#temira

(CW: torture, burns)

The leader of the Frumentarii that have captured him (false gods, a moment’s hesitation and they’d been on him, dragging him away from the supply convoy he’d been supposed to be guarding–he can only hope against hope that Vesper yet lives, for he could never face Miss Bayaqud if he did not–) identifies herself as Temira eir Harenata. She is a middle-aged miqo’te, a Seeker with skin the color of the desert sand and eyes like embers, and he has a moment of lucidity after coming round to think that she looks familiar. He has a moment after that to recognize that he has been stripped to his smalls and bound to a metal chair in a rickety shack–by the grit on the floor, he’s sure they’re still in Gyr Abania. He can’t have been taken far, then. Thank the Emperor. (A figure of speech. There is nothing to thank the Emperor for.)

And then she is lifting his chin delicately on sharp-tipped gauntlets, and she speaks. “Tiber pyr Gallius. Son of Cicer pyr Gallius, brother of Portia oen Gallius.”

They know his name. They know his family’s names. They were looking for him. Hope sinks in his chest like a stone as her steel claws dig into his jaw, drawing tiny drops of blood.

Too late, he realizes that her other hand holds an engraved bone wand–the sort of thing issued to signifers who need to travel light. With terrifying gentleness, she rests it between his collarbones. “I will have the locations of Vivian oen Capsari and Q’yala Terret.”

Fear slithers down his spine, cold and shameful, before it abruptly drains away. “No.”

She shrugs, ears flicking. He sees the flame before he registers the heat, a shock of pain that brings tears to his eyes and rips a cry from his throat. Agonizingly slowly, she drags it across his chest in an almost delicate swirl; as he instinctively throws himself backwards in his chair (yes, it’s been bolted to the floor, good to know), the pain follows and grows to an agony. Dimly, he hears something–his own skin–sizzle.

And then she lifts the wand, studying the pencil-thin path of seared flesh. “I will have them.”

I will die first. He is lost. He knows it as surely as he knows his own name. If he is not somehow rescued (miraculously, he thinks, and begins to understand how the Eorzeans can put their faith in eikons instead of their own hands), eir Harenata will kill him–that is, if he doesn’t bite through his own tongue and deny her the satisfaction. But he is one man, and if by his silence he can save two…

(Vivian will never know his feelings. He’ll never get to kiss them, never hold them in his arms. A small regret, measured against the certainty that at least they will be alive to avenge him. Still–still, his treacherous heart cries in pain. I should have told him.)

He grits his teeth, and says nothing.

Saw this alignment chart goin around and OF COURSE I had to do this with the ToL cast!

distinguished - gay: Arcandil    |   bi: Lodr   |   lesbian: Temira

functioning - gay: Vitus   |   bi: Marcius   |   lesbian: Moss

Temira is in a hurry!