Where There is Life...

Brona leans deep into the hug, appreciating it for what it is — affection, freely given, from a friend who cares about her; something she’d gone most of her life never having, not until she woke up here in this place, in this future, and joined the Scions — and sighing into Nate’s shoulder. “Thank you, Nate,” she says quietly, to all of his words. “I…know I need time to think on it, but— thanks.” His words do help, his reassurance and comfort and wisdom. She’s…he makes her miss Oisin, sometimes, but the fact that he can think of him at all she owes to Nate himself, and— he does make her think of…it’s comforting. It’s comforting, and she appreciates the friendship she never thought she’d have, the understanding she never expected. She does love him, this dear friend of hers, and she’s glad for his advice.

Though that last comment of his…she leans back to look at him properly, eyes sparkling with teasing mischief. “Oh?” She asks, tilting her head with a smile playing on her lips. “You too, then? I suppose we’ve that in common, you’re right. I’ll certainly keep you stocked with coffee, but…” She leans in. “Tell me, Nate, this obnoxious bastard of yours— was he a tall, unfairly handsome Nymian Marine?” If Urianger had been the man she’d first met him as, still, the quiet and unassuming footstool of a librarian, kind and gentle and soft and completely forgettable if you only met him once…certainly he’d have her stumped. But she knows the truth now, the man they had nearly lost to his own foolish devotion, the man who is alive and thriving on the First more so even than the beginnings of his return she’d witnessed before the Calling. So she smirks a little, amused at her friend but completely, strangely enough, unsurprised. “I can’t blame you,” she adds, grinning. “He is very cute. You should see him now, my gods, what he’s wearing…” She’ll just leave that up to his imagination, there.

But still— she smiles. “Did you know,” she begins, eyes alight. “That Urianger spent nearly an entire week playing a riddle game with the faeries of Il Mheg. Almost an entire week. Seven days and seven nights, and he didn’t stop once. They all love him, he tells them stories and plays with them all the time. And there was this one I spoke to, it was the most adorable thing— the little one was absolutely convinced Urianger hated tea, somehow, so he kept on fixing him mugs of it just to see him make faces— but wasn’t Urianger so polite, that he would finish the whole thing anyway!” She shakes her head. “That’s not even getting into the madcap scheme we’re up to now, my gods, we were all about ready to strangle him on the spot when he suggested we use our memories of the primals to help restore the balance of aether to the part of the First still in stasis.” She shudders. “I never thought I’d have to fight Titan again, but…” She makes a face, and then laughs. “He’s a bastard, alright,” she says warmly. “But I don’t think any of us would want him to go back to how he was before.” Least of all, she thinks, Nate.

“Think nothing of it, Brona,” Natan says, voice warm and fond, and means every word of it. Whatever she needs to do to settle herself on this matter, he has no intention of judging her. If anything, he truly believes it to be a natural byproduct of having a heart as caring as hers--- not to mention everything she’s lived through. Whatever she ends up deciding are her feelings on the matter, he’ll support her. Nor does he think any of the other scions will truly hold it against her; they may or may not understand, but none of them are the type to begrudge Brona her feelings, no matter how strange, unexpected, and downright complicated they are.

But any thoughts of Brona’s feelings, unfortunate or otherwise, are shunted immediately to the side as his face flares a bright, damning shade of red and he shoves her away on instinct. “I--- I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Natan splutters, then leans forward to bury his face in his hands with a groan. “Not that it matters, anyway; I’ve known for centuries that ‘tis something best kept to myself; nothing was ever going to to able to come of it.” Urianger had only ever had eyes for Moenbryda, of course, and he never begrudged them that--- had, in fact, only wished that the elezen would stop locking himself away and tell the woman already, given she was just as smitten in return. Or at the very least, that he’d stop fading away on them all, until he’d turned himself into a very poetic footstool.

She buries into his hug with a grateful sigh and a sniffle she can’t entirely swallow back, glad to know it’s at least alright to him, that he doesn’t judge, that he does understand. Her thoughts have been in turmoil about this for weeks, and it helps, knowing that she has someone to help her put them in order. “I know,” she says quietly. “Whoever they were once, that’s…gone. And there’s— barring a miracle there’s no way to free them.” So they have to be stopped. There’s no ifs or buts about that much, she knows it. It’s not that she has a problem with; it’s the other feelings, the ones that run counter to what she knows to be true, what she knows to be the right thing to do. “To mourn what was and could have been…it’s a familiar feeling. But to have it towards them, I just…” She supposes it was frightening; she’s Mhachi, she knows full well the horrors men can do, and she knows what it feels like to have your whole people judged on the deeds of the ones written in history, even if you weren’t one of them. She— it is a tragedy. One that strikes close to home, perhaps. But she had been afraid…

She leans into Nate, sighing. “I hope it was,” she admits, voice wavering with tears she doesn’t want to shed, but that linger and threaten her every time she sees that smile in her mind’s eye. “I hope he went in peace. It’s a terrible thing to think after what he’s done, but I hope— I hope he found peace. He was so different from all the others we’ve met, even— even tempered, he grieved. Even tempered, he gave everything for his people…” The words from their fight with him echo in her chest, still: I shall carry every hope, every dream, every prayer…it had startled her, and still does; for a moment she had felt the villain. She closes her eyes with another shaky sigh. “I want to mourn him,” she admits quietly. “I don’t still know entirely how I feel, I don’t— know how much feels like an obligation to her, I need to— I need time to…” She doesn’t want to feel obligated to a soul she’ll never be again, but…even so, she knows she needs to make sure it isn’t that.  “But I want to…for all that he’s done, his grief felt…it felt suffocating. You and I, and Urianger, we have our grief and pain, and it is terrible, but we’ve only lived fifteen hundred years. He’d been alive eons. I can’t even imagine how he…” 

