#edarien

"A new religion that'll bring you to your knees." 🎶

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Sometimes he dreamt of the river. A silver ribbon cutting through boundless fields of rolling white, its treacherous current hidden beneath a layer of ice. Snow dusted that ice too, half hiding another danger, narrowing the breadth of the water, making the ice seem as if it might provide safe footing. Neither thing was true. Beneath that smooth silver ribbon death roared, its frigid song muffled by the silence of winter.

Silvaineaux could feel the river rumbling under his boots even from its verge. Like the songs of dragons it hummed in his very bones, reminding him of its presence. “We cannot cross here.” He said to the others he could feel at his back. “I remember it in summer. The current is too fast. There is…”

But his words might as well have been more muffled than the dirge of the river for no one heeded them. He watched them flow past him in a current of their own, splitting around his form and streaming out onto the ice. He did not see their faces, for his eyes were fixed on the gleaming ice beneath their feet and they didn’t look back. Yet he knew them as they passed by familiar postures, by snatches of their voices drifting back to him on the wind. Ser Valerian, Florent, Seraphin, scores of others he had seen cross another even more permanent boundary.

But then other familiar shapes pushed past him. Honore paused to smile at him as he passed. Inwa, Edarien. Sui.

“STOP!” His own shout echoed in his bones like the rumble of the river but their feet were already on the ice and they did not even look back. Instead he listened to the first thin silvery crackles of the ice beginning to give way. Cracks formed and then spread, swifter than thought, spider-webbing across the river. The rest of Priarch flowed past him, not one of them stopped.

He knew his own armored weight would finish it. Yet, though the ice was now screaming under each of their steps none of them seemed to notice or hesitate. He stood alone on the bank of the river and felt it exulting under his feet.  

As the first crack became a break he leapt forward, arms outstretched to catch hold of all he could reach. The ice shattered. He could not feel the scraps of fabric he grasped or the warmth of the body his arm encircled through the metal of his armor. But he felt the river when it reached up to catch him and tore them away again.

The cold of it burned like fire, the current caught him and the weight of his armor dragged him downward. Darkness swallowed him, tumbling him, sweeping him along with scraps of broken ice and bodies he could not catch hold of in the black. The unbroken ice further along the river closed over them and though he lunged at it, all his strength could not mar that silver ribbon.

Edarien:

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗

“He’s decent looking, if one can get past that scowl he wears. He ditched the facial hair recently; he cleans up alright in that regard. I think it makes him look younger, sort of brings out how sharp his features are, like that of a hawk.”

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗

“He’s my boss. I’d like to think we get along alright, but at the end of the day I’m sort of just here to do what he says and get paid. I’ve worked for worse people though, so at least he can take comfort in the fact that he’s not the worst employer. Outside of work I think we could probably hold a conversation, that’s good, right?”

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💔

“Could we not?”

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💔

“Why does this keep coming up?”

Viper:

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗“A bit rough around the edges, but over all not bad to look at. There are plenty of others that will likely sing his praises far louder than myself, but I suppose I can agree that he is attractive. Then again, I think most of what I like about him are things that remind me of someone else. Strange side effect of knowing twins I guess.”

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗“I’ve no idea where he stands on the matter, but I could probably consider Viper a friend. A mild one anyways, very much at arms length. We’ve a few things in common to talk about, and over all I think he’d be entertaining enough to hang out with once in a while.”

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💔“This is just awkward.”

He had long ago given up on seeing Priarch fuse itself into a singular, coherent, functioning unit. They were mercenaries, a diverse crowd with an equally varied skillset and moral code. Most of them had never been soldiers. He was used to the arguments, at the meeting table and away from it. Was used to having to raise his voice into the middle of it, and to being astounded that a point that seemed obvious and concrete to him generated such a myriad of opinions he could scarce keep track of them all.

If they had been soldiers he would have disciplined them. Tried his best to hammer them into a shape sharp and precise as a sword. But they were not, so instead he simply watched them, tried to learn the shape of them, the things they did best and the things that they needed.

He might have written it all down in notes easily enough:

Edarien:

-Strong magic. Strange magic if the way the others react means anything.

-Lonely. Needs a friend and sometimes a voice of reason. 

Inwa:

-Healer. Trustworthy. Kind and merciful.

-Too merciful sometimes. Needs someone to make sure his own kindness doesn’t kill him.

Louvel:

-Strong fighter. Cares deeply for those he loves.

-Uncontrolled temper. Does not like or trust me. What he needs must come from someone else.

Lyrin’a:

-Steady. Good healer, and calm and reliable in crisis.

-Dislikes conflict. Needs someone to hear him and help him be heard.

