#idk what i'm doing with the juxtaposition of zenos seeing io's darkness and attempting to stoke it versus

[coldshrugs]

what i see in you, i hope you find in me

characters: io laithe (wol), alisaie leveilleur, estinien varlineau wordcount: 1.6k note: io feels out of sorts in garlemald. her friends seek to comfort her. the first part of this is directly before "in from the cold" and the second part is the following day. [read on AO3]

There is a fragile warmth in Camp Broken Glass.

The Ilsabard Contingent troops, faces familiar and foreign to Io, begin the difficult work of welcoming the Ist’s soldiers into their camp. There are wounds to mend, fires to stoke, and enormous pots of soup to simmer and disperse. Not all of her people are cheery about it, but there is a sense of purpose in each of them. This is why they’ve come all this way, faced the perils of the north, faced their bloody history.

Healing is rarely a painless act.

Io stays on the fringes. At best, she is a divisive figure in this land–at worst, she is the manifestation of Garlean terror. It’s better if she lets the soldiers process their new circumstances without meddling and, truthfully, she could do with a moment of peace.

She heads toward a building adjacent to the cookfires to escape the frigid wind. This is as good a place to hide as any. She tugs her fleece-lined coat around her more tightly and leans against the near-frozen wood.

Miles away, the Tower of Babil looms over the city, angry, crimson, and waiting for her. The next leg of her journey, perhaps the final one, will take her there.

To him.

For nearly three years, Zenos has consumed Io’s thoughts. He has stoked her rage, sometimes indirectly, most of the time for his deranged satisfaction. He reaches for the darkness in her that no one else wants to touch, let alone acknowledge, and he sets it aflame. She hates him for it, yet she is grateful to him. One feeling lays on the other, like oil on water, and she cannot find a way to blend them.

At least not one that makes her sound sane.

Footsteps approach and the crunch of snow shakes Io from her thoughts.

“There you are.” Alisaie stops at her side. She glares at the Tower for a long moment, then turns to Io. “Are you alright? Some of the Contingent have asked about you.”

Io nods and pulls her attention away from the repulsive skyline. “I’m fine, Alisaie. Trying to stay out of the way for the evening.”

Alisaie frowns. “Would you care for company? Alphinaud and I have tended the worst of the injured, and have been all but forced to rest. He’s run off to find that witless oaf he admires so much.”

“He’s not so bad,” Io laughs, and gestures for her friend to settle in against the battered building. “In a few short months, you two will be thick as thieves.”

“You are not often wrong, but I fear this will be the exception.”

Io glances across the camp. It takes a moment to spot them, but Alphinaud, Alberic, and Estinien sit on a couple of low benches, sipping hot soup from hammered metal cups. All three appear to be in good spirits, smiling and laughing as Alphinaud recounts some story or other.

Something strange and sharp twists in her chest at the sight of them. The knowledge she isn't welcome to join them, perhaps.

Her second reason to hide.

“He’s angry with me. I suppose that is his right. I shouldn’t have let them take you two.” Io grits her teeth, fighting against the knot of guilt that has resided in her stomach since the morning.

Estinien is her friend, perhaps the closest she has here besides Alisaie. She understands him, so she can hardly blame him for being upset with her. They are family to him, Alphinaud, and Alisaie by extension. No less than they are to her. He has given Io little more than one-word responses since the twins were found. She may pretend otherwise, but his cold shoulder wounds her.

“Oh, to hells with Estinien.” Alisaie waves a gloved hand dismissively in his direction. “He’ll get over it. Would he have you fire upon civilians while negotiating peace? He may love my brother like a… well, brother, but he must admit there was no ideal series of events to be had. We all did our best, and we all made it through.”

Her hand lands on Io’s arm. Her fingers must feel like ice inside her glove, but Alisaie squeezes anyway, firm and reassuring.

“Thank you, Ali,” she whispers, and her gratitude hangs as a visible breath between them. They stay tucked between the buildings until Y’shtola calls them to dinner.