She sits back, and there are still tears in her eyes. “I think I could have gotten on with him.” She says quietly. And it’s true, much to her shame. He had been— interesting. Somehow more alive, more real, than any of the Ascians before. An endless sorrow in his eyes when he wasn’t mocking, and even when he was, it was almost amusing; someone who simply didn’t care who he spoke to or how powerful they were. There were almost time when he just seemed like a normal person. Her lips twitch. “When he was following us around, he was caught by the guards of the settlement we were in napping under a tree,” she says quietly, feeling like she’s betraying something, somehow, and trying not to. “And I…I asked him about Igeyorhm. What she did to me, if it left any— if there’s anything to worry about. He actually answered me.” She manages a faint smile. “He hated her…” She’s not sure why, but— it had been kind of comforting. Gods, look at her, trying to rattle off good things about an Ascian. She groans and buries her face in Nate’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” she whines tiredly. “Stupid bastard, turns up and acts obnoxious and sad and smiles at me like no one ever has before, even if he was smiling at a ghost, and I just— ugh.” He was an Ascian! An Ascian! And dead, now, besides! And how is she even supposed to know if her feelings aren’t just more ghosts?

“From all you’ve just told me,” Natan begins, hugging her close (and trying, not for the first time since he met Brona, not to think about the little sister he lost so very long ago now), “For all that what they once were is lost, it did exist. They were people, even if time and tempering and desperation turned them into monsters. There is nothing wrong with choosing to mourn the loss of people, Brona, and given that even those still alive to torment us are not who or what they once were, they are gone as well.” He knows, however, she doesn’t speak of those they may yet face in combat --- and does not fear that she will have difficulty drawing a weapon on them. She lived through the same war that he did; when you cannot save someone, the kindest thing to do is to end it, and the Ascians are at best madmen to be put out of their misery before they destroy all that exists. (At best. He is entirely certain that Emet-Selch was something unique among his kind, reaching out the way he had, scheming the entire time or no.)

He hums absently for a moment, considering his words, then nods to himself. “We are each the hero of our own tale. And one who gave his everything for his people? At one point in time, he may very well have been a hero in truth. Whatever he became, whatever he has been through all of these eons, he obviously held a great deal of love for those he fought for, and there is something admirable in that, if you know how to look.” Especially, he thinks, for those like them, who saw the horrifying self-advancement of Mhach, the iron policing of Amdapor... “If it comforts you, I don’t see anything of a stranger in your desires, Brona. I see only you--- someone who cares deeply for others, who is easily moved to compassion even for those who do not deserve such kindness. That has always been within you. But take the time you need to sort it out for yourself; there’s no rush.”

Natan considers her next words, the discussion of the Ascian’s anguish, the very human description of him... he nods to himself and tightens his hug, allowing her space to wiggle away if she truly wants but also willing to continue offering comfort if that is her preference. “He was mad from grief,” he says, then pauses and reconsiders. “Nay, that is too mild a word for it. He was transformed by his grief, altered as much by it as by his tempering. It became what defined him, everything that he was, and between that and the claim on his soul he could never know peace. But the mark that leaves is different than that left by rancor alone, and perhaps it allowed for more of the man he once was to show through. If you were drawn to the glimpses of that man, then I don’t believe there’s any shame in it--- but you’ll have to work out for yourself what it was that drew you to him and if what you learned about your soul has influenced that in any way.” 

She manages a small laugh and smile at his grumbling and comments about Urianger, but it fades, and she leans into his hand on her arm, letting her head drop to the table with a soft thunk. She would speak to Urianger of this, but he’s got too much on his mind already, after G’raha and Thancred and the business with Eden. She doesn’t want to burden him further, even if she knows he might yet understand. Nate, though…Nate she can talk to. Nate, too, will understand. “I think you might be one of a very few who might not judge me my thoughts,” she admits softly, looking back up at him; she still feels guilty and uncertain, but even so, perhaps…perhaps just talking about it might help. Perhaps Nate can give her a perspective she needs.

“…We dealt with an Ascian on the First,” she begins slowly, staring down at her hands as she twines them together. “Emet-Selch. He was…the Ascian who was also the Emperor of Garlemald. He was— very different from any we’ve ever seen before. Willing to talk. Willing to answer questions. Actually followed us around and bothered to interact. He…even saved Y’shtola, without us having to ask. Granted, he was obnoxious and an arse, and still an Ascian, but…” He had felt even from the start like…a person. More real than the monsters they’d deal with before. And then… “And…and then he told us the truth of the Ascians.” She takes a breath and explains, telling Natan the shortened version of events; what Emet-Selch had said first at the Ravel and then to them at Ocular, at the Bottom Rung, and about the Tempest, finding the ruins and then the illusory Amaurot, built so lovingly from aether, so detailed and real, her name marked on the register. She explains about what Hythlodaeus had said, first about Bran and the Fourteenth and then about her and…and the woman she later learned was named Kore. 

And finally, she explains what Emet-Selch had said, angrily, to them in the Capitol, the nightmare he showed them, the things he’d said when he’d done battle, and the sorrowful smile, his dying request, both to her. She trails off eventually, and leans her head against her hands. “Urianger sent me to speak to Takumi,” she says finally, her voice quiet— he’d mentioned Nate knew of him, so she feels alright mentioning it. “But I don’t…I still feel…he— I can’t forgive, I can’t let them do any of this, but I…” But Kore…but Hades…she can’t get any of it out of her head.

