eyes and fell not to his sway, though my soul has been entwined with the wyrm’s for nigh on a thousand years.”

“Then—you mean to say—?” Aymeric said, his eyes widening. “Surely not…”

“Nidhogg recognised me as Haldrath,” Adalyn said, and hesitated. Her heart pounded in her chest, and it was almost too much to force herself to hold Aymeric’s gaze. “Which means that, even should we succeed in treating with Hraesvelgr… the task of killing Nidhogg shall ultimately fall to me. ‘Tis why I was chosen as the second Azure Dragoon.” She smiled humourlessly. “I realise now the full power the wyrm possesses. He shall not best me twice.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Aymeric said softly. “And I shall be there with you at every step of the way.”

Adalyn nodded. “Then we depart for Zenith today,” she said, and quickly pounded her fist into the opposite hand. “I would take Alphinaud with us as well. He is known to Hraesvelgr, and I think his optimism of youth would be an asset to your attempts to sway the wyrm.”

Aymeric let out a soft huff of laughter. “You speak as though you are decades older than the lad.”

Adalyn gave him a sad smile in return. “Though I have but less than a year’s worth of memories to my name, I feel as though I have already experienced enough to fill a dozen lifetimes over.”

“And possibly then some,” Aymeric murmured. He traced a finger around the rim of his glass, looking pensive. “Come what may, the battle with Nidhogg will mark the end of my tenure as the acting head of church and state. No Lord Commander was ever meant to retain the position for longer than an interim period while awaiting the election of a new archbishop, but given recent events, it hardly seems appropriate.”

“So what happens next?”

Aymeric glanced up at Adalyn and smiled. “I suppose we shall see what the future holds, my friend. I have full confidence that Ishgard faces a brighter morrow, and all of that is thanks to you and the Scions. We will forever be in your debt.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Adalyn said, and gave him a dry smile. “Not until our missing dragoon is brought safely home.” She stood and moved to clear away her dishes, letting her fingertips brush lightly over Aymeric’s shoulder as she passed, drawing some comfort from the touch. “Meet me at Fortemps Manor, and dress warmly. Where we’re headed, Coerthas will seem—to quote Emmanellain—positively balmy by comparison.”

Chapter Text

Adalyn arrived back at Fortemps Manor to find the place in an uproar over her disappearance.

“Oh, Adalyn!” Alphinaud cried. “Thank the Twelve, you’re alright!”

And then she found herself smothered under hugs from him, from Edmont, from Artoirel, and even Emmanellain hovered anxiously at the edge before Adalyn hugged him, too.

How did he put it? ‘You are so very dear to the people who love you’, Esteem mused, recalling Aymeric’s words.

Nice to see you’re back, Adalyn thought sarcastically, and stepped back from Emmanellain, clapping his shoulder before turning to Alphinaud. “Aymeric is on his way. Alphinaud, ready your things. We set off for Zenith as soon as he arrives.”

Alphinaud’s eyes went huge, and he gasped. “You surely cannot mean—?”

Adalyn nodded.

“What is it, what did she say?” Emmanellain squawked after Alphinaud, who turned to run back to his room. “Oh, no matter. Jolly good to see you up and about again, old girl! You gave us all such a fright! Terrible business that you’ll no longer be able to bear ch—”

“Emmanellain!” Edmont said sharply. “My son, you need to learn when news is not yours to share. This is better suited for Lady Y’shtola.”

Adalyn cleared her throat. “I know,” she said, hoping that was something they would at least understand. She put a hand over the scar, hidden beneath the heavy layers of her white coat. It would be a bit hard not to figure it out, she wanted to say, but knew none of them were well versed enough to get that. “Aymeric is coming,” she said instead, keeping her Sign slow. “We have to leave with Alphinaud.”

Even that proved to be a bit much, so she bit back a sigh and pulled out her notepad, licking the nib of her pen. Aym, Alphi, + I getting help. Gone few days, back soon.

When she glanced up to see their worried faces, she quickly added, I promise.

Edmont briefly closed his eyes. “I should well have known you would not allow yourself to be confined to bed for long,” he said softly, “though please, my dear… wherever it is you and Master Alphinaud are headed, be careful.”

Adalyn nodded, placing her hand over her heart.

Alphinaud returned, breathless, his face flushed pink with excitement. “How long do we have?” he asked.

“Probably some time yet,” Adalyn said, laughing as she ruffled his hair. “He had to return to the Congregation to inform Lucia he would be gone for some days yet and was placing her in charge of the city. I already let our hosts know.”

Alphinaud nodded and turned to the others. “Gentlemen, if you would excuse us? I would like to speak with Adalyn ere we depart.”

Emmanellain opened his mouth, but Artoirel put a hand on his shoulder. “She knows,” he murmured, and Adalyn smiled softly, giving Emmanellain a small nod.

She followed Alphinaud to the kitchen, where her smile slowly vanished as she watched him bustle about, pouring milk into the saucepan and adding cocoa and sugar. Her hands felt cold, clammy, even after he pressed the finished hot chocolate into them.

Adalyn stared down at the steaming mug, the memory of her poisoning overlapping with all the times Haurchefant had done this for her, and she didn’t realise she had frozen in place until Alphinaud lightly touched her elbow and she startled.

“Adalyn?” he said softly. “Is aught amiss?”

Adalyn quickly shook her head and sat at the table, keeping her hands wrapped around the mug and trying to work up the nerve to drink.

She was being ridiculous. She was the Warrior of Light, and he was… if not her best friend, then certainly something akin to how she imagined a younger brother might be. Of course she trusted him with her life.

Her hand still trembled slightly as she lifted the mug to take a sip. As soon as the taste hit her tongue, she set the mug down, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.

“It tastes almost just like his,” she said, and Alphinaud gave her a sad smile.

“I still struggle to believe he has gone,” he said softly. “And Ysayle too…”

He swallowed, swirling the contents of his mug, contemplating it for a long moment. “Master Matoya asked me what it was all for. Why we fight… and why we die.” He huffed. “Were I still commander of the Braves, I would doubtless have replied, ‘For the future of Eorzea’, but I am not that man. Not anymore. I needed a new answer. One that I could live with. And when I saw Estinien at the ceremony—when I saw how badly you were hurt trying to stop him—I knew at last what it was. I do not want to be a man who sacrifices his friends and family for a cause.”

Alphinaud looked up at Adalyn, determination in his eyes. “I want to fight for Estinien—and I want to save him.”

“I want nothing more than that, too,” Adalyn said. “And from what Aymeric told me, Y’shtola and Krile think there might just be a chance to do that, but it will be… difficult.”

“Difficult, but not impossible,” Alphinaud pressed. “If there is a chance, even the slightest chance—”

“Alphinaud,” Adalyn said, taking great pains to spell out his name, “Believe me, please. I will do everything in my power to save Estinien, but—”

“You may be willing to forsake Estinien, but I am not!” Alphinaud cried. “We must fight for him, for he is our friend and ally. We may struggle, we may fail, but we must try.”

Adalyn closed her eyes; for the briefest of moments, she thought she could feel Haurchefant’s hand in her own, but when she opened her eyes, they were alone in the kitchen.

“...To aid those in need.”

“I… beg your pardon?” Alphinaud asked.

“A knight lives to serve,” Adalyn said, smiling sadly. “To aid those in need. If you had let me finish,” she said, and gently tweaked Alphinaud’s ear, “you would have realised I am of the same mind. I only wished to warn you that you oughtn’t get your hopes up overly much.”

Alphinaud shook his head, lifting his chin defiantly. “But what other choice remains to us? Should the opportunity present itself, I will tear those foul orbs from Estinien’s armour and trust in the resilience of his soul—even at the risk of mine own!”

Adalyn’s expression hardened. “You will do no such thing,” she said, setting her mug heavily down on the table. “I refuse to lose you, too!”

“And I refuse to lose Estinien,” Alphinaud said stubbornly. “If there is the slightest chance we could save him—”

“Then I shall!” Adalyn said, and slapped her hand against the table for emphasis. “I promise you, I am not giving up on him just yet—and that I will try everything before I do!”

Alphinaud took a deep breath and nodded, briefly closing his eyes. “Of course,” he said softly. “Forgive me, Adalyn… It is unfair of me to unburden myself in this manner, time after time, but I am glad you permit me nonetheless.” He took a long drink from his mug and set it down, playing idly with the handle. He glanced up at Adalyn, and a ghost of his smile returned. “You of all people would understand the power of hope, after all.”

“Funny, how people keep saying similar to me,” Adalyn said dryly. “Even Estinien called me as such in Sign—faster than fingerspelling my name. ‘Hope’.”

“Could you do something similar for me?” Alphinaud asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Adalyn pursed her lips as she studied him for a moment. “I shall think of one for you,” she said, and tapped her nose, smiling faintly.

Honoroit came into the kitchen, giving them a small bow. “Begging your pardons for the interruption,” he said, “but Lord Aymeric awaits you outside.”

Adalyn and Alphinaud shared a look.

“I suppose this is it, my friend,” Alphinaud said, drained his mug, and stood.

Adalyn hastened to follow, leaving her own mug mostly untouched.

They found Aymeric outside, and Adalyn couldn’t quite help the quick once-over she gave him—to ensure he had dressed warmly like she had told him, of course. And he had, switching his ceremonial armour for the warmer uniform of the Temple Knights, a thick blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

“It grieves me to impose upon you in this manner,” Aymeric said softly, “but thank you for your continued assistance. Words are not enough to express my gratitude.”

Alphinaud beamed. “It is no imposition, Ser Aymeric—to Adalyn and I, Ishgard is as a second home. If there is aught we can do to aid in its salvation, then pray impose all you must.”

The first stop on their journey into the clouds was to be Anyx Trine—as much to check on Vidofnir as to access the passage through the mountain. As before, Alphinaud kept up a steady stream of chatter with their companion, Adalyn content to scout ahead of the group.

Well, as content as she could be. The rage, which simmered like a low boil that she could ignore, grew ever more prominent the further they pressed into Dravania.

She couldn’t shake the feeling she would only serve to act as a beacon, drawing Nidhogg straight to their group.

The first night of their journey brought them to Tailfeather, and a pang of nostalgia tugged at Adalyn’s heartstrings as she and the others settled in for supper at the hunting lodge. It didn’t miss her how Aymeric’s gaze kept drifting to her from across the table, and she felt her face heat up, forcing herself to keep her eyes on her own bowl.

But as they were getting ready for the evening, Adalyn couldn’t pretend not to notice when Aymeric approached her as she was laying out her bedroll, though she gave it a very good attempt.

“I was wondering if we might talk?” he said softly.

Adalyn grunted and plopped down on her blanket, looking up at him as she folded her hands in her lap. To her relief—or was it her disappointment?—Aymeric made no move to join her, folding his arms and looking uncomfortable.

“I realise this is a large request of me,” he finally said, “but if you see Estinien tonight—might you pass on a message?”

“It’s not another kiss, is it?” Adalyn asked, not even sure of what answer she was hoping for.

Aymeric’s cheeks went a brilliant pink, and he shook his head. “Nay, merely my well wishes. And…” His voice softened. “Tell him we have not yet given up on him.”

Rancour that was not her own bubbled to the surface, and she quickly squashed it down. Adalyn nodded and rolled over, pillowing her head on her arm. Aymeric didn’t press the issue, but even without either of her companions to keep her awake, sleep was a long time coming.

It was not Estinien she saw that night, but Nidhogg, and the dragon pounced on her the moment she became aware of his presence. His claws sank into her body, tearing her from neck to groin to spill her innards, and Adalyn screamed, sitting bolt upright.

The night was still peaceful. Alphinaud and Aymeric were still sound asleep. Adalyn still felt the need to check herself over, her hands hovering over the points where Nidhogg had punctured her torso near her lungs, where the lance had torn open her stomach, the scars forming ridges in her skin.

She shook off the sudden chill and stood, making her way outside and leaping up onto the roof, where she kept vigil until the sun rose.

When she found a familiar spot amidst some ruins, Adalyn paused, letting out a slow breath as she trailed her fingers over the crumbling stones. They had camped here last time, too, with Estinien and Ysayle. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture the pair’s bickering.

Ysayle had changed so much over their journey. Estinien might have finally been at peace. Alphinaud was starting to grow into the man he would become.

What was she? Or, rather, what would she be, at the end of everything?

She sighed and began setting up their encampment, smiling faintly to herself when Aymeric and Alphinaud emerged from the gathering dusk. Alphinaud’s arms were full of firewood.

“I see the little lordling decided to show up with offerings,” Adalyn teased as Alphinaud proudly deposited the firewood by the pit they had made last time.

“He was quite eager to demonstrate his newfound skill to me,” Aymeric said, chuckling. When Alphinaud busied himself with building up their fire, Aymeric signed to Adalyn, “The lad mentioned Estinien taught him... He has been missing our friend dearly since we set off.”

Adalyn nodded, sitting back from securing the tarpaulin into place and studying Alphinaud for a moment. She grinned suddenly, and whistled for his attention.

“That’s your name,” she said. “‘Firewood’.”

“I—what?” Alphinaud said, blinking rapidly. “Adalyn, please—surely it could be something more flattering, like—oh, I don’t know—”

“Too late,” Adalyn said, grin widening as Aymeric struggled valiantly to hold in his laughter. “You should be flattered. ‘Tis a name to reflect on how far you have come.”

Alphinaud looked somewhat mollified at that, and he bowed to Adalyn, made slightly awkward by his crouch. “Then… ‘tis an honour,” he said. He hesitated, then smiled, signing to her. “Thank you, Adalyn. I shall bear it with pride.”

Adalyn volunteered to take the first shift. And then, while her companions slept on, she took the second, and the third, left alone with the rage that burned in her chest.

Aymeric woke somewhere around a bell before dawn and yawned hugely, looking far too handsome with his sleep-tousled hair. He blinked, squinting up at the night sky, and then his eyes widened as he looked around frantically before he spied Adalyn watching him, still perched atop the ruins, still keeping her silent vigil. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of his blankets, then after taking a moment to scan the wall of the ruin, he began climbing, hand over hand, with surefooted swiftness. Adalyn blinked at him from behind her visor as he settled down beside her, flexing his fingers.

“If only the climb was as easy as your leap makes it appear,” Aymeric said, and Adalyn grunted. He let his feet dangle over the edge of the ruin, looking out over the forest of trees whose roots arched above the ground. “My friend,” he said softly, “please do not tell me you’ve been awake through the night.”

“Very well. I shan’t.”

Aymeric sighed, folding his arms loosely. “Lucia would scold me for being a hypocrite for asking this, but… are you getting enough rest?”

Adalyn gave a jerky nod.

“Adalyn.”

Adalyn sighed and flipped her visor up, glancing over at Aymeric. “I could not contact Estinien,” she said at long last. “All I dreamt of was Nidhogg…” She shuddered, putting a hand over her chest. “...tearing my body apart.”

“If there was ever a reason to avoid sleep, that certainly ranks up there,” Aymeric said softly. “Oh, my friend. I wish there was aught I could do to ease your pain.”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “‘Tis too kind of you to say, when you have your own hurts to handle,” she said. “I shall be fine, Aymeric.”

Aymeric just gave her a long look. “‘Twas scarce two days ago you awoke from a major injury that would have killed anyone else,” he said softly. “I am perhaps more aware than anyone of your capabilities, but even you are still mortal.”

Adalyn laughed, the sound a raspy breath of air. “Am I?” she asked. “I have survived so many things—so much more than you even know about—that I had no right to.” She looked down at her hands, briefly clenching on her knees. “Even I am not sure if I am mortal any more—or if I ever even was to begin with.”

“You still bleed,” Aymeric said softly, and Adalyn looked away. “You still hurt. Mayhap you can survive far beyond what any ordinary mortal could but have a prayer of… but it makes you no less vulnerable to the nightmares that linger in the wake of your deeds.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. She felt Aymeric’s hand settle on her forearm, but when she jerked away, he let her be.

“You know,” Aymeric said, his tone suddenly much more conversational in a way that put Adalyn on her guard, “my own, ah, friendship with Estinien began some ten years past, shortly after we joined the Temple Knights… I learned his name soon enough, but Estinien barely registered my existence.” He chuckled softly. “I was less a fellow recruit, and more a shadow which occasionally darkened his path. And so I might have remained, had fate not seen fit to intervene.”

He glanced over at Adalyn, who kept staring stonily out over the hills.

Undeterred, Aymeric continued. “While out on patrol, our company was set upon by a dragon, and we were the only two to survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Adalyn finally said.

Aymeric was silent for a moment, before he shook his head. “‘Twas a long time ago, and though we still regret the losses of our fellow soldiers… such is the way of the world.” He sat back against his hands, looking up at the sky, beginning to show the faintest traces of dawn. “The experience forged a bond between us, though, as such life-threatening situations are wont to do.”

Despite herself, Adalyn cracked a faint smile. “Is this where you confess to me your deep-seated love for the man only realised through your shared trauma?”

To her surprise, Aymeric shook his head. “It did not happen quite so fast as that,” he said. “Despite our friendship, he remained an intense and solitary youth, wholly obsessed with claiming vengeance against Nidhogg. Even as our own… relationship developed, revenge was ever at the forefront of his mind—revenge for the death of his parents, and revenge for his younger brother.”

“Hamignant,” Adalyn said, and Aymeric nodded. “I… I have seen snatches of that day in my dreams. The flames, the horror…” Adalyn glanced down at her hands, which loosely curled into fists for a moment. “Estinien lost everything that day,” she finally said. “And aside from you and Alberic, I would venture to say he never tried rebuilding from the ruins of the life he once had.”

Aymeric nodded. “And I would venture that in Alphinaud he sees something of his lost sibling… and in the ungentle chidings of Estinien, Alphinaud has found the elder brother he never had.”

They both glanced down at the tarpaulin, beneath which Alphinaud still slumbered, wholly lost to the world.

“I worry about him,” Adalyn finally said. “But… somehow I get the sense your tale was not meant to be about the lad.”

Aymeric let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “After Estinien was chosen as the Azure Dragoon,” he said, “the first Azure Dragoon of the generation, I ought to say… he never let himself relax, not once.”

“I can see why you are so close, then,” Adalyn said.

Aymeric ducked his head, biting back a smile. “Perhaps I am guilty of not taking the proper care of myself, yes,” he said, “but might I finish my story?”

Adalyn gestured for him to continue, pulling her own feet up to sit cross-legged atop the ruin.

Still, it was a long moment before Aymeric spoke again. “Being chosen by the Eye granted him abilities far beyond mortal ken, as I’m sure I needn’t tell you,” he said, inclining his head towards Adalyn, who nodded. “But for all his power… he never stopped hurting. He never slowed in his pursuit of his goal—the slaying of Nidhogg—but gone was the determined man I knew in our youth, who still knew when to set his lance aside and enjoy the quiet moments in between. All he knew from then on was his never-ending drive for vengeance, and it slowly destroyed him more surely than anything else we endured in this damnable war.”

“And you?” Adalyn asked. “I’m sure I needn’t remind you of your own single-minded dedication to the job that leaves dark circles beneath your eyes and your second in command hounding you to rest.”

Aymeric shook his head. “Such is the weight of the responsibility that was laid upon mine shoulders when I became the leader of the Temple Knights,” he said. “But I have the easy excuse of not having been blessed by abilities such as yours or Estinien’s… which, unless I am deeply mistaken, imparts with them their own set of responsibilities, self-imposed or otherwise.”

Adalyn uncrossed her legs again, drumming her heels against the wall of the ruin as she thought. “‘Tis the same fear of failure that drives us both,” she finally said. “Of having all this power at our fingertips and still not being able to save the people we love.” Her fingers trembled. “Aymeric,” she said at long last. “I… I think I love him. Estinien, I mean. And if I were to lose him, too, especially so soon after…”

“I love him, too,” Aymeric said softly, and closed his eyes. “He is a person for whom I would gladly give my own life, a hundred times over—were it not for the duty that so bound us both.”

Adalyn nudged him to get his attention. “And yet, here you sit, thinking to lecture me on the nature of duty.”

But Aymeric shook his head once more. “The point is that we are all constrained by it,” he said. “But dedication to the cause, no matter how much power the gods have seen fit to grant us, makes us no less vulnerable to certain needs. Such as companionship, in Estinien’s case… or sleep in ours,” he added pointedly, but Adalyn looked away.

“I don’t require rest,” she said. “At least, not right now. I slept for nigh on two days but recently.”

“Then at least let me take the first watch when next we stop for the evening,” Aymeric said softly. “Doubtless you’ll be exhausted from the journey… and you shall need to be in your best form when we meet with the great wyrm.”

Adalyn wanted to argue, but she realised that Alphinaud was stirring in the encampment below. So, just to get the lord commander off her back, she nodded, before pushing off from the top of the ruins, leaving him behind her on the wall above.

Adalyn knew Vidofnir would warn them away from their chosen course of action, but it was still disheartening to hear her say as such. Nevertheless, after she took a moment to tend to the dragon’s lingering injuries from the peace conference, they pressed on.

When they emerged at the top of Sohm Al’s winding path, she breathed in the biting night air with a sigh of relief—though the relief warred with the hatred building within her chest.

Her head turned in the direction of the Aery, and she swallowed, wondering if they wouldn’t be seeing Nidhogg before the night was out.

Aymeric and Alphinaud were right behind her, and when Aymeric caught sight of the ruins arching into the achingly beautiful sky full of stars, he gasped softly.

“The lord commander seems lost for words,” Alphinaud said to Adalyn as Aymeric slowly approached the edge of the floating continent, gazing hungrily at the magnificent sight. “Nor can I blame him. I recall being similarly awestruck when I first beheld this vista.”

Adalyn squeezed the lad’s shoulder before moving to stand beside Aymeric, her hands clasped behind her back. This high up, the wind was bitterly cold, Aymeric’s cloak whipping about his legs as he drew it tighter around him.

Aymeric glanced over at her, smiling. “I had heard tales of the world above the clouds, but never did I dream…” He chuckled, turning to the ruins, tilting his head back. “One’s mind paints a pale picture of its majesty.”

“Few live to see such wonders,” Alphinaud said as he joined them in admiring the view. “I am reminded of my first visit to this peak, when Estinien and Ysayle yet walked at our side…” He sighed. “Tomorrow, we shall press on to Zenith, while the winds are in our favour. ‘Twould seem that our presence there will be every bit as unwelcome as I had anticipated. But what is the ire of one great wyrm to a trio of self-confessed fools such as ourselves?”

“If it is folly to hope, then I am content to die a fool,” Aymeric said, and strode off in search of a place to make camp.

Though Alphinaud had meant Hraesvelgr, Adalyn had the sneaking suspicion Aymeric’s thoughts were on someone else entirely.

As Hraesvelgr flew off to await them at whatever their trial would be, Adalyn reached up to give a tiny scritch to the chin of the Father of Dragons perched on her shoulder.

Thank you, Midgardsormr, she thought.

The dragonling rumbled with laughter before disappearing again, and Adalyn turned to see Alphinaud and Aymeric watching her, awestruck.

“When last I saw Midgardsormr, he was… quite a lot bigger,” Aymeric said faintly. “I had not realised he was your constant companion.”

Adalyn shrugged and spread her hands for a moment. “I would not say he is always watching,” she said. “But he has been with me since… not long after we met, as a matter of fact.” She paused. “I don’t think I have to explain why I never mentioned…”

Aymeric shook his head. “My friend, there are no hard feelings to be had—nor, I think, could anyone begrudge the Warrior of Light the right to keep her secrets.”

“Hear, hear!” Alphinaud said. “Especially when it so happened to be the tipping point in our negotiations with Hraesvelgr… though I cannot help but wonder at whatever these trials of his hold in store for us.”

“Knowing us?” Adalyn said, arching an eyebrow. “Must you really ask?”

“You make an excellent point.”

A trio of wyverns arrived to carry them after their brood-father, and Aymeric squared his shoulders, looking to the others. “For the sake of Ishgard, I shall overcome whatever trial is placed before me. And I have no doubt that you will do the same.” He mounted and raised a hand in farewell. “May the Fury see us to victory!” he called, and then he was gone.

Adalyn boosted Alphinaud onto one of the remaining wyverns, which took to the air, and she vaulted onto the third, flipping her visor down as they soared after the others.

It was of absolutely no surprise to her when she was deposited on one of many floating islands to find Hraesvelgr waiting for her. Her friends were nowhere to be seen.

“Nidhogg will spare thee no clemency,” he said, spreading his great, feathered wings. “And thus, neither must I.”

Adalyn rolled her shoulders and pulled her spear off her back, her blood beginning to sing with anticipation of the fight.

This is for you, Estinien.

She shot forward, bounding over the gaps between islands, surefooted and without hesitation. Hraesvelgr’s jaws opened, electricity crackling between his teeth, and Adalyn leapt over the blast of levin.

As she arced higher in the air, she was struck by the sudden realisation that rather than giving this fight her all—she needed to hold back.

And so began her trial, as Adalyn ducked and weaved and leapt, laughing silently as power surged through her body, growing ever stronger as the fight went on. Her lance struck true time and again, and Hraesvelgr roared at each new wound, the noise shaking the islands themselves.

“Hah! Echo of Haldrath, thou hast proven thyself,” he said at last, and Adalyn pulled her lance free, healing magic already gathering at her fingertips. She replaced her lance, flipping her visor up as Hraesvelgr’s enormous head lowered, one golden eye peering at her as she worked. “Having tasted thy strength firsthand, I can see that the dread title of ‘Azure Dragoon’ is no empty appellation,” he said at long last.

His wounds knitted together, scales growing over the scars left behind by her lance, and Adalyn tentatively placed a hand on Hraesvelgr’s flank.

“Come, then, Azure Dragoon,” Hraesvelgr said. “Ere thou goest to confront mine own brood-brother, I shall bequeath unto thee a gift.”

Curious, Adalyn withdrew her hand, and Hraesvelgr leapt into the sky. He flew slowly enough for her to keep pace on foot, which she could do easily, covering the distance in leaps and bounds.

Hraesvelgr led her to an island filled with yet more crumbling ruins, and as Adalyn walked deeper among them, she realised they resembled stables and barracks. Hraesvelgr led her to one in particular: the only one with an armour chest that was left untouched by the ravages of time, preserved, she presumed, through magic.

Adalyn looked up at the great wyrm to ask his permission, and he rumbled, the sound emanating from deep within his chest.

“These ruins were once the quarters for the dragoons of an age long past, when they fought alongside dragons rather than against them,” Hraesvelgr said, watching intently as Adalyn knelt before the chest. “Ratatoskr oft bore such souls into battle, and tempered the armour of her chosen in her own blood, her power freely given. Now, I freely give it to thee.”

Adalyn opened the lid with trembling hands to find two pairs of azure armour, one significantly larger and spikier than the other, and she let out a soft huff of disbelieving laughter.

“Never have these sets of armour been worn,” Hraesvelgr said as Adalyn began pulling out the smaller set, running her hands over the smooth pauldrons. “Forged a hundred of thine kindred’s lifetimes ago, they have always wanted for masters with the true spirit of a dragoon.”

Adalyn paused, setting the breastplate back in the chest as she turned to look at Hraesvelgr. “If I am truly Haldrath reborn,” she said, swallowing, “then would it not dishonour your brood-sister’s memory to wear armour forged in her blood?”

Hraesvelgr peered at her, a gleam in his golden eye. “Who better to atone for that most grievous sin?” he asked. “If thou wouldst honour Ratatoskr’s memory, end my brother’s war, and accept that which is rightfully thine.”

Adalyn placed a hand over her heart, which weighed heavy in her chest. Nidhogg’s rage only swelled as she reached up to remove her helm, and she began doffing her armour, dark as night and tempered in the blood of the slain.

“By thy deeds shall the flickering hope that lingereth yet within my heart be kindled anew… or extinguished forever.”

As each piece fell to the floor, she felt the weight of the burden she agreed to carry grow heavier, and the rage swelled to a crescendo as she donned the azure armour.

It fit as though it had been forged especially for her.

There was no helm to go with the set. No matter. The protection offered by the armour lay not in its metal, but in its blood.

As the last piece clicked into place, a roar from above made her look up, and a spiky white dragon descended from the skies, bearing Aymeric upon his back. Aymeric leapt down before they had landed and ran to join Adalyn, his face flushed from exertion.

“Adalyn!” he said, and stopped several fulms away, looking her over with wide eyes. “You look beau—blue.” He cleared his throat. “You look very blue.”

Adalyn laughed, looking down at herself and trying to ignore the flutter at his slip. “I suppose I do,” she said. “I take it your trial has concluded?”

Aymeric nodded, glancing back at the dragon he’d arrived with. “Mine was brutal beyond reckoning. Vedrfolnir seems ill acquainted with the notion of ‘mock’ battles,” he added, and Vedrfolnir rumbled with laughter. “He seemed largely concerned with how long he could keep me rolling in the dust. Between dodging snapping fangs and slashing claws, I scarce had time to aim a blow.”

“Are you alright?” Adalyn asked, biting her lip. “Neither of you are hurt?”

Vedrfolnir shook his spiky head, and Aymeric smiled ruefully. “Nay, though your concern is touching. Had he truly meant to harm me, of course, I would not be standing here now. Plainly, his intent was to teach. His onslaught forced me to recall my training—about the speed of the dragon, his balance, his blind spots… It was, in short, a very thorough lesson.”

Vidofnir joined them, and Alphinaud slid off her back, panting heavily and clutching at his side. Adalyn’s eyes widened and she rushed to the lad, healing magic already gathering around her hands.

“Ohhhh, oh, my poor ribs,” Alphinaud moaned as Adalyn caught him. “Hraesvelgr saw fit to pair me with Vidofnir, but her ferocity was such that I began to wonder if she did not resent us for intruding upon her rest while she was healing.”

Vidofnir chuckled. “The Warrior of Light’s healing magic was very welcome,” she said, a gleam in her eye that was very similar to her sire’s. “Forgive me if I was a touch eager to test its effectiveness.”

“It was very effective in teaching my aching side a lesson, I can assure you of that,” Alphinaud said, straightening up. “Thank you, Adalyn, I—” He broke off, and took a step back, blinking when he noticed her new armour. “Well then, I must say, that is quite the striking look. I take it your trial has concluded? Who were you paired with, then?”

Mutely, Adalyn pointed at Hraesvelgr, and Alphinaud blanched.

“Well, then… I must say my trial rather suddenly pales into insignificance next to yours,” he said faintly.

Hraesvelgr shook himself and spread his wings, feathers rustling. “That you yet stand ready is proof of your determination, mortals. Let us fight as allies, then, and together banish my brood-brother’s vengeful shade. On my oath, the wrath that once was Nidhogg shall meet its end!”

Chapter Text

The rage burned brightly in Adalyn’s chest as they soared through the skies on dragonback, the rising chorus of Nidhogg’s song filling the air.

No sooner had they had the chance to catch their breath than the dread wyrm’s roar pierced the firmament, and Adalyn had realised with fresh horror that Nidhogg was leading the horde straight to Ishgard.

Now, they raced in pursuit, Adalyn atop Hraesvelgr and her companions borne by the same dragons they faced in their trials. Down they flew below the clouds, and slowly, the spires of Ishgard became visible through the howling snow. The only spot of colour amid the sea of grey was the burst of dragonfire upon the Steps of Faith.

“I shall challenge Nidhogg first,” Hraesvelgr said as they drew ever closer. “Have thy weapon at the ready, Azure Dragoon, for ultimately this battle shall be decided by thine own hand.”

Hraesvelgr’s roar of challenge was answered by Nidhogg’s own, the dread wyrm hidden somewhere amidst the storm—but Adalyn could feel him lurking nearby.

They landed on the Steps of Faith, Hraesvelgr and his children putting themselves between the knights and the horde.

“Lord Commander!” Lucia called, relief in her voice as Aymeric dismounted, Adalyn and Alphinaud following suit.

“You are late, Warrior of Light!” Artoirel said, and Adalyn shot a grin at him over her shoulder.

“Wherefore standest thou with these vermin, Brother?” came the voice of Nidhogg, and the great black dragon landed before them, smoke trailing from his mouth.

“Abandon this war, shade,” Hraesvelgr rumbled, spreading his wings as if to shield the men behind him. “The suffering thou sowest serveth no end. The traitors’ progeny have learned of their forefathers’ betrayal, and seek now to make amends with our kind. Never shall our grief be assuaged nor our loss forgotten, but reconciliation may yet halt the spread of this plague of enmity. Forsake thy vengeance and be at peace.”

Nidhogg’s roar seemed to shake the very sky. “What soft-headed ramblings are these? Thy dalliance with that vile maid hath robbed thee of thy wits! Mayhap her cloying perfume hath made thee forget the stench of our brood-sister’s lifeblood!”

Hraesvelgr roared in return, eyes blazing with fury. “Thou darest speak thus of my beloved?!”

“Ah! So the flames of rage may yet be kindled! I feared thy heart’s fire had long since gone out. But waste not thy fury on words, Brother—thou shalt have need of it for the battle!”

Fire and levin from the dragons’ maws collided, and Adalyn threw up a shield of aether to surround those nearby. Nidhogg took to the skies, and Hraesvelgr rose to meet him in a storm of flames and crackling electricity. The dragons snarled as they clawed at one another, before one of Hraesvelgr’s horns gouged into his brother’s flank, and crimson rained down below, splattering against Adalyn’s shield.

Nidhogg plummeted, and for a moment Adalyn was equal parts horrified and hopeful—but then, the black scales blazed like flames, and Nidhogg collided with Hraesvelgr once more, his jaws closing over one of the white dragon’s secondary wings.

With a horrible wet tearing sound and the crunch of bone, Nidhogg ripped the wing away in a spray of blood, and Hraesvelgr’s bellow of pain was cut short when the two crashed onto the bridge.

Adalyn doubled over when a sudden heat seared her body, and she gasped, struggling to breathe, her body glowing with power.

“Adalyn?!” Alphinaud cried, reaching for her as the dust settled.

Nidhogg stood triumphant over his brother, claws sunk into Hraesvelgr’s skull, the dismembered wing dripping from his jaws. With a vicious shake of his head, he flung the wing away, where it spiralled as it fell into the abyss of raging aether below.

“Thou art weak, Hraesvelgr—a slithering wyrm who fawneth on the vermin who should rightly be his prey,” Nidhogg sneered. “For a thousand years have I fought without cease—and thou didst think to prevail against me?!”

Hraesvelgr’s voice was strained, blood trickling from where Nidhogg’s talons pierced his head. “Glory not in thy victory, shade. The battle… is not yet won. My power—and my hope—have I entrusted to another…”

The great wyrm opened his eyes to reveal one of his sockets was empty.

Oh. That explained it.

Adalyn took a deep breath, straightening up as she stopped fighting to let the power surge through her body.

“Thine eye!” Nidhogg roared. “What hast thou done?!” His great horned head swung around to stare at Adalyn as she approached slowly, lance at the ready. “Fool! Thou wouldst trust a mortal with thy strength?!”

He left Hraesvelgr where he lay, tail lashing, hot saliva dribbling from his fangs as he slunk towards Adalyn. “I shalt consume thine essence so that thou mayst never be reborn to stand against me again!”

He lunged, jaws snapping, and Adalyn leapt into the air, soaring ever higher. Nidhogg roared and took off in pursuit, and theirs became a deadly dance, Adalyn using the wyrm’s own body as a platform as she leapt, struck, and leapt again, drawing roars of pain each time her lance drove home.

She could not—would not—think how Estinien would fare. The world fell away below them, their battle raging on.

Until Nidhogg’s form shuddered, twisted, and Adalyn lost her footing and fell.

“Look upon the fool who dared embrace my power!” Nidhogg roared with Estinien’s voice, and even as she plummeted, Adalyn could only look up at the familiar form in horror.

How many times had she seen this in her dreams? How many times had she and Estinien shared in one another’s pleasure while he looked like that?

She crashed into the Steps of Faith, stones cracking with a spray of dust and grit, and Adalyn lay in her crater, dazed, as Nidhogg descended.

“Witness the darkened wings that beat about his shrivelled soul!” he roared, and raised the twisted lance to strike at Adalyn’s heart.

She kicked up and connected solidly with Nidhogg’s stomach, launching him into the air. Adalyn laughed breathlessly at the memory of her sparring match with Estinien, what seemed a lifetime ago, and she staggered to her feet, calling her spear back to her hand. Up above, aether surged around Nidhogg as he prepared for a stardiver attack, and Adalyn’s eyes widened.

Esteem!

Darkness rose to surround her, and Adalyn felt the stones beneath her crack even further when the attack struck her shield, a shockwave blasting out around them. As the tendrils retreated to reveal Nidhogg, draconic once more and glowing orange, Adalyn pointed her spear at him.

“Last chance, wyrm,” she said. “You cannot win.”

“Curse thee and thine eye, Hraesvelgr!” Nidhogg bellowed. “If I must meet mine end, then all shall burn upon my pyre!”

His chest swelled, glowing with the fire that was building within.

Adalyn leapt, and her lance struck true. Nidhogg’s roar was deafening, and then he staggered, aether swirling around him before the shade dissolved, leaving Estinien panting on the ground. The twitching eyes were still embedded in his armour.

Adalyn knelt beside him, reaching for his face. “Estinien?” she mouthed, hardly daring to hope.

“Estinien!” she heard Alphinaud cry, and though Adalyn frantically signalled for the lad to stay back, his footsteps carried him ever closer.

“I am of the first brood,” Nidhogg snarled, his voice resonating. “I am vengeance incarnate… I am Nidhogg! Thou shalt die by my hand!”

He lunged for Adalyn, but before she could block his attack, he jerked to a halt, his arm twitching.

“This… is not your hand, wyrm!” Estinien said, and his fingers closed around his own throat, squeezing with enough force to crush the bones of anyone else. He choked and coughed up blood, and Adalyn seized his wrist, trying to pull the hand away.

She succeeded briefly enough for Estinien to speak, his voice rasping from the damage. “Finish me, Adalyn—!”

He wrenched free, and his hand clamped over his throat once more.

“The eyes!” Alphinaud yelled, and he fell to his knees beside Adalyn, reaching for one of them. Adalyn nodded and grabbed the other, pulling with all her might. It was enough to get Estinien to release his chokehold, but not enough to free him.

“You waste your time,” Estinien gasped. “Kill me! It is the only way!”

“No!” Alphinaud cried, tears streaming down his face. “You can’t die like this! I won’t let you!”

And nor will I, Adalyn thought fiercely. But it's too much... we can't...

Gauntleted hands closed over her own, and her head shot up—and her mouth fell open.

Haurchefant knelt beside her, and when he met her eyes, he smiled, nodding to Ysayle on Estinien’s other side.

Ysayle’s own hands covered Alphinaud’s, lending him her strength; she looked up at Adalyn and nodded, determination in her gaze.

Haurchefant squeezed Adalyn’s hands.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

With tears falling freely, Adalyn wrenched the eye loose as Alphinaud did the same, and they fell backwards from the force of it, even as Estinien collapsed on the ground.

“The eyes!” Aymeric bellowed, sprinting towards them. “Cast them into the abyss!”

Running on pure adrenaline, Adalyn scrambled to her feet, and she and Alphinaud launched the accursed orbs off the bridge, where they were swallowed by the raging aether below.

The hatred burning in her heart was gone.

She turned back to the others, to Haurchefant, her mouth half open, hand raised—but the words failed her. What was she supposed to say, after everything that had happened?