○––––––––––––––––––––––––––––○

Articulating what it is like to be outside oneself is something Io cannot bring herself to do. How could she describe watching her loved ones nearly cut down by her own hand, while she occupies the body of another? While an intruder operates hers. To be the stringless puppet and the feeble voyeur all at once

She has never been more afraid.

And Zenos… Though something in her heart still quakes like a plucked string at the thought of him, a modicum of sympathy she can't seem to erase, she finally accepts what she has known for so long: there is nothing for her there. Her most monstrous facets are reflected in him, a dark mirror she's been staring into for too long, but she could never do that to someone. Never.

With nothing more she can say to the others, she retreats to her closet-sized room in one of the less-dilapidated buildings. Io shrugs out of her coat, sighing with exhaustion. The icy air bites at her skin, even through her shirt, and she moves toward the ceruleum heater struggling to keep the temperature up in the corner. There is no time to rest. The assault on the Tower is happening in mere hours, and she needs to be armored, armed, and briefed.

Someone knocks, two heavy raps. Io leaves the tepid warmth to open the door.

Estinien?

He's the last person she expected right now.

His jaw is locked, and his hard stare passes over her in quick inspection, missing nothing. Fury lingers in his gray eyes, but unlike yesterday, it’s not her he wants to burn. Is he no longer upset with her?

Unable to meet his gaze, Io looks away. “Is something wrong?”

“I came to ask how you’re doing,” he says, “after yesterday.”

Io opens the door wider, inviting him into the space. He glances at the wooden stool in the corner, then back at her, and crosses the threshold with a reluctant step.

She sits on the cot, too far from the meager rays of heat. The air is heavy between them. Something is on his mind, and Estinien is never one to hold back for long.

“Are you hurt?” He asks after settling on the creaky stool. It’s too small for him, and she bites back her amusement. This is not the time to fall back into their comfortable patterns, no matter how much she longs for them. “They tell me you aren’t, but I would hear it from you.”

“I’m uninjured.”

“And your mind?” Estinien presses, facing her head-on. He searches her face, grey eyes refusing to shy away from whatever the answer may be. She has seen him like this before, harboring an indignant, singular focus, though that was years ago. Yesterday’s irritation was a shadow of this.

“Fine.” She tucks a knee under her chin. It is almost the full truth.

“Io. You're shaking.”

“Perhaps you should blame the climate.”

He grimaces, teeth grinding in frustration. “I have seen you cold before. Do not pretend we're strangers.”

Io runs a hand through her hair. Trying to fool him is as futile as attempting to forget the last twenty-four hours. But he is here, talking to her, and she doesn't want him to go just yet. “And what of your mind, Estinien? You don’t seem yourself.”

His next breath stutters out of him, followed by hesitant words. “Before I found them,” he starts, and she knows he means the twins, “I could only see the worst outcome behind that door. How late would I be, this time? What could I have done to save them? …I prepared my grief. Then the door opened, and they were fine. Just whinging about the cold. It was easy to blame you for what could’ve happened. Easier than going back to the first time I lost family.”

He pauses and looks at her. Looks into her. And there’s the man she knows like the back of her hand. The friend she knows so well, they communicate across silence and stillness. She offers him a half-smile.

“I scoffed when you disappeared, still angry at the false burden I thought you cast upon me. Had I known what happened to you…” The words trail into silence as Estinien forces his eyes away from her to the window and the malevolent tower beyond. “I realized you, too, are… I will lose no more family, Io.”

Her sharp inhale stings her lungs. She watches him as he gazes out the window, projecting his anger toward Babil, Zenos, Fandaniel. Everywhere but her direction.

“Estinien,” she calls across the small room, embarrassed by the soft crack of her voice, and he turns back to her. “We’re alright, all of us. I would never let the twins come to harm. Garlemald has taken much from me, so much that offering aid to this land is agonizing, but it will not take them. I hope you trust me.”

He rises and gives her a firm nod, lingering by the window as if he’s not finished here. He shakes his head, clears his throat.

“Don’t let it take you either.”

That doesn’t feel like the end of it, but he leaves before she can say more.