“I’ve never been one to judge thoughts,” Natan says softly. “Actions, yes, because stupidity and cruelty must needs always be checked, but never thoughts.” With that said, he falls quiet and lets her speak, keeping his hand on her arm as she does so. He’s rather suspected this was a weighty subject, and one that might cause tension between her and the other Warriors, but nothing he could have expected is anything close to what he hears now. So he listens, keeping his thoughts and comments alike to himself, until she’s finally finished. Only then does he shift, nudging his box of bribes away to pull her fully into a hug.

“To hear that the enemies we’ve found so monstrous are the tempered survivors of a calamity the likes of which we can barely comprehend is enough of a weight on its own,” he murmurs, thinking of a strange (and changed) soul in the Library and realizing just how much of his actions during their brief exchanges make more sense now, in light of this information. “Let alone to have that many eons lost to grief and despair...” He pauses and shakes his head, thinking of Garlemald, of her emperor, of everything their world has endured and all of the other worlds lost, and sighs. “We cannot alter our goals or our methods,” he says quietly. “They mean to destroy us, and must be stopped. But that does not mean they were not people once, and that they have become what they have is a tragedy unto itself.”

“They were, I promise,” she reassures him, leaning into his returned embrace. Gods, she’d missed him. She’d wished he was with them, grouching all the way; she had missed Tataru and Cid and all those left behind as well, perhaps, but it was Nate she’d wished had come along. “I’ll let them know, though. Definitely some of us fared better than others. And certainly no one wants to risk your wrath!” She laughs and shakes her head, amused about Thancred and glad for it, because he really does need a scolding after his stunt. And maybe he’ll listen after enough people give one to him. She leans in over his shoulder to check the bribes, and she laughs in amusement. “Wow, he really must have known you were going to be angry, that’s a very nice set of gifts.” She sits back and reaches out to pick up a cutting, twirling the stem in her fingers. “I took my own set of samples,” she muses. “I think I drove the people at the Hortorium mad with all my questions, but it’s not my fault there are so many new species and varieties!” She laughs, but her smile falters, and she stares at the flower in her hand as if it can give her an answer to a question left unspoken. “There’s some more samples I took myself, or I’m working on taking,” she says after a moment. “I’ll bring you some of those when I’m done, I…” She sighs. “It’s complicated.” Very complicated.

“Thankfully yes, in one piece!” She says with a smile, moving to sit beside him and hug him. “It was a near thing a few times, but that’s really nothing new. I’m alright, and so is everyone else. They’ll be in and out soon enough.” She leans against him tiredly for a long moment, amused and exhausted. “Thank you, I really don’t want to be transformed into anything right now.” She laughs, though, shaking her head. “Well, cross isn’t the word he used. And anyway, he knows you well enough to know better than to think you won’t do exactly that.” She looks away a moment, and then back at Nate; it’s..a relief to be with one of her friends, one of her newer friends but most important for his age, his understanding of what they’ve both seen. “He’s well, I promise. Doing far better than he was last he was here, in fact. The First has been good to him, either the world or the pixies. All the others are well, too. Though I am going to be the first of many to tell you Thancred is a right bloody idiot and deserves every single bit of what you can give him when he gets back.” She sighs, and hands the box over. “Cuttings of about as many plants from Il Mheg and the Crystarium’s hortorium as he could manage to get,” she says. “Just for you. And maybe some other things? I’m not too sure.”

The older man is very gentle, and he leans into Tallyn’s hand on his arm like he’s never been touched, and he blinks back faint tears. They’re so nice…they’re both so nice and he doesn’t deserve it…he sniffles a little, shifting, and looks up at the man, at…Natan? At Natan with wide eyes, swallowing a little nervously. “I-I don’t know how long,” he says. “For as long as I can r-remember, really. I think I w-was…cursed? I think it—” He shakes his head, biting his lip, but no, he has to tell him everything, doesn’t he? He has to explain everything if they’re going to help him.

So he takes a deep breath. “I-I…it killed my parents, I think, o-or it caused it, anyway,” he explains. “A-And anything…anyone I tried to get close to. I-It’s all the time, every time I— anyone I talk to, anyone who— everyone.” He rubs at his face. “It doesn’t talk, b-but I think it likes it when I’m upset, it’s just— it’s all the time, no matter what, anything that— anything good, anyone who— it takes it away, it won’t let me—” A harsh breath. “I-I’ve been living by myself, in the Shroud, a-away from anyone, so it doesn’t hurt anyone, b-because it’s my fault, all of it’s my fault anyway, because it hurts everything around me to hurt me, I just—” 

He peters out, swallowing, and looks away. “I-I didn’t even know it had a name,” he admits. “It’s j-just been the monster to me, until now.” He bites his lip, trying to think of how to describe it. “I-It looks like a doll,” he says finally. “A-A plush doll. A…bear, I think? I’ve seen a bear once…b-but a doll of one. A-All raggedy and patchwork, like someone put it together from a bunch of different ones and didn’t care about matching…a-and it’s alive, and it has teeth and claws…” He shudders. “It’s…you can really make it g-go away?” He asks. “I-I don’t want to be any t-trouble if it’s too hard or you can’t…”

Nearly his entire life, then. That does explain the damage done to the poor boy’s aether. Natan frowns, heart softening a little despite himself. A child that’s known nothing but torment, who’s grown up with a very real monster leeching away any kind of security or happiness he may have found. Ugh. Even his heart hurts for this one. Urianger would be having fits, were he here. (He can almost imagine the other man leaning over his shoulder screaming at him to keep him, this one can’t be allowed to leave, he needs someone. Well, fine, he’ll help this one out, but the moment the mother dodo is returned to them his responsibility will end.)