Haurchefant smiled, tapping the corner of his mouth.

And this time, though she had to struggle to do so, Adalyn’s smile in return was no less genuine.

The spirits faded away, and then the weight of everything that had happened seemed to slam into her. Adalyn let out a noiseless sob of relief as she fell to her knees beside Estinien, now cradled in Aymeric’s arms.

“He lives,” Aymeric breathed, and Adalyn’s hands were on Estinien, pouring healing magic into him. “Estinien lives.”

Chapter Text

They bore Estinien back to the infirmary, where the chirurgeons were busily treating the knights who had been injured in the fighting. Though Adalyn had returned the eye to Hraesvelgr, she was still riding the high from the battle, and insisted on treating Estinien herself.

Aymeric and Alphinaud remained by his bedside as the hours passed, and at long last Adalyn had to sit back to let the other healers take over.

She was exhausted.

“He will live, thanks to you,” Aymeric said softly. “Thanks to the both of you,” he added, looking to Alphinaud. “Now, all we can do is wait for him to wake.”

Day turned into night. Night turned into day. Alphinaud returned to Fortemps Manor for rest, but Adalyn and Aymeric remained by the bedside, where they fell asleep against one another’s shoulders.

Though Nidhogg no longer tormented her dreams, there was also no Estinien left to offer respite, and Adalyn’s sleep was fitful despite her need for more of it. When she roused herself properly, forcing herself to down a strong cup of tea Aymeric brought her, she turned her attention to Estinien’s treatment once more.

But her conjury resulted in nothing definitive; her Nymian magics produced no change; in a desperate attempt to wrest something, anything resembling recovery out of him, Adalyn pulled out her divining deck, shuffling and reshuffling and shuffling again in an effort to manipulate his fate.

And still, Estinien slept.

He was still in there, she knew that much. Though Nidhogg’s spirit was gone, the selfsame awareness of her fellow dragoon lingered on.

“Estinien’s mind and body were held hostage for many days,” Lucia had said when she came to visit. “We must be patient, and allow the process of healing to begin. In the meantime, you would do well to rest and recover from your own ordeals.”

But Adalyn didn’t want to rest and recover. She wanted—needed—to be by Estinien’s side in case he needed her.

Aymeric hardly ever left, either; he and Adalyn kept vigil over Estinien’s body, their fingers entwined as they watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“What if he never wakes?” Adalyn said.

Aymeric squeezed her hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “He will,” he said, his voice low. “He has to.”

Alphinaud visited the morning of the third day, apologies tumbling from his lips. There was business to attend to with the Scions, he explained, but Adalyn waved him off.

“Do not worry yourself about it,” she said. “There is still much and more that needs doing; thank you for…” She glanced at Estinien, biting her lip. “For making it possible for us to stay.”

Alphinaud knelt on the floor by Estinien’s bed, lightly touching the man’s hand where it rested atop the blankets. “Oh, Estinien,” he said, his voice tight. “Forgive me… if only I had heeded the warnings about what tearing the eyes from you might do…” He ducked his head, pressing his forehead against the mattress, not quite managing to stifle his sobs.

Adalyn slid out of her chair to crouch beside him, wrapping an arm around Alphinaud’s shoulders.

“Cease your mewling, boy,” came the wonderfully familiar voice, hoarse from disuse and damage, and Adalyn’s heart leapt in her chest. “It grates my ears.”

“Estinien!” Alphinaud cried as their heads shot up. “Forgive me, we feared you might never wake up!”

Aymeric folded his arms with a faint smile; his eyes looked oddly bright, but his voice was as controlled as ever. “Now, now, Estinien. If Master Alphinaud thought any less of you, you would still be Nidhogg’s plaything—or dead.”

Estinien returned the smile. “Aye, aye, ‘twas but a jest.” He turned his head, allowing Adalyn to take his hand, but he pulled away after barely a moment had passed.

“How fares the throat?” she asked, biting her lip, and Estinien grimaced.

“Sore,” he said. “But I expect I shall recover well enough thanks to your timely ministrations.”

Adalyn let out a silent huff of laughter, blinking back tears. “Trust you to only wake for the little lordling,” she said.

“Believe me, I would have slept longer were it not for his weeping,” Estinien said, turning his head towards Alphinaud. “Thank you, Alphinaud… and Adalyn. Were it not for your unwavering faith in me, I would not be here today.”

“We almost were unable to manage it,” Alphinaud said, sitting back on his haunches and wiping away his tears with the heel of his hand. “I do not know what it was that gave us the strength in the end to overcome Nidhogg’s power, but…” He glanced at Adalyn. “I would daresay it was the memory of our fallen friends.”

Adalyn nodded, shifting uneasily in her seat. She hadn’t told him what she had seen on the Steps of Faith that day lest he think her mad.

More mad than usual? Esteem whispered.

“I for my part, owe you an apology,” Aymeric said softly. “When last we met, I did willingly loose an arrow at your heart. Can you forgive me?”

Estinien rolled his eyes. “There is naught to forgive, Aymeric. You but acted in defense of Ishgard, as is your duty. Were you any less single-minded about it, I would not follow you into battle—nor trust you at my back.” He turned his head to squint at Adalyn. “And here I had trusted you would tell him I had also come to the conclusion I would have to perish for Nidhogg to be stopped.”

Adalyn gave him a watery smile. “I had,” she said. “Circumstances being what they were, though, I think I owe you an apology for the wounds I gave you in our battle.”

“Oh, let us dispense with the hand-wringing already,” Estinien said. “You fought with the skill of the dragoons of legend, lass; ‘tis an honour to share the mantle of Azure Dragoon with one such as you.”

Adalyn nodded, fighting back a sniffle. “I can still sense your presence,” she said. “Though Nidhogg has been slain for good… hasn’t he?”

A hush fell over the room as Estinien closed his eyes. “Aye,” he said at long last. “Or, at least, the shade will trouble us no more. The tendrils of Nidhogg’s foul presence bound up every fibre of my being, and I suspect there is a part of him that has merged with me forever.”

“Whatever it is you think you may have become,” Aymeric said softly, “you are still our irritable, irascible, infuriating… and immutably dear friend.”

Estinien didn’t smile, staring up at the ceiling, his expression dark. “I still retained some trace of awareness in the waking world,” he said at long last. “And in Nidhogg I saw a dark reflection of my own heart. The wyrm’s mind was as a vast and tumultuous sea. Endlessly its black waters churned, his grief and despair at Ratatoskr’s murder never calming, never receding…” He sighed heavily. “Though his shade is banished, I feel no joy at his passing. Where once I craved vengeance, I now crave rest.”

Estinien finally turned his head to look at Aymeric. “Lord Commander, I would lay down the mantle of Azure Dragoon.”

“My friend…” Aymeric murmured, reaching for Estinien’s hand, but Estinien pulled away, closing his eyes again.

“Leave me be,” Estinien murmured. “I am tired.”

Adalyn bit her lip, but stood, urging Alphinaud to do the same.

“I think you and I could do with some rest, too,” Adalyn said.

Aymeric nodded, and with a last glance back to Estinien’s prone form, they left the infirmary together.

With the Dragonsong War finally having reached its coda, the time came for Aymeric to step down as the acting leader of Ishgard. Adalyn spent her days running messages for him, helping forge alliances, curry favours, and begin putting into place the skeleton of the new government.

Her nights she spent by Estinien’s bedside to continue her treatment; she wanted to bring him news of how Aymeric was faring, and vice versa, but Estinien always seemed to be asleep whenever she would arrive.

Most nights she dozed off on the floor beside his bed, her head and arms leaning on the mattress. Though her dreams were no longer plagued with Nidhogg, Estinien, too, seemed to have disappeared from them, though she could still sense his presence.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” Adalyn said to Aymeric one afternoon when she swung by his office to drop off another stack of missives. She perched on the edge of his desk, biting her lip when he took a moment to look up from the letter he was penning.

Dark circles hung heavy beneath his eyes, and judging from the empty teacups lined up on a tray waiting to be removed, he’d been up far too early.

Aymeric sighed and set his quill down, flexing his ink-stained fingers. “Estinien has always been… prideful,” he said at last. “And doubtless, his ordeal as Nidhogg’s host has left him with a great deal to think about.” He pursed his lips in thought. “I ought to visit him again, but…” He gestured to the ever-growing mountain of paperwork.

Adalyn whistled quietly to get his attention. “When was the last time you slept?”

Aymeric didn’t miss a beat. “Last night.”

“And for how long?”

He smiled thinly. “Long enough.”

Adalyn put a hand on his cheek, and he stilled. “Rest. Please. For us.”

“I cannot,” Aymeric said, his hand coming up to cover her own. “Not while there is work to be done.”

“What was it you told me?” Adalyn said, raising an eyebrow. “How dedication to the cause does not absolve one of a need for sleep?”

Despite himself, Aymeric laughed. “Turning my own words against me, now?” he said. “You would make a fine politician, Ser Adalyn.”

Adalyn snickered and let go to put a hand to her throat. “I think I shall leave that to others who are better suited to the task.”

Aymeric smiled. “I shall make you a promise: I will rest when I am no longer the acting head of state,” he said. “What are a few more days in the grand scheme of things?”

“Very well. But I shall hold you to that.” Adalyn slid off the desk and padded noiselessly to the door; she paused and glanced back, but Aymeric was already absorbed in his work once more.

Adalyn tugged uncomfortably at the high neck of her white gown, her gaze drifting over the assembled guests. The last time she had worn this had been at the bloody banquet, and the thought of something similar happening at Aymeric’s investiture ball made her stomach churn.

Her gaze kept drifting to Aymeric, looking resplendent in his blue and gold finery, who was being passed from noblewoman to noblewoman. She realised with a small pang that she was jealous.

Ridiculous. He was only doing his job.

It was why she hadn’t asked him for a dance all evening; she wanted nothing more than to share a dance with him, but he had alliances to forge and goodwill to foster.

Her job, much like last time, was to stand there and look pretty.

Not that she was entirely complaining; sure, there was the flurry of nobles who came by to talk at her and try to curry favour, but nothing like the swarm of would-be suitors Estinien had warned her to expect.

It was when Adalyn flagged down a passing servant for a goblet of wine from his tray (reasoning that if anyone wished to try something, they would need to poison the entire celebration) that she realised why.

“—heard Tedalgrinche planned to ask for the Warrior of Light’s hand,” a noblewoman was saying to her friends, not even bothering to lower her voice. When Adalyn turned in the direction of the conversation, the three of them were staring at her openly. “At least, until he learned she was barren.”

The second tittered. “Just as well, if you ask me. Warrior of Light or no, could you imagine the shame of bearing a half-breed?”

Laughter. Adalyn’s jaw set.

“No one in his right mind would want her, damaged goods as she is,” the third chimed in, shooting Adalyn a nasty smile. “I heard that the Fortemps bastard lured her into his bed like so many other adventurers and had his way with her before tossing her aside—”

The goblet shattered in Adalyn’s hand, wine splashing to the floor. The little group fell silent as other guests’ heads turned in the direction of the sound.

Adalyn shook her hand free of clinging wine droplets and stepped over the mess. She pushed her way through the dancers and made her way to the doors, snagging her coat from the cloakroom before she headed outside.

It wasn’t that she mourned the loss of any future chances of having children of her own. In a way, it was a relief to know she would never have to worry about the decision; on the other hand, the choice had been taken away from her, regardless of what she wanted.

The comment about Haurchefant, though, had gone too far.

She breathed in deeply, slowly, trying to quell her racing heart. Something familiar nudged the back of her mind, and Adalyn turned, hardly daring to get her hopes up.

Estinien was perched on the roof above her, dressed in casual travelling clothes. His spear, twisted and warped from his time under Nidhogg’s thrall, was the only familiar part of the ensemble. It was still strange, seeing him without his helm, and stranger still to see him without his armour.

He inclined his head when she spotted him. “Enjoying the party, I see.”

“You’re awake,” she said, as Estinien jumped down to join her in the street.

He raised an eyebrow. “‘Tis good to know your observational skills have not dulled during my recovery.”

Adalyn snorted, then gestured at Estinien’s clothes. “Going somewhere?”

“...Away,” he said, glancing in the direction of the Steps of Faith. “The war is over, and Ishgard has no need of the Azure Dragoons…” He glanced back and gave her a wry smile. “But I imagine she will always have need of the Warrior of Light.”

“You would be surprised,” Adalyn said, and sighed. “Might I at least accompany you to the gate?”

Estinien blinked. “And here I had thought you might try and convince me to stay.”

Adalyn shook her head. “I’m hardly one to tell people to tie themselves down,” she said. “But will you not bid Aymeric farewell?”

Estinien wrinkled his nose. “And endure the preening and posturing of the high-and-mighty nobles at that blasted ball? An archbishop’s bastard at the head of the House of Lords, I’m sure they have no shortage of gossip to bandy about.”

“It would not have to be tonight,” Adalyn said. Estinien didn’t respond, looking down the street, his expression stony. “...You cannot bear to say goodbye, can you,” she said, stepping in front of him so he could see.

“Nothing so sentimental,” Estinien scoffed, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “‘Twould simply be for the best for me to leave quietly. I only came by because our connection makes it impossible for me to avoid you, and I’d rather not deal with you chasing me down.”

The words stung more than Adalyn cared to admit, but if something of it showed on her face, Estinien didn’t acknowledge it.

“Well,” he said, and set off without so much as a backwards glance, “are you accompanying me or not?”

They walked in silence through the snowy streets, Adalyn fiddling with her fingers as she tried to think of something, anything to say.

How are you faring after being possessed by the dragon that killed your family? Esteem suggested sarcastically.

Adalyn ignored her.

They reached the gates without speaking, and for a moment, Estinien stopped, turning to look at her.

He hesitated, gestured vaguely, and turned away again, disappearing into the night.

Adalyn watched him go, her heart aching. She put a hand over her chest, feeling the warmth of his presence growing ever more distant.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited out there, but by the time she began making her way back to the ball, her bare ankles were stiff from the cold. Funny, how a formal outfit originally tailored for Ul’dah was ill-suited for Ishgard.

When she made it back to the ball, Aymeric spotted her almost immediately and made his way over, worry in his face.

“You disappeared nearly two bells ago,” he said, his hands hovering like he wanted to grasp her arms. “You’re shivering—is everything alright, my friend?”

Adalyn didn’t respond for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Things weren’t alright. And yet, they were. Better, now that the war was over. Worse, for the people they had lost.

“Dance with me?” Adalyn asked, and Aymeric, his eyes wide, nodded.

One of his hands settled at her waist, the other grasping her own hand. Adalyn’s other hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I overheard some of the gossip,” Aymeric said softly, leading her in a waltz. “Am I correct in assuming that was the cause for your sudden departure?”

Adalyn nodded, lifting her hand off Aymeric’s shoulder to sign as they danced. “I cannot say I’m complaining overmuch,” she said. “Ere we slew Nidhogg in the Aery, Estinien warned me I might be swarmed with offers of marriage upon our return. In a way, ‘tis quite the relief not to have to deal with the advances of clinging suitors… unlike some,” she added, and was rewarded with Aymeric’s cheeks pinking.

“All graciously turned down, I assure you,” Aymeric murmured. “When questioned if my heart was already taken, I said yes, though neglected to say by whom.”

“Estinien has gone,” Adalyn said, and alarm flashed across Aymeric’s face before she hastened to reassure him. “Of his own volition. I escorted him from the city.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I told him you would miss him.”

Aymeric closed his eyes. “So very desperately,” he murmured. “But Estinien has ever been one to come and go as he pleases, and does not like to linger overmuch. One may as well attempt to cage a cloud.” He smiled sadly, looking down at her. “But ‘tis the beauty of them, is it not? To capture one to bring to the earth would take away from their ephemeral, fleeting nature.”

“I hadn’t taken you for such a poet.”

“I suppose I have had a lot of time to ruminate on the nature of my relationship with our erstwhile dragoon,” Aymeric said as they turned a corner on the dance floor. “While it saddens me to learn of his departure, I am also gladdened to know his willfulness survives undiminished.” He lowered his voice. “Should you ever happen upon our unmannerly friend in your dreams, pray assure him that I shall keep Ishgard safe until he deigns to come home.”

“If he deigns to acknowledge me,” Adalyn said. “I think he has found a way to close off that connection, at least enough to shut me out.” She smiled wryly. “Which is a blessing, in a way. One does miss the privacy of one’s own mind.”

Rude! Esteem huffed.

You prove my point.

Aymeric chuckled. “I can only imagine,” he murmured, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “I’ll admit… when I learned the depth of the connection you shared, the sting of jealousy was swift to bite, though I have never wished to prevent Estinien from taking other lovers…” He hesitated, then took the plunge. “I was afraid you might be able to offer him the sort of intimacy I never could.”

Adalyn shook her head. “He cares about us both,” she said. “But right now, I think he wants to be alone, to… ruminate.”

Aymeric sighed and nodded. “After an ordeal like that, I can scarce blame him.”

The song came to an end, and one of the noblewomen from before seemed to appear by Aymeric’s elbow, as if she’d been waiting for her opportunity. “Lord Aymeric,” she said, curtseying deeply. “Etionne de Jervaint. Might I trouble you for a dance?”

Adalyn moved to step away, her heart sinking, but Aymeric’s hand moved from her hip to the small of her back. “Perhaps later,” he said as the music started up again. “Once I have finished conversing with the Saviour of Ishgard.”

Etionne’s face rapidly went crimson, but she curtseyed again, and with a murmured, “Of course, my lord,” she scurried off.

“You needn’t have spurned her on my account,” Adalyn said. Heat seemed to race up her back from the point Aymeric’s hand was touching.

“Quite the contrary,” Aymeric said, and ducked his head so his lips brushed her ear. “The Saviour of Ishgard has now saved me from having to entertain that dreadful woman. Her remarks about you aside, I still remember how scornful she was of Estinien being chosen as the Azure Dragoon.”

Adalyn’s hand tightened on Aymeric’s, and he squeezed back as he drew away. They were dancing quite closely, now, close enough that it made Adalyn’s words difficult to sign.

She didn’t mind.

Funny, how the last time they danced, she couldn’t wait to get away from him, furious at being silenced. Now, she didn’t want the song to end, because when it did, it would mean having to leave the warmth of his arms.

“‘Tis rather amusing,” Aymeric mused, “how no sooner do I surrender my role as temporary head of state than I am burdened with a position of more permanent responsibility.” He grinned. “I fancy that it echoes in some small measure the way you must feel when your improbable feats of heroism are rewarded with still more yet impossible challenges.”

Adalyn grinned in return and lifted one shoulder in a shrug, inclining her head. She mimed writing and grimaced exaggeratedly, which got a chuckle out of him.

“I would dare say your penmanship would improve rapidly if you, too, had to spend all day with paperwork,” Aymeric said. “But you would never survive locked in an office, breathing in the dusty smells of parchment and ink. Leave such dalliances to us politicians.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “I would not dream to capture your cloud, either.”

She could still see Haurchefant’s smile, see the way he tapped the corner of his mouth before fading away.

Don’t lose this one, too, Esteem whispered.

Adalyn drew back slightly to speak, her heart thudding rapid-fire in her chest. “I would let you,” she said, her hand trembling nervously. “If you so desired.”

Aymeric’s mouth fell slightly open, his breath hitching.

“Besides,” Adalyn added, and grinned crookedly, “‘Twould serve to put a stop to the proposals, would it not?”

“You would have me cause a scandal on my very first day in office?” Aymeric murmured, but there was a slight gleam in his eye.

“Well,” Adalyn said, “I have it on the good word of a certain dragoon that the people might be persuaded to make an exception for the Saviour of Ishgard. And,” she added, “what better political clout than to be able to say you have her unwavering loyalty?”

Aymeric’s startled laughter turned several heads, and he had to switch to Sign, lest someone overhear. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought you might suggest courting me as a matter of politics!”

Adalyn shook her head, smiling. “What about as a matter of the heart?”

Aymeric urged them off the dance floor so they would not get in the way of the other dancers, though he stuck to Sign, well aware of the guests who weren’t even bothering to hide their attempts at eavesdropping. “I would not wish to rush into things while you were still mourning Lord Haurchefant…”

Adalyn reached for Aymeric’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “If I waited until the grief was gone, I would be waiting my entire life,” she said at long last. “I want to be happy again. And... Estinien thought you and I could be happy together.”

“And you?” Aymeric said softly, his brilliantly blue eyes flickering as they studied her face. “What do you think?”

Adalyn’s gaze was steady as she met his. “...I think we could be happy, too.”

And Aymeric kissed her.

One hand cupped the back of her head, the other settling at the small of her back to draw her closer as she leaned up on tiptoe to reach as high as she could, cradling his face between her hands.

There was a ripple of gasps, and the sound of at least one dropped glass, but it all faded away to Aymeric and the soft, gentle feeling of his lips on hers.

Her heart ached to bursting even as it sang with the thought that maybe, just maybe…

They would be okay.

It was far too soon when Aymeric drew back. He was smiling brighter than she had ever seen, and it was infectious, especially when he offered her his arm. “Might I trouble you for another dance, Ser Adalyn?”

Adalyn looped her arm through his, and she nodded.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were some of the happiest Adalyn could remember in a long time. Ishgard was aflame with gossip about her and the Lord Speaker, but she could handle the staring and the whispers when she accompanied him to meetings as a show of solidarity and support.

It wasn’t like she would have been expected to speak at any of them to begin with, after all.

Certainly, she was bored out of her mind as the meetings droned on, but passed the time alternating between composing songs in her mind, thinking about new recipes she might make for the Scions upon returning to Mor Dhona… or wondering where Estinien’s travels were taking him. The warmth in her heart remained faint, but steady, and she took comfort in the fact that it meant that wherever he was, he was alive.

Her dreams still saw her connection to Estinien locked off. Though Adalyn missed him dearly, she understood too well the need to be alone, especially after an ordeal such as his own.

She more than made up for the monotony of her days in the evenings with Aymeric. Though Adalyn still spent her nights in Fortemps Manor, more and more frequently her evenings saw her returning home with him for dinner.

The first night, Aymeric learned she was just as skilled at table etiquette as most everything else she tried, which brought him no small amount of amusement.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, thumbing away a tear of mirth, “I would have thought you were raised as any other highborn woman!”

“Funny, that,” Adalyn said, laughing as well. “I don’t think there is much need for table manners on a pirate ship.”

“Or penning lengthy missives,” Aymeric added, his voice teasing, and he chuckled again when Adalyn blushed. “Tell me about your adventures?” he asked, lacing his fingers together and leaning his elbows on the table, watching her intensely.

“What do you wish to know?” Adalyn asked, inclining her head.

“Everything?” Aymeric said hopefully. “The good parts and the bad, though I would be delighted to hear anything you chose to share.”

And so Adalyn told him, her hands flying animatedly as she painted a picture for him with her words and body. She spoke of her early days as an adventurer, her meeting the Scions, everything that had transpired since she was discovered in Gridania what seemed a lifetime ago.

Aymeric remained focused on her as she spoke; the delighted smile never left his face, which only encouraged Adalyn to keep going, her own smile matching his in turn.

It had been too long since they’d been able to properly smile.

Adalyn turned down his offers of wine, opting to drink from her hip flask filled with a much stronger, honeyed mead; it was for her own peace of mind than anything else, though watching him drink from his own glass left her anxious every time.

The days were long, and the evenings far too short by comparison, but Adalyn treasured the moments spent together when they could finally just be.

It was one grey evening she and Aymeric were walking back to his home when the clouds burst and the sky opened its deluge of freezing rain. After the initial gasp of shock at being drenched, Adalyn seized Aymeric’s hand, and they ran, laughing, through the streets back to Borel Manor.

“Fury take me,” Aymeric said when they were safely inside and dripping over the flagstones of the entry hall, “that was cold!”

“Welcome to Coerthas,” Adalyn said, and pulled her hair tie loose, raking her fingers through her braids to undo them before wringing her hair out. She shivered, her teeth suddenly chattering.

“Come, let us rid ourselves of these wet things and warm ourselves by the fire,” Aymeric said, passing their coats to the manservant who accepted them with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you, Eufrent. Would you fetch us some towels, please?”

He sketched a shallow bow and disappeared deeper into the house.

Aymeric turned to Adalyn and smiled gently. “Your face is positively flushed from the cold,” he said, cupping her face and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “‘Tis a most lovely colour on you.”

Adalyn snickered, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. “Not from the cold,” she said. “When you said we should rid ourselves of our clothing, I’ll admit my mind went elsewhere entirely.”

The way Aymeric’s eyes widened was comical enough to get a full laugh out of her, and Adalyn leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Aymeric bent to return it properly, only breaking the kiss when Eufrent returned with the requested towels before he disappeared into the depths of the manor again.

“If that is where your mind went,” Aymeric murmured, wrapping a towel around Adalyn’s shoulders and using it to draw her closer, “I should very much like to chase the thought and see where it leads.”

“The bedroom, I would imagine,” Adalyn said, and drew him down for another kiss.

She squeaked against his mouth when Aymeric lifted her into his arms without breaking the kiss, and he carried her straight to his chambers, trailing water as they went.

The moment the door was shut, he set her down, his normally dexterous fingers stiff as he began undoing the buttons of her sopping clothes. Adalyn didn’t help matters, her own hands fumbling as she got hold of the hem of his undershirt, peeling it away to expose the muscular planes of his chest. She wanted to run her hands over his body, but then Aymeric urged her to lift her arms, and he pushed the robe from her shoulders. It fell with a sodden splat to the floor, and they paused, laughing breathlessly.

“Oh, my dearest Adalyn,” Aymeric murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist, his other hand cradling her face. His eyes were intense as they studied her, drinking in every detail of her features. “You are… so beautiful…”

“I look like a half-drowned rat,” Adalyn said, and immediately wanted to kick herself.

Aymeric chuckled and stole a kiss from her, his hands wandering to the bindings wrapped around her breasts. “None of that, now,” he murmured against her mouth. His fingers paused on the bindings, and he drew back, smiling sheepishly. “Would you be so kind as to show me how—?”

Adalyn’s hands made short work of the bindings, and she grinned, her cheeks pinking when Aymeric’s eyes dropped to her bared breasts, her nipples already hard from the cold.

“Like what you see?” she said teasingly, and Aymeric’s gaze snapped back up to meet hers, a blush spreading rapidly across his face.

“Very much so,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I should confess… I have never shared in this with anyone other than Estinien before…”

Adalyn blinked. “But he said you’ve both taken other lovers in the past…?” she said, biting her lip.

Aymeric chuckled ruefully, his hands settling at Adalyn’s hips. “Perhaps that is true of himself, but I’ve never found the time… nor, I confess, the inclination,” he murmured. “The nature of my position ill affords me the opportunity for such dalliances.”

“Is that what this is?” Adalyn asked. “A dalliance?”

“No,” Aymeric said softly. He squeezed her hips, drawing her closer so their chests pressed together. His skin seemed to radiate heat after the chill of the rain. “Not with you. When we first met, my fascination with you only deepened after seeing your bravery and selflessness firsthand; that I alienated you so was regrettable, but full glad am I we have since cleared the air… and gladder still that you would allow me to take you to bed.”

Adalyn reached up and placed a gentle finger on his lips. “You need to stop talking before you overthink this, my lord,” she said, and Aymeric laughed, kissing her fingertip.

“I suppose I do,” he said, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of her leather trousers, which clung to her from the water that soaked them. “We should take care of these,” he murmured, “before we catch cold.”

Adalyn snickered and nodded. “Had I known you were so eager to get me out of my clothes, I would have said something sooner,” she said, before stepping back to begin removing her boots and trousers.

Aymeric hastened to do the same, though whereas Adalyn was content to let her soaked garments fall to the floor, he took a moment to place his in the laundry hamper, setting his greaves neatly to the side to dry. Adalyn shamelessly let her gaze wander over his body as he moved, drinking in the details of his back muscles—well-defined from years of archery and swordwork—before lingering on the curve of his backside, the sculpted form of his thighs.

He wasn’t near as scarred as she was, and the vast majority of the ones he bore were the lingering testament of his torture at Charibert’s hands. While Adalyn had seen his nude body before, it was as his healer, not his lover, and she’d afforded him what dignity she could while tending him.

Now, though, she was under no such obligation, and admired openly.

Aymeric turned to see her staring, and he smiled almost shyly as he closed the distance between them, his hands settling at her hips once more. His cock was half-hard already, and pressed between them, Adalyn felt it twitch at the contact. She leaned up to steal another kiss, smiling against Aymeric’s mouth as she did so.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his kisses leaving her mouth to trail along the edge of her jaw. “You are beautiful. Shall I tell you why?”

Adalyn’s heart thumped when he traced a finger over the shell of her ear, mindful of her serpentine ear cuff.

“I think I shall tell you regardless,” Aymeric said, and paused to suck gently at the soft skin of her throat. “Starting with your eyes.” He drew back, his own eyes crinkling in a smile as he looked down at her. “Such a beautiful colour, reminiscent of an orchid in bloom. And so expressive, too—why, even before I learned Sign, so often I could guess exactly what you were thinking, how plainly it was writ on your lovely face, how effectively you spoke without saying a word.”

Tears welled up in Adalyn’s eyes, and she laughed softly when Aymeric used his thumb to brush them away with utmost gentleness.

“If I could kiss your every freckle with individual sweetness, I would,” he murmured. “They are like a constellation, wholly unique to you, and if my gaze ever drifts away from your eyes, it is there I am drawn: to the stars dusted across your skin.” He kissed her cheeks, her nose, and Adalyn laughed, turning her head aside.

“You have made your point and proven your worthiness of the title of Lord Speaker,” she said, and Aymeric laughed as well. “But I can think of several ways your mouth might be better employed.”

“I have come to much the same conclusion,” Aymeric said, and laced his fingers with hers, drawing her over to the bed, where they sank onto the soft, luxurious blankets, laying side by side and facing each other, their legs tangled loosely together. “Where would you have my mouth? Here?”

His fingers ghosted over her lips before tracing further down her body.

“Here?” he murmured, thumb brushing over a nipple. Adalyn arched into the touch, but then it was gone as Aymeric continued lower, trailing over her hip and stopping just above the apex of her legs. “Or perhaps here?”

His eyes watched her with that same burning intensity, his fingers teasing just beyond the edge of where she wanted him, and Adalyn groaned softly. She tangled her fingers in his still-damp hair, drawing his head down to her chest.

Aymeric kissed one of the scars that marked where Nidhogg had sunk his claws into her, and worked his way lower until his lips closed over her nipple, sucking gently, tongue teasing the firm peak. As Adalyn groaned again, her fingers tightening in his hair, Aymeric’s own fingers slipped between her legs to find she was already wet.

He released her nipple, pressing a kiss in the valley of her breasts, directly over her heart. “Forgive me if I do not get it correct right away,” he murmured, lifting his head to see Adalyn’s face flushed with desire, her eyes wide as she watched him. “Seeing as much of my prior experience is no longer applicable.”

Adalyn caught his other hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles. “And I have only ever done this once before in the waking world,” she said, and some of that desire faded as she glanced away, her expression saddening. “So consider us on equal footing in that matter.”

Aymeric laced their fingers together and squeezed, pausing when Adalyn stilled.

But then she smiled and glanced pointedly at his other hand, still nestled between her legs. “Start with one finger,” she suggested. “There is a sensitive bud above the slit that—”

Her fingers faltered when Aymeric’s thumb found it, and her head fell back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut at the touch as she arched into his hand.

“Inexperienced,” he murmured, “but not ignorant.” One slender finger slipped between her folds, teasing and stroking the outer lips. “If only you could see yourself,” Aymeric added, his gaze roaming over Adalyn’s body before settling on her face. He smiled. “How your mouth falls open with the breaths that come shorter and faster… the flutter of your eyelids…”

Adalyn’s soft sigh was music to his ears. Aymeric’s finger was gentle as he slid into her, feeling her inner walls clench around him.

“Fffck,” Adalyn hissed through her teeth, and she spread her legs that much more for him, her eyes pleading as she gazed up at him. Her hand knotted in his hair, and Adalyn pulled him down for another kiss, her mouth eager against his. Her tongue was gentle but demanding all the same as she leaned into him, whimpering when Aymeric added a second finger.

“Too much?” he asked softly, his hand stilling, but Adalyn ground her hips down against his hand with a groan that told him all he needed to know.

Aymeric straddled her hips, bracing himself with one arm by Adalyn’s head as his hand continued to slowly work her open. The soft sighs and quiet whimpers were a delight to tease out of her as he worked her open, drawing his fingers slowly through her while his thumb continued to work her clit.

“L’hv y’h,” Adalyn breathed, but when Aymeric drew back to see her sign, she merely shook her head, her hand settling on his shoulder to squeeze three times, urging him back down again as she nibbled gently against his neck.

“Oh,” Aymeric said softly when Adalyn paused to suck hard, her lips leaving a bruise on his throat. “That’s—”

“Shh,” Adalyn said, and reached down to grasp Aymeric’s wrist. The gleam in her eye was positively sinful as she drew his fingers into her mouth, licking them clean of her own arousal. Her tongue laved over the pads of his fingers, callused from years of fighting, softened from months behind a desk. Aymeric’s breath hitched as he watched her lick his fingers, her gaze lidded and heady.

When she drew back, a thin strand of saliva connected his fingers to her mouth before it gradually broke, and Adalyn’s smile was slow, seductive.

“Well?” she said. “Might I return the favour?”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Aymeric murmured.

Adalyn licked her lips, glancing pointedly at his stiffening length, and Aymeric swallowed, nodding.

She needed no further prompting, and surged forward, rolling them over. Their noses bonked together as they shared a laugh at Adalyn’s enthusiasm, before her fingers found Aymeric’s shaft and wrapped around it, beginning to stroke carefully.

“Oh, Fury,” Aymeric groaned, his head falling back as Adalyn slid down his body, her lips closing around the head of his cock.

Her hand held him steady as she took him deeper, her tongue working against the underside of his shaft as she swallowed him to the root, and Aymeric was lost in the heat of Adalyn’s mouth.

It was all he could do not to thrust up deeper into her mouth, feeling her throat flex around his cock where it hit the deepest point. And then she was letting go, dragging in a laboured breath before she devoured him again, her lips and tongue working together to bring him to the peak of bliss.

Over and over, Adalyn swallowed him down, before Aymeric was pleading with her to give him his release. And still, Adalyn didn’t let up, watching him through her lashes as she sucked his cock, her cheeks hollowing with every pull along his length.

Aymeric’s fingers carded through Adalyn’s hair as she worked, his hand trembling as he tried to keep the gesture steady. Adalyn whimpered at his touch, and it was only through sheer force of willpower Aymeric managed to not come undone on the spot.

“Here—come here—” he gasped, and it was both a mercy and a torture when Adalyn released him from her mouth. Aymeric pulled her on top of him, tilting his head to claim her mouth in a kiss. Adalyn’s tongue teased along his own, her knees squeezing his hips, her cunt pressed against his length. Aymeric groaned with need as he felt her grind against him, her own arousal adding to the sensation of her pressing down on him.

“You feel—so good,” Aymeric groaned, his fingers digging into Adalyn’s back, urging her down onto his chest as she ground against his length. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and not for the first time did a part of Aymeric’s mind wonder at how full they seemed in comparison to how she bound them beneath her armour.

Adalyn smiled against his mouth, and then she drew away, dragging her fingertips over the planes of his chest as she sat upright. “I want you,” she said, and bit her lip. “Here,” she added, her hand drifting to her slit, and she swallowed nervously.

“I don’t wish to rush you,” Aymeric said softly, his hands squeezing Adalyn’s hips as he gazed up at her. “If you need more time—”

Adalyn shook her head. “I’m ready,” she said, and bit her lip, one hand bracing against Aymeric’s chest. She could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath his fingers, fast and nervous but steady and strong. “I—is it too much to ask you to be on top…?”

Aymeric drew her down for a kiss, angling his head to claim her mouth with a slow thoroughness, his tongue taking its time exploring against her own. Without breaking the kiss, he rolled them over, one hand braced against Adalyn’s back to keep her steady.

The head of his cock pressed against her entrance for a moment, and then he was sinking into her, sliding in with a groan that he muffled against Adalyn’s mouth. Her hands clenched on his back, and Aymeric arched back against her touch even as he pressed deeper, taking a moment to catch his breath when he buried himself fully inside her.

Adalyn’s fingers moved to brush over the planes of Aymeric’s face, her touch gentle. Down the curve of his nose, across his cheekbones, until her thumbs settled by his ears, cradling his face with utmost care.

“Love you,” she mouthed, and Aymeric couldn’t hold back the tears that sprang to his eyes as he kissed her again. She brushed away the tears that escaped, a silent laugh upon her lips as she did so, and Aymeric returned the favour to kiss away the tears that slipped out to spill down the sides of her face.

In the midst of everything they had lost and gained, they had somehow, brilliantly, beautifully, found each other. The storm that had surrounded their lives for so long quelled, they could at last let go and forget themselves together.

The only thing they were missing was Estinien, but in the moment, they were lost in each other, tumbling over the precipice of need together.

Adalyn wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper as Aymeric began to move, his hips snapping forward and driving into her to draw out breathy cries. Her hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging in almost enough to hurt, and Aymeric pressed his forehead against Adalyn’s, their breaths coming faster as his thrusts increased in tempo.

“Gods, Adalyn,” Aymeric whispered, and he groaned at the feeling of her fingers roaming his sides, exploring the curves of his back and shoulders as her legs held him close, urging him to thrust harder. Anything more Aymeric might have said was lost as he forgot himself in the sensation of her, of how their bodies melded together, warmth upon warmth and feeling utterly right.

It was all too soon when he felt himself cresting, and Aymeric buried his face against Adalyn’s shoulder with a muffled cry as he spilled inside of her, riding that wave of pleasure until he was spent.

Adalyn drew him in for another kiss, her mouth gentle as Aymeric slipped out of her to roll to the side. He kept a leg thrown over her hips, his hand wending its way lower to find her dripping with his seed.

“Allow me?” Aymeric murmured, drawing back slightly. “‘Tis only fair I bring you to the same pleasure you gave in kind.”

Adalyn let out a soft sigh, and he felt her nod. His thumb found her clit again, working it in small circles as his fingers pressed into her once more, and Adalyn’s whimpers came faster and more insistent as Aymeric kept at his ministrations.

When she climaxed on his hand, she came with a silent cry, her hips arching into his touch. Adalyn’s breathy panting slowed, and she pressed her forehead against Aymeric’s, closing her eyes.

Aymeric drew her closer, his body curling around hers as they cuddled close, Aymeric’s chin resting on Adalyn’s shoulder.

“I love you, too,” Aymeric murmured, and he felt Adalyn laugh against his chest. She rolled over to hitch her leg over his hip, leaning up to steal a kiss as she did so. “Will you stay the night with me?”

Adalyn nodded, curling closer to Aymeric. He couldn’t help but marvel at the feeling of holding her in his arms, her skin warm against his own, and when Adalyn pressed a kiss to his shoulder, he sighed quietly. She was completely, utterly, blessedly soft and warm, and they fit together like they were made for one another. Adalyn nestled up against him, her head tucked beneath Aymeric’s chin, and her fingers trailed up and down his spine in lazy patterns before they gradually slowed, then stilled with drowsiness.

