#wilred

walk on, never look back, through you we live.

Every so often I remember I need to actually post.

Cessalie has a soft spot for the scrappy kids with good hearts, who haven’t learned the world will take their idealism and hope and dreams and twist it to their own ends. The world was a hard, bitter place that had taught her not to trust, to wrap herself in layers of armour lest a genuine feeling should escape. It didn’t have to be that way for them. Let them believe a little longer, believe in a better world. She shed bitter tears when they found young Wilred. Not there of course. Instead she stood, silent and trembling with rage at the sight of such hope and belief and goodness cut so irrevocably short. Never mind that the lad had tried (and failed) to kill her once. His heart had been proudly emblazoned on his sleeve, weal or woe – and his naivety had served him ill. There was no justice. She had a soft spot for Haurchefant, but he hardly needed her concern. Though exuberant and optimistic to a fault, there was a cleverness and cunning in his eyes that knew all too well the way the world of men would trample the unguarded. His optimism a conscious choice, a necessary balm against a world that was at odds with him from birth. The Fortemps men were perhaps more alike then one would expect at first glance – all noble, well meaning souls to the last. Though where Haurchefant wore his heart as a shield, it might have been said that Artoirel’s heart was a burden. For all the pride he comported himself with, there was a genuine heart kept hidden from the machinations of the nobility, the Ishgardian state. To show preference was to display vulnerability – and potential for exploitation. And despite the lengths taken to guard his heart from being known, it rallied within him regardless – A desire to step up and make a difference in his ailing city, to not let the death of his brother be for nothing. The weight of a thousand years of injustice bearing down on him, on top of the already weighty expectations of being first born.

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“W-We were going to make an offering of crystals to Rhalgr- to summon Him, j-just like the masked man taught us.“

“And you believed that load of shite?”

“… It was our only hope of a better life.”

one mother’s pride is another mother’s sorrow

[Spoilers for the end of A Realm Reborn. Warning for Violence at the end.]

In the squalor of his people’s destitute encampment, Wilred Glasse attended to his menial task of unloading provisions from the city of Ul’dah. Officially, this was the responsibility of the Immortal Flames, the “stalwart” soldiers of the wealthy desert city. But today, just as every other day, those soldiers were content with tossing this manual labor to a poor Ala Mhigan youth for but a handful of gil as they spent their time drinking and gambling.

Wilred did not understand why a shipment that would hardly last Little Ala Mhigo a week could feel so endless as he unloaded crate after crate from the cart. “Won’t complain any today,” he thought to himself. “Sooner I’m done, sooner these drunk fools ‘ll pay me.” It certainly wasn’t worth any anger: the last time he let anger guide him, he nearly brought ruin to all he loved for the sake of false freedom.

He continued his work, moving the bulky crates one by one. Mind focused intently on the task at hand, Wilred blurred out the boisterous Ul’dahn soldiers and their card games. A hornet buzzed past his ear, and he did not spare any care at all. The sharp hum of the aetheryte at the encampment’s center, signalling the arrival of some unfortunate traveller, did not interest him at all as he lifted up a wide, poorly-balanced box.

That is, until he heard a playful, all-too-familiar voice whisper behind him. “Oh, Wilred... is this really what you’ve been up to since my last visit?”

“Gah!” The crate thumped as it tumbled to the floor on its side. “Y-you! Why would you sneak up on me while I was…”

He turned slowly, and found a familiar adventurer woman standing before him. That woman, still clad in that same ostentatious pink and white outfit, with one hand on her hip and the other brushing back her black hair. A person so out of place in this refugee camp that Wilred could hardly take her seriously, even before taking into consideration that she was a head shorter than himself.

And yet, Wilred immediately gave the woman craning her neck to look into his eyes his full attention. She was Teruko Mogami, the Warrior of Light. The very same that saved him and his people from himself.

“N-nevermind it. Hey, lady. What are you doin’ back here?”

Teruko laughed as she seated herself on a larger crate. “Still calling me ‘Lady?’ I have a name you know. But, well... I’m here for something important. Something that might involve you.”

“Hey now, I haven’t gotten into no trouble after that incident. My word, I promise ya. So what do you want with me?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to help me and the Scions with our little project... the Crystal Braves!”

“The what now?”

“The Crystal Braves! A force much like the Eorzean Grand Companies. Now imagine an army like them, but bringing together heroes and champions from every corner of the realm to fight evils threatening all of Eorzea.”

As the Warrior of Light went on, Wilred had to admit to himself, it was a very tempting offer. A new chance to prove himself, fighting for the good of all of Eorzea. Something more than the wild grasping for vaguely-defined liberation that drove him before.

Teruko had not even finished her pitch before Wilred straightened his posture and flashed an excited grin. “Hey, lady, that sounds exactly like the kind of opportunity I need. I’m prepared to fight the evil that I know is out there. But I have to ask… why’d ya come out to this dirthole looking for me?”

The Warrior of Light, laughed, then gave him a look beaming with pride. “Wilred, when you started that ill-guided insurrection, you were blind. But your intentions were good. You saw a real injustice, and were willing to do whatever it took to make it right. And that’s why I came here for you.”

Wilred couldn’t help but laugh himself. “You’re too kind. Really. But I won’t forget this, or you helping us all back then. You can trust me to do good and watch yer back.”

Deep in the ancient forests of the Black Shroud, Wilred concealed himself in untamed foliage, his ear trained on the campsite his marks built far from civilization. Sensing trouble for some time, he tailed two of his “comrades” for a considerable distance.

It all came to this. The two Crystal Braves before him, arrogantly believing themselves free of any listeners, were refining a plan that was more ruthless and craven that any other plot Wilred could imagine. Murdering the Sultana of Ul’dah? The Braves, detaining the Scions - the restless protectors of the realm - for crimes against the city? Framing the Warrior of Light for the whole thing? Fiends! Curs! Blackhearts! He felt dirty wearing the same damned uniform as them!

The temptation to leap out of the shadows and cut down the conspirators himself was powerful. But Wilred knew that without any more concrete evidence, it would be a foolish, reckless move. He still had time to run back to Mor Dhona to warn the Scions. And certainly the Warrior of Light. He would-

Wilred felt his heartbeat break into a frenzy as he felt a gloved hand grip his shoulder tightly. Cold, unforgiving steel plunged into the side of his chest. Every breath brought escalating agony, and he gurgled on the warm fluid rushing into his throat and lungs.

Wildly thrashing, Wilred mustered all of his remaining strength to resist his assailant. He reached for his sword, and then began bashing the back of his fist against the head of the man behind him when his other arm was restrained. Wilred vowed to himself that if he was never to leave this forest, then he would at least take one vile usurper down with him.

But the blade plunged deeper, and twisted until Wilred could resist no more.

A gruff, unflinching voice whispered into his ear. The familiar voice of a man Wilred once looked up to. “You know, boy. I always liked you. A fine example of Ala Mhigan spirit. It’s a shame your strength was wasted chasing ideals worth nothing compared to our freedom.”