“If it is what it sounds like, then it’s feeding off of your unhappiness,” Natan agrees, and the thought of that makes him angry. But he’ll not show that anger in front of so heavily-traumatized a boy. And the description of the beast... he winces. “Chimera poppet,” he murmurs to himself. “One of the void queen’s toys.” Damn it all, of course it would be one of those! Nasty creatures, though what one was doing in the Shroud, let alone attached to a child there... that’s strange, and concerning... and unfortunately for the moment, irrelevant. 

blackjacketmuses‌:

The boy jumps a little when a new voice addresses him, turning soft grey eyes on the new person— he seems older, and smart, and there’s something a little soothing about his presence, so he relaxes a fraction. He’s a pretty young thing, except worn down by exhaustion and stress, and the smile he tries is vague and distant and a well-used mask. “….hello,” he says quietly, his voice soft and breathy. “I’m Nhagi’to. I-I don’t mean to trouble anyone or impose, but Tallyn was…he was nice, and he hurt the mon– the voidsent, and he said you might be able to help…”

He swallows. “I-I don’t know if you can, b-but he was nice, and i-it’s going to be mad when it comes back and I don’t want it to hurt anyone else, so I said I’d come, but you don’t h-have to help if you don’t want to, I don’t want to— I’m n-not really important enough…” He bows his head and plays with a loose thread in his pants, nervous and anxious and afraid. This one is nice, too…why are people being nice to him? It’s so strange…but– but he kind of likes it?

(Upon close inspection, it’s obvious that the boy’s aether has been ravaged by something, a consistent and constant food source for a voidsent — not a high ranking one, but not a low-ranking one, either; something in the middle, that’s been leeching off the boy long enough that its mark is etched deep.)

“It came out of his shadow and tried to ambush me,” Tallyn explains, reaching out to squeeze Nhagi’to’s shoulder (and he’s tempted again to try and argue away the boy’s self-worth issues, but he holds his tongue.  For the moment, he holds his tongue).  “And given what Nhagi’to has described, I believe it’s been tormenting him for years, pulling that same stunt on any unwitting travelers it can get close to.”  He shakes his head, unwilling to let that thought dwell long enough to reach his imagination, and turns to Nate with anxiety and concern plain on his face.  “It’s not a hopeless situation, right?  At the very least, can we kill it?”  They have to, they can’t do nothing.  Tallyn can’t do nothing.

He exhales.  “I didn’t get a very clear look at it before it fled, but it wasn’t like any of the voidsent commonly seen in this area.  My old professors would have my hide if they knew I don’t recognize every monster on sight, but I have to admit I skipped those classes whenever I could.”  This, he thinks, could be the one time he regrets both skipping the classes and leaving his old bestiary behind in the move.  “Regardless, I wouldn’t know where to begin to describe what it looks like.”

... This boy is broken, Natan realizes once he draws a little closer. But no, it’s more than that --- it’s like he never had the chance to grow properly, hurt too much and too often over too many years and as a result grown up in pieces that are barely holding themselves together. And on top of that, his aether... Oh. Oh dear. It’s been a long, long time since he’s seen anything like this.

“My,” he says, and softens his voice again. He’ll have to go very carefully with this one, very carefully indeed. “You certainly do have a problem, don’t you? Bound up with such a thing.” What type of voidsent they’re dealing with, he can’t be certain until he sees it, but it’s a powerful one to be able to do this, and if it’s had years to leech off of his aether... 

“How long has your shadow been around, child?” He asks, then looks to Tallyn. “I can help him, but this is going to be somewhat complicated. Voidsent rarely attach to a host in this manner, and when they do it’s easy for it to go overlooked as mere misfortune or even deliberate action by the victim.” He pauses, then turns back to the boy. “And I should say that it is neither, young man, for you are a victim, and have done nothing wrong save be particularly appetizing for a determined and powerful fiend. ‘tis likely that it was apparent you had potential at an early age, and the creature latched on while you were vulnerable and unable to defend yourself.” He pauses, then frowns and adds, “Or you just looked tasty; who can say what those things think? Either way, you’re not beyond hope. I’m called Natan, and I’d be glad to help you be rid of the fiend.”

blackjacketmuses‌:

Nhagi’to cringes as they enter the building — the bar, Tallyn says it is, and as interesting as it might be to someone who’s never seen it before, it’s very loud and raucous and he pulls his ears back an slinks along as quickly as he can. He’s not going to be going through here often, he’s sure, and he doesn’t think he really wants to anyway, not alone. He’s not about to risk anything at all going anywhere alone in a strange place, where he can’t be sure of anything. The idea is terrifying. But…the building behind the building is nice, at least, and quiet, and there aren’t too many people, and he takes a relieved breath.

Still…it’s all stone and no wood, and no windows either, so it’s a little close and stressful, but the quiet is enough to balance that out. “Okay,” he tells Tallyn, and as the man talks on his…link— link something, he’s only heard the word before and never seen one— he creeps to a nearby table and curls into one of the chairs as small and unobtrusive as possible. He doesn’t want to impose too much, especially since they really don’t have to do this. So…he’s keeping to himself, taking up as little space as he can. If they’re being so kind to a worthless thing like him…he doesn’t want to give them any more trouble than he already has.

That’s where the boy is when Natan comes in, a ghost-pale teenage Miqo’te with a snow-white fluff of hair and pale cloud-grey eyes, wrapped in a thin green coat that doesn’t hide how bony and underfed he is, his tale twitching behind him as he sits folded up in a chair, staring at a wall and trying not to look too anxious, chin on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs.

