#umbralaether

Despite Krile and Tataru’s best efforts all of the Scions suffer from varying degrees of muscular atrophy and the disparity between the body Thancred knew and the one he wakes to is so huge that he can physically feel the stress affecting him. Acid reflux, headaches, an irritability that he’s painfully aware of yet unable to curb — all of these become commonplace as he trains with single-minded purpose.

What took five years on the First now has to be done in a few months.

A tall order for any one person, and that’s before the tingling starts. Little pinpricks that light up his nerves with pain; at first only occasionally, but the harder Thancred pushes himself the more often he can be found clenching and unclenching his fists to ease the ache before he can get back to whatever he was doing, stubbornly shaking the worried looks from his fellow Scions.

Until one evening, when the pain sets his jaw and grinds his teeth. That’s when he seeks out Eisha and lets his fear spill. To stop and face his concerns is still a novel thing to him but she listens with a furrow in her brow and holds one of his trembling hands in both of hers as he stumbles over his words.

His hand steadies in hers, the warmth radiating from her spreading until it sets his heart to bursting.

“I feel rather… Flayed open, admitting this,” he says on a huff and Eisha gives him a look that is equal parts affection and exasperation.

“Well,” she responds, absentmindedly rubbing her thumbs along the delicate bones of his wrist. “I worry about your condition. It scares me to see you suffer through this. Won’t you let me help?”

“Of course,” Thancred says, an exhausted smile stealing across his face. “Of course.”

—————————

The next time he stumbles in through the doors of the Rising Stones Eisha is waiting for him with her arms crossed.

“Come with me,” she says, the sweet tone backed by steel.

It’s a testament to everything they’ve faced together that Thancred simply lets his shoulders in defeat, silently trailing behind her as she leads him toward the baths. The room is already cloaked in steam and heat and his knees nearly buckle as soon as he’s past the threshold.

He must have truly been at his breaking point. Trust Eisha to see it, to see him. Thancred places a hand on her shoulder and lets it linger there for a moment, hoping the gratitude bleeds through.

From the middle of the room the wooden tub beckons, promising relief and Thancred makes for it, dropping his clothes unceremoniously and sinking into the hot water with a hiss of pain.

“Oh Thancred,” Eisha murmurs, rolling up her sleeves with practiced movements.

“Yeah,” he grits in response, inhaling sharp through his nose when one of his calves seize.

It's no wonder Eisha sounds worried; if he looks even half as bad as he feels then it's dire indeed.

“You've been pushing yourself too hard,” she says as she moves close, raking her fingers through his fringe before letting her hand drop down to cup his jaw. Thancred leans into it and sinks a little deeper into the tub.

“There’s precious little time to spare,” Thancred says. “The Telephoroi —“

“Will have an incredibly easy time of besting you if you’re in pain like this.”

His mouth snaps shut and he doesn’t have to see Eisha’s face to know that there’s a smile on her lips.

“I know why you do this,” she says after a moment’s silence, her deft hands settling on his shoulders and squeezing. “But I think you forget that you don’t have the luxury of pushing people away this time.”

It is not said unkindly but it stings all the same. Thancred draws a measured breath and after a while, lifts his hand to cover one of Eisha’s. After molding an entire life around being of service to others it doesn’t come natural to accept anything in return; he has to consciously practice it.

Eisha thankfully says nothing more. She lets him stew in his own thoughts as her fingers begin to knead sore muscles, unraveling knots and plucking at his strings until his body sings for her. His neck, his shoulders, his back; Eisha bestows every ilm of him with the same firm and thorough care until Thancred’s head is lolled forward toward his chest and he feels caught in a dream state between sleep and wakefulness.

She reaches around him and turns his arms with agonizing care, crooning something unintelligible when Thancred winces at the pain that shoots white-hot through his veins. Shame follows in its footsteps; his body has been his main instrument for all his life, and it no longer obeys him.

Perhaps Eisha can read his mind, perhaps she cannot. Nevertheless she stops for a moment to thunk her forehead to the back of his head. It feels like a silent reassurance of his worth that he doesn’t really know what to do with, flexing his fingers underneath the warm water.