They drifted off together, warm in Aymeric’s room where the fire burned brightly, and outside the freezing rain poured down, drowning out the rest of the world.

Chapter Text

Aymeric was woken when Adalyn did, jerking away from him with a gasp.

“Adalyn?” he asked, blinking blearily as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Whatever is the matter? Did you have a nightmare?”

Adalyn curled tightly around herself, tucking her forehead against her knees. Her back was to him, and in the dim light of the dying fire, Aymeric could see the burns and claw marks that covered her skin, the spiderwebbing pattern of levin that snaked across her spine like a jagged river, marks that looked distressingly like they had come from a flog of some sort. The puncture wounds that scarred her chest were mirrored here, too, and Aymeric hesitated before reaching out to settle his hand on Adalyn’s shoulder, his thumb brushing carefully over one of them.

Not for the first time, it struck him how close she came to death on a regular basis, and his heart ached for her.

“Whatever it was that woke you,” he said softly, “‘twas nothing more than a dream. You’re safe now, my love.”

Adalyn gave a tiny nod, and Aymeric pressed a kiss to the tangled mess of her hair. His fingers trailed over her shoulder, feeling the strangely smooth texture of the burn scar there.

“Ifrit,” Adalyn spelled out over her shoulder, and Aymeric supported himself on his elbow again so he could see better. “The first primal I ever slew.”

“He left quite the mark,” Aymeric said softly, tracing where the burns continued from her shoulder to her back.

But Adalyn shook her head, and when she spoke again, Aymeric’s blood ran cold, his fingers freezing. “That was from Charibert.”

“I—” Aymeric’s throat suddenly felt tight, his voice sounding distant to his ears. “I had not realised he hurt you, too…”

Adalyn tensed, and then she rolled over, her eyes flickering as she studied his face. “Aymeric?” she mouthed.

“Forgive me,” Aymeric managed to say, and he pulled his hand away as he sat up, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “‘Tis nothing.”

It was a lie he knew she would see through in an instant, and though he braced himself for her touch on his shoulder, he still couldn’t help the flinch that escaped him.

“He is dead,” Aymeric murmured, more to himself than for her own benefit. “And he shall never employ his foul magics again, thanks to you.”

Adalyn whistled quietly, trying to get his attention, but Aymeric kept his hands pressed over his eyes. Though it was warm in the room, he could still so clearly picture the frigid air of the torture chamber, the bloodied manacles that bit into his wrists and held him suspended from the ceiling, his arms straining, lungs struggling for air beneath his own weight. He was no stranger to injuries in battle, but the cold cruelty, the sick enjoyment of the inquisitor at creating pain that kept burning long after the flames were extinguished, lingered.

He shivered when Adalyn wrapped an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple, and he allowed her to draw him closer, letting out a carefully controlled breath.

Aymeric knew he had to rein it in, to get ahold of himself. He was supposed to be Adalyn’s pillar of support rather than the other way around, but he was crumbling at the mere reminder of the inquisitor. Though he didn’t like discussing what had transpired in the Vault before his rescue—or after, for that matter—it had never sparked such a reaction from him before.

Was it the thought of Adalyn knowing the same pain? Or simply the unexpected reminder in the moment?

He felt Adalyn’s hands settle on his wrists, and Aymeric let her draw his hands away from his face so she could turn his head towards her.

Adalyn pressed her forehead against his, and the sound of her steady breathing was like a lifeline that Aymeric clung to, until gradually his own rapid breaths slowed to match hers.

“...Thank you,” Aymeric whispered. “Forgive me, Adalyn. I should not have lost my composure.”

Adalyn’s mouth was feather-light upon his own for too brief a moment before she drew back, smiling sadly. “We all have our burdens to bear,” she said. “But please do not think you need bear them alone. I’m here, Aymeric. You have been nothing but steadfast in your support when I needed you; allow me to be the same in turn.”

Aymeric cradled her face, his eyes flickering as he studied her features. “Then full glad am I to be blessed with one so understanding as you,” he murmured, and stole a kiss from Adalyn. “Forgive me for disrupting your rest?”

Adalyn shook her head. “There is naught to forgive,” she said, and placed a finger on his lips. “Besides,” she added, smiling faintly, “was I not the one who disturbed your sleep with my nightmare?”

Aymeric forced a chuckle. “Very well, I shall concede that point to you,” he said, and captured her hand to press a kiss to the scar that cut across her palm. “...Allow me to take your mind off of things?” His hands wandered lower, over Adalyn’s arms, fingers trailing over her ribs, tracing the scars that decorated her skin as he went. He noticed her breathing hitch, and, encouraged, Aymeric leaned in, placing a kiss over one of the puncture marks Nidhogg had left on her chest.

Aymeric drew Adalyn onto his lap, his fingers trailing over her spine as he mouthed kisses along her neck, hoping to lose himself in her once more. She rolled her hips against him, and he stifled a moan against her shoulder when he realised how thoroughly aroused she was already.

“My dear Adalyn,” he murmured, lifting his head to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I daresay you will be my undoing. You…” His mouth curled in the faintest of smirks as his hands settled at her hips, squeezing tightly and grinding up against her wetness. “...and that pretty little cunt of yours.”

Adalyn’s mouth fell open in shock, and then she was surging forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss, her rocking becoming faster, more urgent.

“Mm—slower, slower,” Aymeric warned, barely drawing back from the kiss to speak, and Adalyn, breathless, reluctantly slowed her pace. “Lest you wish me to spend myself before I have had a chance to explore you more thoroughly…”

His hands trailed up her ribs, over her chest, settling over her breasts as he spoke. “I should like to sink into you when you are wet with need for my cock,” he murmured, and nibbled at the shell of Adalyn’s ear, enjoying the hitch of her breath. “Bury myself to the hilt and feel your inner walls flutter around me as I fill you, and then—”

Aymeric squeezed her breasts, and Adalyn’s back arched into his touch, her hips jerking involuntarily and making his cock twitch against her thigh, slick from her arousal.

“And then,” Aymeric said, his hands wandering lower to squeeze the firm muscles of her ass, “I shall take my pleasure from you, as I listen to your needy sighs, but it won’t be until I have filled you with my seed that I will allow you to come—”

A disgruntled yowl came from the floor, and Aymeric’s very old and very fluffy white cat leapt up beside them before sitting insistently on Aymeric’s chest, tail curling around his paws.

“Beau!” Aymeric tried to shoo the cat away to no avail as Adalyn slowly tipped sideways to land on the mattress, holding her sides and silently guffawing. “How is it,” Aymeric said, picking Beauregard up and setting him on the floor again, “that your sense of timing is simply the worst?”

Beauregard mrrped up at Aymeric and began licking one of his paws.

Adalyn’s laughter only redoubled at this. “I think that is our cue to roust ourselves from the bed,” she said, and Aymeric chuckled ruefully, rolling over to pin her to the mattress and steal a series of kisses that started at her mouth and ended between her breasts.

“Perhaps it is,” he murmured, placing a kiss directly over her heart, “but if given a choice in the matter, I should like nothing more than to keep you in my bed and continue our lovemaking straight through to the next evening.”

Adalyn smiled, arching into his kisses before she sat up, placing a finger beneath his chin. “And I should like nothing more than to allow you to do likewise,” she said. “‘Tis a crying shame time—or disgruntled cats—wait for neither of us.”

Aymeric sighed, but smiled in return, catching Adalyn’s finger and briefly sucking it into his mouth, relishing the noiseless giggle he drew from her.

“First you surprise me with such delightfully filthy words from that beautiful mouth of yours,” Adalyn said, “and now this? My Lord, I fear it is you who shall be my undoing.”

Aymeric opened his mouth to respond, only for Beauregard to yowl again. Adalyn took advantage of the moment to drag her saliva-covered fingers over Aymeric’s cheek, drawing a yelp of surprise before he caught her in a tight hug, trapping her arms against her sides as he growled against her neck.

“Mischievous little minx,” he said, and felt Adalyn shake with silent laughter against him as he sucked a kiss against her skin, hard enough to bruise. “I shall have to watch myself around you.”

Adalyn twisted around in his grip to steal a kiss from him, smiling against his mouth. “Shall I make us tea, now that we’re awake and the cat has decided yelling at us is the best course of action?” she asked when she drew away.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Aymeric said softly, and stole one last kiss from her before letting go.

Adalyn wrapped herself in one of Aymeric’s spare dressing gowns—really, one he kept on hand for whenever Estinien visited, though it was rarely used—and as they made their way to the kitchen, Aymeric found his eyes lingering on her shoulders whenever the much-too-large garment kept slipping down. Each time, Adalyn absentmindedly tugged it back into place while she bustled about making the tea, oblivious to Aymeric’s heated gaze.

He tore himself away long enough to feed Beauregard, then settled at the table, propping his chin on his hands and smiling to himself as he watched Adalyn work.

When she joined him with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, she settled not in a chair, but on his lap, the shoulder of her borrowed dressing gown slipping down once more.

Aymeric chuckled softly and tugged it up for her. “I must say,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he accepted his mug from Adalyn, “that dressing gown is quite the fetching look on you. Mayhap you ought to wear it more.”

Adalyn’s cheeks pinked, and she grinned, sipping from her mug. Aymeric’s was sweetened with a splash of birch syrup, just the way he liked it, and he hummed appreciatively, wrapping an arm around Adalyn’s waist as they shared the quiet moment of the early morning together.

But, of course, like all good things in their lives, not even that could last.

There came an urgent knocking from the front door, and Adalyn and Aymeric shared a look before they rose, Adalyn summoning a pair of knives to her hands as she padded behind Aymeric. He glanced behind him and nodded to her before he opened the door to see a knight dressed in House Fortemps livery, who saluted upon seeing Aymeric.

“Lord Commander, pray forgive the interruption!”

Aymeric inclined his head. “News from House Fortemps?”

“An urgent message for the Warrior of Light,” the knight said, and Adalyn straightened at the sound of her title. “I was instructed to deliver it without delay. Master Thancred returned to the manor a short time ago, bearing an injured maiden. Master Leveilleur and Mistress Tataru are tending to her wounds, but they like not her chances. Respectfully, my lord—they have requested the Warrior of Light’s immediate presence.”

Adalyn’s adrenaline spiked, and she let her knives vanish, putting a hand on Aymeric’s arm.

He covered her hand with his own, nodding to the knight. “We shall be along as soon as possible,” he said. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

The knight bowed and hurried off into the darkness, and Aymeric closed the door, turning to Adalyn. “I shall go with you,” he said, and Adalyn nodded.

They hurried to get dressed, and they slipped out into the early morning together, making their way through the silent streets blanketed with snow.

“If they are requesting me specifically,” Adalyn said, glancing up at Aymeric, “‘tis likely worse than it sounds.”

“And the situation sounded dire indeed,” Aymeric murmured.

They arrived at the manor where they were ushered to one of the guest chambers, and Adalyn gasped, rushing forward to Alisaie’s side.

Alphinaud’s twin was barely conscious, her face a sickly shade of grey, and she was so weak even her moans of pain were faint. Alphinaud was kneeling beside her, grasping Alisaie’s hand as he wrestled with healing magic, trying to cure her. Adalyn dropped to her knees beside him, adding her own aether to the spell.

“Is that…?” Aymeric breathed.

“Alisaie,” Thancred said from where he was leaning against the wall. “Alphinaud’s twin sister. She ran afoul of the Warriors of Darkness.”

Adalyn’s fingers faltered, her mouth falling open at the mention of that strange group they had encountered in their search for Thancred. At the time, she’d barely paid them any mind, preoccupied as she was with other matters.

That, it seemed, had been a mistake, and one that could very well have dire consequences for Alisaie.

How much more will people suffer because of us? Esteem whispered.

“I had been tracking them since the ceremony at Falcon’s Nest,” Thancred said, and Adalyn’s blood ran colder at the thought they had been there, and she had simply been too preoccupied with one threat to notice another lurking so nearby. “Little did I know I was not the only one. Evidently she had learned of their activities and attempted to shadow them on her own. Poorly.”

He pursed his lips. “I rescued her in the Twelveswood, and together we fled north. But though I made every effort to cover our tracks, they caught up with us on the Ishgardian border, and in the ensuing struggle, Alisaie took an arrow to the shoulder. ‘Twas only after we had made good our escape that I realised it was poisoned.”

Alphinaud shivered, squeezing Alisaie’s hand gently. Her own fingers curled weakly around his own, and Adalyn was struck with the horrible mental image of squeezing once, twice, before—

No. She wasn’t going to let Alisaie die.

She grit her teeth, focusing all of her attention on stabilising the lass.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Adalyn,” Alphinaud said softly, turning his head slightly. “And you, Ser Aymeric.”

“Think nothing of it,” Aymeric said, and cleared his throat. “How is she?”

Alphinaud’s mouth twisted unhappily. “We have done all we can for now. Although the immediate danger has passed, the poison yet lingers in her blood…” His voice broke. “To be reunited with my sister, only to lose her forever—gods, even to speak the words—” He swallowed and shook his head.

Alisaie drew in a shuddering, choking breath, and Adalyn’s eyes widened as she leapt to her feet, rolling Alisaie onto her side before the girl could aspirate on the foam welling between her lips. She retched and coughed weakly, rancid saliva splattering on Adalyn’s coat, but a bit of colour was beginning to return to her deathly pale face.

“Alisaie?” Alphianud asked frantically.

“Alphinaud,” Alisaie rasped. “Is the Warrior of Light… is she with you?”

“She’s here, Alisaie,” Alphinaud said, squeezing his sister’s hand between the both of his. “I’m here. You’ll be alright, do you hear me?”

“The Warriors of Darkness are in league with the Ascians,” Alisaie said, her voice faint. “Slaughtering the primals is but the first step in their plan… They make for Xelphatol to bring about Garuda’s summoning… and to kill her…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “You must—must stop them…”

Her hand went limp between Alphinaud’s.

“Alisaie? Alisaie?!”

“She will be alright,” Adalyn said, squeezing Alphinaud’s shoulder. “The poison and healing have taken a toll on her body, though. I expect she will be unconscious for some time.”

“Master Thancred,” Aymeric said, and Thancred pushed off from the wall. “I would ask that you accompany Mistress Leveilleur to the infirmary. Your knowledge of her injuries may well prove useful in determining her treatment.”

Thancred nodded. “Of course.”

“Adalyn?” Aymeric said, and Adalyn nodded.

“I will stay with her until the chirurgeons arrive.”

While Aymeric would have happily provided an airship to the mountains of Xelphatol, Alphinaud pointed out that it would be a risky business considering the Ixal dirigibles.

So, once again, Adalyn set out alone to infiltrate the Ixali camp on foot.

Her first stop was to Dragonhead, letting the aether carry her away to the aetheryte, and her heart ached at the familiar sight. The garrison felt colder knowing Haurchefant’s presence would never grace its walls again, though, and Adalyn shivered, pulling her coat more tightly around herself, leaping onto the battlements and over the wall without stopping to say hello to any of the knights stationed there.

She didn’t know who had taken over in the wake of Haurchefant’s death, nor did she want to. It would be like having to say farewell to what was left of his memory.

Xelphatol lay to the east, and it took Adalyn the better part of the day to reach the mountain pass; under the cover of darkness, she let her coat change to her dragoon armour, and she leapt from outcropping to outcropping, silent as a passing shadow.

After her battle with Nidhogg, it seemed almost laughably easy for her to slip into the encampment and make her way to the mountain’s peak, where she swiftly silenced Garuda and her priests for the third time that she could remember. Bad luck she hadn’t gotten there in time to prevent the summoning, but leaving the primal to drain the land of aether would have been the far worse option, even if it meant playing into the Ascians’ hands.

Adalyn glanced around at the crates, now empty of crystals that had been consumed in the summoning, and let out a tired sigh. Gone were the early days of her work with the Scions, when Ifrit had been huge and terrifying to face down alone. Now she was putting down primals with hardly a second thought.

Not for the first time, the uncomfortable notion that she might not be entirely mortal flitted through her mind, but Adalyn wasn’t given the chance to dwell on it.

“Well, well… What do we have here?”

Adalyn whirled, her lip curling in a silent snarl when she saw the Warriors of Darkness approaching. It was their leader who had spoken, the axe-wielding hyur with the power of the Echo, who bore an uncanny resemblance to herself.

“You’d better not have killed the primal without us!” he said, stopping several fulms away and folding his arms, smirking.

“Sorry to have put a stop to the fun before it could start,” she said, and gave a sarcastic bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’ve been awfully busy since I was kind enough to spare your life and the lives of your friends,” the hyur said. He inclined his head. “Was it mere coincidence that our paths should cross this night, or might you have learned of our plans?”

“Enough of this,” Adalyn said, gritting her teeth. “I know you are in league with the Ascians. Just what is your end game, here? Surely you know they cannot be trusted!”

The hyur chuckled humourlessly. “Should I explain it to you? Very well. Consider it a reward of sorts for beating us here.” He spread his hands. “You know the tale of Hydaelyn and Zodiark, I take it. One of the great sundering, and the reflections it created?”

Adalyn nodded. “Thirteen shards, each reflections of the Source. The Ascians will stop at nothing to see them all united once more.”

“Just so.” The hyur studied her for a long moment, his piercing blue gaze meeting magenta. “One of those reflections—the one nearest to the Source—is our home. And we were the heroes blessed with Her Light. But not all worlds hold Light and Dark in equal measure. In ours, the power of Light was greater by far.”

“So the aetherial equilibrium of your world was unbalanced,” Adalyn said, internally reeling from the thought that anyone could have travelled from a different world altogether. But that could be addressed later; right now, there were other answers to be had, more pressing concerns to address.

“Indeed. And because of this, the Ascians who once threatened our home were no match,” the hyur said softly. “They fell before us, one after another, ‘til none were left.”

Adalyn’s eyebrows flew up at this. “You claim to have fought the Ascians, and yet you side with them?” she asked slowly.

The hyur’s expression darkened. “The Light that saturated our world swelled and flooded—pure, blinding radiance, annihilating shadow and colour and life itself. Ere long, it will consume our world, leaving naught in its wake but blank perfection.”

Adalyn’s heart sank to her stomach. “Then if this is true,” she said, “if this is true—why join hands with your former enemies?”

The hyur’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “You are familiar with a place you call the World of Darkness, are you not?” he asked, and Adalyn’s blood ran cold. “‘Twas the Thirteenth, which was swallowed by the Dark, and transformed into what you call the Void. Unchallenged Light would condemn us to a similar fate. And so we joined hands with our former enemies, and with their aid came here… to the Source.”

He spread his arms. “There is but one way to restore the balance and save our home: the Ardor. Calamitous destruction with the power to break down planes, and see our worlds rejoined.”

“Are you even aware of what this would mean?!” Adalyn asked, her fingers fumbling in her haste to speak. “Of the devastation that is brought about with each rejoining—?”

“Enough! I tire of talking.” The leader drew his axe, and Adalyn’s spear leapt into her hand. “You know our cause. You know what is at stake. We are prepared to do whatever it takes! Are you?”

Before she could react, he whirled, his axe kicking up a storm of dust that left her staggering backwards, shielding her eyes. She could only listen as one by one, the Warriors of Darkness teleported away—and when the dust cleared, only one remained.

The elezen with dirty blond hair studied her for a moment with pale eyes, and Adalyn slowly lowered her arm, squinting back at him.

There was something eerily familiar about his gaze.

“...Urianger?” Adalyn mouthed, hardly daring to believe it.

The elezen met her eyes for a moment, before he, too, disappeared into the aether.

Chapter Text

“Do you think it could be true?” Alphinaud asked.

He and Adalyn sat by Alisaie’s bedside in the infirmary, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest. Her condition was improving, albeit slowly; there was naught to do now but wait.

Adalyn glanced over at Alphinaud and inclined her head.

“That to save their world, they must bring ruin to ours?” Alphinaud asked, and Adalyn glanced away again, frowning.

“I think they believe it to be true,” she said at last. “Which, in some ways, is far more dangerous to deal with.”

“Indeed,” Alphinaud murmured. “I suppose, in the end, it matters not. Such wanton destruction is beyond justification. Whatever their reasons, they must be stopped. The sacrifice, the loss—it ends here.”

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and Alphinaud leaned his head against her arm.

“Will you be alright to keep vigil alone?” she asked, and Alphinaud turned more fully towards her to see better. “There is something I must needs attend to.”

“Of course,” Alphinaud said softly, and reached up to squeeze the hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Adalyn. Alisaie will doubtless be awake ere your return.”

Adalyn smiled and nodded, and she stood, letting the aether carry her away to Thanalan.

When she arrived at the Waking Sands, the Scions’ old headquarters was darkened, and Adalyn was momentarily transported back to that horrible day near the beginning of her career with the Scions, when she’d returned from facing Titan to find the Garleans had slaughtered near every one of her newfound colleagues.

But no bodies littered the floor now, and there was an air of peacefulness to the place.

Adalyn didn’t like it one bit. If Urianger was working against the Warriors of Darkness from within their ranks, the fewer who knew of his deception, the better. If she was wrong, however, she could very well be walking into a trap.

It would not, after all, be the first time she had put her faith in the wrong people… but had Aymeric not proven that things were not always as they seemed? That sometimes one’s motives came from a place of goodness, even if their methods were questionable?

She found Urianger in the side chamber where the Scions used to gather for meals; he was engrossed in a book, a half-eaten platter of cheese and grapes by his elbow.

Adalyn whistled softly, and Urianger startled, looking up at her as his mouth fell slightly open. Adalyn gave him a humourless smile as she sat heavily in the chair beside him.

“Ah—Warrior of Light,” Urianger said, and Adalyn inclined her head. “Too long has it been since we have conversed.”

Adalyn snorted and tilted her head the other way. She lifted a hand, covering the lower half of her face.

Urianger closed his eyes. “My friend, I shall not now beg thy forgiveness. Full deeply though it paineth me to walk it, I shall not stray from my chosen path. As Moenbryda remained steadfast, so too shall I.”

Adalyn sat back, contemplating him for a moment before she dug out her notepad. Do not make me regret this.

“He that holdeth fast unto his convictions shall never count betrayal amongst his crimes, though all the world may call him villain,” Urianger said softly, and he met Adalyn’s gaze. “My path is unchanged; my creed sacrosanct. This I believe with all my heart.”

I don’t suppose you are willing to divulge the details.

Urianger shook his head. “Nay, my lady,” he murmured. “Even the walls of our most sacred retreats have ears.”

Adalyn cast a glance around the room, but knew from painful experience that if an Ascian did not wish to show himself, she would never see him. Then I shall take my leave.

She tore the paper from the notepad, and incinerated it in her grasp. That done, she pulled a small stem off of Urianger’s bunch of grapes, popped one into her mouth, and teleported back to Ishgard.

Though the grapes were particularly sweet, the juices that burst on her tongue tasted bitter in the wake of the meeting.

Rather than return to the infirmary, Adalyn found herself wandering the streets once more, heading vaguely in the direction of the Firmament; Aymeric would be busy all day, and until she heard anything from Alphinaud about Alisaie’s condition improving, there was nothing for it but to wait.

“Mistress Keene?”

Adalyn turned, her eyes widening when she saw Francel de Haillenarte approaching her, his eyes positively shining in a way that struck her as very reminiscent of his eldest brother.

“‘Tis good to see you again,” Francel said when he’d drawn closer. “I worried so, when you were not present for Lord Haurchefant’s funeral…”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, uncertain where to look. Her stomach twisted with the sudden flare of guilt.

Funerals were for the living, she always felt… which included Haurchefant’s old friends. She hadn’t thought twice about her decision to not attend, before, unable to bear the pain. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be missed.

Gods, we really are selfish, Esteem laughed hysterically. How typical. You really don’t care about anyone other than yourself, do you?

Adalyn’s face twitched; Francel studied her for a moment, visibly concerned.

“He spoke so very fondly of you,” Francel finally said, and cleared his throat. “It has always been a regret of mine for not finding the chance to thank you properly for saving my life. And now I understand I have you to thank for my position as overseer of the Firmament’s restoration.”

Adalyn glanced up, her eyes widening slightly. In the wake of all she had done to help Aymeric in reforming Ishgard, it had seemed trivial to suggest the young lord for the task, but now, seeing Francel’s face shining, she realised it had hardly been trivial to him.

Francel beamed at her. “Honoured am I for this opportunity to serve the nation─and to redeem House Haillenarte's good name…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “As the runt of a fallen house, I am somewhat lacking in repute, and this has made it a struggle to attract cooperation. We have had to rely heavily upon outside help, while I myself have been performing such odd tasks as I could.”

Adalyn fumbled for her notepad, flipping to a fresh page. She scrawled, Anything I can do to help?

Francel chuckled. “My friend, you have already given so much in the service of Ishgard; surely you would rather take your rest?”

I insist.

Francel considered for a moment. “Well, there is but one remaining issue to resolve… Namely, how we might distinguish our own marketplace from the Jeweled Crozier. After all, if we hope to attract vendors and customers alike to the Firmament, we must offer something that they cannot already find at a more established location. After giving the matter considerable thought, it struck me─what if we were to bring in merchants from the realm over to ply their trade here, that Featherfall might be the Holy See's new hub of foreign trade? It is a most inspired idea, would you not say?”

Adalyn nodded, inclining her head thoughtfully. A fine idea indeed.

“Oh, thank you,” Francel said, and let out a disbelieving laugh. “‘Twas a matter that has plagued me for some time, so to know you agree is a weight off my mind. With that said, I would ask you to accompany me as our designated emissary to the three city-states. After all, who better to convince our esteemed guests to make the journey here to Ishgard than one of your influence and prestige?”

“And if you would not disapprove—or, quite honestly, even if you would—I will be accompanying you as well,” came a voice that made Adalyn groan in its familiarity.

She and Francel turned to see the Count de Durendaire striding towards them like he owned the place—which, considering the widespread influence of House Durendaire, was not entirely inaccurate.

“L-Lord Charlemend!” Francel stammered. “It is far from my place to object, but for whatever reason would the Count de Durendaire wish to come along on our humble expedition? Particularly in light of your honoured house's rather...shall we say, conservative...views toward the expansion of foreign trade…”

Charlemend stopped a respectable distance away from them, folding his arms. “I'll thank you not to make assumptions about the interests of my house, Lord Francel. I have always acted in what I believe to be my homeland's best interests. And I will continue to do so.”

Adalyn drank in the sea breeze as she leaned against the airship railing, smiling at the pang of nostalgia as they drew closer to Limsa Lominsa. Running into Emmanellain and Honoroit in Ul’dah had been an unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome, surprise, but Adalyn couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been a relief to see them off. Dealing with Charlemend’s sour attitude was difficult enough as it was, even with Francel’s sunny disposition to lighten things.

It didn’t help that the count was especially displeased to learn Francel’s plans for the Featherfall market included Limsan traders—in other words, pirates.

“Drunkards and ruffians, the lot of them,” Charlemend had told her. Adalyn hadn’t asked, but apparently he had taken offense to her enjoying the revelries of the patrons in the Quicksand. “My son was taken—stolen from me twenty long years ago. Rumours be damned, how anyone could even imply that my son might be among them is beyond me.” He’d glanced at Adalyn out of the corner of his eye as he spoke. “I still remember the sparkle in his eye when he told me he meant to leave the See on a journey around the world. Just a lad of fourteen summers, he was, a boy of great promise, possessed of a curious mind and a burning desire to see the world. Then a murderous band of sea reavers raided his vessel… and just like that, he was gone.”

Adalyn decided it would be best not to tell the count she herself had been raised by pirates; she remembered nothing of that time, after all, so couldn’t comment.

She had instead settled for making a small noise of sympathy, and went back to watching the performers.

Now, in Limsa Lominsa, Adalyn trailed after the noblemen; hers was a face well known in the city-states by now, and her resting glower was enough to deter anyone who might otherwise see the Ishgardian foreigners as an easy mark.

It was when they entered the Seventh Sage to parley with the captain of the Kraken’s Arms that things immediately went sideways.

“The captain says he will entertain your proposition, but on one condition: he will only speak to the adventurer here,” the miqo’te frontwoman said, levelling a hard stare at Adalyn.

Adalyn blinked, giving her a blank stare in return, before lifting a hesitant hand to her throat.

“Ah—my good lady,” Francel said, “‘tis not that the Warrior of Light would be unwilling to do so, but she can only communicate through the written word—”

“And you think just because we’re pirates means we don’t know our letters?” the miqo’te said, folding her arms.

Francel blushed to the tips of his ears. “Of course not,” he said quickly, and turned to Adalyn. “I trust you shall be able to manage in our absence?”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug and grinned, giving him a lazy salute.

“Captain Carvallain of the Krakens awaits you atop the stairs,” the miqo’te said as Adalyn’s companions left.

And so Adalyn headed up to the balcony, frowning to herself as she ascended the stairs. For a den of pirates, the place seemed… unnaturally quiet.

When she pushed the doors open, it was to find the ragtag gathering waiting for her. Mouths dropped, and then faces split into broad smiles.

“Lass! It really is you!” a heavily-scarred roegadyn exclaimed into the silence, and Adalyn yelped noiselessly when he caught her in a bear hug, lifting her clear off the ground.

“I’ll be damned,” an elezen woman said, folding her arms and shaking her head. “You’re alive after all.”

“Give her space, you lot!” a roegadyn woman with a very large axe shouted, and the pirate holding Adalyn set her down, brushing her shoulders off with a grin.

Adalyn blinked, bewildered, looking around at the eager faces, slowly beginning to put the pieces together. Her gaze landed on a dark-skinned elezen man leaning back against the railing, his burgundy hair strikingly familiar.

Oh.

Carvallain’s arms were folded tightly across his chest; his glower was a direct contrast to the rest of his crew’s excitement.

“There will be time for reunions later,” he said coldly, “assuming I don’t have this one keelhauled first.”

Adalyn straightened up, her staff leaping into her hand. Immediately, the air changed, charged with tension as the pirates reached for their own weapons.

But Carvallain held up a hand. “Leave us,” he said.

“It’ll be alright, ye wee minnow,” the roegadyn with the axe whispered to Adalyn as she passed, and the doors shut behind the pirates, leaving Adalyn and Carvallain alone with the sound of the sea below and the gulls above.

Adalyn didn’t move, watching Carvallain warily. It wasn’t that she feared an attack, but Francel was counting on her for this to go well. Carvallain, in turn, studied Adalyn for a long moment, not moving from his place against the railing.

“What,” he finally said, “in the Seven Hells were you thinking?”

Adalyn just stared at him blankly.

Another long minute passed between them.

Carvallain’s mouth finally twisted. “Five years. Five swiving years, Adalyn! I thought you’d died!”

Adalyn’s heart sank. Keeping her movements slow, she reached for her notepad; Carvallain’s gaze zeroed in on the movement, but some of the hostility faded into puzzlement as he watched her.

We’ve met before, haven’t we? Adalyn wrote, and held the notepad out to him.

Carvallain accepted the notepad and stared down at what she’d written. After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his head.

“So the stories are true,” he said softly. “The Warrior of Light lost her memory and voice in the Calamity.”

Adalyn nodded, biting her lip. She held out her hand for the notepad, but instead, Carvallain pushed off from the railing, taking her wrist. Adalyn held carefully still as he turned her hand over, spreading her fingers to examine the scar that cut across her palm.

Carvallain let out a humourless laugh. “I should have known there was no use in holding out hope,” he said. “But knowing the truth for myself… how could I stay mad at you?”

He stripped off one of his gloves, holding his hand out for Adalyn to see the identical scar on his own palm. “‘Tis good to see you again, little sister.”

Chapter Text

Twenty years ago

When Carvallain stepped off the ship in Limsa Lominsa, he had to take a moment to steady himself on wobbly legs, clinging to a mooring post for support.

“Steady does it, lad,” Captain Glover said, cuffing his shoulder as he passed. “Ye got your sea legs quick enough, an’ the land legs’re even easier.”

Carvallain nodded, wishing the ground would stop pitching quickly.

“Oi, powder monkey!” Illette called as the other pirates of the Kraken’s Arms disembarked. Carvallain looked up just in time to catch a small coinpurse the quartermaster threw his way. “Try not to spend it all in one brothel, eh?”

The tips of Carvallain’s ears felt hot as the other crewmates laughed.

“But seriously,” Illette said, grinning, “do get yerself somethin’ nice, ye hear?”

Carvallain grinned and gave her a casual salute. “Aye, Miss!” He tucked the coinpurse safely in his sash and, after taking another minute for the earth to still beneath him, he set off, eyes wide in awe.

Limsa Lominsa was so incredibly different from the mountains that surrounded Ishgard. The white cliffs and stone pillars positively gleamed in the sunlight, a stark contrast from the imposing grey stone of home.

Carvallain shook his head. That wasn’t home. Not any more.

The weight of his axe settled firmly on his back, a reassurance that he could defend himself if anyone decided to get any funny ideas. After weeks at sea, though, he hoped that any look of the naive nobleman had been thoroughly beaten out of him.

Having not the slightest idea where the markets were, Carvallain ended up wandering where his feet took him, past the fishermen’s guild, along winding docks that threatened to collapse into the harbour under the weight of the barnacles clinging to their posts.

It was as he passed the mouth of a shadowy alley that he saw the blood on the street, staining the white stones. The blood lead into the alley, and when Carvallain paused, he heard a quiet sniffle.

“Hello?” he called.

Silence.

It could be a trap. He shouldn’t get involved.

He drew his axe and advanced slowly. “Are you hurt?” he continued, peering around nervously, trying to ignore the thudding of his heart that seemed so loud in his ears. “There’s blood all over the stones…”

Something shifted, and he whirled to see a tiny hyuran girl, perhaps half his age, a hand clasped over her eye. Blood was all over her person, partially dried on her face, soaking her tattered clothes.

“By the Fury,” Carvallain said, kneeling and reaching a hand out toward her. She shrank away, her visible eye wary. “Who did this to you?”

The girl shook her head, swallowing. She was shaking like a leaf, her breathing ragged.

“Do you have a name?” Carvallain asked. “Mine is Carvallain de Gorgagne.” A lie, but one that had kept him safe so far, and he rather liked the way it sounded.

“F-F-F—” she stuttered, tears welling up in her visible eye, tracking clean streaks through the blood on her face.

“Alright, then, forget the name,” Carvallain said, shaking his head. “You look hurt. There’s a healer on the ship who could take a look at you. Can you walk?”

The girl lifted one shoulder in a shrug; Carvallain stood, holding out a hand to her, forcing himself not to wince when she took his hand, her own sticky with blood. She wobbled, and he hurried to steady her. Now standing, it became apparent how absolutely tiny she was, likely around seven summers of age but dangerously thin and underfed. She seemed like a gentle breeze might blow her away.

“The Yellowjackets aren’t going to be looking for you, are they?” Carvallain asked, looking her over.

The girl shook her head. “No. Maybe. Don’t think nobody’d be lookin’ fer me fer a good while yet.”

“No parents?”

“Not anymore.”

“What happened to your eye?” Carvallain asked as he began tugging her along, leading her back to the ship.

The girl took a ragged breath. “Me pa tried to cut it out.”

Carvallain didn’t falter, but he still turned back to look at her, something twisting in his stomach. As much as he despised his own father, even he couldn’t conceive of the man doing something so horrible. “Then I shall see to it he loses both of his,” he declared.

The girl gave him a tired, humourless smile. “Already done, sirrah. He’s dead.” She looked down at herself. “Most’ve this is his, anyway,” she muttered.

The blood on Carvallain’s hand suddenly felt particularly vile.

“Well, Aersthund will see to it you’re taken care of,” Carvallain promised, an idea already forming in his mind. Hadn’t Captain Glover been needing a new cabin boy—or girl—since he’d taken up the role of powder monkey? “And if you’re needing somewhere to go, I think a group of pirates would be a fine place indeed.”

The girl took a half-step back. “You're a pirate?” she asked, her voice shooting up an octave. “Are ye goin’ to sell me?”

“What? No!” Carvallain said, his stomach twisting at the idea. That this should be her first thought… “I really did mean what I said about treating your eye,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And the captain is in need of a new cabin girl. I don’t suppose you know how to handle a mop?”

The girl looked down at herself with a grimace.

Carvellain laughed. “Well, it sounds like you know how to handle a knife, at any rate,” he said. “I think the captain would be far more impressed by that.” He paused when they drew nearer to the harbour, and swung his cloak off, wrapping it around the girl. “Pirate haven or no, I think you might draw unwanted attention looking like that,” he said, and tugged the hood up over her head.

One magenta eye peered back at him from the shadows, and she nodded.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Carvallain said, giving her a crooked smile. “Or am I that much of a big, scary pirate?”

The girl smiled weakly and shook her head.

“You know,” Carvallain said, leading her onwards, “if you don’t feel like you can give me your name, how about a name? No better time to change it, running off to live with pirates.”

“Ye sound so sure they’ll take me,” the girl said dubiously.

Carvallain spread his hands. “They took me, did they not?”

Kidnapped, more like it, but surely they’d be much more pleased to have a willing set of hands from the start.

“Traggwyda!” Carvallain called when they made it back to the ship. The roegadyn who had been left behind to stand guard gave the pair a once-over, her eyes widening when Carvallain pulled the girl’s hood down to show her face. “The lass is hurt, she needs help. Is Aersthund on board?”

“Aye, he is,” Traggwyda said, crouching down to peer at the girl’s face. “You're just a tiny slip of a wee lass, ain’t ye? Go on, then, get. Carvallain, you're not to leave her side ‘til the captain decides what to do do with her, ye hear?”

Carvallain saluted. “Aye, Miss!” He turned to the girl, putting a hand between her shoulders to steer her belowdecks. She flinched at his touch and hurried along, nearly tripping in her haste.

Through the thin fabric of her shirt, Carvallain could feel the ridges of scar tissue. Fury take him, if her father wasn’t already dead, he would have killed the man himself.

“You’ll like Aersthund,” Carvallain promised as they headed through the bowels of the ship. “He might look scary, but he’s actually quite gentle, I can assure you.”

“Is that you, Carvallain?” a man’s deep voice boomed. The girl jumped when a heavily tattooed roegadyn poked his head around the corner, peering at them. “Thal’s balls!” he exclaimed when he caught sight of the girl. “Don’t just stand there, bring her in at once!”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Carvallain reassured her, and the girl shuffled forward, swallowing nervously.

“Right up there, there’s a good lass,” Aersthund said, patting the well-scrubbed exam table. His ‘office’ was tiny, jam-packed with tinctures and potions carefully stored to avoid breakage on the rough seas, and grimoires of healing magic and medicine. A roll of surgical tools was laid out on his desk; it looked like he’d been in the midst of cleaning them.

The girl struggled to climb up onto the table one-handed before Aersthund simply picked her up and sat her down. It didn’t miss Carvallain’s attention how she flinched at the touch.

“Let’s take a look,” Aersthund said, gently peeling the girl’s hand away from her eye. Carvallain’s stomach lurched, and he looked away from the bloody, scabby mess. Aersthund tutted, turning away to open a drawer full of clean, albeit heavily stained, rags. He poured alcohol from a bottle onto the rag and turned back to the girl. “This is going to sting,” he said. “I’ll need you to hold as still as you can. Can you do that for me, lass?”

The girl swallowed and glanced at Carvallain for reassurance before nodding.

She gasped when Aersthund began carefully cleaning the blood away, tears welling up in her good eye.