“I suppose it would fall more into the category of personal crisis,” he muses, “though not personal to me.  I’ll give you the details once you’re here, but suffice it to say it involves a voidsent, and I can’t think of anyone better equipped to answer questions about those things.  And it does warrant questions–my reaction to it was a given, but I have it on good authority that, not only did I fail to kill it, but it’s going to come back angry.  So I’d like my second attempt to kill it to be successful.”  It’s a struggle to keep his voice steady talking about this, but the voidsent isn’t here, and if he panics he’ll only upset Nhagi’to.  He can’t do that, he can’t allow himself to frighten a child, however badly his worst thoughts want to run away with him.  He’ll just–he takes a moment, after the call ends, to breathe and get his nerves under control, and only when he feels steady again does he go and sit by the boy.

“Natan’s on his way,” he says, “and then we can get to the bottom of this, and get rid of that thing so it can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“Voidsent,” Natan says flatly, then curses under his breath. Of course it would be a voidsent. The damn things just won’t stop existing like they should. “I’ll see what I can do, but there is still the possibility it’s something beyond me. I didn’t make a study of them, after all.” Not, of course, apart from dealing with them. That he has to admit he’s gotten very good at over the years, and he can probably manage to be of use in that case.

Not to mention, one that Tallyn failed to kill in his more-than-likely panicked flailing is likely going to be one of those voidsent: the kind that are infinitely more stubborn and aggravating to try and do anything about. The sort that will cause trouble for everyone if they’re not dealt with. Grumbling to himself, the old white mage picks up the pace and heads downstairs at the fastest walk he can comfortably manage.

What he finds when he gets there is Tallyn and... a child. They’re both children, of course, everyone’s a child to him, but this one is particularly young, somewhere around the age of the twins, and especially scrawny at that. The Miqo’te boy looks like a stiff breeze would blow him away, and like he might run away at the first sign of danger or ill-treatment. Which means... oh, ugh, this is Urianger’s sort of thing, not his, he’s not the one who adopts stray children like they’re lost puppies! 

blackjacketmuses‌:

Nhagi’to nods, wrapping his arms around Tallyn’s outstretched arm and taking a breath. Magic…control his own magic? Actually be able to do something with whatever this is inside him, to be able to do things besides accidentally setting bushes alight? That would be— well, one little thing at a time. He can’t look to the future, not yet. Not yet. He can only let himself…he’s too scared to hope for anything. For now the best he can at least let himself do is prepare for the trip to Mor Dhona, away from the only world he’s ever known, down a path that he’s never considered possible.

He gasps when they land, the power rolling through him in the span of a blink, and he looks around, letting go of Tallyn but still standing close as he looks around, eyes wide as he takes everything in. It’s— it’s cold, he thinks. A lot colder than the Twelveswood, and his thin and battered green coat isn’t quite enough, and he crosses his arms to shiver a little. But it’s— it’s nothing like the Shroud. It’s so…not green. The colors are like nothing he’s seen before, the buildings stone, the setting sun visible clearly with no trees to hide it, painting the already shimmering landscape in the distance with even more color, and it’s all the can do to stare about him in wonder, anxiety fleeing for a moment as he marvels at the beauty of it all. 

And the people! Hyur and Miqo’te and Elezen and— and Lalafell, he thinks, and he’s never ever seen a Roegadyn before, or any of whatever those scaly people are, but there are so many,and dressed so wildly, and the weapons they carry are— yes, he thinks. These people can kill monsters. He’s lost in his awe for a moment, but then he shakes his head and turns to Tallyn with a very faint and hesitant smile on his face. “I-I’m okay,” he says. He was a little disoriented at first, but— no, he’s okay. “It’s…pretty here.” Maybe that’s very stupid of him to say, but…it is. It might not be so bad…?

“It is, isn’t it?” he says with a nod.  Mor Dhona is pretty–sometimes, when the weather isn’t making him miserable–and they were lucky enough to arrive during one of the clearest sunsets Tallyn thinks he’s ever seen.  Not bad for a first impression, he thinks.  He’d like to take Nhagi’to for a circuit around the town before they go find Natan, to let him get a sense of where everything is since he’s likely to be staying a while, and to give himself a chance to call the old Archon first and prep him so he isn’t as grouchy as usual.

But the boy is shivering, so a tour is going to take a rain check until they can find him a warmer coat.  So he smiles again and puts a hand on Nhagi’to’s shoulder to nudge him towards the Stones.  “Conveniently,” he says, “the building we’re going to is right behind the aetheryte–this door right here.  The front half is a bar, so it can be noisy and crowded in there, but we’re heading straight for the back door, where I promise it’s much quieter.”  And dour at the moment, he thinks, all of a sudden remembering what else is waiting for them inside the Rising Stones.  He almost frowns, only stopping himself with the worry that it might upset Nhagi’to.  They’ll…he won’t say anything unless the boy asks, and they can cross that bridge when they get to it.  Finding Natan is far more important.

“You can take a seat anywhere you like,” he says gently, after the door has shut behind them.  “And read any books you find, as well.  I have no idea where Natan has squirreled himself away this time, so it might take a few minutes to call him over, but no longer than that, alright?”  He’s tired, and the Stones is a big building, and he doesn’t feel like running up and down stairs trying to find the old man.  Thank the Twelve for linkpearls.

“Natan,” he says when the linkpearl crackles to life, “it’s Tallyn.  Could you come to the main floor when you have a chance?  I need your help with something and it’s possibly dire.”

@childrenofhydaelyn​

Natan has not been having a pleasant time of late. Between comatose friends (and brats, they’ll forever be brats no matter how old they get) and looming danger of the sort that makes him almost regret leaving Sharlayan to come back to Eorzea, he’s been... on-edge. Extremely so, as a matter of fact, and one of the only things that’s been keeping him from being either a panicky mess or outright snappish instead of merely grumpy has been the little rooftop garden he’s been cultivating in his free time. It’s small, but pleasant, and he finds it soothing to be around plants again. 