Maybe it’ll always feel strange having someone at the ready to catch him when he needs it, adrenaline drumming staccato in his chest whenever he so much as considers letting his guard down.

At least she makes it easy for him to trust. Eisha with her unwavering spirit, paving the way for all of them. His lips tick upward as he thinks of her mismatched eyes twinkling with adoration and mirth. He is a lucky man, to have that look turned his way.

All the more reason for him to do right by her. Rest is important, yes, but he isn’t even halfway to restoring the physical strength he’d enjoyed on the First and —

“— ‘cred. Thancred.”

“Huh?”

Blues and cool grays crowd his field of view and it isn’t until Thancred blinks several times that they solidify into Eisha, leaning over the tub and watching him with that very expression he’d been dreaming of.

“Feel better?”

Tentatively he lifts his arms out of the still-steaming water and rotates his shoulders with a pleased groan. It’s as though she’s gone past the surface of his skin and massaged him down to his very bones, neatly re-arranging ligaments and muscle fibers as she went.

His nerves are no longer screaming in protest, tamed by her touch and it feels as though he could float away into the water of the bathtub, like time has ceased to matter. It strikes him that this is the most relaxed he’s probably felt in over half a decade, and the realization comes with affection squeezing tight in his chest.

“I feel about ten years younger, truthfully.”

“I’m glad,” Eisha says.

Thancred is helpless; he has to reach for her.

There’s heat behind the kiss, but not of the insistent, demanding kind — no, this is crackling fire in a hearth, a cup of Eisha’s floral teas, home. Thancred smiles into it, lifting a hand out of the water to cup her jaw in the gentlest way he can muster.

Eisha pets over his chest as they kiss, tracing soothing circles over the many scars he’s collected over the years. Somehow her hands often wander there and he wonders if she does it on purpose or if it’s an instinctual thing that she can’t help. If she knows how reassuring it is.

“You won’t let it get this bad again.”

She searches his face as she pulls back and Thancred touches his fingers to his forehead in a lazy Limsan salute.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. As much as I enjoyed this…”

“You know, I am perfectly amenable to massaging you if you ask me about it too,” Eisha huffs. “No need to wait until collapse.”

“Is that so?” Thancred feigns shock, softening as soon as he feels her nails dig into his pecs with a little more force.

The anxiety is visible on her face for but a moment, but Thancred knows well how deep it runs. It’s a sobering reminder of the many fears she has to contend with — fears he shouldn’t be adding to.

“I promise you, Eisha. I’ll be more careful.”

“Better be,” she says.

“C’mere.”

Again he draws her in; now it’s his turn to soothe her, drawing a sweet sigh from her lips as he pecks at the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose, then her forehead. He runs his lips over the markings on her face, elated to feel her begin to smile.

“What would you say if I suggested we…” Thancred draws the sentence out, watching for the flick of her ear before he continues. “Take the day off tomorrow? Make for the sea and spend some time there?”

“The sea, huh…”

Thancred sneaks another kiss before she can say anything else, reaching out to tug at her shirt.

“And would this fair lady object overmuch to joining me in the bath, now that I no longer feel like I’m under a petrification spell?”

Eisha lets out a small laugh.

“This fair lady would not object, not to bath nor sea visits. Give me a moment!”

“I’ll give you all the moments you need,” Thancred murmurs as she leaves his side to go fetch the soaps.

Drakyr started, eyes widening, as Aymeric returned to his work. A moment of quiet followed.

She cleared her throat. "'That will be all'?" Drakyr repeated, incredulous.

Aymeric paused. Sighing, he set his quill down and looked to Drakyr properly. "Fury have mercy. I'm sorry, my dear. I do not mean to speak to you so. You've done nothing to offend me. With so much work to be done - " he gestured to everything awaiting his attention on his desk. " - my focus has become all-too singular."

Drakyr walked around the desk to stand at his side. With him sitting, they had the chance to be more or less at eye level. One hand rose to his jawline, guiding him closer, until she could press her lips to his temple. He sighed again, this time in relief, in the bliss of the release of a pressure he'd only just noticed he carried. From there, Drakyr directed him to rest against her chest.