“You’re doing wonderfully, lass,” Aersthund said as he worked. “This looks like quite the nasty cut. Clean edges… a blade?”

“She said her father tried to cut her eyes out,” Carvallain said darkly, and Aersthund’s hands stilled before he continued. “And that she killed him.”

“Good on you, lass,” Aersthund said approvingly. “Little slip of a thing like you, that’s no mean feat. How did you manage it?”

“Kept a knife under me blanket,” the girl muttered. “Cut his throat. Most’ve this is his blood.”

Aersthund let out a low whistle. “Sounds like the bastard had it coming,” he said, and the girl gave a tiny nod. “Do you have a name?”

The girl froze, and Carvallain saw her eye glance in his direction again. He folded his arms and shrugged, leaning back against the doorpost. This was something he couldn’t do for her.

“Adalyn,” she whispered. “No family name. Just… Adalyn. Like me mam.”

“A fine name, if I’ve ever heard one,” Aersthund said, probing gently at her eyelid. The last of crusted blood came loose, and her second eye opened, just as vividly magenta as the first. “There we go! How’s the vision, then? It looked like he just missed your eye.”

Adalyn reached up to rub her eye, but Aersthund swatted her hand away; she froze, and Aersthund’s expression gentled.

“You must needs not be touching that eye of yours,” he said, and swirls of healing magic gathered at his fingertips. “At least, not until I’ve taken care of it.”

Adalyn shivered as the magic enveloped her face, and when it died down, she was left with a scar that cut across her brow and down her cheek.

Aersthund carefully probed at it, and nodded to himself. “How does that feel?”

“...Itchy.”

The chirurgeon barked out a laugh as he tossed the rag into the basket for cleaning. “Itchy is good! That means the wound is healing.” He looked at Carvallain. “She’d make a fine cabin girl, don’t you agree?”

“Exactly my thoughts, sir,” Carvallain said, smiling.

Another laugh as Aersthund helped Adalyn down from the table. Even now that she was no longer hunched over in pain, she barely came up past his knee. “Then that’s two of us to put in a good word to the captain,” he said. “And you know my lovely wife will be more than happy to add her voice to the vote. I shall speak with her at once while you go find the lass something to wear.”

And so it was that Adalyn joined the crew of the Misery. The other pirates took an immediate liking to the tiny, scrawny girl who could curse like the best of them, who was soon swinging through the rigging with a knife clamped in her teeth like she had been born to do it.

She was much too small to use a marauder’s axe just yet, so Julettia began instructing her in the myriad ways of daggers—which, to everyone’s surprise and delight, the lass took to with such a natural talent that soon, she was, with all fondness, banned from their contests of knife-throwing that they often held. Adalyn was tasked instead with retrieving the blades that buried themselves in painted planks of softwood, and she did so without complaint, though her pout spoke volumes enough.

Carvallain found her one night with the targets set up, her brow furrowed as she hurled knife after knife with unerring accuracy despite the pitching deck, and he lingered for a moment, watching silently as her every blade found its mark.

“Did you know how to do this before?” he asked when the last knife thudded into the softwood, and Adalyn flinched and whirled at the sound of his voice, shrinking away and shaking her head rapidly.

“No, sirrah! At least, I don’t think I did!” Adalyn said, her eyes huge. “Just came naturally to me, I swear, that’s all!”

“‘Tis unnatural, if you ask me,” Carvallain said, raising an eyebrow. “The crew are whispering that you’re possessed with strange magicks.”

Not exactly a lie, but not the truth, either; while the other pirates were suspicious of the lass’ uncanny ability, the general consensus was that they were fortunate indeed to have picked her up. Carvallain, however, in his jealousy, was not feeling so generous as to tell her that.

Adalyn bit her lip, scuffing her bare foot against the wood of the deck. Her feet were so filthy as to be nearly pitch black with grime. “Me pa said much the same,” she whispered, and Carvallain immediately felt guilty for bringing up the reminder. “Said me fits were ‘cause I was cursed for killin’ me mam.”

Carvallain swallowed. “You—killed your mother, too?”

Adalyn nodded, keeping her eyes on her toes. “When I was born. Pa said he ought’ve dropped me off the docks fer what I did.”

“Your father deserved the fate you delivered to him,” Carvallain said firmly, perching on a crate and patting the space beside him. Adalyn hesitated, then scrambled up to sit next to him, her little heels drumming against the side of the crate. “What is this about fits, then?”

“Sometimes I get faintin’ spells,” Adalyn whispered through her fingers. “And I see things I ain’t got no right to be seein’.”

“What sort of things?” Carvallain asked softly.

“Bits o’ the past, I think,” Adalyn said. “But not like, from the outside. I see ‘em like I’m someone else, seein’ through their eyes…”

Carvallain swallowed. “Is this something you can control?” he asked, hating how dry his mouth felt.

Adalyn slowly shook her head. “No, sirrah,” she said softly. “If I could, I wouldn’t never let it happen. ‘Tis mighty scary when it happens.”

Carvallain nodded. “You needn’t call me ser, you know,” he said, and bumped her with his shoulder. “We’re both pirates, after all, are we not?”

Adalyn giggled nervously. “Mayhap, but ye still talk like you're of much finer breedin’ than me,” she said.

“Well, pirates come from all sorts of backgrounds,” Carvallain said quickly, his heart beating faster in his chest. “Take Aersthund, for example. Those markings on his neck mean he is a graduate of Sharlayan.”

“Who’s Sharlayan?” Adalyn asked.

Carvallain blinked down at her in surprise. “Not who, what. Have you never heard any sailors tell tales about the place?”

“No, si—Carvallain,” Adalyn said. She folded her hands in her lap. “I only ever heard how beautiful Sharlayan was in passin’, so I thought she must be a woman they all knew.”

Carvallain couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Sharlayan is a grand old city on an island to the north,” he said. “I’ve never been, yet, but I hope to one day. The scholars who live there…”

Most nights found the two children meeting up after their chores were done, and Carvallain took it upon himself to educate Adalyn in everything he could remember from his own lessons.

They had no materials with which to write, but with Aersthund’s permission, they borrowed some of his more easily-replaceable tomes, and Carvallain spent hours hunched over them with Adalyn, teaching her how to read by the dim lights of the flickering oil lanterns.

Many of his own lessons had been on Ishgardian affairs, which he tried to steer clear of, but Adalyn kept pressing him for more, and more, her mind like a sponge as she soaked up lesson after lesson and kept surpassing his expectations with inhuman speed. Soon she had exhausted his knowledge of military history and geography, and he was forced to delve deeper, going so far as to explain the finer points of the nuance that went into politics and etiquette and the dances of Ishgard’s ballrooms, right down to the table manners expected at a banquet versus a more private social gathering.

It was during one of these lessons that Adalyn had one of her funny ‘fits’ as she called them, and learned of Carvallain’s true identity. He swore her to secrecy, and Adalyn solemnly promised him that she would never tell a soul.

It was her idea for them to cut open their palms, and they clasped hands, their blood mixing together.

“This makes us siblings,” Adalyn solemnly informed him, before she carefully healed the injuries away. Carvallain flexed his hand, examining the shiny pink scar that ran over the base of his thumb. Adalyn grinned—she’d lost her two front milk teeth earlier that week, giving her a lopsided smile—and held up her own hand to show him her matching scar, twiddling her fingers. “And that means I can’t never tell a soul, now!”

“So you understand why I felt so betrayed when you turned up with my father,” Carvallain said. He took a swig from his bottle of rum and passed it to Adalyn, who drank deeply as well. “I saw you standing with him, and thought you’d sold me out.” He sighed as he accepted the bottle back when Adalyn offered it silently to him. As he watched out of the corner of his eye, she ran her thumb over her palm opposite, tracing absent-mindedly over the scar that matched his own. “Had I known you’d lost your memories—but that is neither here nor there.” He sighed again. “I’m just glad you yet live.”

They stood at the railing of the Misery, looking out over the murky waters of the harbour. The two of them were much too big for their favourite hiding places from childhood, though Carvallain had pointed them out to Adalyn as he showed her around the ship, hoping something, anything, would spark her memory.

The little spark of hope slowly died in her eyes, and guttered in his chest. After everything, he may as well have been a stranger to her.

She still looked much the same as he remembered when they’d parted ways at the port when last they spoke, Adalyn stubbornly proclaiming she would use her gift of the Echo for the greater good of Eorzea with the aid of the Circle of Knowing. Although eight years had passed since she'd left the crew, and five since last they'd seen each other, and Carvallain was older, wiser, and wearier, Adalyn seemed wearier still despite the fall she’d had through time. The burdens of being Eorzea’s champion, he supposed.

“Wasn’t surprised one bit to hear it was you at the Battle of Carteneau,” Carvallain said, giving her a crooked smile. “When we lost our memories of the Warrior of Light, all I could remember was that you were supposed to be at the battle, too, but your body was never found. I feared you had perished in the Calamity…” He shook his head. “So it was a damn shock when all those memories came rushing back. Five years not seeing nor hearing from you after all that, though—well.” He huffed, and pitched the empty bottle into the ocean while Adalyn prised the cork out of a fresh one. “Can you blame a man for thinking you’d left us for good?”

Adalyn shook her head, silently offering him the bottle. Carvallain took a generous gulp and passed it back to her. “Anyway,” he said, and let out a slow breath. “Where was I?”

They soon discovered that Adalyn was strong, much stronger than her tiny frame suggested, and after weeks of begging, Captain Glover finally relented and allowed her to learn how to wield an axe.

Traggwyda’s lesson was short-lived. The axe put in Adalyn’s hand seemed to come to life beneath her fingers, and she wielded it with such skill and ferocity that she was permitted to join the raiders on their next capture of a Garlean vessel. Carvallain, who had only barely been of an age to begin training as a knight before he’d been kidnapped, swallowed down his misgivings and dutifully kept running powder and ammunition to the cannoneers belowdecks.

He could fight, certainly. But Adalyn, they came to realise, was gifted with supernatural talent. To hear tell in the aftermath of the battle, she had carved through the Empire’s men like the Fury Herself unleashed. Carvallain only saw her after the cannons had long ceased firing, perched on a crate and drinking greedily from a wineskin, her face and clothes covered in blood and bits of viscera. The grin she’d shot him, accompanied by a cheerful wave, looked unsettlingly out of place on the face of a child.

After that, the other members of the crew had no qualms about letting the lass try her hand at various weapons. Each and every one, she wielded with the skill of masters; though she was a crack shot with all manner of firearms, it was a simple bow that caught her attention, and it was her keen eye that earned her a surname at long last.

She spent many a raid stationed in the crow’s nest, picking off enemy sailors from impossible distances before she would call her axe to hand and leap down to join the fray once the ships drew together, laughing as she free-fell through the air to land on the deck some forty fulms below.

Carvallain, at this point, was no novice to combat himself, but though he often charged into battle at Adalyn’s side, she could accomplish an entire crew’s worth of destruction almost single-handedly.

She was a terror to fight against, a blessing to fight beside, and Adalyn Keene became the Misery’s greatest-kept secret of their perfect record of successful raids.

After all, dead men tell no tales.

Out of all the things you have told me thus far, that seems the easiest to believe, Adalyn wrote.

Carvallain gave her a wry smile. “I may not call Ishgard home any more, but still keep one ear open for news of the place. I suppose I should have known if anyone could have brought an end to the Dragonsong War, it would be you.”

Adalyn glanced away, biting her lip. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.

“Is there truly nothing?” Carvallain asked, leaning his forearms against the railing. “Nothing at all?”

Adalyn closed her eyes, trying to think, really think. Her pen hovered over the parchment. The sea air brings with it a whisper of nostalgia, she finally wrote, carefully so as to make her words legible. But otherwise… no. The memories are gone as surely as my voice.

Carvallain let out a slow breath. “Then I suppose, in a way, you really did die that day at Carteneau,” he murmured.

Adalyn had no good response to that, other than to offer Carvallain the bottle once more.

He drank deeply, and sighed, rolling the bottle between his fingers. “So this delegation from the See wishes to establish trade relations with us, do they?” he asked, and Adalyn nodded, understanding he no longer wished to dwell on their conversation.

Her heart ached, but with the loss of a past—of a family—she could no longer remember. It was a strange feeling, and not one she at all enjoyed.

Carvallain pursed his lips. “The Ishgardians… consumed only with their petty war, living out their days in that gloomy, frigid land devoid of passion or imagination…” He wrinkled his nose. “Just thinking back to my dreary days in that miserable place is enough to make me ill.”

It’s changing for the better, Adalyn wrote, and Carvallain let out a slow breath.

“Aye, with the war's end, it would appear that a new wind blows in my homeland,” he said. “While I am not so naive to assume that they have left their past entirely behind, I will trust that the See's desire to change is sincere.”

He was silent for a moment, before he snorted and took another drink, passing the bottle back to Adalyn. “'Tis strange, though... For long years the mere thought of my father’s face filled me with loathing. But seeing it again now, I feel only this odd sense of...nostalgia. To think the old man would be willing to treat with outsiders—dastardly, despicable pirates, no less…” He gave Adalyn a wry smile. “Perhaps there’s hope for Ishgard yet.”

Adalyn set the bottle on the deck beside her so she could write. I swear to not tell him about you. She hesitated. He misses you, very desperately.

Carvallain shook his head. “To reveal myself to him would only serve to undo all I have accomplished. I have no mind to give up my freedom for whatever I might gain in its place.”

Adalyn put a hand on his forearm, and after a moment, Carvallain bumped her with his shoulder.

“I shall have an agreement drawn up, consenting to the formal commencement of trade between the Krakens and House Durendaire of Ishgard. It will be in my first mate’s name and marked with our official seal to authorise the transaction. I think that should be to my father’s satisfaction.”

Adalyn smiled, placing three fingers to her chin and flicking them forward. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Carvallain nodded; his pale eyes flickered as he studied Adalyn for a moment, gaze momentarily dropping to the House Fortemps crest at her throat. “Is this it, then?” he asked. “You return to Ishgard, and we never see each other again?”

Adalyn fumbled with her notepad. I would like to get to know you again, she wrote. And the rest of your crew. But… Her pen hesitated.

“No rest for heroes, eh?” Carvallain murmured, and Adalyn grimaced. He just chuckled and clapped Adalyn on the back. “If you happen to return to Limsa Lominsa and we’re in port, consider the ship open to you. The Misery is your home as much as she is mine, even if you do not remember her.”

Adalyn’s throat suddenly felt very tight, and she swallowed, nodding. She stooped, retrieving the bottle she’d set down, and offered it to Carvallain again.

He took it with a smile. “Let’s not wait so long before we meet again, little sister.”

Adalyn let out a huff of laughter and nodded, bumping him with her shoulder in turn.

“You were gone an age!” Francel cried when Adalyn rejoined him and Charlemend. “Dare I ask how you fared in there, Adalyn?”

Adalyn smiled and held up the charter, signed and stamped with the official seal of the Kraken’s Arms.

Charlemend took it, blinking down at the parchment in awe. “Why, this is...more than I dared to hope we would achieve! However did you manage this?!”

Adalyn just smiled as she wrote, The captain and I go back by years. We came to an understanding.

“Well, that would certainly have been good to know before we wandered hither and yon across this blasted city,” Charlemend said, narrowing his eyes at Adalyn.

Aye, that it would have.

When their airship back to Ishgard flew over the harbour, Adalyn leaned over the railing, peering down at the Misery below. The ship was abuzz with activity, pirates readying to set sail. She could just make out the small form of Carvallain, presumably barking orders at his crew.

How funny, that the man she’d once called brother had fled from the city she’d come to think of as her home—fled from a family that rivalled the one she had been adopted into.

As she watched, Carvallain turned to peer up at the airship; he lifted a hand in farewell, and Adalyn smiled and waved in return.

As soon as things were sorted with the Warriors of Darkness, she promised herself, she would be back.

Chapter Text

“What the swiving hells,” Adalyn said.

She heard a gasp behind her from Alisaie, and it was only belatedly she realised she’d spoken aloud.

Not even in hindsight would she have imagined trying to track down the leaders of the Ala Mhigan extremists would result in another showdown between the Scions and the Warriors of Darkness that ended with them transported to the Aetherial Sea.

Now, as they looked around the void of aether they found themselves floating in, trying to catch their bearings, Adalyn did a quick once-over of her companions—the twins, Thancred, and yes, even Urianger was there. It was strange to see him without his usual hooded robes.

“Where—what—?” the Warrior of Darkness, Ardbert one of his companions had called him, gasped.

So this was where Hydaelyn had called them, into her domain. Why, Adalyn did not know, but it would have to wait; she took a step back, levelling her bow at the roegadyn when he lifted his sword threateningly.

“Not another step,” she said coolly, allowing her Limsan burr to make a comeback, “or I’ll put ye down ‘fore ye make it another two paces forward.”

“No,” Ardbert said, his chest heaving, “not like this… I refuse to let things end like this!”

“Wait!” Alphinaud cried, stepping forward to stand by Adalyn’s elbow, holding out his hands. “Surely we can talk about this! You speak of one life for one world, but killing Adalyn will be playing right into the hands of the Ascians!”

“Indeed,” Urianger said, moving to stand on Adalyn’s other side, “rendering up the souls of thy world in service to the Rejoining will not grant it salvation. Thou will see thy world consumed, and a great deal more innocents shall suffer in the wake of the new Calamity thou wouldst bring about!”

“You sweet fool,” Alisaie said softly from Alphinaud’s other side. “I was almost willing to believe you had turned against us.”

Urianger glanced over at Alisaie and offered her an apologetic smile, shaking his head. “Never, my lady.”

“If you think we are about to just give up because you asked nicely, you are sorely mistaken!” Ardbert said, his fingers tightening on the shaft of his axe. “We never aspired to be Warriors of Light, but the people placed their hopes and dreams on our shoulders and bid us fight for all that was good and right. We fought and we fought and we fought… until there was no one left to fight. We won… and now our world is being erased from existence.”

His voice broke, tears welling up in his eyes. “We did everything right, everything that was asked of us, and still—still it came to this! You of all people should understand! We cannot—we will not falter! We brought our world to the brink of destruction, and now we must save it.”

He hefted his weapon and rushed forward as Adalyn swung around to take aim, but before she could release, light flared up between the two parties, causing the Warriors of Darkness to stumble back.

Out of the aether, a familiar voice echoed. “Such pain… such sorrow… oh, my dear children…”

“It… it cannot be!” Thancred gasped.

“Your cries go not unheard… Nor your sacrifices unnoticed… Though many are lost, there are those we can yet save… Whom I can yet save…”

And then, with a spark of light, Minfilia appeared—Minfilia, Adalyn realised, not the puppet being pulled along on Hydaelyn’s strings.

“Minfilia!” Alphinaud cried.

Minfilia gave him a faint smile before she turned to the Warriors of Darkness, holding out her hands to them. “Blessed children of the First. The light of your world hath grown blinding in its radiance, but it is not yet absolute. I will hie me to your world and there take unto myself the Light which riseth even now to drown it, as Darkness once did drown another.”

Ardbert, however scoffed, adjusting his grip on his axe. “Now you deign to answer our prayers?! I will suffer this farce no longer!”

He leapt; Minfilia, however, merely raised a hand, and Ardbert’s attack was halted in midair. His eyes widened, his gaze flickering briefly to Adalyn’s; she met his eyes and swallowed, shaking her head.

Minfilia gave him a small, sad smile. “Hydaelyn has grown strong enough to set me free, that I might serve as Her emissary. Your suffering, your sacrifice, your supplications—She has heard all. We will not let the First fall to Light.” She looked over her shoulder, her gaze landing on Urianger. “Thank you, Urianger, for bringing everyone here. It fills my heart with joy to look upon the faces of my friends once more.”

Adalyn’s eyes widened as she looked up at the elezen, whose expression was sombre. “In taking you unto Her bosom, I knew that Hydaelyn had bequeathed to you a sliver of Her grace, granting you strength long sought.” He looked to the Warriors of Darkness. “And in treating with the Ascians, I learned of a star like unto our own—a doomed world of fallen heroes, in whom I glimpsed ourselves. The First. Full long did I search for a means to save this world, concluding at last that the answer lay in the power of those blessed by Hydaelyn. And thus did I labour to set Light against Dark.” He bowed his head. “Yet I knew from the beginning that this salvation would not come without sacrifice, for the instrument of the First’s deliverance would of necessity be required to journey thither… there to remain, mayhap forever.”

“You orchestrated all of this not to save her, but to send her away?!” Alphinaud cried, his fists balling at his sides.

Urianger looked to Minfilia. “One life for one world. Such was the bargain, and you the coin, though it were not mine to spend.”

Minfilia smiled and shook her head. “Have we not walked together in the light of the Crystal, and at Her bidding borne witness to the joys and sorrows of this land? Each and every one of you knows my heart. If this be the price I must pay, I pay it gladly.”

Ardbert’s breath hitched, and he straightened his shoulders. “Hear me, servant of Hydaelyn. If you would have us place our trust in you, then I would ask a favour. Take us with you. Take us home.”

Minfilia stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. “You and your companions have given everything to save your world,” she said softly. “Be at peace, now. I will bring your souls through the rift that you might rejoin the Aetherial Sea.”

“Then…” Thancred’s voice broke. “You truly mean to go through with this, Minfilia?”

She turned away from Ardbert, holding out a hand to Thancred. He stepped forward, grasping her hand in both his own. He half-opened his mouth like he wished to speak, but any more words died in his throat.

“My dearest Thancred… You who have ever watched over me… I am truly grateful for all you have done on my behalf, as would my father be.” Minfilia reached up to cradle his cheek, and pressed her forehead briefly against his. “Your kindness, your compassion, your love… These are your gifts to me, and our gifts to them, forming a bond which transcends time and space.”

Thancred closed his eyes, his mouth twisting; he took a deep breath and straightened up, looking at Minfilia with bright eyes. “Sometimes I forget you are not the child I once knew,” he said softly. “Make me proud.”

Minfilia nodded, and turned to Adalyn. “My dear friend,” she said, “I see you yet wear the braids I once showed you.” She laughed when Adalyn stepped forward, catching her in a fierce hug. Minfilia hugged her back, resting her chin on Adalyn’s shoulder. “I have watched you from Hydaelyn’s side… watched as you suffered and lost so much, and yet never lost sight of hope.”

“‘Twas a near thing for a while,” Adalyn admitted, her voice tight. She sniffled, drawing back slightly to look at Minfilia properly. “I… this is farewell, isn’t it? For good…”

“Aye,” Minfilia said. She laced their fingers together, her eerie, pupilless eyes flickering as she studied Adalyn’s face. “Your songs carried magic in their words,” she said, and Adalyn’s heart jolted as she straightened up. “Would you sing us a blessing as we travel to the First?”

Tears welled up in Adalyn’s eyes, and she reached up to wipe them away. “I can do that,” she whispered, and let her hand slip from Minfilia’s grasp. She summoned her fiddle to her hands, and Minfilia let out a soft laugh upon recognising the instrument she had held fast to for so many years.

Adalyn placed the bow on the strings, aether gathering at her fingertips, and she began to sing.

For whom weeps the storm,
Her tears on our skin
The days of our years gone,
Our souls soaked in sin
These memories ache with the weight of tomorrow

Minfilia took a step backwards, raising her hands, and she and the Warriors of Darkness began to glow. Adalyn kept singing, her heart aching as the glow became bright to the point of blinding, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the light.

The road that we walk
Is lost in the flood
Here proud angels bathe in
Their wages of blood
At this, the world's end, do we cast off tomorrow

Ardbert’s voice spoke in her mind, and her fingers nearly fumbled on the strings. “We were blind to the truth once. So I tell you this, as one fool to another. Light, Dark, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how you choose to use them. We made our choice, and you see what came of it. So please… forge a different path. Seize a better fate.”

I will, Adalyn thought fiercely, and felt a soft gust of wind on her cheek, gentle like a caress in response.

Home
Riding home
Home, riding home
Hope, finding hope...

She felt the warmth of sunlight on her face as the last note faded away; behind her, she heard a quiet sniffle from Alphinaud, and Adalyn turned around. They were standing on the dry, cracked soil of southern Thanalan where they had left.

Thancred kept his head tilted back, his eyes filled with unspilled tears as he stared up at the sky, his arms tightly folded.

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder. She opened her mouth, but all that came forth was a soft breath of air.

Thancred looked down at her and pulled away without a word. Adalyn let her hand fall, her heart heavy as she watched him walk away.

Adalyn found Alisaie later that night outside of Little Ala Mhigo where they had opted to stay and continue their pursuit of the Griffin. The lass was sitting with her back against the outer wall of the plateau, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees as she stared up at the stars. Adalyn whistled quietly to get her attention, and Alisaie jumped, twisting around to look up at her.

“Oh, it’s you,” Alisaie said softly. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Adalyn smiled apologetically and gestured to the space beside Alisaie, raising her eyebrows in a question.

“Yes, of course, please,” Alisaie said, and scooted slightly over.

Adalyn sat beside her, resting her elbows on her knees. She glanced over at Alisaie and inclined her head.

Alisaie let out a slow breath, letting her head fall back against the stone. “It’s so quiet out here. The stars spread out before us, beckoning across time and space… ‘Dawn may banish even the darkest night.’ How bitterly beautiful, those words. I should be stronger for all my experiences, yet my heart aches more than ever.”

Adalyn nodded, sighing. She’d thought she would be raw with grief in the wake of Minfilia’s final farewell, but instead she was just… numb. Like she couldn’t believe it had happened.

Alisaie was quiet for a long moment. “I never understood why Grandfather gave his life that day,” she finally said. “I thought that, if I came to Eorzea, I would find the answers I needed. But when I finally laid eyes on the land he sacrificed everything to save, saw firsthand the bickering, the pettiness… I was disappointed. I was angry. I could not fathom how these people were more deserving of his love than his family… than me…”

Not for the first time, Adalyn was struck by just how young the lass was. It was easy to forget after having braved the depths of Bahamut’s prison together, but she and Alphinaud were of an age, both children by nature if not by law. She held out an arm, and Alisaie scooted closer, tucking up against Adalyn’s side. Though she didn’t weep, Adalyn felt her shoulders shake with a suppressed sob.

“When Grandfather revealed the whole truth of the Calamity to us, I finally understood,” Alisaie said softly. “And I resolved there and then to continue his legacy in my own way. My travels have been enlightening, but I cannot say that I have enjoyed them. I have lost count of the many petty crises that I was helpless to resolve, and of the people whose actions I could not understand. There were others, of course. Good people. People with whom I felt a kinship… whose lives I could not save.”

Minfilia was the most recent, to be sure, but Adalyn found her thoughts straying back to Moenbryda and Ysayle… and to Haurchefant. Her heart twisted, and her arm tightened around Alisaie’s shoulders.

“I found myself asking what it was all for,” Alisaie said, and Adalyn closed her eyes. “Why try if I was doomed to fail in the end? But then I recalled Grandfather’s words to my father, years ago, before he left Sharlayan behind forever. ‘To ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save is not wisdom—it is indolence. We must all protect that which we hold most dear in the manner of our own choosing.’ …We have to try, do we not?”

Adalyn looked over at Alisaie, her fingers tightening on the girl’s shoulder. She offered her a faint smile and a nod. “Yh’ll b’h h’k’h,” she struggled to spit out through her teeth.

“...You’ll be okay?” Alisaie said after a moment, and Adalyn nodded, briefly leaning her head against Alisaie’s. Alisaie sighed softly, but she nodded as well. “Yes,” she said after another long pause. “I suppose I will.” She looked up at Adalyn, her expression softening. “You will be, too. The hopes and dreams of so many rest on your shoulders, Warrior of Light. As long as the sun rises, we can but carry on. For the sake of those we hold dear.”

Adalyn’s stomach turned over, but she forced a wan smile onto her face and nodded, giving Alisaie’s shoulders one last squeeze before getting up and heading back inside.

She stopped by the bundle of blankets Thancred had rolled himself into; only the faint rise and fall of his shoulders showed there was any sign of life coming from within.

He has lost so much today, Esteem said nastily, and yet you would try to claim his grief as your own?

I thought you and I were past this, Adalyn thought grumpily in return as she knelt beside Thancred’s bedroll. She closed her eyes, ignoring Esteem’s continued tirade, and cupped her hands together.

Adalyn knew nothing she could create would soothe Thancred’s pain, but she hoped that the gesture of kindness would help ease the burden, however small a degree.

The Nymeia lily bloomed slowly between her hands, petals curling over her fingers. When Adalyn released the spell, a faint glow remained, giving the flower a soft blue tint. She laid it beside Thancred’s head and left as quickly as she’d come, the soft swish of her coat the only noise to give away her presence.

Chapter Text

Adalyn lay with her head on Haurchefant’s chest, the both of them curled up on a blanket laid out in the grass beneath the boughs of a yew tree. The day was warm, with nary a wisp of cloud in the cerulean sky, and somewhere in the distance was the melody of birdsong. It was, in a word, perfect.

“We never got to spend days like this when you were alive,” Adalyn said softly, keeping her eyes closed. Instead of a heartbeat, she could hear the gentle sounds of ocean waves, the smell of salt spray carried on the air. “It’s… nice.”

Haurchefant didn’t respond.

“...Haurchefant?” Adalyn asked tentatively, sitting up. She screamed and scrambled backwards when she realised she had been laying not on Haurchefant, but on Zenos’ chest, and the Garlean prince now stood over her with his sword raised, his teeth bared in a feral smile as he advanced on her.

The blade plunged into Adalyn’s shoulder, and her vision went white, her throat splitting from the force of her screams. Blood rose up around her until she was drowning in it, floating in a thick, viscous ocean of the stuff along with the bodies of countless Alliance soldiers, faces she recognised from the battle of Baelsar’s Wall. Mangled limbs reached out with slimy, decaying fingers, clutching at her arms, her legs, her face, dragging her deeper under the surface.

The great form of Shinryu lunged at her from the darkness, and Adalyn was blasted backwards by Papalymo a moment before he was swallowed by the primal’s gaping jaws.

Adalyn sat up abruptly and yelped when her forehead cracked against the low ceiling of the Misery’s berth.

She clutched the sides of her head, pressing her forehead against her knees as she sucked in gulps of air, trying to steady her breathing. Hot tears rolled silently down her face, and Adalyn sniffled, using the neck of her shirt to stem the snot before it could drip as well.

It was only a nightmare, but one that had been steadily building up over the last few weeks, becoming bloodier with each reiteration, each loss. Adalyn slowly lay back in her hammock, blood pounding in her ears in time with her racing heart.

Adalyn rubbed at the fresh scar on her shoulder, a near-replication of the puncture wound Nidhogg’s claws had left on her at Azys Lla. Her hand shook, and her fingers dug in, nails biting into the thin fabric of her nightshirt.

Zenos had left her for dead that night, and by all rights, she ought to have been. Why should she live while so many resistance fighters had to die at Rhalgr’s Reach? There were so many more deserving of life, and yet here she was, weeping like a frightened child in the dark.

Adalyn heard a quiet mumble from the hammock below her, and she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, peering over to see Lyse shifting in her sleep.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb her any further, Adalyn slipped down to the floor, grabbing her blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders as she headed above deck.

She nodded to the night watch as she passed, wandering aimlessly towards the stern of the ship; she paused when she recognised the figure standing at the wheel, and for a second considered turning to go back inside when Carvallain caught her eye.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, raising his voice slightly so it would carry to her.

Adalyn hesitated, glancing behind her, before she grimaced and tugged the blanket a little tighter, climbing the stairs to join him. She shook her head and sighed.

Carvallain studied her for a moment, his pale eyes glinting in the light of the lanterns behind him. “Take the helm,” he said suddenly, and Adalyn’s head shot up. She pointed at herself; he raised an eyebrow. “Did I stutter?”

“No, ser,” Adalyn mouthed automatically, and Carvallain clapped her on the back as he stepped aside, keeping the ship steady until her hands closed over the spokes.

“Keep her steady,” Carvaillain said. “I’ll be right back.”

Adalyn watched as he disappeared down the stairs, his lithe form swinging up into the rigging and disappearing into the darkness. She kept her hands on the wheel, feeling the smooth grain of the wood beneath her fingers, wondering if this was to be another attempt by him to restore her memories.

But then he returned scant moments later with Claeryn in tow; the lookout took over the wheel from Adalyn as Carvallain motioned for her to follow.

So Adalyn did, and though she had no recollection of her past, there was still something familiar in the way they swung up into the rigging together, hand over callused hand, until they reached the crow’s nest.

Carvallain settled in, and Adalyn sat beside him, her eyes widening when he fished a lime out of his pocket and sliced it in half with a dagger. The citrussy tang that hit her nose brought with it a fresh wave of nostalgia as she accepted the offered fruit.

“We used to do this when we were children,” he said as Adalyn put her tongue to the sour flesh. “Share a lime and lookout duty. You would always make that face,” he added with a chuckle when Adalyn grimaced. “But you could never get enough of the fruit. Though I seem to recall you had a particular fondness for grapes as well.”

Adalyn nodded, squeezing the lime and sucking its juice through her teeth.

Carvallain squeezed his own half, letting the juices fall into his open mouth. “Heard you were at Baelsar’s Wall when…” He waved a hand. “All that went down.”

Adalyn nodded again, shifting uncomfortably in her spot.

“I know that look,” Carvallain said. “You always carried burdens that were not yours to bear, little sister.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you feel as though you are responsible for every trouble on the star itself. Fury knows you would blame yourself for weeks if a raid ever went wrong—probably longer, if I ever knew you,” he added, and Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “And now that you’re the Warrior of Light, you have even more to blame yourself for. Am I close?”

Adalyn sighed and nodded, glancing away. How could she tell him that, despite what he seemed to think, she was responsible for Baelsar’s Wall and everything that happened after, because she had let Estinien be possessed by Nidhogg, that she had thrown the Eyes into the chasm in a panic rather than disposing of them properly?

Mistakes from others were buying the wrong item at the market, or forgetting to send a nameday letter.

The mistakes she made cost people their lives and stole away their futures.

A sharp rapping sounded in her ears, and Adalyn startled, grabbing her head as Esteem very thoroughly got her attention.

Let me out. I want to talk to him.

Like hell I’m letting you!

“Adalyn?” Carvallain said, eyeing her warily, “Is aught amiss?”

Adalyn tapped herself on the temple and held up a finger.

Please? Esteem wheedled. I promise I’ll be good. And I can tell him what’s bothering you, unlike some people.

Adalyn sighed. Fine, she thought, but when the darkness rose up around her, pain wracking her body, she realised something was desperately wrong.

“Adalyn!” Carvallain grabbed her when her back arched, and with a silent scream, the darkness coalesced—but not into Esteem.

The child perched at the edge of the crow’s nest opposite them, eyes bright and watching them anxiously as Adalyn gasped for breath.

“Oh, dear,” he said, his voice soft and high with a familiar lilt to it. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to.”

“What in the Seven swiving Hells—?” Carvallain went for the knife at his belt before Adalyn’s hand shot out to grab his wrist. She shook her head, and after a moment, Carvallain reluctantly lowered the blade, though he didn’t take his eyes off the child.

Blue-eyed, steely-haired, and with ears that tapered like Hilda’s painted a picture Adalyn did not dare dwell upon the meaning of.

“It’s okay,” the child said, holding up his hands. “I’m here to help.”

“Who—what are you?” Carvallain asked, his eyes narrowing.

“What I am matters not,” the child said. He paused, considering. “As to who…” He smiled suddenly. “My name is Myste.”

“Can you understand—?” Adalyn began, and Myste nodded.

“I am a part of you, after all,” he said, and glanced at Carvallain when he heard the pirate inhale sharply. “A part of you that can help those in need.”

“Speak plainly, or trouble us no more,” Carvallain bit out.

Myste just turned his wide, unblinking eyes on Carvallain. “I can see it, you know,” he said softly. “The questions in your eyes. Wondering, ever wondering what your life might have been like had things been different. Would you like to know?”

“Mind your tongue, boy,” Carvallain snarled. “Adalyn, would it hurt you if I cut it from his mouth?”

“Oh, most likely,” Myste said, unconcerned. “But you won’t. You’re just scared, and angry because a part of you, deep down, regrets…”

Adalyn clutched at her head, pressing her face against her knees. Esteem, where are you?!

Myste let out a heavy sigh. “I cannot help those who do not want to be helped,” he said sadly. “But if you ever change your mind…” He smiled as he began to fade, and Adalyn gasped as his voice issued from her mouth. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Adalyn put a hand to her throat, but no more sound escaped—not even so much as a whisper.

She couldn’t meet Carvallain’s gaze.

“Adalyn,” he said, his voice low, “that—that was dark magic. Do you know what sort of power you wield?”

Adalyn dug into her pouch for her notebook; her hand trembled as she wrote. I do.

Carvallain stared down at those two small, uneven words for a very long time. “You have always been blessed,” he finally said, his voice low, “with great power, and great skill. I have heard the whispers before, of the sorts of magicks dark knights wield. Take care that you do not let them consume you, little sister.”

Adalyn’s thumb brushed over the edge of her notepad, her brows drawn together. So many things she wished she could say, but didn’t know where to start or even how to begin explaining herself in her shaking hand.

Should I go? she wrote instead.

“Aye,” Carvallain said softly. “I think ‘twould be for the best.”

Adalyn nodded, swinging her legs over the edge of the crow’s nest.

“Adalyn.”

She glanced back at Carvallain, but his gaze was focused on the horizon, his jaw set.

“Until you can control that thing,” he said, “stay away from the crew.”

Even without the memories of her old family, the words struck a heavy blow. Adalyn let out a carefully controlled breath and saluted, then let herself fall, tumbling through the air to land lightly on the deck some forty fulms below.

When she crept back to her hammock, she dreamt of a knight and a child, their hair matching shades of blue that shone silver in the light as they played a game of chase. Adalyn called out to them, rushing forward, and the knight scooped his son onto his shoulders before turning to face her, revealing the gaping, bloody hole in his stomach.

Adalyn jolted awake again, and lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until the sun rose.

All the while, Esteem remained silent.

Chapter Text

For the first time in her life that she could remember (which was admittedly not all that long ago), Adalyn felt… useless. It was not a feeling she particularly wished to become familiar with, but as the days stretched into weeks on their long voyage across the ocean, the restlessness set in, and she took to pacing the cramped confines of the berths, wishing she could go abovedecks and lend a hand.

But she was nothing if not a woman of her word, and she’d promised Carvallain she would stay away from the crew. The only times she left the berths was to join the evening meal just long enough to snag her share of the food and disappear again.

Esteem was silent, as was Myste; though it was a welcome thing to have the privacy of her mind back, Adalyn was certain it would not last—nor that she was truly alone. Between her pacing and whistling of mournful tunes composed in her head, Adalyn began forming a plan for when they arrived in Kugane.

That took all of the better part of a day, which left her to her pacings and her whistlings before she pulled her fiddle from the aether, playing it quietly for her audience of one in the dark.

She tried to tell herself it was for the best, and wondered what Carvallain had told the crew—told Lyse and Alphinaud, Alisaie and Tataru.

The only person on board the ship she could even speak to was Alphinaud, and he seemed to be busy abovedecks as it was, though with what, Adalyn couldn’t even imagine. If the lad had ever sailed a day in his life, she would eat her fiddle.