He’s even set up a small pond --- really more of a puddle --- for the tiny korpokkur he keeps with him. It’s here that Tallyn’s linkpearl call finds him, and he straightens up from the plant he’d been attending with a wince. He’d been in that position a bit too long and his leg, though mostly recovered, isn’t particularly fond of stressing it so much. 

“….yes, something like that,” Urianger admits, though sheepish embarrassment is fighting with a little bit of petulant self-righteousness. So what if he had? Clearly the man wasn’t any harm to them anymore, and Urianger isn’t that foolish as to not take precautions. And really, it hadn’t been so easy as Natan thinks, given who exactly this Ascian was. He decides to leave that off for a more private conversation later, as poor Ardyn doesn’t need to hear all their dirty laundry like this. “And no, he was not.” A sigh. “Were it not for his child I would have turned him away, but you know how I am with children, Natan. And as time went on he proved to be…not what he had been.”

A sigh, and he does smile at Natan. “I know I’ll have to deal with it all sooner or later, Natan, but I don’t regret it.” In any case, he’s right, after all. He’l need to be careful about how he presents it, and…for once he’s glad that Thancred’s bolted off to Garlemald. This is not going to be easy for him.

They do move Tiridates to the quarters where he’s been put up in, Azad trailing along beside them and curling up once again with his father once he’s settled. He does thank them all before they leave the room, though, smile wide and grateful, and at least two hearts melt. Probably three, really. Namimi returns to her duties, promising to clean up the mess the intruders had made, now you lot go off and have tea, and Urianger takes them to one of the many, many side rooms in the Rare Books area. 

Urianger has to admit, he’s rather amused as he watches Ardyn put more sugar and honey in his tea than he’s seen anyone above the age of maybe ten or twelve use, and more so when the redhead meets his eyes and almost defiantly takes a sip of it. (He tries not to cringe; that poor tea.) Really, this Ardyn…he’s interesting to say the least, and he’d very much like to learn more about him. Not now, of course, given that much of whatever his story is is like as not tragic – especially given the look in his eyes when he puzzled out Tiridates’ identity – but eventually.

For Ardyn’s part, he doesn’t bother to hide how fond his expression is when looking at Nate as the blond sits and takes his coffee mug from Urianger (though he’s a bit more careful with any obviously fond glances at the elezen, given he recalls hearing something about a recent loss and he’s not that callous, regardless of any silly and nigh-immediate crushes). “So this library,” he asks. “Is it yours? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so large in my life, and that is most definitely saying something. It’s brilliant, and honestly Nate had better keep an eye on me else he lose me for at least a week exploring the place.” 

(The color that blooms on Urianger’s face at the compliments is well worth it, he decides happily. Definitely worth it.)

There’s something Urianger still hasn’t told him, and Natan fully intends to get it out of him  - but... later. Later, once they’ve had tea and time to recover - and he’s had time to work through his mixed feelings on the matter. Whatever the injured man has done, he’s his patient now until he’s physically recovered (as much as he will; the Amdapori healer is somewhat tentative in his overall prognosis of the patient besides ‘not going to die’. Time will tell, there) and ... the look on the boy’s face.

...Well. Natan is irritable, but he’s not heartless. He can understand why Urianger would help, when there’s a child in need. 

Besides, it’s easier to forgive Urianger once he has coffee in hand and can watch both the elezen and Ardyn interact. If the redhead thinks he hasn’t noticed the admiration he’s holding for Natan’s oldest friend, he’s sorely mistaken - and frankly, the Amdapori healer finds it all endearing. He supposes he’ll have to talk to Ardyn about that at some point, but honestly at the moment it’s more fun to sip his coffee and watch the former king try to pretend he isn’t attracted to the other man. (Really, he can’t blame Ardyn - when Urianger isn’t hiding away under a cowl, the man is rather, well, pretty. And he thinks that if Ardyn can mend another wounded heart, then he’ll certainly not stop him.)

Ardyn goes very pink when he’s scolded, and it’s Urianger’s shoulder he buries his face in with a squawk of embarrassment; the elezen, for his part, snickers a little – it’s entertaining when he’s not the one being scolded, honestly, and it’s good to be able to laugh again without feeling guilty over it – and shakes his head, amused. So he was reckless, too, then, or had been once upon a time. What a bunch of silly old men they were.

Ardyn refrains from answering the question – mostly because his reaction had answered for itself, and besides he doesn’t want to say it aloud – and lets Nate walk him through the healing magics; it’s fascinating, and he knows he’s a quick learner. He doesn’t want to hope there’s a chance for him to practice, soon, because that would jinx it something terrible, but…all the same. He looks fascinated, really, and endlessly fond of the blond mage, and Urianger…well, he definitely thinks this one’s sticking around.

And then, of course, he has to explain who exactly Tiridates and Azad are, and he groans, expression becoming sheepish again, and a little awkward, and oh, dear, this is going to be a doozy. “I’m always picking up strays,” he says, even if that’s not much of a defense. “I never stop, Natan, their appearance has just become less common. But when someone is in need, I cannot help but aid them. Regardless of who or what they were before they came to me, and especially if it involves a child.” He looks very shifty, Ardyn thinks, and he has a definite feeling the injured man in question was probably not on their side to begin with, and that makes him like this Urianger that little bit more. 