"Close your eyes and breathe with me," she said quietly. "Even if it's just for a moment. You'll feel better for it."

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Thancred moves closer, joining Match at the balcony. For a moment, Match thinks about going for a hug, embracing him like he has so many times before. But no. Better not. After all, there’d be too many words in that hug, too many things that need saying that have been left unsaid too long already. Thancred watches him a moment longer. “So,” he says at last, grin fading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the Champion’s company?”

“Har har.”

“Sorry. Would you prefer warrior of light? You do seem to accrue the titles these days.”

“I didn’t ask for any of them.”

“I know you didn’t.” Another moment’s silence falls between them. Thancred looks around. “A pleasant enough night. Reminds me of the last time we were up here.” He glances sideways at Match through his pale fringe, as if measuring the miquote’s response. “A few years back now, of course.”

“I remember it,” Match replies, blushing. How could he forget? That perfect day followed by a perfect night, followed by a perfect kiss…

“Is that why we’re here? To reminisce?” There’s something new in Thancred’s voice, a note of scorn that hadn’t been there before. “Because if so there’s a few memories that aren’t so pleasant.”

Match cringes. “I know, I know. What I did back then-”

“What you did back then, you did back then. It’s done,” Thancred interrupts. “No point going over it now.”

“But I should! Let me apologize at least!”

Thancred watches him levelly. “…Alright. What do you think you need to apologize for?”

“For… For running away. For leaving without telling you where I was going, or why. For you having to come and pull me out of a jail cell.” Match looks away, unable to hold the hyur’s piercing gaze. “I was an idiot. I didn’t even think. All I cared about was saving my own skin.”

Thancred watches him for another second, then exhales a long sigh. A weary smile tugs at his cheeks. “Well, I won’t deny it’s nice to hear you finally say it. The way you’ve been acting I was starting to think you were blaming me for the whole mess.”

“What? Why?”

“Why?” Thancred says, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t exactly welcome me back into the fold with open arms, Match. We never talked about it when I handed you over to the Scions, and we never talked about it all over again when I met up with you and the others in Dravania. Then you pull another disappearing act and the next time anyone sees or hears from you you’re waiving a Doman sword around and going on about this Musosai fellow, and we still don’t talk about it.” His face grows darker. “Not to mention the few times I did see you, you constantly made those little comments.”

“Little comments?”

“You think I don’t hear you? That I don’t see that judging look in your eye when I speak to Hilda, or any woman for that matter that you happen to be in earshot of? You were never any kind of master of stealth.”

Match cringes again. “When you put it like that, I guess I have been pretty shitty to you, huh?”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Well I’m sorry for all that too.” Match looks away, unable to look Thancred in the eye. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean any of it. Not really. I’ve just been… It’s like…”

Match trails off, words leaving him again. Thancred watches him, his eyes widening in surprise as his companion’s shoulders start to shake, as tears start to tap onto the balustrade. Thancred reaches out and places a hand on Match’s shoulder. “Hey now… No need for that. You said sorry, no need for tears.”

“It’s not.. I meant, it’s not just that. Oh gods.” Match wipes his eyes with his arm. “Gods, Than. It’s all gone wrong. None of it makes any sense anymore.”

“What doesn’t? Talk to me, I’m here.” He leads the shaking m’iquote back to the stone bench set against the back of the balcony, sitting him down gently. “It’s alright, Matchstick. Talk to me.”

Match sniffs. “I should never have told you about that nickname.”

“Too late now. Now, what’s caused all this?”

Match takes a long, slow breath. “I just. I’m supposed to be this great hero, right? Everyone’s expecting me to save them from whatever the next horrible thing to show up is. Ultima Weapon. Nidhogg. Thordan. Every damn Primal, over and over. But how long am I supposed to keep doing that, you know? When do I get to stop? Haven’t I done enough yet?”

“I suppose we’re a little over-reliant on you sometimes. But you know you’re valued more than any of us.”