It was perhaps a moon into their voyage that Adalyn was startled from her lonely concert by a great, shuddering heave that wracked the ship and caused her to unbalance before she caught herself. Her eyes widened, and her fiddle vanished as her clothes gave way to armour; barely a moment later, the door burst open, and Traggwyda came charging in, axe in hand. Her eyes were similarly huge, and she held out her other hand to offer Adalyn a lump of wax.

“Put that in yer ears, lass!” Traggwyda barked, and as Adalyn hastened to do so, splitting the wax in half and hastily rolling it into makeshift plugs, she noted the roegadyn had likewise deafened herself. “Up. Hurry!” she added in Ishgardian Sign, and before Adalyn could process that, she charged out again, clearly expecting her to follow.

So Adalyn did, calling her own axe into hand, and they emerged into an unnatural fog that enshrouded the ship, thick as pea soup and clinging to their clothes and skin. Adalyn blinked several times, wondering if she was seeing things, but when she opened her eyes wide, Carvallain was directing the crew with rudimentary but no less effective Ishgardian Sign.

“Adalyn!” Alisaie signed as she and Alphinaud hurried to join her, and Adalyn’s heart lurched when she realised Alisaie had used her name sign of Hope. “‘Tis good to see you, my friend! We have trouble brewing!”

Adalyn decided she could address this unexpected development later. She nodded, hefting her axe and glancing around. “Sirens?”

“Got it in one,” Alphinaud said; he looked paler than normal, his eyes wide as he summoned his Moonstone Carbuncle to him. His free hand trembled slightly as he spoke. “A most nefarious foe, b-but one I’m full certain we are well equipped to handle!”

Alisaie quirked an eyebrow at him as she drew her rapier, giving it an experimental twirl.

“Wh-What?” Alphinaud demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that? I am calm and collected as ever! Carry on!”

Alisaie grinned, glancing at Adalyn. “Alphinaud was terrified of ghost stories as a child. I'm glad to see that some things never change.”

Frantic waving from the bow of the ship caught Adalyn’s eye, and she looked up to meet Carvallain’s gaze.

“Ready?” he signed, and Adalyn saluted, settling into a low stance as she adjusted her grip on the axe.

The ship rocked again and a wave of water sprayed over the deck, soaking everyone with brine. The fog swirled thicker, and within the haze, eerie silhouettes loomed.

The hairs on Adalyn’s arms rose at the familiar sensation of magic woven into a song she couldn’t hear, and she whirled, hurling her axe with enough force to split a boulder.

The blade cut through the wave that rose to crash over the deck, breaking up its momentum. The water still nearly swept them off their feet, and Adalyn braced herself, calling her axe back to her hand as the corpses that were washed on board staggered to their feet, their mouths open in inaudible groans.

Alphinaud staggered back, even as Alisaie and Lyse leapt into the fray alongside the pirates; Adalyn charged in beside them, and when a flash of white caught her eye, she turned to see Alphinaud had rallied enough to send his carbuncle into battle with them.

Adalyn’s axe became a whirlwind of steel as she carved through the rotting, grey flesh, ripping through the undead thralls. Silent laughter burst from her, and her blood sang as she leapt from foe to foe, lending her aid as needed whenever she noticed the crew was threatened to be overwhelmed.

She found herself back to back with Lyse, and glanced over her shoulder to see how the other woman was faring. Lyse shot her a grin before leaping back into the fray, and Adalyn dived back in as well, the two of them making quick work of the siren’s thralls.

The music rose to a crescendo around them, trying to force its way past the wax in their ears, and Adalyn’s eyes widened when she realised the siren was emerging from the fog right behind Carvallain.

She flung a hand out, and darkness rose up to coalesce around the captain, shielding him from the blow.

Adalyn didn’t wait for the shield to drop before she was summoning her bow to her hands, and a trio of aetherial arrows gathered on the string; she whistled as she drew back, her pitch rising to match the vibrations of the siren’s song, and the enthralled corpses faltered, giving the pirates a chance to rally. Adalyn maintained her whistle, pouring everything she had into the magic as she loosed arrow after arrow at the siren.

I’m not letting anyone else die today.

The arrows found their marks with unerring accuracy, and when the siren staggered and fell back, Adalyn pressed the attack, racing forward and leaping off the bow of the ship. Her bow was exchanged for her spear, and Adalyn twisted at the apex of her leap, diving at the siren with the full force of her body behind the strike.

The two plummeted, and crashed down into the ocean with a spray of water.

The salt stung Adalyn’s eyes—salt mixed with blood, blood that swirled around her and clouded her vision, affording her only glimpses of the decaying corpses that bobbed in the depths around her.

Rotting limbs brushed against her own, and Adalyn screamed, bubbles bursting from her mouth. It was just like the nightmares, only this was real, and she was drowning in a sea of the dead and damned. Her mind blanked out, and she began struggling in her attempts to make it back to the surface.

Another flurry of bubbles escaped past her lips, tickling her face. Or was that the bony fingers of the corpses she bumped against with each frantic flailing of her limbs?

She couldn’t breathe—mustn’t breathe—was the lone thought she kept clinging to, but the blind panic set in, and Adalyn inhaled, seawater and blood and bile rushing into her lungs.

Is this it? Is this finally the end?

Hands seized her beneath her arms, but Adalyn didn’t fight back. If she was to be dragged to her watery grave, maybe this was to be her penance for all the lives stolen by her own hands.

She was tired.

So tired.

Adalyn dimly felt the hands fumbling with the buckles of her armour, and then there was a sharp stinging in her ribs as the leather straps were sliced apart and she was peeled out of her armour like meat from a shell.

And still, she could not move, her vision going dark.

The water, no the air was cold on her face, and when a fist slammed into her stomach, Adalyn retched, vomiting seawater onto the deck of the Misery as she coughed and struggled to breathe, curling in on herself.

“You do not get to die on me!” Carvallain said, hauling her upright and wrapping his arms around her; his clasped fists pulled back into her stomach again, forcing more water from her lungs, and Adalyn wheezed in a gurgling breath.

Her lungs burned, her limbs ached, her ribs stung where his knife had slashed her in his bid to free her from her armour—but she was, for better or for worse, alive.

“Adalyn!” Alphinaud rushed forward, healing aether already swirling around his fingertips, and Carvallain laid her out as Alphinaud and the ship’s medic both hurried to attend her.

“Are you always so reckless?” Alisaie demanded, looking like she wanted to either hug Adalyn or slap her silly. “You could have died!”

Adalyn’s hand shook as she lifted it to sign. “But I didn’t.”

“All thanks to Captain Carvallain,” Lyse said, glancing at him. “When we realised you weren’t coming back up, he said ‘She needs help’, and dived in just like that—“

“You needn’t go into the details,” Carvallain said quickly.

“One might even call it a chivalrous act worthy of a knight of Ishgard,” Alisaie said pointedly, and Carvallain’s head snapped up, his lip curling.

“Not another word out of you, lass,” he said coolly. “You have made your distaste for pirates perfectly clear, but I’ll remind you that before Adalyn was your precious Warrior of Light, she was one of our own—and still is.” He looked down at Adalyn, grasping her other hand—the one with the scar on her palm. His thumb brushed over the old wound, exposed now that her armour was gone. “Full glad am I that you were not lost beneath the waves, little sister. ‘Twould have been a most ignoble end.”

Adalyn grinned weakly up at him, shivering when the ship’s medic wrapped her tightly in a blanket. “There is no greater calling for a knight than to save the life of their fellow man,” she said, and glanced at Alphinaud when she heard his breath hitch. “I shall be alright, Alphinaud. I promise.”

The lie settled heavily in her heart, but Alphinaud seemed to find some comfort in it, because he nodded and squeezed her shoulder tightly.

“Promise you will never do anything so foolish again!” Alisaie said. “Swear it!”

Adalyn coughed, and kept coughing, before she managed to pull herself together enough to cross her heart.

I make no such promises about decisions that are more foolish, Adalyn thought to herself.

Alisaie seemed satisfied with this, though, because she nodded and stood, grabbing Lyse by the arm. “Come, let’s give her some space.”

“Feel better!” Lyse called before she was dragged away. “You were brilliant out there!”

Adalyn mustered up a smile as she watched them go, before her head fell back with a noiseless groan. She was exhausted.

When Adalyn woke, it was not in her hammock, but in a wonderfully comfortable bed; she lifted her head, and saw Carvallain was sitting on the edge of the mattress, shuffling and reshuffling what she realised was a divining deck like her own.

“You know,” he said by way of greeting, “‘tis a pity Alisaie holds our profession in such disdain. With that fire in her spirit, she would make an excellent pirate.”

Adalyn huffed out a laugh and nodded, struggling to sit up before Carvallain put a hand between her shoulders, helping her upright. It must have been his bed that she was sleeping in, judging by the size of the cabin and the fact it had an actual bed rather than a hammock.

“Her brother said you would like as not be up and about after a few hours’ rest,” Carvallain said, and his eyes crinkled in a faint smile as he tucked his cards away. “To which I said that seemed far too long a wait. I would daresay you’ve gone soft.”

Adalyn’s lip quivered, and she set her jaw, glancing away. Maybe they had been siblings once upon a time, but he was little better than a stranger, now. She could not let him see her cry.

“Oh, come now, I did not mean it,” Carvallain said. “I had rather thought instead you might laugh and challenge me to a duel, that you could prove your strength to me once more, but I see now the events of the day weigh heavy upon your mind.”

“When did you learn Sign?” Adalyn asked, hoping to change the topic.

“…When I learned Sign?” Carvallain asked, and Adalyn nodded. “My apologies, I did not take to it quite so easily as Alisaie.” He cleared his throat. “Alphinaud took it upon himself to begin teaching us. At first, he was instructing his sister, but then more and more of the Misery’s crew began joining his lessons. Your other Scion friends as well—including that blasted lalafell woman, who I daresay would have outstripped us all were it not for a certain Sharlayan prodigy.”

Adalyn snickered despite herself. “Tataru is a force unto herself,” she said, signing slowly so Carvallain could keep up. “She mastered her tailoring skills within just a few short weeks of our stay in Ishgard.”

Carvallain nodded; his eyes flickered to the choker at Adalyn’s throat. “You still bear the crest of House Fortemps,” he said softly. “…You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

Adalyn’s breath caught in her throat, and she nodded. “Did Alphinaud tell you?”

“Aye.” Carvallain glanced away. “He also explained the significance of that dragoon armour of yours. Still, I would rather it lay at the bottom of the sea without your corpse strapped into it.”

Adalyn shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Thank you,” she mouthed. “You saved me.”

“…Consider it an apology,” Carvallain said. “And but a slight repayment of the debt I owe you for all the times you have saved me in kind.” He sighed and patted Adalyn’s shoulder. “Do join us for our evening meal if you feel up to it, won’t you? And if not, I’ll have something brought in for you.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Adalyn said, uncrossing her arms. “I… I think I would rather sleep. But I can at least return to the berth—”

“You will stay right there until you have regained your strength,” Carvallain said sternly. “Captain’s orders.”

Adalyn was too tired to argue. She sank back against the pillow and gave Carvallain a clumsy salute.

She was asleep again before he left the room.

Chapter Text

The remainder of their days on the Misery passed far too quickly for Adalyn’s liking.

Though she understood the urgency to get to Doma, her only concerns at the present entailed helping out around the ship; though her memories remained stubbornly locked away, there was something familiar about the rhythm she soon fell into, and the crew was all too happy to regale her with tales of their shared past, of her forgotten history.

It was with Carvallain she found herself spending most of her time, and though there was still that awkwardness borne out of the strained circumstances of their relationship, Adalyn was more than happy to let him practice his signing with her as she accompanied him in his duties.

“It really is a shame about your voice, little sister,” he said one night as Adalyn lowered her fiddle, the dancers on the deck bowing low to the raucous cheers and applause of their audience. Carvallain himself had accompanied her on his own fiddle (“If my father knew what his violin lessons would be used for, he would never have paid for them!” he’d whispered to her, to which Adalyn grinned.) and as the applause died down, he drew his bow across the strings of his own fiddle, launching into another merry tune.

The bonny Rhotano Sea
Her waves do call to me
Hey lally ho
Across the waves we go
The waters rise, 'tis now high tide
Hoist sails, me lads, the sailors cry
Hey lally ho!

Carvallain slid off his perch atop a crate to join the dancers, his fingers flying over the fiddle, and Adalyn joined him with a silent laugh, her feet joining in to keep the tempo as she danced, weaving the countermelody into the song. Though she couldn’t sing with him, she whistled along, made much more difficult as she found herself fighting back the urge to grin when she spotted Alisaie pull her brother off his seat to dance with her, Alphinaud yelping as he tripped over his own feet.

Tataru had wrapped a good deal of the crew around her finger, and was by far the most popular dance partner among them. She stood on their feet while they danced bent almost in half to meet her, but judging by the shared smiles, not a one minded.

Adalyn caught Lyse’s eye as she danced, and Lyse grinned in return, clapping along in time with the beat. Adalyn inclined her head, motioning for her to join them, but Lyse laughed and shook her own head.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” she said, but Adalyn let her fiddle go, clicking her fingers and setting it to play on its own in midair. “That’s a good trick,” Lyse said as Adalyn approached, holding out a hand. “Wait—are you… asking me to dance with you?”

Adalyn nodded, grinning broadly when Lyse shrugged and put her hand in Adalyn’s, letting Adalyn pull her out onto the deck with the other dancers.

Lyse laughed as Adalyn laced their fingers together, their feet stepping in time with the music. “I’ll admit, I am a much better fighter than I am a dancer,” she said sheepishly, but Adalyn shook her head and placed a finger to her lips. “No more talking, got it,” Lyse said, to which Adalyn nodded, pulling Lyse closer.

The last time she had danced with anyone was Aymeric, but that had been a much more formal affair, with fancy gowns and fine wine. Here, the music was wild and the rum flowed freely, and Adalyn let herself be lost to the melody, laughing silently as she and Lyse danced amidst the crowd of pirates.

When Carvallain ended the song with a flourish, Adalyn gave Lyse one final twirl before letting go to catch her fiddle before the spell could wear off. She bowed low, grinning broadly as Lyse applauded quietly.

“You really are magnificent,” she said as the dancers began drifting in the direction of the rum. “I suppose this is where you learned to dance?”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug, glancing out over the pirates and biting her lip. It was a logical assumption to make, but not one she could confirm with certainty.

“Right, I guess you wouldn’t know,” Lyse said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But, er, it was good! You were… really good.”

Adalyn glanced up at her, smiling shyly, though the smile faded when Lyse inclined her head towards the stern of the ship, looking serious. “Would you come with me for a moment?”

Adalyn shrugged again and nodded, and followed Lyse away from the crowd to where it was a little darker, a little quieter. A little more private.

Lyse leaned against the rail, and Adalyn followed suit, looking out over the wine-dark waters rushing past behind them. In the distance, the stars shimmered above and reflected below, but here directly beneath the stern of the ship, the white wake churned up by the Misery’s passage was all they could see.

“How do you do it?” Lyse asked after a moment, and Adalyn inclined her head. “Find it in you to, I don’t know. Smile, laugh, have fun with these people you don’t even remember?”

Adalyn traced a finger over the railing for a moment before glancing over at Lyse. “I suppose… instead of thinking of them as old family I’ve forgotten, they’re strangers for me to get to know the same as anyone else. It pains me to think how much time I have lost, how many shared memories I’ve forgotten, but that’s all the reason to make new ones.”

Lyse hesitated, squinted, then laughed sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t get most of that.”

Adalyn bit back a sigh and dug into her belt pouch for her notepad, setting it on the railing to write. I try not to think about it too much.

Her pen hovered over the parchment before she huffed and pushed it over for Lyse to see, grimacing when she instantly saw how the other woman struggled to read her gods-awful scrawl.

“I suppose that’s certainly one way of dealing with it,” Lyse said quietly, and handed the notepad back. Was Adalyn just imagining it, the way their fingers brushed together? She swallowed, her hand tightening on the notepad, but Lyse turned away to look out over the ocean. “Maybe I’m simply thinking about it too much. Ala Mhigo is supposed to be my home, but I’ve been gone so long it’s like I’m a stranger there.”

Adalyn put a hand on Lyse’s shoulder and squeezed; after a moment, Lyse reached up to cover Adalyn’s hand with her own, and she glanced over, giving Adalyn a small smile. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You might not have much to say, but you always make it count.”

The words stung more than Adalyn cared to admit, but she gave Lyse a taut smile and nodded, letting her hand fall. Behind them, the music started up again, and Lyse inclined her head in the direction of the dancers.

“Would you like to share another dance with me?” she asked, and Adalyn let Lyse pull her away.

At least no words were needed for this.

“I suppose this is it,” Adalyn said as the shores of Hingashi emerged upon the horizon. Even from this distance, she could tell Kugane was a marvel to behold, and as they drew closer, it quickly became apparent that the city’s architecture was like a finely carved jewel rising from the waves amidst facets of colour.

“Our voyage may be drawing to a close, but ever shall you be welcomed home should you wish to join the Misery once more, little sister,” Carvallain said, clapping her on the shoulder. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Though I will not say the same for that blasted lalafellin woman.”

Adalyn snickered, bumping Carvallain with her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

“Do try not to make it five years ‘til our next reunion, will you?” Carvallain asked, and held out a hand.

They clasped forearms, and Adalyn pulled him in for a brief, albeit fierce, hug. When they separated, Adalyn bit her lip, wishing she could tell him of the sudden flash of fear that coiled in the pit of her stomach: What if she lost him again?

What if she forgot everything, only this time she’d be losing both her old family and her new one with the Scions?

But Carvallain’s Sign wasn’t nearly up to that level of fluency, and she didn’t much feel like trying to put pen to paper again and have to watch as yet another person struggled to decipher her handwriting. Though she could ask the twins or possibly Tataru to translate, the thought of burdening any one of them with her worries didn’t sit right with her.

So Adalyn instead forced herself to smile when Carvallain gave her a friendly shove back; she squared her shoulders and moved to join the Scions gathering on the deck.

Adalyn waited until they were all attuned to the Kugane aetheryte to announce her plans. “I’m going back to Ishgard.”

“What?” Alphinaud said, blinking rapidly. “But we just got here! Your aid would be invaluable in our search for Lady Yugiri and Gosetsu—”

Adalyn arched an eyebrow. “Would it?” she asked. “Because I would be astonished if a single soul here spoke Ishgardian Sign, and should the worst come to worst, full well do I know you’ll be able to handle yourselves in a fight.”

“What’s this about fighting?” Lyse asked, punching one fist into the opposite palm.

Alisaie snorted. “Case in point,” she murmured. She looked up at Adalyn, giving her a small smile. “If you say that you are needed in Ishgard, well, I’m rather inclined to believe it.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing while you’re gone,” Tataru added, planting her hands on her hips and grinning rather wickedly. “I’ll have located our missing friends before the night is out, just you see!”

“Then I shall strive to be back before then, that we might be reunited quickly and resume our mission,” Adalyn said. She clapped first Alphinaud, then Alisaie’s shoulders, gave Tataru a careful fistbump, and when she stood, found Lyse awkwardly go for what looked like a handshake before it turned into a one-armed hug.

“Hurry back, will you?” Lyse said, grinning. “We wouldn’t want the fun to start without you!”

When Adalyn arrived in Ishgard, she gasped at the sudden cold and let her clothes shift to her fluffy white coat, tugging the collar higher around her neck. For the briefest of moments, she lamented the loss of her dragoon armour at the bottom of the ocean; that had been designed specifically to ward against the chill winds that harried those who rode dragonback, after all.

No point in lamenting it now.

At least, that was what Adalyn tried to tell herself as she began walking.

She shoved her hands in her pockets as she walked, her shoulders hunched, the fluffy collar tickling her ears. The snow was falling again, bringing an eerie silence to the world, and Adalyn briefly wished she could be back in the warmer climes of Kugane with the Scions.

But she would feel useless there, without a way to help them in their search… and she had promised Carvallain she would try to sort out the problem that had been lingering over their heads for the remainder of the voyage.

First, though, she had people to visit.

Fortemps Manor was dark and still when it came into view, a stark reminder to Adalyn that Kugane was hours ahead of the sunrise. Perhaps it would be better if she waited to check in, say hello to Edmont and Artoirel and the household staff.

“Why would they want to see you?” said a familiar voice by her elbow, and Adalyn jumped, turning to see Myste standing beside her. “Do you remember how we came at his behest, in the midst of a raging blizzard? Here, with his family, how we found a warm home and hearth? How our reckless abandon broke them apart and threw away that which he might have had the chance to mend, had it not been for us?”

“That’s not what happened,” Adalyn whispered. “You know that’s not what happened.”

Myste’s hand crept into her own, his tiny fingers squeezing, and Adalyn’s heart ached as she looked down into those familiar blue eyes. “So, so many friends and loved ones,” Myste whispered. “Close your eyes and you can see them pass…”

Adalyn could.

Moenbryda. Minfilia. Papalymo.

Ysayle.

Haurchefant.

Gone too soon, and for what?

“A lesser person would be tempted to forget,” Myste said softly. “But we know better. We, who can never forget, because we have forgotten too much already. If it wasn’t for us, how many people would still be alive? How many suffered needlessly, how many of their loved ones suffer still, all because of our selfishness?”

Adalyn jerked her hand away, tugging her collar up higher as she turned on her heel. “It’s not like that,” she tried to snap, but her voice broke and she swallowed, averting her gaze. But she could still feel Myste’s on her, piercing, accusing.

“How many lives might have been that now never will be?” Myste’s voice was small.

“Shut up,” Adalyn said thickly, covering her ears.

“Forgive me!” Myste begged, tugging on her wrist. “Please, forgive me! I only wanted to help!”

“Shut up!” Adalyn snarled, her stride becoming faster.

“Can you even remember how many we killed? How many lives shattered, how many stories ended?”

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up—”

“Justice is an excuse. Nobility is a lie. Murder is murder! That’s what we are, Adalyn Keene! You have forgotten our past, our history, but you know what we are all the same!”

“I’m not!”

“They died for you! Sacrificed themselves for you! Your hand as good as wielded the blade!”

“I didn’t!”

“Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!”

Adalyn grit her teeth and threw open the doors to the Forgotten Knight, Myste’s accusatory shouts following her inside. She vaulted over the railing in lieu of taking the stairs, startling the patrons sitting at the tables below.

Sidurgu was sitting in the far corner, a young elezen lass his only company. He set his tankard down as Adalyn approached, his eyes narrowed.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” he said. “Couldn’t have made it a little less conspicuous, though, could you?”

Adalyn slammed her hands down on the table and leaned in, her eyes narrowing in turn. “Help. Me,” she mouthed, and Sidurgu met her gaze.

“...My room,” he said, and stood, gesturing for her to follow.

Chapter Text

Sidurgu led Adalyn to his room, the elezen girl trailing after them.

“Aren’t you the Warrior of Light?” she asked, and Adalyn nodded. “Everyone says you can’t speak. Is that true?”

Adalyn sighed softly and nodded, putting a hand to her throat with a grimace.

“Don’t ask rude questions, Rielle,” Sidurgu muttered as he shut the door behind them.

“How was that rude?” Rielle huffed, folding her arms. “I was just curious.”

Adalyn smiled and shook her head, pulling out her notepad. You’re fine, she scrawled, and Rielle beamed, looking up at Sidurgu.

He pursed his lips, looking unamused. “The Warrior of Light and I have business to discuss,” he said, and inclined his head towards the door that led to the adjoining room. “And it’s late.”

“I’m not a child!” Rielle protested. “I’m almost grown! Are you really sending me to bed—?”

“Stay up and read if you wish, then, but this is a private matter,” Sidurgu said, folding his arms and giving Rielle a look that booked no argument. “And don't even think about listening at the door.”

“Oh, fine,” Rielle said. She squinted at Adalyn for a long moment before turning to flounce from the room.

Sidurgu sighed, carding his fingers through his shock of silvery hair. “She’s a handful at times, but seeing her behave as a child her age ought is as heartening as it is annoying,” he said, though the fondness in his voice spoke volumes.

Adalyn nodded, giving Sidurgu a questioning look. She pointed to the door, then to Sidurgu, bringing her fingers together.

“...Asking how we met, are you?” Sidurgu said, and Adalyn nodded. He pursed his lips, and was silent for a moment. “I told you, when I found you with that knight, how Fray and I trained together,” Sidurgu said at long last. “We found Rielle fleeing from a unit of Temple Knights, who were clearly intent on doing her harm.”

Adalyn’s expression darkened, and she briefly closed her eyes, letting out a careful breath.

Sidurgu nodded. “Needless to say, Fray and I took issue with that, and chose to intervene. We went to ground after that, but Fray was caught out in the streets while fetching supplies…” He trailed off. “The rest, you know.”

Adalyn dug into her belt pouch for her notepad. You said his soul manifested to me.

Sidurgu hesitated. “In a way, yes. I think he imparted his dark arts upon you, but whatever form they have taken…” He rubbed his jaw. “‘A heart bleeds, a man weeps, a soul burns. Yet even in the depths, the flame endures.’ These were the words of our old master, before his death. I’ve heard the tales of your deeds, and know you are no stranger to grief.”

Adalyn’s eyes stung; her hand shook as she wrote. Noticed my powers stronger with emotion.

Sidurgu nodded. “To walk the path is to suffer. To sacrifice. Justice demands no less. Without a flame, the abyss will take you.” His mouth curled in a bitter smile. “And that’s why you’re here, is it not? You can feel yourself slipping over the precipice.”

Adalyn didn’t respond; her head bowed.

She heard her companion chuckle; there was no humour to it. “Slayer of Gods,” he said, circling her slowly. Adalyn stood still as Sidurgu examined her. “Rider of Dragons. Savior of Ishgard. A hero by any measure who stood against Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith when others fled. A hero who walks in light and fights for great causes...and a knight who walks in darkness and fights for the forgotten. A contradiction, some might say.”

He stopped before her, folding his arms. “But tell me—I would know your thoughts on what it means to walk the path.”

Adalyn’s pen hovered over her notepad.

There was so much she wanted to say, so little opportunity to articulate her thoughts properly. If she had a better grasp of her abilities, perhaps Esteem might appear and speak for her—but Esteem was silent still, and she didn’t dare call upon whatever sort of creation Myste might be.

Sidurgu watched her for a moment. “You might have an easier time if you tried switching hands,” he said, and Adalyn’s head shot up. “Worth a shot, at least,” he said, shrugging.

Adalyn switched the pen to her left hand, and her eyes widened when she realised that it felt right in a way it never had before. She looked up at Sidurgu, blinking. “How?” she mouthed.

Sidurgu inclined his head. “Fray was the same way,” he said. “Led with his right hand in battle, but in more delicate matters he favoured his left. I wonder…” He trailed off, then grunted. “Your answer, Warrior of Light,” he said, and nodded towards the notepad. “I would yet have it.”

Adalyn gave Sidurgu a humourless smile in turn. I see the path as another tool, another weapon to be wielded in the service of what I do, she wrote; though her scrawl was still untidy, it was easier to wield the pen now, and she took the time and the care to give her words the weight they deserved. Light and Dark are but two sides of the same coin, neither good nor evil on their own. If I can wield the Darkness for good, then all the better.

She held the notepad out to Sidurgu, who accepted it; he was silent as he read, and remained silent for another moment still.

Adalyn waited patiently, trying to ignore the uneven thud of her heart as she reminded herself of why she’d come in search of him.

At long last, Sidurgu lifted his head. “Ishgard has seen much change in recent days, and many proclaim it to be the dawning of a new era of peace and prosperity. An enlightened age… yet as we both know, the brighter the light, the deeper the shadows. But times, they are ever changing, and perhaps we dark knights must change with them. Long-held truths are become lies, and villains, heroes… or vice versa.”

Adalyn’s mouth twisted unhappily, and she nodded, thinking about the Heaven’s Ward, of Ilberd. Even Estinien had not been immune to Nidhogg’s corruption, though at least he was now free of that.

Where did she fall on the spectrum in her thirst for vengeance in the wake of Haurchefant’s death? Or in her hunger for the thrill of battle?

Sidurgu’s smile became a little lighter. “But I believe you might be the exception that proves the rule. The righteous are all too uncompromising, and woe betide the man who offends their delicate sensibilities. Not you, though… seeing you standing in that tavern means you yet strive to do better, be better.” He folded his arms. “I offered you my guidance once before. The offer still remains open.”

“He cannot help us,” Myste said, and Adalyn flinched when she felt the boy’s arms wrap around her waist. “How can he, when there is no helping the dead?” He pressed closer to her, and she could feel him trembling. “No one is beyond help, beyond redemption. This I must believe… but it’s hard. So very hard.”

Adalyn looked up at Sidurgu, praying he, too, could see the boy, and exhausted relief swept through her when she realised the au ra’s eyes were fixed upon him.

“...I see,” Sidurgu said, and Myste sniffled as Sidurgu knelt, putting them at eye level. “Name yourself, lad.”

“Myste,” he said, his voice small.

“A Brume rat’s name,” Sidurgu said. “But that’s not what you are, are you? Tell me, what do you intend to do with the Warrior of Light?”

“Forgive me!” Myste gasped, and his little fingers tightened in Adalyn’s coat. “Please, forgive me! I only wished to help!”

“Help who?” Sidurgu pressed, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? What are you?”

“We have lost...so, so much,” Myste said thickly, and Adalyn swallowed around the lump in her throat. “So many friends and loved ones. So many moments. We thought we could keep and preserve them...but we are left with anguish in the end.”

He pressed a hand over his heart; after a moment, it fell to his stomach, fingers digging in. “Time strips us of even this bitter remainder, if we let it. But I cannot. This pain, this sadness… it is mine to bear. Mine. Only mine…”

Myste let out a wail, sinking to his knees, and Adalyn felt the grief pierce through her like the lance. She staggered, hugging herself as she struggled to remain upright. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe; she struggled to suck down air, but her head was spinning. She was drowning on land, and the bodies of the dead and the damned reached for her with slimy, rotting hands.

Sidurgu opened his mouth to speak, when the adjoining door burst open and Rielle rushed in to hug Myste.

“You’re scaring him,” she said reproachfully, glaring up at Sidurgu before turning her attention to Myste. “It’s okay,” she said, rubbing his back. “Sid may look and act like a chocobo's arse, but he means well.”

“Rielle, get away from him,” Sidurgu said sharply, grabbing her arm and hauling her back. “He might look like an ordinary boy, but whatever he is, he’s not human.”

“He’s crying,” Rielle protested, fighting against Sidurgu’s grasp. “Whatever he is, he needs help! Isn’t that what you dark knights are supposed to do?”

She wrenched her arm free, and Sidurgu let her go back to Myste, kneeling next to him and offering him a handkerchief.

Myste didn’t notice, curling up in a tight ball on the floor and pressing his face to his knees.

“Oh, bugger and shite,” Sidurgu muttered under his breath.

It took a great deal of coaxing from Rielle (while Sidurgu hovered awkwardly to one side) to calm Myste down, but once his sobs died down to hiccups, he faded away, and Adalyn realised she could breathe again.

Her heart was still pounding, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she sucked down deep breaths, and Sidurgu must have noticed how shaken she was, because he sent Rielle to bed amidst her protests and took Adalyn outside, where they walked in silence through the icy streets, snow settling in their hair.

Sidurgu finally spoke when they came to a stop to lean against a stone railing overlooking the mountains in the distance. “Godsdammit.”

Adalyn could only nod in agreement.

“How long has this been happening?” Sidurgu asked, and Adalyn dug out her notepad once more.

Myste first appeared 2 months ago. But

Her pen hesitated, her brow furrowing as she thought back to the last time this had happened.

He isn’t the first manifestation. The other called herself Fray, then later Esteem. Been silent since Myste appeared.

Sidurgu frowned. “This… Esteem. Did she cause similar problems for you?”

Adalyn snorted. Could say that. Tried to fight me for control before I went to face Thordan.

Sidurgu’s frown deepened, and he let out a slow breath, looking out over the mountains. It was nearing midnight now, the moon high and shining brightly just beyond the peaks.

“Was she like Myste?” he finally asked. “Crying and wailing and begging forgiveness for her supposed sins?”

Adalyn swallowed, and her hand shook as she tried to keep her pen steady. No. Angry. Wanted vengeance. She paused. Like I wanted vengeance.

Sidurgu let out a slow breath. “You’re not the only one who’s lost people you care about, you know,” he said, and Adalyn sighed, closing her eyes.

“I know,” she mouthed.

“Rielle, she was being hunted by her own mother for the crimes of her heretic father,” Sidurgu said darkly. “She watched me kill the woman, clean her blood from my blade. Ystride would see her own daughter executed, and yet Rielle still grieves.”

Adalyn looked up at Sidurgu. “And you?” she mouthed.

Sidurgu glanced away. “Does it matter?”

Was it Fray? Adalyn scrawled, and Sidurgu’s mouth twisted.

“...Aye,” he said at long last.

I’m sorry.

Adalyn set her notepad on the railing, but Sidurgu didn’t look at it, keeping his gaze trained on the mountains in the distance.

“I won't pretend to know everything you've been through in your life,” he finally said. “A man can never truly understand what's in another's heart… and probably not their own, for that matter…” He sighed. “But if my theory is correct—Esteem was born out of your grief, your rage, and Myste was likewise born out of your guilt. Does that sound right?”

Adalyn swallowed down the lump in her throat and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She slowly nodded.

“Then this might very well be a battle you’ll need to fight alone,” Sidurgu said. He glanced down at Adalyn, giving her a wry smile. “Fortunately, there’s naught easier in this world than learning to forgive yourself, eh?”

Despite herself, Adalyn snorted, and Sidurgu cracked a smile.

“Come on,” he said, and turned away, inclining his head back the way they’d come. “Let’s get out of this blasted cold. Have you somewhere to stay?”

Adalyn nodded; though she had thought to call upon Fortemps Manor, she didn’t think she could face Edmont and Artoirel now, especially not with the risk Myste might be made manifest to them. Aymeric had been another option, but he certainly had far too much on his plate as it was; the last thing he needed was to worry about her more than he already did.

Besides, her friends were waiting for her in Kugane.

I have business elsewhere.

“Look after yourself, then,” Sidurgu said. He held out his hand, and Adalyn took it. “And if you ever require anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” Adalyn said, signing as she mouthed the words. “For everything.”

Sidurgu nodded, and let go. He disappeared into the night, and Adalyn found herself staring after him long after his form was swallowed by the darkness.

She took a deep breath, feeling small fingers creep into her own, but when she looked down, nobody was there.

“I know you’re listening,” Adalyn said, “so I’ll only say this once. If you cause trouble for us, if you cause us to lose anyone else in the coming days or weeks or even months, I will not rest until I have found a way to put you down for good, even if that means taking my own life. Do you understand?”

The fingers tightened in her hand before they vanished, and Adalyn took another deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. She smoothed her hands over the front of her coat, trying to steady their trembling.

“Nice chat.”

Adalyn tipped her head back, breathing in the cold night air.

Steady, Keene. Hold it together. You have to hold it together.

You have no other choice.

She let the aether carry her away to Kugane, and yelped silently when she found herself caught by Lyse’s waiting arms.

“I had a feeling you’d be back soon!” Lyse laughed; she was beaming from ear to ear, and Adalyn straightened, surprised. “I was just about to call you on the linkshell—we found Gosetsu!”

Chapter Text

“Off training alone again, I see.”

Adalyn froze mid-swing, her katana held an ilm away from the tree trunk. She’d been very careful not to hit it thus far, knowing that a single blow from her would like as not be enough to fell all but the oldest of trees.

Lyse was standing several yalms away, a small smile on her face, but she looked worried. “Is it alright if I watch for a bit?” she said, and Adalyn shrugged, turning away to resume moving through her forms.

She heard the soft crunch of grass and the creak of greaves as Lyse settled on the ground behind her, but Adalyn kept her eyes firmly trained on the target, her blade slicing the air. Hakaze, Yukikaze. Hakaze, Jinpu, Gekko. Hakaze, Shifu, Kasha…

“Gosetsu would never admit it, but I think he’s slightly terrified of how quickly you’ve picked up on his little lessons,” Lyse said as Adalyn whirled, cherry petals carried off the ground in the wake of her blade’s passage. “It’s honestly incredible.”

Hakaze, Yukikaze. Hakaze, Jinpu, Gekko. Hakaze, Shifu, Kasha.

“You’re incredible.” Lyse’s voice was soft, but Adalyn turned to look at her, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t be modest,” Lyse said, waving a hand. “I mean, even if I hadn’t seen you fight with my own two eyes, the tales of your deeds alone would be enough to tell me that! The Champion of Eorzea, Saviour of Ishgard—”

Adalyn made a cutting motion across her throat and put a finger to her lips.

“Er, okay, no talking about it,” Lyse said awkwardly.

Adalyn sighed and sheathed her katana, moving to sit beside Lyse on the dewey grass. Her notepad had gotten soaked beyond saving during their stint in the Ruby Sea, and without Alisaie to translate for her, she was effectively silenced.

“Is this about what happened in Tamamizu?” Lyse asked, glancing up at Adalyn.

You mean how I froze up? How I had to be shaken back to the present so I would stop seeing visions of the dead dragging me beneath the water?

Adalyn couldn’t bring herself to meet the other woman’s gaze, but the bob of her throat was answer enough.

“Well,” Lyse said thoughtfully after a moment, “you did almost drown facing the siren. I think anyone would be hesitant to risk that again, even with all the reassurances in the world. But look on the bright side—we’ll never have to worry about drowning ever again!” She grinned broadly, but her smile faded when Adalyn didn’t return it.

“Look,” Lyse said, and bumped Adalyn with her shoulder, “everyone gets scared sometimes. Even great and powerful heroes,” she added pointedly. Adalyn huffed. “But you can’t truly be brave without being a little scared sometimes, can you?”

Despite herself, the corner of Adalyn’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“It’s one of those things I admire about you, you know,” Lyse said softly, and Adalyn blinked, taken aback. “How brave you are. I thought it must surely be easy for you, with how powerful you are, but that just means you have to be brave against bigger threats the rest of us can’t deal with.” She sighed. “I just wish I could be strong enough to help you. It isn’t fair that you have to face these things alone.”

On an impulse, Adalyn leaned over and kissed Lyse’s cheek. Her own face felt hot when she drew back, but it didn’t miss her notice how Lyse’s was almost as red as her vest.

“Thank you,” Adalyn signed, and Lyse’s hand came up to touch her cheek.

“Ah, er, yes,” Lyse said, her eyes wide. “Ah, yes, of course! You’re, er, very welcome.” She gave Adalyn a small smile. “Will you come join the rest of us for breakfast? We’ll have a long day of information-gathering ahead!”

She jumped to her feet and held out a hand, twiddling her fingers; though Adalyn returned the smile as she let Lyse pull her upright, her smile faded when Lyse turned away, heading back in the direction of Namai.

Lyse and the others might very well be able to spend the days gathering information, but for Adalyn, her own time was spent wandering aimlessly, useless without the means to communicate with the locals.

She found herself heading outside of the village one morning, letting her feet carry her where they willed. Maybe this was another aimless wander, or she would be fortunate enough to happen upon wherever the gods best saw fit for her in that moment, as so often they seemed to. Adalyn had ended up in the right place at the right time one time too many to discount the possibility, after all.

“HELP!”

And today, it seemed, was no exception.