Okuni:

-Clever. Quick. Determined. Variety of skills. Magic? Knives.

-Needs to be reminded not to rush into things alone or tackle more than she can manage.

Talia:

-Sniper. Very good. Several other magical talents I probably don’t even know.

-Needs reminders of morality sometimes. Friends. Doesn’t need most of it from me.

Idristan: 

-Magic. Very strong.

-Soft heart he doesn’t want anybody to know about. Fragile pride. What he needs isn’t for me to provide.

Elias:

-Good-hearted. Means best for everybody. Hard to read.

-Clumsy, but usually manages. Not always sure what he needs. Perhaps nothing from me. 

Teagan:

-Fights with her fists. Surprisingly capable. Battle rages.

-May need someone to help her out of rages sometime. May not need it from me.

Latika’a: 

-Hiding several capabilities under several acts. Good when he settles down to heal.

-Needs? Inwa will sort it out.

Sui:

-Healer. Sound insights. Voice of mercy.

-Needs someone to guard his back and temper his mercy. That is me.

But he did not. He kept his private assessments in his thoughts, and tried his best to remember them when they were needed. He might have liked to pretend they would all come together when the moment demanded like the pieces of a puzzle or the many links that together made a shirt of mail. They did not usually. They scattered, they argued, they raged.  He wasn’t certain what held them together at all sometimes. But something did. 

That same something carried them to victory as often as not. He frequently thought that their enemies would truly find something to fear if they ever managed to put themselves together. Sometimes, though, he wondered if they were not more fearsome just as they were.

Frigid wind blew in over the railings, sharp and chill enough to bite at his cheeks and sting his eyes. A gust buffeted him where he stood, lifting the heavy braid from his back and whipping it behind him. Silvaineaux narrowed his eyes against the incoming storm and peered out into the darkness. There were no stars tonight, and even the moon was the frailest of gleams behind her veil of clouds. The wind that battered he and Ishgard's stones alike carried with it the icy tang of snow. It was a hell of a night to be out in and it perfectly suited his mood.

He had left the manor in some haste, pacing out into night and darkness as if something dreadful were hot on his heels. But Silvaineaux could not outpace his own heavy thoughts. His fingers curled around the railing he had stopped at, gripping until he could feel the cold bite of the stone even through the fine leather of his gloves. It was the right thing to do, he told himself again. It was the only possible thing to do. And so he would do it, even if he hated it.

Things could not continue as they were. Perhaps loyalty to Edarien's friendship and to Seraphin's memory had already made him delay it longer than he should. Had he put those things before the safety of the company? He could tell himself that he had been giving trust a chance, but the more he looked at it the more he wondered if it had been a peculiar sort of cowardice not to act directly. If he had done more and sooner perhaps Idristan would not have suffered what he had.

Was he foolhardy even now to want to delay just a little longer? To give speaking one more try before he did what he had to do? Perhaps he was, it meant more time. It meant allowing that creeping danger to linger among Priarch a moment longer. Yet loyalty allowed for no other course. He had to give Edarien the chance to correct the mistake himself, if only he would listen. And if he did not?

Silvaineaux sighed and turned from the rail, giving the sturdy stone a solid thump with the side of his fist as he went. It hurt his hand far more than it could Ishgard's ancient stone, and it was a reminder, that history endured, that duty endured. Obligation. If one's lord did not do as he must it was a knight's duty to rebel for the sake of his people. Even if that lord had been a friend.

Silvaineaux sat beside Honore’s bed to write, paper spread over the top of the nearest large book and quill gripped achingly tight in his fingers. His eyes lifted from the paper between every line, seeking some change in his brother's immobile features. The scratching of the quill paused with the end of each sentence as much to let him listen to each rasping breath as to consider the next words.

 His writing was more jagged than usual, the ink blotted here and there, but he did not move to replace the paper or start anew.

 Edarien,

 I am sorry that I will not be able to be there to assist you with the expedition, and I apologize for the shortness of the notice. I think you know that nothing but the most dire of emergencies would keep me absent when I am needed. Honore is very ill. His nightmares have been growing worse. He walks in his sleep sometimes. One of them must have drawn him out into the snow. He was not conscious when I found him and I do not know if it is only the cold or something more. He is fevered and will not wake. I can't leave him.

Please take care of all of them for me. Especially those who won't take care of themselves, and yourself. I am sorry, but I am sure you will understand.

 -Silvaineaux

 Postscript- If you can think of anything or anyone who might help where the chirurgeons have thus far failed I would be forever indebted. Even more than I already am. -S. R.

 The wax dripped unevenly when he closed it and he took less care than he should have of the imprint. He handed the paper into Alain's waiting hands without sparing it or his valet a second glance.