Urianger sighs. “His name is Tiridates now, as it was before, and that is his son, Azad,” he explains slowly. “They are of Allag, both, and Tiridates came to me some moons ago with his son – the boy had been…” His voice dies for a moment just thinking of the horror of it, and he shakes his head. “His soul had been imprisoned in a piece of Allagan technology, and Tiridates sought one who knew how to fix it.” A quiet sigh. “As for the man himself…I suppose he was mortal, once, as he now, but–” 

Ardyn nudges him, looking amused – but there’s a tired sort of understanding in his eyes, because he knows what’s not being said. “He was your enemy once,” he says. “Right? And whatever he is now, he’s no longer any danger, and what with his son in trouble, you offered to help.” A pause. “And…was it his former associates that attacked him?” Well, that would and should seal the deal for his change in allegiance, Ardyn thinks, if it was in question.

Urianger looks very grateful, albeit still somewhat awkward – and curious too, how Ardyn was able to catch on – and nods. “Yes,” he admits. “Exactly so.”

It takes a moment for Natan to realize what Urianger and Ardyn mean with their conversation, and when he does, his eyes widen as he looks to the man on the couch and then back to his friend, taking the elezen’s shoulder in a shaking hand. “Do you mean to say,” he begins, voice very quiet, “That you’ve gone and adopted an Ascian, Urianger?” He’s not.... he’s queerly not angry about it, because in a way this is just a natural extension of his old friend being himself, but the idea that an Ascian could be mortal - could be as frail as any other being of flesh - is difficult to understand.

...And beyond that, there’s still something...

He frowns at Urianger and steps back, folding his arms over his chest as he watches him suspiciously. “...He wasn’t an ordinary Ascian, was he.” It isn’t a question. That they had endeavored to eliminate him in so violent a manner, that one or more of them had gotten personally involved - it does not seem to be something they would bother with were their target not a high-profile one. That he had argued for the aid of a child does seem to imply he is no longer a threat, but... Nophica’s tits, why is Urianger so damned good-hearted?

Though, that little form tucked into that of his patient... 

And Ardyn, standing there, with that sad look in his eyes...

enchilahabrea:

The man left huddled on the ground in the wake of the attack is conscious, but barely, and quite frankly he wishes he wasn’t. The spectacles that had been perched on his nose have been tossed against a wall and shattered, his clothing and body rent and battered by wind and objects tossed at him by that wind, and there is something terribly wrong with his breathing, the sound strained and rattling loud enough to be noticeable from a distance.

Blood drips from a cut across his forehead and into his eyes, forcing them closed, and there’s a blueish cast to his features that make it clear he is not getting enough air - and then he coughs with a keen of agony, bringing up blood from wounds unseen but severe. A trembling hand wipes blood away from his eyes so that he can squint at the approaching Scion, a quiet sort of relief in them. If he is here, and the Lessers are not, then… it’s over. The chosen of the Light are strong enough to drive away what he could not. 

Which means that his son is…

Another wheeze escapes him, and he feels strength leaving him, knowing that if this flesh fails him there is no refuge to flee unto, and even were he to try, there wouldn’t be enough left of him for him to serve Zodiark. Not, he thinks, that he has any interest in doing so now. His god has cast him out - he’ll not waste time with sycophancy. Air. Why - why did it have to be - he can no longer think clearly, the desperate attempts to breathe only aggravating the injuries causing the problem in the first place. But Azad is - Azad is safe.

 This time, he’s succeeded in what he’d meant to do so long ago. Maybe that means something. 

“Oh, damn,” Urianger says, taking in the damage and setting Viola with an aetherpact on him as he begins healing. His head aches and his hands sting – the price of casting without a focus, he knows – but he had to. And he has to heal him. Gods, the damage is severe…they hadn’t just wanted to kill him, they’d wanted to destroy him entirely. He can feel tears in the man’s aether, attempts to rip him apart in all ways.

He pushes as much healing magic into Tiridates as he can, and then lets out a hiss of pain – he’s burned through all his mana and hurt himself besides with the unfiltered black magic, and he swears in Nymian. “Viola, keep the pact up,” he tells her. “I’m calling Natan.”

He shakes his hands out with a wince and presses a finger to his linkpearl. “Natan,” he says as soon as the call connects. “I need your help. I– I’ll explain everything to you when you get here, and you can yell at me all you like, but someone under my care is badly injured and I can’t– I need you.” The man’s going to be annoyed with him at best, he knows that; regardless of now he had still taken in a former Ascian. He’ll deal with that though, for now he just needs help. And of all people in the world, he trusts Natan for that help.

The call comes while Natan is fortunately awake and relatively idle, simply curled up with Ardyn and a tome, enjoying the other man’s company and wit in equal measure. He activates the linkpearl, face paling as Urianger’s words register with him, and scowls ferociously. “I know that tone of voice, Urianger,” he says, already grumbling mentally. If the scholar needs help with healing, then he’s done something to compromise his own ability to act as healer, which means he’s been an idiot again, most likely, and yes, he’s absolutely going to yell at him later.

Right now, though, that’s on the backburner. If someone’s injured, and injured badly, there’s no time to waste on petty lectures. “I’m on my way,” he promises his friend, then pauses and looks Ardyn over. “Likely not alone, though - I did promise Ardyn I would show him how healing works on our star, and he’s enough general knowledge that he may be able to aid us, anyway.” Alright, perhaps it’s a little rude to up and volunteer the redhead, so he shoots him an apologetic glance. “Do whatever you can to keep your patient stable until I arrive, and - gods be good, whatever you’ve done to yourself, don’t make it worse.”

“I see,” she says, catching the shadows in his eyes at the mention of his absence and deciding not to ask. “Well, honestly, I think the elementals don’t really know what they’re talking about, if they don’t like you much. You seem very likable. At least, not someone I would wish got eaten by a treant.” She manages a smile at that, a bit less awkward – knowing he’s an Archon and knows her friends helps quite a bit in making her more relaxed around him.