Adalyn broke into a sprint, pelting up the hill, crossing the distance in leaps and bounds and covering the ground in a fraction of the time it would have taken anyone other than a dragoon of Ishgard. Her eyes widened when she spotted the little girl surrounded by massive vilekin, and with a wordless cry, she flew forward, the blade of her katana slicing air and flesh alike.

The severed halves of vilekin fell to the ground with a sickening, wet squelch, and Adalyn winced when the girl shrieked, scrambling backwards.

Adalyn hastily wiped her blade on the grass and sheathed it, holding out a hand to the girl. She smiled, putting her other hand to her throat, hoping it would convey that she couldn’t speak.

“You…” The girl’s eyes were huge, her chest heaving, but after a moment, she jumped to her feet, laughing brightly. “You saved me! Thank you, Miss!” She bowed deeply, her hair flopping almost to the ground before she straightened, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m Azami! What’s your name?”

Adalyn’s smile faltered, but she swallowed, mustering up everything she could to produce some semblance of speech. “D’h’l’hn,” she breathed, and winced.

Azami tilted her head curiously, her face screwed up in thought. “Talin?” she asked, and Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Well, I’ll call you Talin! If you hadn't come along, I don't know what I would've done!”

Adalyn shrugged and shook her head. She cleared her throat, holding a hand out towards the village of Namai before looking curiously at Azami.

“I’m from the village, yes,” Azami said. “Oh, but before you take me back, could you help me with something? I only came out this far because I…” She suddenly hesitated, scuffing her toes on the ground. “Well, I was looking for flowers for my parents’ graves.”

Adalyn’s breath hitched, but she knelt so she was at eye level with Azami, cupping her hands together and summoning a lily of aether between them. She held out the lily to the astonished girl, who accepted it with wide eyes.

“Ooooh,” Azami breathed. “This is so pretty, Miss Talin! But…” She looked up, her face falling. “These flowers have to be yellow—only yellow ones will do. Mother wouldn't have wanted anything else, because they were her favourites.”

Adalyn nodded and snapped her fingers, and the lily burst in a wash of sparkling aether across Azami’s cheeks, making the girl giggle. Adalyn stood, holding out a hand, and Azami took it with a smile.

“Does this mean you’ll help me look?”

Adalyn nodded, and let out a silent yelp when Azami took off running; Adalyn scrambled to keep up without tripping over her own legs or running over the girl.

They located a patch of butter-yellow wildflowers not far from there, and Adalyn stood guard while Azami picked an armful of the sweet-smelling blooms. When Azami was satisfied with her haul, Adalyn followed her back to Namai, where they skirted the village to begin wending their way up a narrow path cut into the face of a cliff.

The air was cool and crisp despite the late morning hour, and a soft breeze ruffled their hair the higher they climbed. Adalyn found herself staring at the back of Azami’s head, wondering how a little girl who had lost so much could remain so cheery.

“It’s because she does not carry the guilt of their deaths,” Myste said from behind her. Adalyn grit her teeth, lowering her head. She refused to give the child—the thing the satisfaction of looking at him. “Not like you. You, whose hands are permanently stained with blood.”

“Shut up,” Adalyn muttered. “You’re not real. I ain’t even talking right now, just—hallucinatin’, that’s all. Shut up.”

For a mercy, he seemed to listen for once, because he fell silent; when Adalyn and Azami reached the end of the path, Adalyn glanced back, but Myste was nowhere to be seen.

“We’re here!” Azami said, and Adalyn turned to look at her as she hurried to the cliff’s edge, where a small cairn of stones marked a simple grave beneath a tree. Adalyn’s heart twisted as she approached, watching Azami lay the flowers by the stones.

“You should come closer,” Azami said, looking up at Adalyn. “I want to introduce you!” She reached out for Adalyn’s hand, tugging her along. “They loved to meet travelers and hear tales of faraway places. Maybe you could tell them about your homeland?”

Adalyn put a hand to her throat, but Azami shook her head. “You can tell them in your heart!” she said, smiling up at her. “My brother Isse says that’s how they’re able to hear us, so I’m sure it will work for you, too.”

Adalyn offered Azami a small smile in return, squeezing the girl’s hand. She stopped before the grave, looking down at it, and she swallowed.

Your daughter seems happy, in spite of everything that has happened to her. I can but hope to follow her example.

Adalyn sighed, carding the fingers of her free hand through her hair. I’m sorry that I got here too late to save you, but hopefully it shan’t be too late to save her and her brother. That’s why I’m here, after all—well, I suppose really I’m here because we hope that in freeing Doma, we’ll be able to likewise free Ala Mhigo. It all sounds so grand and ambitious, putting it like that… and I don’t think I was ever one for grand plans. To hear my brother tell it, I loved travel for the sake of it, and being a hero…

Adalyn glanced out over the valley, where the sun was just beginning to emerge over the high peaks of the mountains despite the late hour.

Most days it feels like I’m just going through the motions of being a hero, too.

Azami’s fingers tightened in her own, and Adalyn glanced down at her, wondering what the lass was thinking.

Children like her, they don’t deserve to be caught up in the wars fought by their elders. That’s why I fight.

Her eyes stung with tears as she remembered Ysayle’s words, from what seemed a lifetime ago now.

For a future where no child need freeze alone in the snow.

“Azami!” a boy called, and she and Adalyn turned towards the path. “Azami! Are you there? Azami!”

He crested the hill, his hands cupped to his mouth as he prepared to shout again, but when he caught sight of Azami, he blanched.

“What in the─? You should not be here!” He rushed forward, pulling Azami away from Adalyn. “Get away from my sister!”

Adalyn’s heart sank when she realised she recognised him—Isse, the boy who had warned her and her companions away from Namai the day they’d arrived.

“Don't be so rude!” Azami protested, wrenching her hand out of Isse’s. “She saved me from monsters, Brother—she even helped me pick flowers for Mother and Father!”

Isse’s glare remained firmly affixed on Adalyn as he said, in a low voice, “Go back to the village. Now.”

Azami’s breath hitched. “Y-You're scaring me—”

“I said go!” Isse snapped. “Stay inside and lock the door until I return!”

Azami turned and fled down the path, glancing over her shoulder only once before she was gone. Adalyn remained standing in place, unwilling to risk moving and upsetting the boy further.

When she made no move to protest, though, his glare softened, albeit only by a fraction. “...Don't think me ungrateful. My sister is the only family I have. If you saved her, then...thank you.” He glanced away. “But it changes nothing. I asked you to leave, and now I'm asking you again.”

Isse looked up at Adalyn, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I'm not going to report you to the imperials, or anything stupid like that. But it's too dangerous for you to stay here. So please, I'm begging you—just leave us alone!”

Adalyn hesitated, knowing she couldn’t promise that—not when so much was riding on their mission. She glanced back at the grave beneath the tree, then back to Isse.

I understand, she wanted to say, but when she opened her mouth, the words died in her throat like all the rest.

“...So she told, did she?” Isse asked quietly, and Adalyn gave a tiny nod. Isse glanced away, folding his arms. He didn’t look at her when he finally spoke again. “My mother and father believed in the rebellion. They left to fight for Lord Kaien. They came home on a cart driven by imperial soldiers.”

Adalyn put a hand over her heart, but Isse wasn’t finished. He kept talking, his voice rising. “The soldiers demanded that the families of the insurgents present themselves, or else they'd burn the whole village to the ground. So we did. What choice did we have?

“They beat us in the village square—with their hands, with sticks, with anything. They kicked us while we lay on the ground, begging for mercy. They made us denounce my mother and father—call them fools, call them traitors. Say they deserved to die. I heard them laugh, but I dared not look up. One leaned close and whispered in my ear what he'd do to my sister if they had to come back.”

His voice broke, and with it, so did Adalyn’s heart.

“They're gone, but they're never far. All it takes is the wrong word in the wrong ear, and they'll return. And then I'll have to dig another grave. If I'm lucky. Whatever you came here to do, leave us out of it. If you want to fight the imperials, go and fight them on your own. You can't help us. No one can. And this is all we've got. So please─don't take it from us.”

Adalyn nodded, but Isse was already backing away; he hesitated, before turning to run after his sister.

“This is what you leave behind, you know,” Myste said, and Adalyn closed her eyes. “All the men and women of the Alliance who pledged themselves to you, and now will never go home to their families. Never mind all the Garlean soldiers you’ve killed, I’m sure there were more than a few parents among their ranks. Tell me—how many Temple Knights did you kill on your charge through the Vault?”

“Sixty-five,” Adalyn whispered.

Myste was silent for a long moment before he slyly said, “I think you’re forgetting someone.”

Adalyn felt faint. “...Sixty-six.”

“At least the ones you killed directly had the mercy of a swift death,” Myste said. Adalyn flinched when she felt his arms wrap around her waist, but she still didn’t open her eyes. “Maybe little Isse’s parents were lucky in that regard, too.”

Adalyn pulled away to sit before the grave marker, folding her hands in her lap.

“Clifftop graves are such a sentimental notion,” Myste said from behind her. “Not that the dead can appreciate it, of course. I suppose it’s like a funeral, in that regard. How did you put it?”

“Funerals are for the living,” Adalyn murmured, her fingers clenching into fists. “Is there a point to all this?”

Myste let out a tearful, bitter laugh. “The dead are forever beyond our reach, and we have no choice but to accept the inevitability that everyone we know and love will join them in time. Yet you persist in this hopeless charade, playing the hero in an attempt to forestall the inevitable. And where does it get us? Where does it get the people who suffer and die in our name?”

Adalyn held very still when she felt Myste’s arms wrap around her neck from behind. His breath was cold on her ear. “Every life we took, every death that weighs upon our soul, do you not wish you could go back and undo the mistakes leading to each one?”

“Every day,” Adalyn whispered.

Myste leaned his head against hers, and Adalyn felt a tear land on her shoulder. “But if such things were possible,” he said, “we would not be left with a broken shield, now, would we?”

Adalyn buried her face in her hands, her sobs audible only to her. Not that it mattered; her only company was a figment of her imagination and the dead within their grave.

“Is this our world to suffer, or to shape?” Myste asked softly, and he settled beside Adalyn, pressing against her until she lifted her arm, drawing the boy into a loose embrace.

“The world is what we make of it,” Adalyn said at long last.

Myste shook his head. “And what of it have we wrought by our own hands?”

“I have to believe this is the truth,” Adalyn said, though the protest sounded feeble to her own ears. “I… I have to. Otherwise there truly is no point to any of this, is there? What’s stopping any of us from simply ending it all?”

She realised she was crying, and she reached up with her free hand to wipe away the tears that wet her cheeks. “It might not be much of a life, living under imperial rule, but it’s one Isse is determined to hold onto,” she said. “For both himself and his sister. If even a life so fraught with uncertainty and fear is worth living, then surely it’s also worth fighting to better.”

“An easy sentiment to hold, while they both still live,” Myste murmured. “Will you still hold fast to that sentiment when it gets them both killed? Or will you weep another river for the dead?”

Adalyn pulled her arm away to hug her knees, staring blankly past the grave into the distance.

She didn’t move, not for hours, until the sounds of shouting from the village reached her ears.

Run, Weapon of Light, lest you wish to be too late to save them, too.

They weren’t, but only barely. Adalyn couldn’t look Isse in the eye when she and Yugiri sent the conscripted villagers running back to Namai, unable to shake the horrible feeling that, perhaps, in a different timeline, they arrived to the scene of a senseless massacre.

But that had not happened now. She should feel fortunate. Accomplished, even, for infiltrating an imperial stronghold and rescuing their victims without a single casualty among them.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Because with the news that Zenos was arriving in Doma, Adalyn knew in her heart that they had only delayed the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before the Garleans came back, and this time, there would be no Weapon of Light to save the villagers from their fate.

The world is what we make of it, she had said.

So it was that she agreed to follow Yugiri on a suicide mission to assassinate the prince.

The clouds hung heavy and dark overhead, the smell of rain pervasive in the air from their perch atop the roofs of the abandoned village.

Adalyn’s heart thumped an unsteady beat within her chest when Yugiri spoke. “He comes.”

“This is a terrible idea,” she said, her fingers fumbling. Not that it mattered. Yugiri couldn’t understand her, anyway.

“I’m sure you’re telling me what a bad idea this is,” Yugiri said, and Adalyn gave a jerky nod.

Zenos had nearly killed her before; whatever possessed Yugiri to think she could defeat the prince alone, Adalyn was only there to get the shinobi out of the inevitable trouble she would soon find herself in.

But if there was a chance, even a sliver of a chance to end this war here and now, Adalyn had to take it.

A chance to be wrought by mine own hands.

“I can do this,” Yugiri said, and clasped Adalyn’s hand briefly between her own. “Where you were caught by surprise in Rhalgr’s Reach, he will be caught by surprise here.”

And then she was leaping off the rooftop, silent as a shadow, and Adalyn watched from her hidden vantage point, feeling ill.

Coward, a part of her mind whispered.

Zenos yae Galvus came into view, and it seemed Yugiri’s spies had been correct on at least one account. He was accompanied by a small contingent of soldiers, and under normal circumstances Adalyn would have said she alone could handle such an insignificant force—save for the presence of their lord. She saw him stop, the hideous visage of his Garlean mask tilted downward as he spoke to one of the soldiers.

Behind him and to his left stood Yotsuyu, a smirk on those painted ruby lips of hers between which was clamped her long, thin pipe.

Getting closer was the last thing Adalyn wanted to do, but if—no, not if, when Yugiri needed her help, she wanted to be able to do so quickly. She rose into a half-crouch and silently padded across the rooftops, blending in with the shadows.

“The village is not much farther, my lord,” one of the soldiers was saying as she came within earshot.

The mask turned, and Adalyn froze, thinking for a dreadful second that he’d seen her. But it seemed he was only surveying the ruins. Zenos’ voice was distorted behind the mask. “Hmph. Less a province than a graveyard. The rotting husk of a broken nation, devoid of proper sport…” He sighed dramatically. “But as His Radiance wishes…”

The soldier saluted. “Y-yes, my lord! A-and may I say how terribly sorry we are that you had to come so far!”

A morbid part of Adalyn wondered what expression Zenos’ mask was hiding. Contempt, perhaps?

“We laboured long to sow the seeds of hatred, of fear—to train them as beasts. Now we shall see the harvest. Let there be savage beasts baying for blood, and not hollow-eyed prey cowering in the dark, or there will be no joy in this hunt.”

Her stomach turned over. Monster. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the hilts of her daggers. She wanted to strike—but Zenos was no fool, this much she knew from their last encounter. He travelled with so light an entourage because he had no need of more.

A shadow detached itself from the building opposite and Yugiri leapt at Zenos’ exposed back.

He whirled, blade seeming to leap into his hand as he parried her strike in a screech of steel and sparks.

“AMBUSH!” one of the soldiers shrieked, but at a gesture from Zenos, they moved to surround Yotsuyu as he stepped forward to face Yugiri.

“How weak you are,” he sneered as his blade began to glow with aether, and Yugiri was blasted backwards. “Is this the sum of your hate?”

“This is only the beginning!” Yugiri leapt at him again, and their blades met in another spray of sparks; Adalyn could see the aether building around Zenos a moment before it erupted from him, sending Yugiri flying.

Adalyn could only scream silently as she watched Yugiri land in the dirt, struggling to raise herself on her elbow.

Zenos advanced, his sword glowing ever brighter. Yugiri lifted her head, and Adalyn could see its glow reflected in her wide eyes.

“It would seem that this is to be your end, instead.”

Twelve save me, she thought, and leapt from the roof, her shinobi garb changing to her dark knight armour as she called the massive greatsword to her hand.

Zenos whirled and parried her strike with such force that her very bones rattled, the shockwave of their collision blasting tiles off the nearby roofs.

He laughed as he pushed back, brushing off the shadowy tendrils she sent at the joints of his armour like he was swatting away annoying insects. “You’ll make a fine source of entertainment! Come, then, warrior! Show me the fire in your heart!”

Adalyn spat at him as her armour shifted once more, black robes whipping around her legs as she summoned a column of fire to surround Zenos.

She should have known he would walk towards her through the flames, a leisurely pace that would have better suited a garden stroll. He flicked several stray embers off his pauldron, and lifted his sword, lightning crackling around the blade.

Adalyn dodged aside, dancing backward as her robes became a tunic, stave turning into a bow whose string she drew back, an arrow of light forming at her fingertips. She loosed arrow after arrow at the slowly advancing prince, only diverting her attention to pick off the members of his guard that thought to try lending their aid to the fight.

It was a struggle to avoid his onslaught. Amidst the ruins, Adalyn found herself backed into a corner, barely bringing up her katana in time to avoid a killing blow.

“So you will entertain me with proper sport?” Zenos laughed. “So be it!”

Their blades met, time and again, and though Adalyn’s blood sang with the rush of battle, she could find no joy in this. It was a dance of partners where a single misstep, a single slip in her concentration meant certain death.

And if she died, so did the rebellion’s hope for the future.

She couldn’t keep this up for much longer. She had to get some distance between them, continue the assault from afar—

But when she drew on her dragoon training to try leaping out of the way of his next attack, Zenos called down a bolt of lightning that went straight for the metal of her blade and into her hands, up her arms, through her body.

She crashed back to the earth, twitching as tiny arcs of electricity danced over her skin and faded out.

Adalyn could barely muster up the strength to call on her magic, armour becoming white robes as she dug her fingers into the ground. She drew on the aether of the earth, trying to will herself to heal, when Zenos planted an armoured boot on her wrist. Adalyn could only scream silently when she felt her bones snap, the agony blinding.

“Ahh…” Zenos said, and through the haze of pain, Adalyn could see him looking down at her. “I remember you. Ala Mhigo. The champion of the savages.”

Adalyn grit her teeth, and stones erupted from the ground, flying up towards Zenos’ face. He leaned casually to one side, though one of the delicately sculpted horns on his mask was clipped, snapping off to land in the dirt beside her.

Zenos delivered a vicious kick to her ribs and Adalyn curled in on herself, gasping with pain.

“Oh, how fortunate you are to have survived,” Zenos said, and removed his helm. Long golden hair tumbled down his shoulders, and he turned the helm this way and that, studying the damage with a detached curiosity before looking down at Adalyn, a cold smile on his lips. “To have survived a blow such as that… it’s clear you have a burning drive to fight.”

He tossed the helm aside, uncaring, and moved to stand over her, the tip of his sword pricking below her chin. “I wonder,” he murmured, the blade dipping to trace a path down her chest, and Adalyn froze when it paused to dig in directly above her heart, “do you still bear the scars of our battle?”

Adalyn’s back arched when he plunged the katana into her shoulder, directly through the scar that marked where he’d last pierced her through and left her for dead in Rhalgr’s Reach. Her throat tore from the silent force of her scream, and Zenos’ mouth curled as his cold smile widened.

“And how fortunate I was to spare your life,” he said, and leaned in, his hair falling like a curtain around their faces. “Hear me, hero,” he purred, and grasped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Endure. Survive. Live. For the rush of blood, for the time between the seconds─live. For the sole pleasure left to me in this empty, ephemeral world─live!”

He twisted his sword and wrenched it free, and Adalyn blacked out.

Chapter Text

Is this it? Is this finally the end?

Adalyn was drowning.

She struggled for air, but her lungs were rapidly filling with blood, the seawater rising around her as she sank below the waves. She screamed, thrashing wildly, unable to swim high enough to break the surface. She sank rapidly deeper, her vision stained crimson as the waters became murkier.

Let go, Haurchefant whispered. Just let go.

Adalyn’s heart skipped a beat, and she began struggling her way towards the surface, even as her lungs filled with fluid.

Haurchefant would never say that.

Have to keep fighting. Have to. Have to…

But rotting limbs grasped at her own, dragging her deeper, and Adalyn wasn’t able to stop herself from inhaling the putrid water.

She jolted awake and promptly vomited.

“Roll her over!” she heard Alphinaud yell, and then hands were pushing her onto her side so she could empty the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

She felt like death warmed over—if she was being generous. Every ilm of her being ached, and when she struggled to sit up, the motion jostled her shoulder and sent blinding bolts of pain shooting down her arm.

“Easy, my friend,” Alphinaud said, and his face swam into focus as Adalyn blinked blearily up at him. “The threat is passed.”

Adalyn summoned a lily of concentrated aether to her hand and clapped it over her shoulder. She let out a silent scream as torn muscle and snapped ligaments knitted back together, her skin sealing shut with a fresh, taut scar over old and new injury alike.

“Adalyn!” Alphinaud cried, steadying her when she tried to push herself upright. “Please, listen to me! You are safe now, and among allies!”

“For once, Alphinaud has the right of it,” Alisaie said, and Adalyn’s head snapped up. Alisaie knelt beside Alphinaud, giving Adalyn a taut smile. “Oh, you had us worried sick! I would say I cannot believe you would do something so reckless… except I am not surprised in the slightest.” She sighed and sat back on her haunches. “You were fortunate to come back alive.”

“What happened?” Adalyn asked, her hand shaking as she signed.

“The village of Namai came to our defense,” Yugiri said softly, and Adalyn looked around to see her sitting next to Lyse on Adalyn’s other side. Lyse’s face was pale, but she gave Adalyn an encouraging smile. “Or, to your defense,” Yugiri continued, and bowed her head. “Had it not been for my reckless disregard for my own safety, you would never have been hurt. There are not enough apologies that could ever suffice…”

“I would have like as not gone to face Zenos alone regardless,” Adalyn said, Alisaie translating aloud for her. “If there is anyone to blame, it is me.” She glanced away, her cheeks burning with shame. “That he yet lives is a testament to mine own failure—”

“Oh, stop it,” Alisaie snapped, cutting her off. “Zenos is a monster; that you yet live is nothing short of miraculous. How do you think we would feel—how I would feel—if you…” Her eyes watered, and she hastily wiped them on her sleeve.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Adalyn hesitated before reaching out to squeeze the lass’ shoulder; her own arm burned with the motion, and she swallowed back a grimace.

Healing magic only accelerated the body’s own natural processes, and she had a nasty feeling the wound in her shoulder—opened once by Nidhogg’s claws and twice now upon Zenos’ blade—might never properly heal. Fortunate indeed she led with her right arm in battle.

“Um,” said a small voice, and Adalyn looked up, her eyes widening when she realised Isse was approaching. “Am I interrupting something?”

Adalyn shook her head as Alisaie scooted aside to clear a space for the lad, but he stopped several paces away, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.

“I, er. Wanted to see how you were feeling,” Isse said awkwardly, twisting the hem of his tunic. “After fighting that demon, I can only imagine…”

“I’m fine,” Adalyn said, shooting Alisaie a quick smile when she translated. “Or will be fine, once I have had a moment to catch my breath.”

Isse’s gaze darted towards the torn and bloodstained shoulder of her robes, and he swallowed. “...I suppose I ought to apologize to you. For… you know…”

Adalyn’s eyes widened when he bowed deeply.

“Thank you,” Isse blurted out as he straightened. “For not giving up on us.”

He ran off, Adalyn looking after him and feeling oddly lighter than she had in weeks.

“Well,” Alisaie said dryly, “‘twould seem as though your reckless heroism served as an inspiration after all.” She gave Adalyn a taut smile, which faded almost instantly. “Once you’re feeling up to it, we ought to discuss where we go from here. Though the Empire has yet to retaliate, the fact remains that we have revealed our presence, and signalled our intentions in so doing. It is only a matter of time before the imperials move against us.”

Adalyn closed her eyes. “I can only offer my apologies,” she said, her heart sinking. “If I had only managed to kill Zenos—”

“He almost killed you,” Alisaie said, and though she tried to keep her voice steady, it still wavered. “How do you think we would feel if you’d died?”

Adalyn glanced away.

Alphinaud put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “The important thing is that our friend is alive,” he said, and Alisaie huffed, but nodded. “And once she’s had a moment to recover, we shall need to discuss our next plan of action.”

Adalyn whistled to get his attention. “I am well enough to discuss it now,” she said, and snapped her fingers rapidly to cut off Alphinaud’s protest. “Time is not on our side, especially now that I’ve let Zenos know we’re here. It’s my fault the Garleans are alerted to our presence, and so it falls to me to fix this.”

“I would hardly say failing to kill that monster is anyone’s fault,” Alisaie said bitterly. She sighed. “And besides, your recklessness did serve as an inspiration to many. You should not be so hard on yourself.”

“If anything, the burden is mine alone to bear,” Yugiri said softly, placing a hand over her heart. “But Mistress Alisaie speaks true. Now that the people of Namai have rallied to our cause and showed us the strength of their conviction, I plan on travelling to the Azim Steppe in search of Lord Hien. I found him once before, and I am confident I can do so again. Moreover, it was to me whom he put the question of Doma's resolve.” She smiled. “I feel it my duty to deliver to him our people's reply.”

“Our countrymen's deeds speak for themselves,” Gosetsu agreed, pounding his fist into the palm opposite. “Lord Hien cannot deny the truth of their hearts! I will accompany you; too long has it been since I looked on his face. It would be of great comfort to see him again─and no small comfort if you were to join us in the search, I should add!” He laughed.

And so, they set off when Adalyn had a moment to recover—herself, Yugiri, Gosetsu, and Lyse—making the long, lonely journey to the Azim Steppe.

Alphinaud and Alisiae remained in Namai to prepare for the inevitable siege on Doma Castle, and while Adalyn was glad to know they would be more or less out of harm’s way, she still worried about leaving them behind… and anxious to be left without a voice once more.

To her surprise, Yugiri fell into step beside her early on their journey, looking oddly nervous for the normally put-together shinobi. “I realise it is far from my place to make such a request,” Yugiri began softly, “but… would you do me the honour of teaching me your language?”

Adalyn’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip as she hesitated, unsure of how to convey her thoughts on the matter—I would love to, but it would take far longer than the time we have.

“After everything I have put you through, I understand if you would wish to say no,” Yugiri continued, her eyes flickering as she studied Adalyn’s face. “But even knowing some few basic words would help us tremendously on our mission, do you not agree?”

“I certainly do!” Gosetsu boomed, and Adalyn jumped at the sudden volume. “If nothing else, it would be a way for us to pass the time while travelling!”

“I can’t say I’ll be the best student,” Lyse said, pounding her fist into the opposite palm, “but I can still help with some interpretation! I did pay attention to Alphinaud’s lessons on the ship,” she added with a grin. “Even if most of it flew over my head,” she continued, and Adalyn burst into silent giggles.

It was settled around the fire that night that Adalyn found herself pressed against Lyse’s side, sharing her warmth. Lyse and Gosetsu kept up the chatter, but Yugiri sat a ways away, her back to the fire, eyes trained on the encroaching darkness.

Adalyn was content to listen, though she would be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little to be excluded from the conversation through no fault of anyone’s. The lessons in Ishgardian Sign were a start, but that’s all it was—a start.

Not everyone could be the youngest students of Sharlayan, after all.

“You would be feeling sorry for yourself,” Myste sniffed, and Adalyn’s jaw set. “You’re fortunate the others still even want to talk to you after that disaster of a confrontation with Zenos. How many people are going to suffer and die now because of your incompetence?”

“I had to try,” Adalyn muttered. “If not me, who else has a chance at standing against him?”

Myste scoffed. “Not even you have a chance.”

Adalyn stood abruptly, striding past him to stand at the edge of the campsite where the light was swallowed by the darkness.

“Adalyn?” Lyse called after her.

“Let her go,” Gosetsu said. “I think our friend would like some privacy.”

Adalyn wanted to scream to the skies that no—she didn’t want privacy. She wanted to let out a howl that could pierce the firmament itself, to shout herself hoarse, something, anything other than to be trapped inside her own head, her shaky scrawl or sign the only substitute she had for speech.

She wanted to be able to tell the others her fears and hopes and wants and needs, to ask for comfort in the face of the terror of carrying the fate of two rebellions upon her shoulders.

“But even if you could speak,” Myste said beside her, “you wouldn’t burden them with this. That’s a privilege heroes can never know—the penance for our sins to bear these burdens alone.”

“I never asked to be a hero,” Adalyn said, and her voice broke.

Myste laughed hoarsely. “Didn’t you? Because I seem to recall your dear forgotten brother saying how excited you were to leave a life of piracy behind and join the Circle of Knowing. Just because you forgot the reasons why you took up the mantle doesn’t free you from your duty.” He laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. “Chin up, and keep smiling through the pain. It’s all we can do, now.”

Adalyn sank to the ground and buried her face against her knees, hugging her legs tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images of the dead and the damned reached for her once more behind closed lids, and she sucked in a shuddering sob.

“Adalyn?”

Lyse’s voice was soft as she knelt beside Adalyn, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Adalyn’s head shot up, and she sniffled, but nodded, giving Lyse a watery smile.

“What’s wrong?” Lyse asked, and Adalyn glanced away, holding her hands out before letting them fall. “…I guess that was a bit of a silly question when you can’t answer,” Lyse murmured. “Sorry.”

Adalyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Please come back to the fire?” Lyse said softly. “Surely it’s less lonely than being all the way over here by yourself.”

Adalyn shook her head. How could she even begin to say that it felt less lonely with only herself for company, rather than surrounded by friends she couldn’t even talk to?

Lyse hesitated a moment. “If you’re certain,” she finally said, and Adalyn nodded. Lyse leaned over to press a quick kiss to her cheek before she stood and headed back to the fire.

Adalyn twisted around to watch her go, her heart aching in her chest.

She missed Aymeric. She missed Estinien.

She missed Haurchefant.

She lingered at the light’s edge another few minutes before she stood with a sigh and went to join Lyse.

“Glad to have you join us!” Gosetsu boomed as Adalyn wrapped an arm around Lyse’s shoulders.

“Agreed!” Lyse said, beaming. “Your timing couldn’t be better; Gosetsu was about to share some Doman ghost stories.”

Adalyn smiled tightly and nodded, but as Gosetsu launched into his tale, she found her mind drifting back to the snowy streets of Ishgard.

The trading hub of Reunion, nestled in a valley of the Azim Steppe, was utterly fascinating to Adalyn—in no small part because of its founding tribe. The Qestir who mingled with the traders were easy to spot, their faces covered by gauzy veils, and they offered ready smiles to Adalyn when they realised she wasn’t about to try prising words from their lips.

Though, conveying what she wanted with just body language was an entirely different challenge; had the Qestir spoken a different form of Sign, Adalyn might have relied upon the Echo to translate for her, but she supposed even signed words still counted against their beliefs. Still, with some effort, Adalyn was directed to a young woman from the Mol tribe who introduced herself as Cirina and offered Adalyn a parchment and charcoal with a smile.

“I can read a little Eorzean,” Cirina said.

It was enough. Adalyn took a deep breath and, forcing herself to keep her hand as steady as possible, wrote, Hien.

“Oh!” Cirina said, her eyes flying wide. “You’re looking for Lord Hien? In that case—”

“How urgent this business must be to leave our conversation unfinished!” interrupted the trader whose stall they stood beside. “The kinsai. Will you buy it? There is but one bundle left. If not, then—”

“I will, I will!” Cirina protested, her tail flicking nervously. “Though I had not thought to pay so high a price…”

The merchant scoffed. “It is a bargain for which you should be grateful. If you lack the coin, then the fault is your own, and you will leave with nothing.”

“Please, I must have the kinsai!” Cirina cried. “The gods themselves requested it! We are bound to their will!”

Adalyn dug into her belt pouch and slapped down a handful of gil on the counter, but the merchant eyed the money even as Cirina protested Adalyn didn’t need to pay.

“Your foreign coin is no good here,” the merchant said, and Adalyn huffed, sweeping the gil back into her pouch. She crossed her arms, looking between Cirina and the merchant and raising her eyebrows. “…But if you insist, you can pay me the difference in whisperroot. I will sell it to the next apothecary to pass through Reunion, and we will each feel fairly treated. But do not tarry. Should another come before you, proper coin in hand, I will not refuse him.”

“I understand!” Cirina said, and bowed deeply before turning to Adalyn. “I’m so sorry to leave you, but we can speak of Hien when I return. I cannot leave without that kinsai.”

Adalyn blew her bangs impatiently away from her face, and her katana vanished, a longbow and quiver appearing on her back as her clothes shifted to hunter’s garb.

“…You would come with me?” Cirina asked, and Adalyn nodded, thumping herself on the chest. “Then let us hurry! There is no time to waste!”

They set off together, Cirina describing the appearance of the creatures she called dholes that they would need to fell in order to gather the whisperroot. When Adalyn nodded in understanding, they parted ways with an agreement to meet back at the stall when their hunts were successful.

It took them less than two bells.

As Cirina gratefully exchanged their spoils for her much-needed kinsai, Adalyn heard a familiar voice call her name, and she turned to see Lyse, Yugiri, and Gosetsu approaching, Lyse waving frantically.

“Where have you been?!” Lyse demanded. “We’ve been worried sick! One moment you were here, and then you were gone! You’ve been gone, for ages!”

“I’m sorry,” Adalyn signed, before Lyse caught her in a fierce hug.

“Are these your companions, miss?” Cirina asked, and Adalyn nodded as Lyse let her go. Cirina bowed low, almost bent in half at the waist and her tail lashing behind her for balance. “Apologies for causing you such distress. Your friend here offered to help me with an important errand—oh!” Her hands flew to her chest. “I’d almost forgotten—you seek Hien, yes?”

“You know where Lord Hien is?!” Gosetsu asked excitedly. “Then we have no time to waste! You must lead us to him at once!”

Cirina led them to the top of the grassy knoll that rose above Reunion, offering a stunning view of the trading hub and the Steppe stretching from horizon to horizon.

“I found Hien many moons ago,” Cirina said softly as they climbed the slope, “alone in the southern mountains and near death from many wounds. I brought him back to my village, and we nursed him back to health… and afterwards, he chose to remain, that he might repay us for our kindness.”

She stopped when they crested the rise to see a lone figure seated at the very edge of the overlook, his long black hair bound in a ponytail that was caught by the wind.

“The kami are merciful!” Gosetsu cried, but Hien remained still, not so much as turning his head to acknowledge their presence. “My lord Hien, full glad am I to see you are alive and well!”

Hien still remained still, gazing out towards the horizon. “Ah... You are come sooner than expected,” he said at last, his voice soft. “So. My blade or my head. Which would you have of me?”

Adalyn glanced at Yugiri, who to her surprise knelt, along with Gosetsu. “The people of Yanxia remain loyal to Doma,” Yugiri said, her head bowed. “I have seen the fire in their eyes─they are ready to rise up and fight. The time is ripe, my lord. Return with us, blade in hand, and lead Doma to freedom.”

“Naught less than liberty will suffice, then?” Hien’s voice went softer still, but still he did not look back. “A pity. It will prove far more difficult to deliver than my head. But if my people wish to pursue an impossible dream, then who am I to deny them?”

At long last, he stood, and turned to face them. His face was youthful, jaw framed with neatly-trimmed facial hair and his brow marred by a scar that did little to lessen his good looks and rather more to enhance them. His smile was warm and broad as he looked at those who had come in search of him. “Yugiri! Gosetsu!” he said brightly, but then a look of puzzlement crossed his face as he glanced between Lyse and Adalyn. “And… uh…?”

“The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, my lord,” Yugiri said, lifting her head. “Good and true friends who opened their hearts and homes to us when we fled to Eorzea. Far across the sea they have journeyed to stand with us in the fight for Doman liberation—to oppose the Empire, as they have in the West, where they are lauded as heroes for their many deeds—”

Hien held up a hand. “Say no more, Yugiri. Say no more.”

He approached Adalyn, who straightened, eyeing Hien nervously and hoping he wouldn’t ask her to speak, though she knew she would not be so fortunate.

At this distance, it seemed they were of a similar height, and a wild corner of Adalyn’s mind wondered not for the first time if she was a freakishly tall midlander or an unusually tiny highlander.

She shoved those thoughts away; now was not the time to entertain them.

Hien’s smile softened as he studied Adalyn. “I observed how you helped Cirina, to whom I am deeply indebted. For that, and for the aid you provided my people, you have my deepest gratitude.”

He bowed to her, to everyone’s surprise, and Adalyn took a half-step back, feeling very much like his gratitude was undeserved.

“Because it is,” Myste said, pressed up beside her. “What have you done besides get his people hurt? Get them killed? His gratitude is built on lies.”

Adalyn took a deep breath and placed a hand over her throat, but Hien shook his head.

“I understand you are mute,” he said. “Fear not; I am sure we shall find a means to speak soon enough. For now, I am content in the knowledge that there is no doubting your strength, nor your character… It would be my honour to fight by your side.”

He turned to Yugiri and Gosetsu, holding out his hands. “So—what of Doma? Arise, my friends, and tell me of our home.”

Chapter Text

Cirina and Hien led them back to the encampment where the Mol had settled, and there Yugiri, Gosetsu, Lyse, and Adalyn were welcomed with open arms—even moreso when Cirina told her tribe of Adalyn’s deeds earlier in the day.

Now, they were seated around a fire, the sky overhead growing dark with numerous stars emerging overhead, shimmering across the expanse like a million, million diamonds. The fires of the camp were warm and crackled merrily, and the rich smells of bubbling stews and steaming buuz and frying breads filled the air.

Adalyn sat with her arms wrapped loosely around her legs, listening in as Hien described his plans to the others—how he intended to overcome the trials of Bardam’s Mettle, win the Naadam, and return to Doma with an army of xaela allies to reclaim his country from the Empire.

It was, on paper, a good plan, but Adalyn couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of dragging yet another land’s peoples into their war.

If only she had been able to stop Zenos in Doma. In Rhalgr’s Reach. Something, anything.

She pressed her forehead against her knees.

Not good enough.

Someone settled beside her, and she lifted her head to see Cirina’s grandmother, the khatun Temulun, studying her with eyes so piercing they seemed to strip Adalyn down to her very soul. She swallowed.

But Temulun offered her a warm smile. “The gods whispered to me of your coming,” she said, and Adalyn sat up a little straighter, her brow furrowing. “Of a person whose soul shone with a singular radiance. Shimmering. Like a jewel of the Dusk Mother, blinding in its brilliance.”

Adalyn shook her head, her cheeks burning, and she glanced away. You’re wrong, she wanted to say. There’s nothing brilliant about me. Even my inhuman abilities in battle were bestowed rather than earned.

Temulun’s gnarled hand settled over Adalyn’s, and she offered her a smile. “Stars flicker and flock to you. Before such gathered light, even the secrets of the gods may be laid bare.” She looked out across the fire towards Adalyn’s companions, and Adalyn followed her gaze. “Some are fated to rise in grace and glory. Others to falter and fade, though not from memory. Both will be your strength and salvation come the end.”

She took Adalyn’s hand between both of her own. “Cherish the stars and the light they bring you in the dark. For you are a traveller, are you not? Wheresoever you go, remember that you are not alone. Remember that you carry the fire for them, and they for you. The gods know you, child… as do the stars in the heavens, which shone bright at your coming.”

Adalyn pulled her hand back, her heart racing wildly in her chest. She desperately wanted to ask for more, but even had the ability to do so been hers, Cirina chose that moment to approach with food. Adalyn took it, grateful for the distraction, and began eating with gusto even as she turned Temulun’s words over in her mind.

It was funny, how for all the epithets bestowed upon her, traveller was the one that seemed to resonate with her the most. All of the praises and accolades she was showered with felt false, empty, celebrations of the things she could do only thanks to divine help.

A traveller, though…

It felt right. Take away the powers, the titles, the fame, she would forever hold the selfsame wanderlust.