“I know, I know… It’s just… I still don’t remember anything from before this, you know? None of it. I’ve been so many places, seen so many m’iqote tribes now, and every time I do I walk in with part of me hoping that this is it, this is the one. This is where…”

He trails off. Thancred watches him, his expression unreadable. “Where you’re from.” Match nods. “I see. You still haven’t found a family.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my life with the Scions. I’d die for any of them. But with all this business with Doma and Ala Mhigo… I don’t know. It’s just been hurting more lately. It’s like every time I get something solid its all snatched away. And not like for the others.” He gazes despondently out over the city lights again. Below, a pair of lalafel courters stroll arm in arm through the quiet street. “Everyone else has gone through stuff, sure, but they have that surety. They know where they’re from. Raer and Muirrean, they have homes and lives they could go back to, if they wanted. I think Muirrean might even stay in Doma, the way she and Hien hit it off. But there’s nowhere for me to go except back to the Rising Stones.”

“Is that so bad? It’s a damn sight better than Pearl Alley at least.”

Match sniffs again, managing a weak smile. “And I’d definitely be able to hold onto a box better these days.”

“Exactly.” Gingerly, Thancred puts an arm around Match’s shoulders. His foolish, perfect Matchstick. How can he even begin to comfort him? How do you sum up so many years of gratitude, of resentment, of the mess they’d left behind them right here in Ul’Dah?

Another moment passes. At last, his voice slow while he searches for the words, Thancred speaks. “For whatever it may be worth… There is far more to family than tribe or name. Those back at the Rising Stones, they miss you when you’re gone, you know. They worry every time they ask you to step into danger. We all do. We ask the impossible of you, and you make it look easy. And more than that…” He squeezes a little tighter, his other hand turning Match’s face so that his despondent eyes are locked with his own. “Were you ever to ask for a reprieve they would grant it. You are more than an ally, Match Munroe. You are more than simply those titles of yours. You are family. You are so, so loved. We all love you.” A moment passes. “I…”

But he can’t say it. Not yet. Those last two words die in his throat, choked by the bitter ghost that still haunts him, that echo of nights on this very balcony that whispers on the desert wind what if, what if, what if. Still too soon. Still too late. When? When will it ever…

All of sudden his thoughts are interrupted as Match presses his lips against his own. Just for a moment. Then, Match breaks a way, his eyes still closed, his forehead still resting gently against the hyur’s.

For once in his life, Thancred doesn’t know what to say. “Match…”

Match’s eyes do not open. “Yeah. I know. Me too.”

And there, on that balcony in Ul’Dah where they’ve left so many words unsaid, three more words remain silent thoughts, as warm as that endless desert wind.

...

That time when she returned to Ishgard with the whole inconvenient truth about Haldrath and his knights and the whole Dragonsong War, knowing it would change her Ishgardian friends’ lives and afraid they might not accept it. But Haurchefant, being his enthusiastic self, believed her every word and had trust in her visions and was overjoyed she would bring peace to his nation just as she promised. That made her feel like crying, but instead she laughed and so did he. Aaaand then they had a heart-to heart talk about the future that ended with him asking her to stay with him and share that future forever. And she agreed. And didn’t let him out of her chamber until morning. It was her favourite moment, because she felt at peace. At ease. Hopeful. Relieved. Loved.

I’m not going to stop here, because she’s got two boyfriends in the game and wouldn’t forgive me if I favoured one over the other.

One of her favourite moments with X’rhun happened before they became an item, but were very much a found family already and his arch-nemesis had just been defeated, so they had finally some time to rest and things to think over. And they had a talk about vengeance and grief and how bitter they taste, and how much better it feels to defend (successfully) what you hold dear than to avenge it when it’s gone. It was a conversation they needed to have, because Rhun had been on his quest for *years* and Helvi was struggling with her own griefs and failures and really needed to know he didn’t mind her having stolen his vengeance (he did not); and she was sitting there, squeezing his hand, and he was struggling with a sudden urge to kiss her, and they were a bit afraid and a bit relieved, because there were new beginnings before them. And it was her favourite moment, because she slowly began to feel at peace again.