She sighs. “Don’t worry, he isn’t the only one frustrated,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Thancred and I are good friends. At least, good enough that I wish he’d lingered long enough so I could strangle him for his recklessness! At least I certainly will when I see him next.” She huffs and crosses her arms, but there’s fondness in it that certainly speaks to how much she cares about him. “I’m glad he’s doing better, though, I know he was in a bad way for a long time, too. Well– only somewhat glad he’s doing better, given that now he’s doing this sort of stupid stunt again.” But all the same, the good outweighs the bad.

The mention of Urianger as a wall-hanging makes her snort, though she’ll have to figure out what that means some other time, as she really hasn’t seen or spoken to him since before they stormed Ala Mhigo…maybe it is time she pays him a visit. “He does need worried over,” she says. “I don’t like that he never came to the Stones with us, and rattling around alone is no good, especially after everything that’s happened…” A sigh. “You are right, though, as long as someone is there. I’m glad I was able to help Thancred help him, moons ago, with that soul crystal…” She’s glad this man seems to care; Urianger needs that. “Oh,” she realizes after a second. “I…didn’t catch your name…”

“Ah, they’re good at grudges, and tend to lump groups in together unless a Hearer intercedes,” Natan says with a shrug. “The wood doesn’t forget lightly, I’m afraid.” Which is why, despite his love for the land, for the wild places and the plant life he’s always adored... he’ll not step one foot near the shroud. Even with the elementals weakened in the wake of the Calamity as he’s heard they have been, he wouldn’t put it past them to raise every creature they can and scream at whatever hearer is listening should they sense a son of Amdapor invading their sacred grounds.

Her comment about Thancred draws a chuckle from him, and he shrugs. “Thancred’s always been reckless, I’m afraid. Has been since before he came to us, and will be until the day he dies. Which I should hope is a very, very long time from now, else he’ll have quite a number of people hauling him back from the grave just to lecture him.” He sighs, then shrugs and shakes his head. “As for Urianger... he’s always been a very private person, and unfortunately he locked away most of himself a very long time ago. Even Moenbryda could never pry him out to come back to us... But it seems Thancred has managed it, so perhaps they’ve been helping each other.”

The thought of how old some of the former Circle of Knowing truly were, it was impossible for the teen to begin to imagine. She made a face at his standing by his statement but instead turned her attention to what he said next. “I suppose not. Some day when I have earned my marks, maybe I will be less surprised. ” 

Alisaie nodded in regard to Natan’s inquiry about how she was doing. “Yes, I’m recovered. It was just my luck that Alphinaud was there with me when it happened. Even as I tasted the blood, he was already mending me,” she said, finally moving to refill her cup as well. The bits of sugar didn’t take long for her to add, and she then continued to speak. “I’m not certain how many people I gave a scare to, but it was enough for Urianger to come from Thanalan all the way out to the rebel base where I was put on bedrest.”

She wondered just how much panic Urianger would’ve had if she had indeed gone with her brother to Garlemald…

“Perhaps, but I think you’ll find it will take a very long time before nothing at all surprises you,” Natan said, expression fond as he watched her. “And even then, you might still come across something that tilts the world upside-down on you,” he added, something darker in his expression as his mind drifted to less-pleasant thoughts. “Often, it will be something you had thought would never have such an effect upon you, especially once you’re quite secure in the idea that you’ve seen and experienced very nearly everything...”

Shaking his head to clear it of the darker thoughts that had begun swirling about in it, the healer sipped at his tea and nodded speculatively. “Good. I know nothing of the nature of the wound, but it sounds as though everything was handled neatly.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Don’t let him fool you, Alisaie - the severity of the wound likely made him visit you sooner, but he’d have come regardless. There’s naught in this world that could keep that man from fussing over someone he cares for.”

“…not of our star, not of its reflections?” He asks, curious. “I suppose you’re right in that it will be best to let him explain that, but…he truly has come a long way to be here, has he not?” Gods, no wonder Natan so worried he’d vanish like the morning dew if he wasn’t paying attention. But if he came here from so far away, there had to be a reason for it, and he doesn’t think he’ll disappear so easily. Especially if he has reason to stay. 

He lets out a startled laugh, amused and surprised, when Natan continues. “Five centuries older than us? That’s rarer even than someone our age.” And truly, in any other circumstance than their own, he cannot imagine such immortality and longevity was something he’d wanted. Especially if it had left such scars as Natan says. It seems a miracle, in fact, that there is still light– but there is, and he wonders if it isn’t Natan who unearthed it again in the first place. 

“He sounds fascinating,” he admits with a chuckle. “I do hope you’ll bring him to meet me, Natan, won’t you? I feel it’s my obligation now to tease you mercilessly about it all, and I would like to be introduced to him besides.” Someone so old as them, from another world entirely? Regardless of the other context, he thinks he’d like to speak to him of…well, anything really. Call it curiosity.

“He has,” Natan says, sighing, “Though I can’t say I’d like to see his home, if it’s true that what we know as primals are truly deities there, and play with mortal lives as they do in our most terrible legends.” He lets that sink in for a moment, then continues, “I do believe he was brought here to heal - and I’ve every intention of seeing to it that he does.” And if it helps Natan heal in the process? Well, that just makes it that much better. (With a little luck, maybe he can stretch it to help Urianger heal, too? Hm... no, that might be asking too much. But at least he can offer both of them another person who understands, and that may be a help all on its own.)

Urianger’s laugh brings a smile to Natan’s face - how long has it been since he’s hear Urianger laugh much, at least without having overindulged or being so tired he’s no loner thinking properly? Too long, he’s certain of that much. “I know! ‘tis a strange experience, being younger than someone again.” ...He wonders, idly, if Ardyn could make Urianger laugh more. It’s a nice thought.