She finished eating and, without particularly caring if it was rude or not, licked her fingers clean and wiped them on her shirt before wrapping her arms around her legs once more, content to listen to the chatter around the fire and the music someone was playing across the camp. Adalyn closed her eyes, tuning into the melody.

What she wouldn’t have given for the chance to sing along, however briefly. But, not for the first time, she was forcibly reminded of what had been stolen from her.

Was there anything truly left of her own at this point? Stripped of her voice and her memories, she was little more than a puppet dancing along on fate’s strings.

She stood abruptly and slipped away into the night, breathing out a sigh of relief when she was a good distance away. Adalyn settled on the grass and lay back, folding her hands over her stomach. The sea of stars was spread out above like so many diamonds, shining brightly despite the vast distance between them.

How long had it been since she could truly claim a moment to herself? To get away from the demands of being a hero and simply just exist, listening to the soft sigh of the wind and the quiet song of insects in the grass?

Adalyn closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the night wash over her. As her attention wandered, she frowned, feeling a presence nudging at the edge of her subconscious—faint, distant, but unmistakable in its familiarity.

So Estinien had come to the Far East. Adalyn was struck with a pang of longing, and she squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. She wondered if Aymeric knew—if Estinien had even spoken to him since leaving Ishgard, and guilt gnawed at her stomach. Who was she to judge when she herself had been unable to bear facing Aymeric the last time she’d returned to the city?

It seemed like a lifetime ago since she’d faced Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith, but it had scarcely been two months. So much had happened since then.

Adalyn’s fingers drifted up to prod at the knot of scar tissue over her left clavicle. Between Nidhogg’s claws and Zenos’ blade on two separate occasions, it was a miracle she still had any use of the arm.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she was truly mortal. She’d survived so many things that ought to have killed her.

“You should have been the one to take the spear,” Myste said, but Adalyn clamped her hands over her ears.

You’re only as real as I allow you to be.

Her heart ached, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, focusing on the feeling of the grass beneath her and the wind caressing her face.

It’s okay to mourn, Esteem whispered, and Adalyn could have cried with relief at hearing the familiar voice in her head once more. Let the grief wash over you. And let it go.

Adalyn wasn’t sure how long she lay there, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, but when they at last subsided, she sniffled and sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

The faint ring of steel against steel was sounding in the distance.

Adalyn sniffled again and wiped her nose on her sleeve, getting to her feet and going to investigate.

On a small rise a fair distance away from Mol Iloh, Hien and Gosetsu were sparring. Adalyn paused, watching as the two men seemed to dance in a deadly choreography of blades, their katanas glinting in the moonlight.

Adalyn’s mouth twitched up at the corners as she watched the spar’s pace increase. She could recognise the techniques Gosetsu had shown her in Hien’s movements, and the two fought in that selfsame familiar way she and Estinien once had.

The spar ended in a draw, Hien and Gosetsu standing several paces apart, swords raised, before Gosetsu laughed and sheathed his blade. “Ha! Not slowed by your old wounds, I see.”

“Nor you by yours,” Hien said, sheathing his own katana. His smile faded, and he glanced away.

Gosetsu inclined his head. “And yet, you seem troubled.”

Hien sighed; he lifted his hands, only to let them fall. “I know I should have fled with the others after Father died, instead of blindly fighting on. It was reckless and foolish, and there was naught to be gained from it. Everything to lose, rather…”

“We know no path save the one we walk,” Gosetu said. “I myself am in no hurry to meet those who have gone before─not while I have still to make amends.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “I must say, you are none the worse for your time in the wilderness. On the contrary, I would say you have improved. Mina’s little Master Shun. What a fine young man you've become!”

“A man should not be addressed by his childhood name,” Hien protested. “I've told you that before!”

Adalyn decided to make her presence known before she overheard anything she oughtn’t know. She cleared her throat, and Hien and Gosetsu swivelled to look at her.

“…Oh dear,” Hien said, rubbing the back of his neck as Adalyn approached. “I suppose you heard that.”

“Shh’n?” Adalyn forced out through her teeth, and Hien smiled sheepishly.

“Yes, yes, 'tis a name my parents gave me as a child—but I should like to think I have long since outgrown it! Overheard all that, did you?”

Adalyn shrugged as she approached, holding up her thumb and her forefinger so they didn’t quite touch.

“Only a little?” Hien guessed, and she nodded. “Hmph! Small comfort when it would seem as though you still managed to hear the most embarrassing part…” He grinned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his katana. “I was so close to cultivating a winning persona, but it would seem I shall simply have to earn it the traditional way instead!”

Gosetsu folded his arms. “There will be opportunity enough for putting on airs after you have returned in triumph to Doma. While you are a samurai of no small skill, Lord Hien, our friend here is uniquely talented.”

Hien barked out a laugh. “In which case, I shall ask her not to hold back!” he said.

Adalyn ignored the sting of being spoken about as though she weren’t a scarce handful of paces away from the pair, and she cleared her throat, pulling an impressive grimace. She tapped her bicep, looking pointedly at Gosetsu for help.

“Lord Hien, if you ask her not to hold back,” Gosetsu said, “there will very quickly be no future lord of Doma.”

Hien’s eyes widened slightly as he looked Adalyn over, and she rubbed the back of her neck, unease settling in her chest.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

Hien just chuckled and shook his head. “Do not apologise, my friend,” he said. “Well then, if my defeat is so assuredly guaranteed, I will merely ask for the opportunity to test my strength against your own! Will you grant me this wish?”

Adalyn couldn’t help but grin, and she nodded, her hand falling to the hilt of her katana.

“But!” Hien added, his eyes sparkling, “if I win, you will be honour-bound to divulge one of your darkest secrets.”

Adalyn snorted and nodded again, drawing her sword. Hien mirrored her, and the two settled into ready stances.

Hien eyed Adalyn for a moment; the two were of a height, or near enough, but while he was more visibly muscled, Adalyn knew her strength defied mortal limits.

It had been far too long since she’d needed to truly hold back; the last time she’d sparred with anyone had been Estinien, and he was the only person on the star capable of matching her.

The only person besides Zenos, Myste whispered, but Adalyn shrugged him off.

“I shall leave the both of you to your fun,” Gosetsu said.

Hien glanced up at him. “You are welcome to stay, if you like.”

“Ah, I am an old man, Lord Hien!” Gosetsu chuckled. “Sleep calls to me… and you do not need me hovering about like a brooding hen.”

“Very well, then,” Hien said, grinning. “I shall regale you with the tale tomorrow!”

He turned back to Adalyn, his eyes shining. “Shall we?”

It wasn’t even close to a contest. Adalyn let Hien throw himself against her, again and again, their blades throwing sparks across the ground every time she parried his strikes. She could read his every move, predict each swing, lunge, and feint, and when their eyes met over locked blades, Adalyn could see awe in Hien’s expression—awe, and more than a little fear.

But then they disengaged, and Hien lunged again, determined not to give up just yet.

Adalyn knew at this point he would not give up without landing a single blow—or until she effectively ended the spar. And Hien’s pride was not so important to her as to impress upon him that her strength was not just the stuff of Gosetsu’s tales.

And if she was being honest with herself, after losing so handily to Zenos twice over, she needed to be a little bit petty about her abilities, too.

Hien leapt, katana grasped in both hands, and Adalyn whirled to roundhouse kick him squarely in the chest. The wind rushed out of his lungs as he flew backwards, crashing into the dirt. He didn’t move for a long second, and for a horrible moment Adalyn feared she’d underestimated her own strength yet again.

But then Hien drew in a shuddering breath and sat up, beginning to laugh. Adalyn rushed over to him, aether swirling around her fingers.

“You fought well, my friend!” Hien said, and they clasped hands, Adalyn pouring healing magic into Hien’s body. “I was warned, and yet still found myself underestimating your prowess. You are truly remarkable.”

Adalyn glanced away, her ears feeling hot. She managed a small, noncommittal grunt in response and pulled Hien to his feet.

To her surprise, he bowed to her. “Thank you for indulging my request to spar. I feel as though I learned a great deal, crossing blades with a hero such as yourself. I have no doubt now that we have a purpose and a plan, that once we take to the battlefield together, we will have victory as well.”

Adalyn glanced away, reaching up to gingerly rub at her shoulder. It seemed to tingle with an aching reminder of Zenos’ monstrous strength that made her own pale in comparison.

“I can see the worry in your eyes,” Hien said gently, “but have a little faith, my friend. Tomorrow, we shall face the trials of Bardam’s Mettle and emerge triumphant—of that, I am full certain!” He chuckled. “They say no foreigners have overcome this trial, but, well, there is a first time for everything, no?”

Adalyn had no easy way to tell him that this was not the trial ahead that had her so worried, and didn’t particularly feel like trying. So she just gave Hien a wan smile and nodded, inclining her head in the direction of the Mol encampment.

“Yes, let us return and rest,” Hien agreed. “We shall need all our strength come the morrow—even one already so blessed as yourself. I would daresay even great heroes are still in need of sleep.”

Despite herself, Adalyn laughed, a quiet huff of a sound, and Hien chuckled too, turning and leading the way up the gentle grassy slope.

Chapter Text

The water was silky and cold against Adalyn’s skin, and she gasped as she plunged into the depths of the lake beneath the Dawn Throne. For a horrible moment, she was transported back to the battle in the Sirensong Sea, drowning in rot-choked waters—but then Adalyn inhaled sharply, and the clear, icy water that rushed into her lungs was enough to bring her back to the present.

No sooner had they cleared the trial of Bardam’s Mettle than Adalyn, Lyse, Hien, and Gosetsu were graciously invited by the Oronir to visit the Dawn Throne.

Adalyn had lingered behind her companions, stewing silently with her arms tightly folded against her chest as they attempted to negotiate with Magnai. It would have been laughably easy for her to break them all out, but not without heavy casualties to the Oronir and their allied Buduga alike—and regardless of their current predicament, they needed the tribes to be willing allies once the Naadam was over.

So, here she was, diving in a freezing lake for swordgrass to appease the Oronir’s demands.

She shook herself and swam deeper, pushing aside the slimy tendrils of lakeweed that clung to her arms and body. The sunlight barely penetrated to the depths she was at, and so Adalyn summoned a lily of aether to her hand, using its gentle blue glow to light her way.

Her arm still smarted where the yol had raked her with its talons; despite pouring all her efforts into healing away the injury, the scars still lingered. Maybe I’m going soft, Adalyn thought, and snorted, bubbles escaping her mouth and nose to go rushing to the surface.

“How else would you explain the vaunted Champion of Eorzea faltering in the face of a little lake?” Myste said snidely, and Adalyn flinched, squeezing her eyes shut.

You’re only as real as I allow you to be, she thought fiercely.

“Exactly,” Myste said, appearing before Adalyn. She grit her teeth and swam through him, but his voice still sounded in her ears. “And oh, which insecurities have opened the door to let me creep into your thoughts now? Is it perhaps the consternation over your disappointment at not being man enough for the Buduga?”

“Shut up,” Adalyn snapped, hating how her heart clenched at Myste’s words. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The kid’s got a point,” Esteem said, and Adalyn whirled to see her lounging on a bed of lake grass, picking at her teeth. “It’s not exactly typical to be upset your kidnappers don’t find you attractive enough.”

“They’re not exactly kidnappers,” Adalyn began, but Esteem threw back her head and laughed.

“Were you not considering how you might slaughter them all in your escape?” she asked. “We could still do it. Go back up to the Dawn Throne and make them suffer for daring to take our friends hostage.”

“I thought we were over the urge to slaughter anyone who mildly annoyed us,” Adalyn said grumpily, swatting through Esteem’s form and digging into the weeds.

“Mildly annoy, yes. Call us a woman, though? You needn’t suffer these fools to live.”

Adalyn’s hands stilled, and she grit her teeth. “I am a woman, despite whatever the hells you seem to think.”

“Of course, of course,” Esteem said, mock-placatingly. “And, ah, how many women bind their chests flat…?”

“For battle? Plenty,” Adalyn snapped. Her hands closed over a clump of swordgrass and she tugged, ripping it up by the roots in a swirl of mud that clouded her vision before she squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt small hands close over her face, and Adalyn stilled as Myste pulled her forehead against his own, his voice low. “Why do you insist on lying to yourself?”

Adalyn let out a frustrated scream and kicked off from the bottom of the lake, rocketing upwards and bursting through the water’s surface with the power of a dragoon’s jump behind her ascent. She landed at the edge of the lake, startling the Oronir who had been posted to keep an eye on her. She spat wordlessly at him, stalking past him to make her way to the lift, water dripping in her wake.

Adalyn’s foul mood had done little to improve in the wake of being sent with Gosetsu to spy on the so-called Undying Ones—the Dotharl tribe currently located in the desert to the southwest of the Dawn Throne.

Still too feminine for the Buduga, a little voice whispered in her head. She wasn’t sure if it was Myste’s, Esteem’s, or her own, but she squashed it down and kept walking.

Gosetsu, meanwhile, was in a surprisingly good mood, and kept up a stream of cheerful chatter as he and Adalyn walked through the waist-high sea of grass. Adalyn could only nod along; despite her attempts at Sign lessons, a few evenings were not enough to turn anyone into a fluent speaker. Even Alphinaud and Alisaie had taken several weeks, geniuses though they were.

“Wait,” Gosetsu said suddenly, holding an arm out, and Adalyn drew up to a stop. “I see tents in the distance there, lest my old eyes deceive me.”

Adalyn leaned around his arm, squinting in the direction he was looking. Sure enough, there was a little oasis nestled in the barren sands, colourful cloths marking out the tents that dotted the area. She nodded.

“Let us find a vantage point that we might be afforded a better view.”

They took a moment to look around, and Adalyn tugged on Gosetsu’s sleeve, pointing to a rise not too far from where they were. It would allow them to approach unseen and gain a better idea of the lay of the land.

Adalyn raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun—and her breath hitched when in the distance, she saw a pair of warriors surrounded by manzasiri. The great, hulking, trollike beasts were held at bay by the warriors’ spears, but they would not be for long. She grabbed Gosetsu’s arm and pointed.

“Those men are in danger!” Gosetsu exclaimed, and he and Adalyn took off running.

Adalyn drew her katana as she ran, and knowing Gosetsu would catch up, she raced across the ground in leaps and bounds, covering the distance at a dragoon’s speed.

The manzasiri roared and descended on the warriors. Adalyn lost sight of them in the fray, but as she drew closer, she caught a glimpse of one of the men through the tangle of limbs, laying motionless on the sand in a puddle of blood.

It was child’s play to take care of the manzasiris. Though the beasts were enormous, they were slow and not altogether smart.

A quick glance at the gutted warrior told her enough. She flicked the manzasiris’ blood from her blade and sheathed it, kneeling beside his injured comrade.

He coughed, blood splatting from his mouth and all over Adalyn’s face as she reached out for him. She winced, but summoned a lily of concentrated aether to her hand, pressing it carefully to the gashes in his chest. The wounds sealed up, leaving behind three scars so faint as to be nearly invisible.

“Thank you,” the warrior rasped. “I… I owe you my life.”

Adalyn smiled faintly and reached up to wipe away the blood on her face. Footsteps on the sand behind her announced Gosetsu’s arrival, and she glanced up as he joined them, breathing heavily.

“Forgive my late arrival,” he said, straightening up. “I am not as young as I used to be. Are you alright, my friend?”

“I will be,” the au ra said. His eyes shifted to his fallen friend, and his expression darkened.

“...Ah,” Gosetsu said quietly. “I am sorry we did not arrive in time to save him.”

The au ra’s mouth twisted. “That was no way for a Dotharl to die,” he said.

Adalyn inclined her head, but a woman’s harsh voice interrupted her thoughts: “What is this? Who are these outsiders?”

Adalyn looked up, blinking as she took in the newcomer’s appearance. She was, in a word, gorgeous; her snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes were a stark contrast to the slate grey of her skin, and the way she carried herself was with the unmistakable swagger of a very confident warrior. Adalyn glanced over the staff upon her back, quickly determining it to be that of a thaumaturge rather than a conjurer.

A very well-muscled thaumaturge at that.

All in all, someone to be respected—and, perhaps, more than a little wary of.

The woman planted her hands on her hips, her tail lashing, looking more annoyed than anything by the carnage before her.

“Sadu Khatun!” the injured warrior said, staggering to his feet; Adalyn jumped to her own to steady him when he swayed. “Forgive me. We were returning from our hunt when we were caught unawares by manzasiri. These ones saved me, but Geser is…”

Sadu followed his gaze to Geser’s body. Adalyn was used to people reacting strangely in grief, but the utter disdain Sadu held for the fallen warrior was… different.

She was silent for a moment before looking up at Adalyn, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you? Why have you come? Not to cross the sands, that much is certain. I have heard tales of travelers in league with another tribe. Are you they?”

Adalyn nodded.

Sadu’s eyes narrowed further. “Who do you serve?” When Adalyn was still silent, Sadu’s hand twitched in the direction of her staff as she took a half-step forward. “Answer me.”

“If I may begin to answer your questions before you ask more,” Gosetsu said, stepping forward, and Sadu’s gaze swung around to him. He paused, then continued. “We are friends of the Mol, and we are come to see the strength of the Dotharl for ourselves.”

“The Mol? The little lambs who wander to and fro at the behest of their gods?” The corners of Sadu’s mouth quirked up in amusement. “What fools you are to share the soil of such weaklings! Next you will tell me you wish to fight in the Naadam!”

Adalyn pursed her lips and nodded, her brow furrowing.

Sadu threw back her head and laughed uproariously. “Unexpected, but not unwelcome!” she said, casting her eye briefly back to the manzasiri corpses before looking to Adalyn. She spread her hands, a broad smile on her face. “I am Sadu, Khatun of the Dotharl. For your deeds, I grant you leave to walk among us. Come—look on our glory and despair. We fear no tribe, least of all the Mol.” She chuckled. “Though, if you were of the Oronir, I would burn the flesh from your bones here and now.”

She turned to the Dotharl warrior, glancing over his healed injuries. “Your wounds have been sufficiently tended to, yes? See to the corpse.”

“Y-yes, Khatun,” he said, but Sadu had already turned away, striding back in the direction of the encampment.

“So that is the leader of the Dotharl,” Gosetsu murmured, drifting closer to Adalyn. She nodded, watching Sadu’s retreating form. “Clearly not a woman to be crossed. But how callously she spoke of her dead! ‘See to the corpse’? Surely this warrior deserves better than that…”

He straightened up, a glower settling over his features. “Forgive me, Adalyn, but I cannot in good conscience ignore the callous disregard that woman showed for her kinsman! We must after her at once!”

Adalyn caught Gosetsu’s sleeve, but he tugged it free and stormed after Sadu; Adalyn darted around him, placing herself in his path with arms spread wide, but Gosetsu sidestepped and kept on his dogged course.

This is going to end terribly, Adalyn thought, but didn’t dare risk trying to physically restrain Gosetsu lest she hurt him. She jogged after him, slowing to an awkwardly lengthened stride to keep up with his own massive steps.

When they caught up to Sadu on the edge of the Dotharl encampment, she was already giving a report of what happened to another of her tribe. She surely had to notice their approach, though she gave no indication of it, carrying on her conversation. “How he died matters not,” she was saying impatiently. “Geser was a great warrior; he will return to us in time.”

“Not soon enough, Khatun. The Naadam is nearly upon us! Mayhap we should counsel restraint until after—”

“I do not understand,” Gosetsu interrupted, crossing his arms. “If Geser is dead, how should he ‘return’?”

Adalyn winced when Sadu grit her teeth, turning to glare up at him. “Silence. You come to spy on us knowing naught of our ways?”

Gosetsu shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck. “We know you are fearless. And that you are called the ‘undying ones’...”

Sadu smiled, though it looked more like she was baring her teeth as she punched her fist into the opposite hand. “That is true. None are braver than the Dotharl, for we do not fear death. With death a warrior must dance boldly. Fearlessly. For thus does his soul burn bright.”

She turned to look out over her tribe’s encampment, planting her hands on her hips. “Then, in death, his soul shines white─exalted! The flesh rots, but the soul endures. And ere the seasons have turned, so he shall return. When he is glimpsed in the eyes of a newborn, he is blessed with the same name, that he may grow into a great warrior once more!”

Adalyn’s heart leapt into her throat when she realised what Sadu spoke of was reincarnation. But before she could try to convey her excitement to the Dotharl, she was soundly cut off.

“You mean to tell me these newborn babes and fallen warriors are one and the same?” Gosetsu burst out. “Madness!”

The entire camp went very, very still. Adalyn froze with them, her eyes shifting between Gosetsu and Sadu as the latter slowly turned around to face him.

“I gave you leave to observe,” she said, her voice icy. “Not to insult our beliefs. Have care what you say. Otherwise, do as you will.”

She turned on her heel and stalked off, and slowly, the rest of the Dotharl returned to their tasks, though more than a few shot Gosetsu dirty looks.

Adalyn moved to stand in front of him, glaring pointedly as she crossed her arms, tapping her foot.

Gosetsu, at least, had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed as he cleared his throat, not quite meeting Adalyn’s gaze. “Such contempt as was in their eyes I have never known,” he murmured. “But for the soul to live on as they say is not something I can so easily accept…” He shook his head, folding his own arms uncomfortably. “Do they truly believe this? All of them? That in death there can be rebirth? ...Retribution?”

Adalyn pursed her lips, digging into her belt pouch for the bit of parchment and charcoal Cirina had given her. She normally loathed writing so much, but wanted to get her point across, so took her time to write as neatly as possible. There is truth in their words. The wyrm Nidhogg recognised my soul as the selfsame one that slew his brood-sister a thousand years past.

Gosetsu stared down at her carefully written note, then back up at her. “The tales of your deeds are difficult to believe, my friend, but I have never known Lady Yugiri to stretch the truth,” he said softly. “If you claim this to likewise be true, then… far be it from me to question your words.”

Adalyn tucked the parchment, now quite full with writing, back into her bag, and put a hand on Gosetsu’s wrist. She inclined her head towards the camp at large and placed a finger on her lips.

“Are you asking me to hold my tongue, or simply mind it?” Gosetsu asked, and Adalyn held up two fingers. “The latter, then.” He rubbed a hand over his head and sighed. “Very well, then. We came here in search of information; we cannot leave without speaking with Sadu’s people.”

Adalyn nodded, and held her arm out. Lead the way, the gesture said, and Gosetsu nodded, striding off.

Gosetsu heeded Adalyn’s urging to be more mindful of their hosts, and the information they gleaned from his questions was certainly enlightening. They met a man who claimed his son was his childhood best friend reborn; a boy excitedly told them how he was training to live up to his own namesake.

Adalyn thought she recognised one of the Dotharl as they approached, and sure enough, the way his own eyes lit up in recognition was unmistakable—though the first words out of his mouth were confirmation enough.

“I know you!” he said delightedly. “Reunion! The travelers with the Mol girl!”

“Aye, that would be us,” Gosetsu said, and bowed; Adalyn hastened to follow suit. “Never did we think our travels would take us this far, but it has been a most… enlightening experience, indeed. I am Gosetsu, and my friend here is Adalyn. Forgive her her silence; she is a mute.”

“It is of no matter. My name is Koko,” Koko said, his smile widening a little.

Gosetsu paused. “...Koko? Forgive me, but to mine own ears, that sounds like the name of a woman.”

Koko’s smile vanished, and he let out the sort of sigh that said he was very used to this sort of question. “Well, of course. That would be because it is,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “I died a woman and was reborn a man.”

Gosetsu didn’t quite manage to bite back a scoff, but Adalyn lit up, her mouth falling open in a delighted smile.

She wasn’t alone in that regard.

“You would scoff,” Koko said disdainfully to Gosetsu, “but it is of no moment─the soul is the soul, and the flesh the flesh. Many look only to the name and the flesh, and let these things dictate their perceptions—but consider Sadu Khatun. Three times before she died a man, yet she returns as a woman the fourth. Yet she is no less fierce,” he said, and his voice took on a hardened edge, “and any outsider foolish enough to think so will learn the truth to their peril.”

Gosetsu still didn’t look any more convinced, but Adalyn elbowed him reproachfully, and he cleared his throat. “Forgive my rudeness,” he said. “Your beliefs are… strange, to me, but I would like to understand. Is the khatun a woman or man?”

Koko looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “A stupid question. She is Sadu.”

Adalyn’s stomach lurched, and she swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself. It was difficult to breathe—or had she merely bound her breasts too tightly yet again?

Gosetsu looked down at her. “Is aught amiss, my friend?” he asked, and Adalyn quickly shook her head, jarred out of her thoughts. She dug into her pouch for the parchment again, and wrote with shaking hands, Neither woman nor man?

She held the parchment out to Koko, her thumb marking what she wanted to ask, but he shook his head. “I cannot read Eorzean script,” he said, so Adalyn passed the parchment to Gosetsu to ask for her.

Koko considered the question for a moment. “Sadu is Sadu,” he said, and shrugged. “I do not see why it must be any more complicated than that.”

Adalyn slowly nodded, biting down on her knuckle, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to flap her hands agitatedly. It was all so much to take in, and yet—it was as though so many answers had suddenly fallen into place for questions she had refused to ask for too long.

Told you so, Myste whispered in her mind.

Oh, shut up.

Koko inclined his head, watching her. His mouth suddenly quirked up in a smile. “I see,” he said. “You ask because you think yourself to be the same.”

Adalyn tapped herself on the temple.

“Or, rather, know it,” Koko surmised, and Adalyn nodded, giving him a shaky smile. “I would daresay, you are the first outsider I’ve not had to spend an age trying to make understand.” He glanced at Gosetsu out of the corner of his eye.

Gosetsu, at least, could take the hint. “Thank you for your patience with us,” he said, and clapped a hand over his heart. “We shall not bother you any longer.”

They left Koko to his devices, Adalyn very carefully not looking up at Gosetsu as they made their way back to Sadu—though she could feel his eyes on the top of her head.

Gosetsu asked Sadu if he might pay his last respects to Geser—a notion she found absurd, given as his body was nothing more than an empty shell—but they were directed to the edge of the sands in the west.

The sun was beginning to set when they found the body, and Gosetsu settled on the ground a few paces away, laying his katana on the ground beside him. Adalyn sat on his other side, loosely hugging her knees.

“Left for the vultures,” Gosetsu said quietly. “It seems an insult to the man.” He sighed heavily. “But the soul lives on, they say...these bodies no more than empty husks returning to the earth. Seen through those eyes, I suppose the sight is almost comforting.”

He turned to look at Adalyn. “I should like to know more of your past life,” he said suddenly, and her head shot up. “Of the… man you used to be.”

Adalyn looked away, frowning. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry at the painful reminder of Haldrath and everything he had done. Slowly, she leaned forward, using her finger to write in the sand. He was not a good man.

“Unlike you,” Gosetsu said. A large hand settled on Adalyn’s back, heavy and warm. “A hero to the people of several nations—what, then, do you suppose was the difference?”

Adalyn squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears. She let out a soft breath, lending a gentle burst of aether to summon a wind that blew her words from the sand, leaving a blank slate behind.

I am not a good person either.

“What nonsense!” Gosetsu said immediately. “If you are not, then how terrible the rest of us must seem in your eyes! You are too much like Lord Hien in this regard, I think—so quick to blame yourself for all the world’s troubles.”

Adalyn’s shoulders hunched, and she swiped a hand over the writing. She looked away, hugging her knees a little more tightly.

Gosetsu’s thumb brushed between her shoulders, and then he let his hand fall, folding them in his lap as he looked at Geser’s body. He was silent for a long while, and Adalyn made no move to get up, keeping vigil with him.

Her thoughts wandered—back to the camp, to Koko and Sadu. People like her.

Like him?

Adalyn frowned.

That did not feel quite right, either.

How had Koko put it? Sadu was Sadu.

And Adalyn was… Adalyn.

The stars faded into view, and she tipped her head back, looking up at them as though she might find answers above.

She jumped when Gosetsu broke the silence.

“Having borne witness to the rites of the Dotharl, I cannot deny there is a certain logic to it all,” he said. His hand fell beside him to lightly touch at the scabbard of his katana. “A samurai will die for his lord without hesitation or regret. But this is not because he delights in such sacrifice.” He shook his head. “It is because he has faith that his death will serve a higher purpose. There is an awakening in that instant, when the heart sings and the blood burns, and his soul...his soul finds peace.”

Adalyn nodded.

“Well, then. We must all be on our way─even Geser.” Gosetsu climbed heavily to his feet, and Adalyn rose to join him. “Let us return to the Dawn Throne, and pray that our tale is enough to satisfy our most radiant taskmaster.”

Chapter Text

Perhaps Adalyn ought to have treated the Naadam with a little more seriousness, she thought as she wiped the blood off the head of her metal-capped staff. She hadn’t dared use a bladed weapon, too concerned with the damage she might have caused had she let herself cut loose in battle.

She hadn’t forgotten her bloody charge through the Vault.

Here, though, the Garleans had routed, and almost all the participants in the Naadam would live to fight another day. The victory felt unearned to her, but she would take it over the string of defeats they had suffered lately.

Footsteps pounded against the grass, and Adalyn whirled, only to relax when she realised it was just Lyse—

—and then Lyse was leaping at Adalyn with so much force she staggered backwards, catching Lyse in a fierce hug.

You were brilliant out there, Adalyn wanted to say—but even if she could speak, her words would have been very swiftly silenced with a crushing kiss.

Lyse’s arms tightened around her, and Adalyn hugged her closer, the kiss almost desperate in its urgency.

This wasn’t like with Haurchefant, or Aymeric, or even Estinien. This was adrenaline and desire coursing together, riding the battle high of their victory. When at last they drew apart and Adalyn carefully set Lyse on her feet, they grinned nervously at each other. Lyse’s face was almost as red as her vest.

“We should go tell Temulun Khatun the good news,” Lyse said breathlessly, and Adalyn let out a silent bark of laughter, grabbing her hand and taking off running.

Though Adalyn would miss the open skies and rolling hills of the Azim Steppe, returning to the House of the Fierce—to Alphinaud and Alisaie, to people she could speak to—made the weight of the world seem to lift from her shoulders, however briefly. That they were returning with Hien in tow and with their ranks swelled with xaela allies only added to the celebratory mood.

Adalyn laughed silently as she knelt to catch Alisaie in a tight hug, and she held out her arm to Alphinaud. He smiled and stepped in, yelping when Adalyn pulled him in for an even tighter hug.

“I missed you both,” she said when she let go.

“And we, you,” Alphinaud said. “Not that we ever doubted your ability to succeed, but full glad are we to know your time in the Steppe was a rousing success indeed!”

“But enough about that,” Alisaie said, shaking her head. “How have you been?”

“Desperate for people to talk to,” Adalyn said, giving her a wry smile, and Alisaie laughed despite herself. “I learned some… interesting things. I shall be certain to tell you all about it after the excitement has died down somewhat.”

She looked up when she noticed Hien approaching, and she stood when he stopped before them, looking between the twins.

“Alphinaud and Alisaie Leveilleur, I presume?” he asked. “I am told we owe you much. It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

Alphinaud’s smile widened. “The pleasure is ours, Lord Hien. Though we were born and raised a world apart, our values are one and the same: freedom, justice, liberty. Each of which Doma shall soon enjoy once more.” He bowed deeply.

Alisaie made no move to follow suit. “Hopefully,” she said pointedly. “I understand you have brought an army?”

Hien chuckled. “Indeed. The Xaela tribes of the Azim Steppe have pledged their military might to the cause.”

“Good,” Alisaie said, nodding. “We, meanwhile, have secured the support of the Confederacy, and a not insignificant number of your countrymen. The Blue Kojin, too, have expressed a willingness to join the fight─provided you agree to certain trade agreements following the liberation of Doma.”

“The shinobi will render what aid they can,” Yugiri chimed in, coming to stand at Hien’s side. Her mouth twisted in the slightest of frowns. “However, Sui-no-Sato refused to answer our call…”

“No matter,” Hien said. “What forces we have amassed far exceed my original expectations. You have my thanks—each and every one of you.”

Alphinaud cleared his throat, glancing at Adalyn: “You should know that Zenos departed Doma not long after you left to find Lord Hien,” he said, and grimaced when he heard her breath hitch. “We know not the reason why, but it would seem he was eager to return to Gyr Abania.”

“What?” Lyse gasped in horror. “Have you heard anything from the Resistance? There hasn't been another attack, has there?”

Adalyn’s stomach churned at the thought, but Alphinaud was at least quick to put their fears to rest.

“Tataru assures me they are quite well. You need not worry. If anything, this turn of events would seem to be to our advantage.”

Alisaie pursed her lips. “But there the good news ends. Yotsuyu retains her position as acting viceroy, and we have reports that the garrison at Doma Castle is preparing for a massive operation…” She folded her arms, looking up at Adalyn. “We suspect that the Empire's attempt to eliminate you on the Steppe may have been a prelude to a larger effort to purge the remaining pockets of resistance within Doma.”

Adalyn cracked her knuckles, giving Alisaie a grin that looked more akin to baring her teeth. “They are frightened of our strength. If the Empire has reason to be afraid, victory will soon be ours!”

Hien laughed, throwing an arm around Adalyn’s shoulders. “The hero of the hour has spoken! And I for one am not inclined to argue.” He let go before she could protest, looking at them one by one. “In this place, in this moment… I call upon you all. Twenty-five years of oppression, of tyranny, of shame─it ends with us! We will prevail!”

The night before the siege of Doma Castle, Adalyn and Alisaie returned from patrol, soaked to the skin from the pouring rain. Lyse met them at the entrance to the House of the Fierce, wrapping towels around the both of them.

“There’s warm drinks waiting for you inside,” she said, and Alisaie let out a sigh of relief as she made an immediate beeline for the fireside.

Adalyn grinned sheepishly when Lyse tugged the towel a little higher over her shoulders, and then higher still to drape it over her head. “Gods, you’re soaking wet,” she said, shaking her head. “You didn’t ruin your new notepad already, did you?”

Adalyn shook her head; she’d actually left it behind when she smelled rain on the horizon, having no need of it while she was with Alisaie.

“Good,” Lyse said softly. “I know how hard the journey to the Steppe was for you.”

Adalyn grimaced, glancing away. She reached up to squeeze the water out of her ponytail, keenly aware of Lyse’s eyes following her every movement.

“Not long now, eh?” Lyse said into the silence. “I'm nervous, of course, but I also feel like...like I didn't know where I was going, but maybe, finally…” She folded her arms, looking away. Her brow furrowed. “Something's gonna change, you know? Really, really change. And when the dust has settled, we'll see what we've won...and what we've lost…”

Adalyn reached out for Lyse’s hands, and Lyse took them, squeezing gently. She opened her mouth, closed it, took a deep breath, and looked up at Adalyn. “We could die tomorrow, and… I don’t want things to be left unsaid.”

Adalyn’s stomach lurched. She had no doubts about her own survival with Zenos out of the equation; Lyse however, could very well die tomorrow, and the thought left her feeling ill.

“Well, Weapon of Light?” Myste asked by her elbow.

Adalyn pulled Lyse in, kissing her fiercely. Lyse let out a muffled noise of surprise against Adalyn’s mouth, and then she was kissing her back, leaning up on tiptoes to deepen the kiss. She pressed closer, heedless of Adalyn’s sopping clothes, clinging to the drenched fabric.

“Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?” Lyse asked breathlessly when she pulled away just enough to speak.

Adalyn nodded, and Lyse took her hand, tugging her along.

They found a chamber, empty save for a few crates being used for storage, and Adalyn found herself with her hips pressed back against one of them as Lyse caught her in another kiss. Adalyn shivered when Lyse’s fingers found the front of her white jacket, beginning to fumble with the buttons.

“I know this is your hero look,” Lyse murmured, “but I think I’d like the look of this much better off of you. Besides,” she added, grinning, “how on earth are you supposed to get dry while wearing that?”

Adalyn grinned shyly, feeling her face and neck go hot as Lyse worked the buttons open one by one. Lyse leaned in to leave kisses along Adalyn’s jaw, trailing down her neck as she reached up to unfasten the choker at Adalyn’s throat.

Adalyn’s hands shot up to grab Lyse’s wrists, and Lyse paused, drawing back; Adalyn shook her head, feeling her heart thud unevenly in her chest. Her hands trembled.

“..Alright, necklace stays on,” Lyse said, and Adalyn nodded, letting go with a small breath and an apologetic grimace. “Sorry about that… er. Should I…?”

Adalyn took Lyse’s hands and put them back on the buttons, and Lyse smiled. “You got it,” she said, getting back to work.

The jacket was pushed from Adalyn’s shoulders to land on the crate behind her with a wet splat, leaving her in her black sleeveless undershirt.

Lyse’s smile faded slightly. “Oh…” she breathed.

Adalyn’s stomach sank. Lyse’s eyes flickered from the heavy scarring on her chest, to her arms, travelling to the extensive burn scar on her shoulder that continued over her upper back.

“I—I’m sorry,” Lyse said, focusing on Adalyn’s face. “I just—was a little surprised, that’s all.” She reached up to put a careful hand on Adalyn’s burned shoulder, her touch gentle as she brushed a thumb over the warped skin. “...This was from Ifrit, wasn’t it? I remember you coming back to the Rising Stones…”

Adalyn wanted to tell her that although the first burn had indeed been Ifrit’s work, the continued scarring over her shoulders was actually thanks to Charibert—but did the distinction even matter at this point? The words would die in her throat without sound either way.

Her heart sank, the excitement already starting to fade as she reached up to cover Lyse’s hand with her own, biting her lip. She glanced toward the door, lifting her chin and glancing back to Lyse.

“...Right,” Lyse said awkwardly, her face falling. “Yeah, we should—we should probably call it a night.” She took a half-step back, crossing her arms uncomfortably as Adalyn straightened up, picking up her sodden jacket. “Sorry for ruining the mood.”

Adalyn shook her head and leaned in to give Lyse a quick kiss on the cheek, though her heart wasn’t in it. She turned and headed from the room, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes that left her vision blurry.

It was as she passed the aetheryte in the central room of their hideout that she heard Hien’s voice call out to her.

“Another restless soul!”

Adalyn turned to see him with a glass raised in invitation, a warm smile on his face. He and Gosetsu sat at a small wooden table, a bottle of sake between them. “Care to join us?”

Why not?

Adalyn put on a smile (“Keep smiling, always keep smiling, never let them see how much you hurt,” Myste whispered) and approached, draping her sodden jacket over the back of an empty chair.

“Oh!” Hien’s eyes widened as he properly took in her wet clothes and hair. “My friend, if you would rather change into dry things—”

Adalyn stubbornly shook her head, reaching for an empty glass and the bottle. She poured herself a generous amount and drank deeply, downing her drink in one. The alcohol burned as it slid down her throat.

“Well, then,” Hien said, “I must say, it is good to have your company this evening.”

“And I should like to hear your thoughts on the matter of tomorrow,” Gosetsu added, his tongue heavy with alcohol.

“That's enough, Gosetsu,” Hien said, shooting him a look. “You'll not convince anyone with your drunken ramblings. We've talked about this. All of us. We are flooding the castle tomorrow, and that's the end of it.”

“I know, I know! I accepted your decision, and I do not intend to go back on my word. Nevertheless, as the battle draws near, I cannot help but recall our many travails, and it fair compels me to speak…” Gosetsu motioned for Adalyn to pass the bottle back, and she did so, holding out her glass for him to pour her another drink after refilling his own.

Gosetstu drank deeply and heavily set the glass down. “In all my time serving as a leader of men, there are two failures which haunt me to this day. The first, our defeat at the hands of the Empire twenty-five years past, and the subsequent imprisonment of your father.” He nodded to Hien. “Long did I consider offering up my life in atonement, until Lord Kaien, allowed at last to receive visitors, called for me of all people… ‘For my unborn child,’ he said, ‘for my dearest Shun─live!’ My second failure, of course, was the betrayal of that selfsame command, when in the rebellion I failed to protect not only Lord Kaien, but Lord Hien too…”

He went silent for a moment, staring down into the contents of his drink. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “That I yet live, having known such disgrace, is an affront to the kami themselves… Yet you… all of you… saw fit to grant this shameful creature, this failure, another chance… to serve a greater purpose…” Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked up at them. “Thank you… for pitying an old fool…”

Hien smiled and reached across the table to pat Gosetsu’s hand. “Now, now, it is far too soon for that. Save your tears for the morrow. You may be sure we will have ample cause to shed them, be they for joy or despair.”

Adalyn nodded, setting her glass down and pounding her fist into the opposite palm. She wished she had her notebook on her to add to the conversation, but Hien seemed to understand her message clearly enough.

“Indeed, my friend! We who yet walk the path should not think too much on the destination. When the hour arrives, we shall welcome what comes with open arms.” He smiled at Adalyn. “Gosetsu is right about one thing, though—we have you and yours to thank for this chance. All debts will be repaid. On that you have my word. But first, we must live past tomorrow, no?”

“You’d better,” Adalyn mouthed.

Hien chuckled and lifted his glass in a toast. “I can certainly drink to that.”

The smoke was still billowing from the flooded remnants of the castle. Adalyn and Hien stood at the boundary of the floodwaters, looking out over the destruction.

The day was won, but at what cost? And how many more still would be added to the ranks of the dead when they set their sights on Ala Mhigo?

Gosetsu’s last plea for them to flee still rang in Adalyn’s ears. She felt sick to her stomach.

“We couldn’t save him,” Myste said, his voice small as he clung to Adalyn’s waist. “You promised! You promised!” he wailed, and buried his face against her side. “No more deaths! No more loss! What does this matter any more? What does any of it matter?! You promised we could better the lives of the people in this world, but all we have done is lead more to their deaths!”

He laughed hysterically, fingers digging into her side hard enough to bruise, and Adalyn inhaled sharply when she felt her ribs crack from the force. “What good are prayers to the dead? They have not ears to listen. Nor eyes to see or hearts to console. Naught remains of them save fleeting recollections soon lost to time and to the abyss, and we are left only with pain. A lingering sadness for names and faces consigned to oblivion. How are we to withstand this relentless onslaught which threatens to consume us? Is there no truth but this, that all men must die?”

Adalyn bit back a silent scream, and Myste screamed too, a horrific, bloodcurdling sound that turned her veins to ice. He disappeared, absorbed into her aether. She flinched, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, feeling the aether churning inside like a roiling storm.

Beside her, Hien gave no indication he had heard. The phantom was audible only to her.

“Gosetsu,” Hien murmured, his eyes clouded with grief. “You never failed us. Not once. You served my father faithfully, and I am a better man for your guidance. And the Doma we build together shall be better for it too.”

Adalyn put a hand on his shoulder, and after a moment, Hien reached up to cover it with his own, giving her fingers a tiny squeeze. She wondered if he could feel the way her hand trembled, feel the way she was barely able to remain standing as it was. 

“The fighting is over, my friend,” he said, and stepped away. “You should go and celebrate with your friends before your return to Ala Mhigo. …Enjoy your time together, while you can.”

The air felt thin as she watched him move to rejoin Yugiri, and the two of them bent their heads, talking in low voices. Adalyn’s vision narrowed to a point, going black at the edges, the shouting a cacophony in her head as Myste wailed and Esteem tried in vain to make herself heard.

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were wide open but she couldn’t see.

The air was icy on her face. Her legs burned as she ran, letting her body carry her through darkened slate-grey streets, and Adalyn gasped for air like she was drowning on land, rotting blood filling her lungs, twisted decaying limbs clinging to her own, the cries of those damned by her hand and the clash of blades ringing in her ears.

She burst through the doors of the Forgotten Knight and vaulted over the railing, her chest heaving. The patrons inside looked up at her landing; she barely registered their presence, focusing instead on the auri man in the back corner who stood at her arrival, reaching for the enormous greatsword propped against the wall beside him.

“Outside, now,” Sidurgu said, his voice low and urgent, and he took Adalyn by the arm, half-dragging her back up the stairs as Rielle hurried after them.

Chapter Text

They barely made it into the courtyard before Adalyn collapsed. Sidurgu caught her before she could hit the icy cobblestones, and she convulsed in his arms, retching violently as Myste’s aether clawed at her insides.

“What’s happening?” Rielle asked in alarm, and Myste began to laugh, tears streaming freely down Adalyn’s cheeks to freeze upon her skin.

“I—I don’t know,” he wailed, his voice issuing from her mouth. It sounded small, helpless, even as he fought to hold control over Adalyn’s body. Sidurgu carefully set her on the ground, and Myste curled into a ball, gripping at Adalyn’s hair as they rocked in place. “I can’t even remember why I came here! Can’t remember how many I have killed!”

He laughed hysterically, digging her nails into her face. Blood welled up in the tiny cuts he left behind. “Upon the surface of my soul are carved the sins of my past, but I know not how many those number! How am I to find a measure of peace amidst this madness when they are beyond counting, beyond fathoming?”

“Is that the Warrior of Light?” asked a distant voice.

“Adalyn, you have to fight it,” Sidurgu said, his voice low, urgent. “Whatever the shade has done to take control, this is not you. Remember, it is only as real as you permit it to be.”

Myste barked out a laugh. “You think she holds the reins when she is the slavering beast without control!” he cried. He curled into himself more tightly, pressing Adalyn’s cheek against the ground. “No,” he moaned, splaying their fingers on the freezing cobblestones before digging in. The stone cracked beneath their grip, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings. “No, I’m.. I am not a monster. I am still a good person. I… can still be… a good person…”

Running footsteps.

Myste’s gaze fixed on Sidurgu’s face, blurry through the tears. “Woe betide the man who stands opposed to the Weapon of Light,” he whispered, “for death will be his reward. Woe betide the man who stands with the Weapon of Light, for death will be his reward. Death for him and his kin and all that he holds dear.”

“Move aside,” Aymeric said desperately. “Let me see her!”

“No!” Myste cried. “Stay back!”

“Lord Speaker, it’s not safe!”

“I said, let me through!”

Myste didn’t struggle as Aymeric gathered them in his arms, brushing Adalyn’s bangs out of their face.

“Adalyn,” Aymeric said desperately. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

“She did,” Myste said, his voice small, and Aymeric’s eyes widened at the voice coming from Adalyn’s mouth. “We did. Us, and the memory of our sin.”

He gave Aymeric a cruel smile. “You would know all about sin, wouldn’t you?”

“Do not say such things,” Aymeric said firmly. “Adalyn, whatever has happened to you, we can fix this. Where are the Scions?”

Myste laughed in his face. “Gone!” he said. “And they’re better off for it! Like sands through the hourglass, everything we fight so desperately to protect slips through our fingers… and what remains… what remains…”

Adalyn convulsed again, squeezing her eyes shut. Help. Help me. I cannot do this alone.

“I tire of this charade,” came a familiar voice, and Myste’s head snapped up to see Esteem standing over them, her body shrouded in shadows, her eyes glowing crimson, but there was no mistaking Adalyn’s features. “Serve... save... slave... slay... I've sins aplenty, aye, but regrets? Not so much.” She nodded at Adalyn, still held in Aymeric’s arms. “And if she wouldn't listen to me, the embodiment of good sense and pragmatism, then what hope could you possibly have? A house divided cannot stand, you know. This childish rebellion ends now.”

“What in the seven hells is this?!” Sidurgu demanded.

“I would very much like to know the same thing,” Aymeric agreed, his jaw setting as his arms tightened on Adalyn.

Esteem inclined her head, not taking her eyes off of Adalyn. Off of Myste. “...An offer of compromise, I suppose? Our dear friend here refused to let me take the reins, but I wasn't about to stand idly by while that imbecile tries to do… whatever it was he’s currently trying to do.”

“Can you help her?” Aymeric demanded, looking up at Esteem.

Esteem was silent for a long moment, watching Myste struggle to fight back sobs. She sighed, and knelt, grasping Adalyn’s face between her hands and drawing their foreheads together. She closed her eyes.

“This is wrong,” Myste whispered, his voice desperate. “This is all wrong. So many broken by this world, and then by us… the reckoning cannot be postponed indefinitely.”

Esteem chuckled humourlessly. “When that day comes, we shall welcome it with open arms. But ‘til then, do not seek forgiveness, for it will not ease the burden. It weighs as it should.”

“But what of the lost?” Myste asked, their voice small. “Do they not deserve to live again?”

“But they do,” Rielle piped up, and Myste lifted their head as Esteem stepped back to make way. “They live on in our hearts and our souls and our memories. No one likes having to say good-bye. But it's… it's a part of life.”

Her hand crept into Sidurgu’s, and he glanced down at her, his expression inscrutable. “That's what makes the time we share together so precious,” Rielle said, looking up at him. “You can't obsess over the mistakes of the past, or you'll lose sight of the future. Of the people still with us, who need us more than ever.”

Adalyn curled in on herself, her heart aching so desperately it felt like it might tear itself from her chest. Aether swirled around her, darkness rising up to envelop her, until her world fell away to the cold stones beneath her and Aymeric’s arms holding her steady.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice distant in her ears.

Everything was dark.

Adalyn knelt before Myste, looking up at the boy as he sniffled, reaching up to rub away the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You know what I am,” Myste said, his voice small. “Everyone you lost—everyone who died because of you! I’m the future you never got to have with him! How can you stand before me and not hate everything I am?”

Adalyn reached out to Myste, and he clung to her, his entire body trembling with great, heaving sobs. Adalyn squeezed her eyes shut, the ache in her chest swelling like a tidal wave, threatening to drown them.

“I can’t,” Adalyn said softly, hiding her face against Myste’s head. “I can’t hate you.” One of her hands came up to stroke the boy’s hair in small, gentle motions. “‘Tis not what he would want.”

Myste’s arms tightened around her waist. “When are we going to let that go?” he asked, his voice small. “When are we ever going to forgive ourselves?”

Adalyn was silent for a long moment, her hands stilling in Myste’s hair. “Forgiveness…” she said, choosing her words carefully, “is not a single action. ‘Tis the conscious choice to forgive, day after day after day.”

She drew back, reaching up to cradle Myste’s face between her hands. “Some days, I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I can forgive myself,” she said softly. “Earlier today, standing before the flooded ruin that was Doma Castle, you felt how terribly our heart ached…”

Adalyn gave Myste a watery smile, thumbs brushing away the lad’s tears that mirrored her own. “But I see now, how some days, no matter how terrible things may seem, I must forgive myself so that we may carry on.”

Myste threw himself into her open arms, and Adalyn caught him in a fierce hug.

“Listen to my voice,” Adalyn murmured. “Listen to our heartbeat. Listen… I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you…”

Myste buried his face against her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. “...Thank you,” he whispered. “That is… that is all I ever wanted.”

They remained there, holding fast to each other as time slipped away. Adalyn didn’t know how long she’d been there when Myste finally pulled back, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “So… this is it,” he said softly. “One last parting. One final farewell… after a fashion.”

He held out his hand, and Adalyn grasped it as she stood.

She squeezed three times, and Myste smiled up at her. He let go and stood back, lifting his arms.

Shadows began to rise around them, but the gloam was soothing—a warm summer’s evening, the chirping of insects, the soft smell of nightblooms on the breeze.

“In your darkest hour, in the blackest night… think of me… and I will be with you. Always.”

Myste’s voice began to fade as the shadows deepened, sinking into Adalyn’s body.

“For where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?”

Adalyn inhaled sharply and sat up, startling Beauregard off the bed. The cat disappeared in a flash of white fur and a yowl, claws briefly catching on Aymeric’s coat before Aymeric hastily untangled his pet.

“Adalyn!” He reached for her hands, grasping them carefully. Adalyn’s head snapped around towards his face, and Aymeric smiled, though it was strained from worry. “Are you alright?”

“Are you yourself?” Sidurgu asked, and Adalyn’s gaze swung to the dark knight standing guard just beyond Aymeric’s shoulder. Sidurgu’s eyes narrowed as he reached for the hilt of his greatsword.

“I am now,” Adalyn signed, and Aymeric hugged her with a sob of relief. Adalyn hugged him back, her fingers knotting in the fabric of his coat. She caught Sidurgu’s eye over his shoulder, and he met her with a steady look.

“You’ve been out all day,” he said as Aymeric drew back. “Feeling any worse for wear?”

Adalyn shook her head. “I… feel better, actually,” she said, Aymeric translating softly for Sidurgu’s benefit. “Almost like a—a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

Sidurgu inclined his head. “Lord Speaker, I’d like a moment with her, if you would.”

Aymeric hesitated, glancing to Adalyn. She smiled, a little sadly, and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s alright. He’s a friend. Truly.”

“I’ll be right outside,” Aymeric promised, and squeezed her hand briefly before he stood and left the room.

Adalyn folded her hands in her lap, looking up at Sidurgu.

He didn’t quite meet her gaze, glancing aimlessly around the room before he forced himself to look at her. “You gave us all a fright, your aether splitting like that and swallowing you up.”

Adalyn hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Sidurgu sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He was quiet for a long moment, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “I won't pretend to know everything you've been through in your life,” he said at long last. “A man can never truly understand what's in another's heart...and probably not their own, for that matter…”

He folded his arms again, staring down at the floor in thought.

Adalyn startled slightly when he looked up again. “You’ve done a lot for Ishgard, lass,” he said. “And by extension, Rielle and myself. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful for everything you've done for us. I like you. I respect you. We’re fellow walkers of the path; I'll always be here for you, if you need me.”

Adalyn twisted the bedclothes between her fingers. A tear dripped down the end of her nose, staining the sheets. She nodded.

“Look at me?”

Adalyn slowly lifted her gaze, and Sidurgu inclined his head. “I think, with the shade gone, there’s nothing left for me to do here,” he said. “But I think your beau wished to show you something. Who knows?” He offered her a small smile. “Maybe you’ll have an epiphany.”

Adalyn slid off the bed and caught him in a hug, heedless of the cold metal of his armour.

“Ah—yes, er, this is—” Sidurgu awkwardly patted her shoulder, and she let go. Sidurgu cleared his throat. “Oh, very well. I suppose this makes us friends, if you insist.”

Adalyn nodded, holding out her hand.

Sidurgu clasped her forearm. “Be well,” he said softly.

“And you.”

She watched him go with a small, but contented, smile. It was strange; for the first time in… however long, she felt oddly at peace.

She nearly slammed into Aymeric at the door when he moved to re-enter the room just as she headed out to find him. He caught and steadied her with a soft laugh, and Adalyn threw her arms around his waist.

“Oh, my dearest,” he murmured, holding her close. “Sidurgu explained what was happening, but stilll, I worried so... Full glad am I to have you back.”

They stayed like that for a very long moment before Adalyn drew away slightly to sign. “Sidurgu said you wished to show me something?”

“Indeed,” Aymeric said, and he held out his arm to her. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me, my lady?”

Adalyn looped her arm through his with a faint smile. “I would like nothing more,” she said. “Though… perhaps I ought to tell you…” She hesitated, letting out a shaky breath. When she spoke, her fingers trembled. “I am still trying to sort things out, myself, but… I am not entirely certain if ‘lady’ is the proper term, any more…”

Aymeric’s eyebrows flew up, but years of practice at concealing his emotions served him well, as he quickly regained his composure. “Then ‘twould be remiss of me if I did not ask what would be more suitable,” he said gently, and Adalyn felt her heart soar.

“In full honesty, I am not entirely certain of that, either,” she said. “To make a very long tale short, I… I have come to realise that I’m somewhere between man and woman, I think.”

“Is this perhaps related to why you bind your chest so tightly?” Aymeric asked, and Adalyn hesitated before tentatively nodding. She closed her eyes when Aymeric leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “Whatever you may be,” he murmured, “man, woman, or something else entirely—dark knight, or mage of the white—hero or commoner—you are my love, first and foremost. Nothing will ever change that.”

Adalyn sniffled, but her arm tightened in Aymeric’s as she looked up at him with a smile. He returned the smile, reaching up to gently brush away her tears before they could spill down her cheeks.

“I shall ask again, properly this time,” he said, and Adalyn let out a silent giggle, “would you do me the honour of accompanying me, my dear Adalyn?”

Adalyn nodded, and the two of them set off together. Adalyn’s fingers flew as they walked, and she told Aymeric everything that had happened since leaving for Kugane. Some of it, he’d already heard tell of in reports—notably, her encounters with Zenos.

“I know you will need to face him again ere Ala Mhigo is freed,” Aymeric said softly, “but twice you have faced him before, and twice he grievously wounded you. I refuse to let you go alone.”

“If not me, then who?” Adalyn asked, frowning. “If Zenos gave me such difficulty, then what hope would anyone else have against him?”

Aymeric was silent for a long moment, closing his eyes in thought. “...It pains me to admit that you are correct in this matter,” he finally said. “But though the task of killing him will fall upon your shoulders, the rest, you need not do alone. Ishgard will lend its aid in liberating Ala Mhigo—as will the rest of the Eorzean Alliance. Of this, I have no doubt.” He smiled sadly down at her. “We all put our hopes upon your shoulders, knowing ‘tis such a heavy burden to bear,” he said. “If there was even just one among us who might lend our aid in return, know that he will be there for you.”

They stopped on a walkway that overlooked the Firmament district, and Adalyn’s eyes widened.

“After all,” Aymeric said softly, “you have already done so very much for us.”

When last she’d seen the neighbourhood, almost all the buildings were shattered or scorched by dragonfire, soot staining the grey stones darker. Now, though, they seemed to gleam like dark pearls amidst shining lights in the windows, and the laughter of children echoed up to reach their ears.

“‘Twould seem your suggestion of Lord Francel for the position of restoration overseer was well-founded,” Aymeric said softly, and Adalyn pressed her free hand to her mouth, blinking hard in an attempt to chase away the sting in her eyes. “Shall we take a closer look?”

Mutely, she nodded, and Aymeric led her down the nearby staircase to descend among the streets.

Though the twilight hour was drawing near, the streets were still bustling with people, the mouthwatering smells wafting from the food stalls filling the air. Adalyn laughed silently as a group of children ran past, ducking between the legs of passing adults, and she turned on the spot to watch them go. One of them seemed oddly familiar…

“Maelie, my dear, do watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry, milord!” Maelie chirped, and she and her friends darted off around Count Charlemend de Durendaire. Accompanying him, leaning heavily on his cane, was Edmont, and Adalyn gasped, lifting her arm to wave.

“Adalyn,” Edmont said warmly as they approached. He smiled as he looked her up and down. “Lord Aymeric said you were back in the city, but… oh, my dear. ‘Tis good to see you hale and whole. Not a day goes by without your name being spoken, you know. The soldiers and merchants often bring us news of your latest exploits.”

“Indeed,” Charlemend said, inclining his head. “I would daresay the traders of Limsa Lominsa are more often interested in sharing word of your deeds than discussing business! To hear tell of it, you were last headed to Kugane?”

“I was, my lords,” Adalyn said, even as she wondered who among the Krakens Carvallain was sending to trade with his father. She glanced up at Aymeric as he translated for her. “I expect word of Doma’s recent liberation shall soon be reaching your ears as well.”

There was something extremely funny about seeing Charlemend’s mouth fall open in shock. Edmont, however, began to laugh, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. “One would think I might get used to your impossible feats, but you, dear girl, are just full of surprises.” He smiled. “Ah, but where are my manners? Welcome back, Adalyn—welcome home.”

Adalyn blinked, swallowing down the sudden tautness in her throat, but she smiled and nodded, feeling Aymeric’s arm tighten in hers.

“Lord Edmont, there was something here in the Firmament I wished to show Adalyn,” Aymeric said, “but now that you are here, I can think of no one finer. Might I trouble you to accompany us?” He inclined his head towards Charlemend. “Though, of course, if you had business with our present company, far be it from me to steal you away.”

“We were just on our way home,” Edmont said. “‘Twould be no trouble at all, if my companion does not object…?”

A small smile graced Charlemend’s features. “If you are referring to what I think you are, then I shall take my leave of you for the night.” He inclined his head in farewell and began heading back the way Adalyn and Aymeric had come.

Adalyn glanced curiously between Aymeric and Edmont as they led her through the streets, the crowd parting like water around a stone to make way when they realised who was passing by.

“It’s her!”

“The Warrior of Light!”

“Is that really her?”

“Shorter’n I expected…”

Adalyn felt the tips of her ears grow warm, and she hunched her chin into the fluffy neck of her coat, suddenly feeling rather shy. She’d been away from Eorzea for long enough she’d forgotten what such attention felt like.

They stopped in the Featherfall quarter, standing before the start of a large building’s construction. There was no indication as to what the structure would eventually be, and Adalyn looked curiously between Aymeric and Edmont.

“Though this place has yet to be given a name,” Edmont said, looking up at the scaffolding that rose overhead, “I hope to one day see it completed—a school to be opened to teach its lessons both verbally and in Sign, so that any and all who would wish for an education might attend.”

Adalyn’s throat felt tight, and she pressed a little closer against Aymeric’s side as Edmont turned back to look at her with a small, sad smile.

“I hoped perhaps you might have some thoughts as to what we should call it,” he said softly, “given that it is to be opened in Haurchefant’s memory.”

Adalyn’s heart stuttered, and she closed her eyes. A tidal wave of joy and sorrow swept through her, clashing like oil and water, mingling in bittersweet grief.

She didn’t realise she was crying until a tear threatened to freeze upon her cheek, at which she reached up to rub her eyes. “The Falling Snows,” she said, Aymeric translating for her. “When the Scions fled the banquet in Ul’dah, he suggested we refer to Camp Dragonhead as such, that our spirits might be lifted in our exile. No one was ever made to feel unwelcome in his halls,” she added, and Edmont glanced away, guilt flitting over his features.

“And likewise, none shall ever be made to feel unwelcome in these,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I find myself growing more and more sentimental in my old age… and in working on my memoirs, I have had to reflect on the darker chapters of my life.”

He closed his eyes. “Haurchefant… lived his to the fullest. If his story is preserved for generations to come, then I… I should be glad of it.” He looked up at Adalyn with a small smile. “The Falling Snows Academy. I think he would be pleased.”

“Aye,” Aymeric softly. “I think he would.”

They stood there for a minute longer, looking up at the school’s half-constructed edifice, before Edmont spoke. “‘Tis bitterly cold this day,” he said, inclining his head. “At times like these, one should be warming themselves by the fire. There’s a place at our dinner table for you—for the both of you, should you wish to join us.”

Aymeric looked to Adalyn, but she shook her head. She drew away from him, letting out a slow breath. Resolve kindled in her heart, warm like a burning fire. “I have business with the Scions still,” she said, and Edmont smiled sadly. “I left them on short notice, and they will have need of me, ere our march upon Ala Mhigo.”

Edmont nodded slowly. “Your destiny was never to remain here, was it? Though a part of me wishes that you would…” He shook his head. “You will always have a place here, Adalyn, for you are family. Now, go! Do not let us keep you from your labours. The world waits for none─not even you.”

Adalyn drew Aymeric down for a kiss, and he cradled her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. It was altogether too brief, and when he drew away, it was all she could do not to throw herself back into his arms.

“Ishgard shall ever stand behind you, should you have need of us,” he murmured. “I daresay we shall see each other soon.”

Chapter Text

The return to Doma was short-lived, for Adalyn and the Scions almost immediately set off for Castrum Oriens to begin planning their assault on Ala Mhigo. Carvallain would be carrying Hien and a contingent of warriors back to Gyr Abania to soon lend their aid; with the Misery’s outfitted engines, they would make record time across the ocean.

Hien bade them farewell, and one by one the Scions teleported back, Adalyn feeling lighter than she had in moons.

Ishgard was rebuilding. Doma was free. Soon, Ala Mhigo would be, too.

But of course, nothing could ever be that simple.

They returned to find Krile had been captured by the Garleans, spirited away by Fordola for unknown but doubtless nefarious purposes. Their forces successfully captured Castellum Corvi, but when the cannon of Specula Imperatoris was turned on friend and foe alike, Conrad Kemp was lost, along with far too many good soldiers of the resistance. In their confrontation with Fordola, they discovered she had been granted new, terrifying powers—at the cost of almost losing Alisaie’s life.

She carried Alisaie’s tiny, frail body back to Rhalgr’s Reach in silence.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say. But what good were apologies now?

Once she and the other healers were sure Alisaie was stable, Adalyn excused herself from the infirmary. She tucked herself away in a nook in the cliff face where nobody could see her, but she could look out over the whole of Rhalgr’s Reach.

Fordola’s words after cutting down Alisaie kept ringing in her mind: Lord Zenos invites you to join him for the royal hunt, to be hosted at the palace.

Adalyn let her head fall back against the sandstone, closing her eyes. If she concentrated, she could just feel Estinien’s presence, faint but distinctly nearby.

He’d been the one to destroy the cannon, she knew deep in her heart. It ached at the thought that he was so near, yet hadn’t once come to see her. It was like he was a ghost, watching from a distance.

Adalyn strained, reaching out for the connection, pushing harder than she’d ever dared attempt. Like a jolt of levin, she felt Estinien reach back—

—and then the connection slammed shut once more.

Adalyn let out a noiseless scream and threw her head back in frustration, cracking the stone behind her.

They were so close to finally seeing their goals realised, so why, why did everything feel so hopeless again?

She opened her eyes when she heard Lyse calling her name, and she peered out from her hiding place to see Lyse standing just outside the infirmary, looking around.

For a moment, Adalyn considered scooting deeper into the cliff face, pretending she hadn’t heard, letting Lyse wonder where she’d gotten off to.

“Adalyn?” Lyse called again, turning around, and Adalyn caught a glimpse of the deep lines of anxiety in her face.

Dammit.

Adalyn slipped from the crevice and let herself fall; even as she hurtled to the ground, it didn’t escape her notice how Lyse’s face lit up upon spotting her. She landed with barely a sound and approached, letting Lyse take her hand.

“I thought you might have given us the slip,” Lyse said softly. Her eyes flickered as she studied Adalyn. “...How are you feeling? You looked rather shaken earlier, but Alisaie is alright now. Will be alright.”

Adalyn closed her eyes.

How was she feeling? Terrible was putting it mildly.

Even if Alisaie would be fine, the guilt of letting the lass get hurt on her watch gnawed at Adalyn’s insides, coiling in her stomach like a viper.

Estinien was nearby, but shutting her out. He’d followed her across the ocean to Othard, but hadn’t bothered to say hello. And now he was here, nearby, but lurking beyond the edges of her senses, blocking her out.

And then there was Zenos. Twice now had Adalyn faced him in battle, and twice now he’d marked her skin with new scars as proof of his victory. She could not afford to lose against him a third time. There was too much at stake.

Always, there was too much at stake. Countless lives, always riding on her, and no matter how many she saved, death still followed in her wake. Gosetsu, Conrad, who knew how many other lives had been lost in service of the war she had been chosen to champion?

Ishgard is rebuilding. Doma will soon rebuild. And, if you can free Ala Mhigo, they will, too.

Adalyn opened her eyes to find Lyse watching her.

“I’m drowning,” Adalyn wanted to say. “Help me.”

She cradled Lyse’s face between her hands and kissed her. It was urgent, clinging, and Lyse returned it for a moment before she broke off the kiss. Her eyes were filled with worry.

“Adalyn?” Lyse asked again, and Adalyn realised she’d been staring at her. She shook herself, but Lyse put a hand on her shoulder, smiling. “Tell you what. Wait right there—don’t move. I will be right back.”

Adalyn watched Lyse hurry back in the direction of the repurposed temple, inclining her head as she wondered at Lyse’s sudden change in demeanour.

She sighed, lacing her fingers behind her head as she began pacing restlessly along the path to the infirmary. She liked Lyse, might well have even loved her… were it not for the small issue of the communication barrier that stood between them.

Lyse was kind, and brave, and beautiful, and Adalyn could never tell her these simplest of thoughts without struggling to put them to paper first.

Lyse was no prodigy of Sharlayan who could master a new language in the span of a few moons. And it would be atrociously unfair to Alphinaud and Alisaie if Adalyn were to rely on them to translate in her love life.

She sighed again, turning on her heel once more, listening to the rushing waterfall that almost downed out the rising chorus of the waking dawn crickets.

A footstep. Adalyn turned—and her mouth fell open.

The Ala Mhigan gown clung to Lyse’s body, crimson silk draped tightly around her curves, contrasting sharply with the white of her flowing trousers. Lyse grinned shyly and twirled on the spot, her skirts flaring out around her hips. Adalyn was entranced, left blinking owlishly when Lyse came to a standstill, holding out her arms.

“Well?” Lyse asked, and gave Adalyn a nervous smile. “What do you think? I know it’s a bit old-fashioned, but… in a traditional sort of way. Yda wore it whenever she could…”

“Incredible,” Adalyn wanted to say. “You’re incredible.”

She stepped forward, her hands settling on Lyse’s hips, and she squeezed carefully, leaning in to steal a kiss from Lyse.

The gentle brush of mouth on mouth turned more heated, Adalyn letting out a noiseless groan as Lyse pulled her down closer to deepen the kiss.

“Come with me,” Lyse whispered against Adalyn’s mouth, and Adalyn shivered, a little thrill racing up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. “I want to show you something.”

Lyse drew away, her fingers sliding down Adalyn’s arm to take her hand. “I’m of a mind to get you out of those clothes!”

Adalyn’s face went scarlet, her eyes flying wide, and Lyse laughed.

“Oh, you should see yourself!” Lyse said as she tugged Adalyn along. “I’m only teasing. But I do have something for you—Ala Mhigan clothes of your own. I thought perhaps it would be well-suited for tomorrow’s battle… and much less likely to show bloodstains than your lovely white jacket!”

Adalyn laughed silently, squeezing Lyse’s fingers, and she allowed Lyse to lead her to one of the many tents in the Reach, where M’naago was busily stacking crates.

“So you talked Adalyn into it, huh?” M’naago said, and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Should be in there.”

Lyse let go of Adalyn’s hand to open the indicated crate, pulling out a folded length of fabric with a flourish. “Ta-daaaa!” she sang.

Adalyn’s hand flew to her mouth as she took in the Ala Mhigan garb. The fabric was an unassuming brown, accented with bits of teal and orange, its weave sturdy and designed for lots of movement. The long coat had but a single sleeve, its collar and hem trimmed with dark fur. Sturdy, practical, and meant for battle—a monk’s garb.

“Something tells me you’d be just as good at hand to hand combat as everything else,” Lyse said, passing the coat to Adalyn before digging into the crate for the matching set of fingerless gloves and open-toed boots. A loose pair of orange trousers were laid carefully over the top, and Lyse beamed. “Go on! Try it on, tell me what you think!” She paused. “Well—not tell, exactly—oh, bollocks. You know what I meant!”

Adalyn laughed noiselessly as she draped the trousers over her arm, holding up the coat for inspection once more. She seemed to recall the former monks of Rhalgr’s Fist dressed in ceremonial yellow, but perhaps this was an acolyte’s uniform, or more traditional daily garb.

She glanced up at Lyse, frowning slightly. “Are you sure?” she mouthed, hoping Lyse would understand.

For a mercy, she did. “I am,” Lyse said firmly. “When we storm the city, you’ll be carrying Ala Mhigo’s hopes for the future with you.” She punched Adalyn’s shoulder. “So go on—see how it fits!”

Still, Adalyn hesitated. The memory of Lyse’s startled astonishment at seeing the extent of her scarring was still uncomfortably fresh.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” M’naago said, and grasped Lyse firmly by the elbow, marching her out of the tent.

Adalyn still hesitated a moment longer, running her thumbs over the fabric of the coat. She took a deep breath, shucked her own coat, and slipped into the new one.

It fit as though it was made for her. Adalyn tugged on the trousers and tied them off below the knees, then belted the coat closed with the teal and orange sash. She donned the sandals and gloves, using her teeth to hold the lacings of the latter taut as she deftly tied the lacings with one hand.

She stepped out of the tent, and Lyse’s eyes immediately travelled down the length of her body.

Lyse let out a slow whistle. “Wow,” she said, looking visibly stunned.

“Glad it fits,” M’naago said, giving Adalyn a brusque nod. “Excuse me…” She ducked back into the tent to resume working, and Lyse stepped a little closer to Adalyn.

“It looks good,” Lyse said, her voice soft. She hesitated, then reached up to lightly touch Adalyn’s bare shoulder, her fingers tracing carefully over the reminder of their trial at Bardam’s Mettle that was still etched into Adalyn’s skin. Lyse’s eyes flickered up to Adalyn’s face.

“You look good,” Lyse murmured.

Adalyn’s ears burned, and before she could let herself think too hard about it, she cradled Lyse’s face between her hands, pulling the other woman in for a kiss. Lyse let out a squeak of surprise against her mouth, and then they were both laughing when Lyse stretched up on tiptoes only to overbalance. Adalyn caught and steadied her, grinning, and Lyse grabbed her hand.

“Come on,” Lyse said, and Adalyn let her be led up a footpath through the cliffs. “There’s more I wanted to show you.”

Higher and higher they climbed, Adalyn trailing her hand over the sandstone cliffs as they ascended. She slowly inhaled through her nose, savoring the scent of sun-warmed stone and settling dust. When they at last reached Rhalgr’s palm, she closed her eyes briefly, tilting her face back and drinking in the early morning sun before moving to stand beside Lyse at the edge.

The Reach stretched out below them, the thunder of the falls distant at this height. With the sun just creeping over the peaks that surrounded the monastery, the recesses of the valley were still blanketed in deep shade.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lyse said, and she squeezed Adalyn’s hand. “You’d never know a massacre occurred here over twenty years ago. Not even the Mad King’s own sister escaped the slaughter.” She glanced over at Adalyn. “You know, her name was Adalyn, too?”

Adalyn’s eyebrows crept up at this.

“...Sorry. Is that weird to say?” Lyse smiled sheepishly, her thumb brushing over Adalyn’s knuckles. “I suppose what I was trying to say is that… well, yours is a very Ala Mhigan name, and frankly it’s why you first caught my attention all those moons ago in the Shroud. Well, second—first was you doing the whole, erm, helpful and heroic thing—”

Adalyn grinned faintly and placed a finger on Lyse’s lips.

Lyse smiled and kissed Adalyn’s fingertip, then took Adalyn’s other hand as well, turning to face her fully. She took a deep breath, and looked up at Adalyn. “This coming fight is just as much yours as it is mine,” she said softly. “Which is why I wanted to take you up here.”

She let go, drawing away to stand in the middle of the palm, holding out her hands. “…Anyway, the real reason I asked you here was to sneak in a warm-up before the final battle. The  monks used to spar up here as part of their training.”

She grinned. “Care to join me?”

Adalyn settled into a ready stance, and Lyse mirrored her. They paused, watching each other in silent agreement for another heartbeat as the shadows lightened and the sun finally crested the mountains, bathing the valley in its bright glow.

Lyse rushed forward, darting and weaving, trying to rapidly strike Adalyn at various points. She might as well have been moving in slow motion. Whereas Lyse had to put all of her effort into her attack, Adalyn turned it into a game of dodging each jab and kick by fractions of ilms.

The hairs on her arms stood on end, sensitive to the passage of wind across bare skin. Her heart thumped in time with their dance, and Adalyn laughed silently as she caught Lyse’s next punch with her open palm.

Lyse froze, her eyes wide, before Adalyn shoved back, and she stumbled before regaining her balance and rushing Adalyn once more. Gone was Lyse’s smile, replaced by determination, but never once did Adalyn break a sweat.

Finally, she saw Lyse falter—just the barest of hesitations, but it was enough. Adalyn ducked around Lyse, hooking her foot around Lyse’s ankle and sending her crashing onto Rhalgr’s palm. Adalyn had her pinned before she had time to catch her breath.

The pair froze, staring at one another, and Adalyn suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that their noses were a hair’s breadth apart.

“I yield,” Lyse whispered, and kissed her, rolling them over.

Adalyn went willingly, kissing her back, but her heart wasn’t in it now that the fight was over. The thought settled like a stone in the pit of her stomach, and she gently but firmly pushed Lyse away. She stood abruptly, holding out a hand.

After a moment, Lyse took it, and Adalyn pulled her to her feet.

“Good match,” Lyse said, and Adalyn nodded. “Good match.” She brushed down the front of her red gown, her smile slowly fading. “I never did stand a chance, did I?” she asked quietly. “You were just playing with me.”

Adalyn glanced away.

Lyse nodded. “Well, it’s not for nothing that we have to keep placing our faith in you, time and again,” she said. She took a deep breath and let it out, moving to stand at the edge of the palm again. “But you’ve already lost to Zenos twice,” she said, and Adalyn closed her eyes. “If you lose again, you might…”

Adalyn crossed the distance between them and caught Lyse in a tight hug. Lyse hugged her back, and Adalyn pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head before drawing back, cradling Lyse’s face between her hands. Adalyn’s thumbs brushed gently over her cheekbones before she let go, thumping herself on the chest and smiling.

“Let me guess,” Lyse said, and a slow smile appeared on her face as well. “You don’t intend to lose a third time?”

Adalyn nodded, pounding her fist into the palm opposite.

She did not intend to lose again because she could not afford to. Failure was a possibility she simply refused to contemplate, because the alternative was too horrific to think about.

They stood side by side together, watching the shadows lighten as the sun rose higher.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Lyse said, and her hand crept into Adalyn’s, “we’ll be right behind you. No matter what.”

Chapter Text

Carvallain settled at the table in the captain’s cabin with a decanter of fine brandy and a pair of glasses, setting one in front of Adalyn and pouring drinks for them both.

Adalyn glanced up at him, her lips twitching in an attempt of a smile, but then her face fell again. She kept her hands folded in her lap, rocking slowly in her seat, her brows drawn together.

“You wished to talk about Ala Mhigo,” Carvallain prompted, picking up his glass and nudging Adalyn’s a little closer to her.

Adalyn swallowed, bobbing her head. Still, she hesitated, before placing her little notepad on the table between them, opened to a fresh page with a single sentence at the top: I want to know about our childhood.

Carvallain’s eyebrow crept up, and he glanced back at Adalyn, who was watching him… almost warily.

No, not wary. She was nervous.

“Adalyn,” Carvallain said, “what exactly happened when you faced Zenos?”

Adalyn’s expression shuttered, and she bit her lip.

Carvallain studied her for another moment before he sighed. “What more is there to tell that I have not already shared?”

Adalyn reached for the notepad again, her hand trembling as she wrote. Left-handed, Carvallain noted with no small amount of interest. Had she been raised in Ishgard, that almost certainly would have been quickly beaten out of her. He cursed himself for not noticing when she struggled during their lessons, but then again, they were both children. He’d done the best he could.

She turned the paper around to him. Just one word, written in her shaky scrawl. Please.