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driftward · 2 years ago

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Title: What Vengeance Brings Characters: Nehra Mewrilah, Estinien Varlineau Summary: Nehra has long kept Estinien at arm's length, viewing his obsession with vengeance as a life long character flaw that fed his reckless behaviour and resulted in tragedy for so many. Now, under the shadow of what is left of the Garlemald Empire, they are forced to face their own struggle with what vengeance means. Notes: This was written as part of a gift exchange between a fair number of Final Fantasy XIV artists and writers, as organised by Sasslett! (Sassanova on Ao3). This is my gift for dreadwormz. Being entrusted with someone else's character is such a treat, as well as a privilege I take seriously, and I have been pleased to been able to make this for them. Enjoy!

The party was situated around the campfire, having decided to stop for the night. The moogles had been equal parts pleasant and exasperating, but they had their guide, now, and the path to Hraesvalgr was clear.

Alphinaud held his cup in his hands, looking into its depths. “I certainly hope he will be open to our audience,” he said.

“Chin up, boy,” said Estinien. “If Hraesvalgr will not receive our parlay, then Nidhogg shall receive my spear. Even now I can sense his fury from his aery. An end to this, one way or another.”

Nehra felt Ysayle tense, ready to begin the argument anew, but they beat her to it.

“Even after all this time, and all that we’ve worked towards, and you can still think of nothing except your damnable vengeance! This is supposed to be a mission of peace, Estinien.”

Estinien snorted. “Aye. And I will see that peace, one way or another… Warrior of Light.”

Nehra glowered at him. “Can you even see past your hate and fury? We’re trying to make something good here. A lasting peace. Something besides more blood and death, can’t you see that?”

“What I can see,” said Estinien, dryly, “is the lichyards of my countrymen fallen to that wyrm. I am dedicated to the cause of our little lordling here, but should it fail, I will not hesitate to do what is necessary.”

“Enough!” cried out Alphinaud. “I know that we have been on this road for a very long time. Can we not set aside our differences for but a few malms longer? We shall seek our audience from Hraesvalgr, and then we shall decide what to do from there.”

Ysayle got up and turned away from the rest of them, heading for her tent. With one last glare at Estinien, Nehra went after her.

~*~

Fandanial’s mocking laughter faded along with him, leaving Nehra out in the cold, under the looming shadows of the wrecks of the towers that were once Garlemald.

He had not dumped them straight on top of danger, for a blessing, but around them, Nehra could see addled soldiers and malfunctioning magitek aimlessly drifting around the streets.

They could feel their very soul freeze, not quite succumbing to panic, but close to.

This body they were inhabiting was off. It was too tall, limbs too long, and Nehra found the height almost dizzying. Their soul was tied to this body somehow, and they could feel a wave of nausea threatening to overcome them.

Despite the heavy armor that this body came with, Nehra felt naked, exposed. It was as though they had been laid bare to the world. They tried to call to the aether, but found themselves blocked and sealed away from it. This body had no access to those precious energies, and trying to draw from them threatened their grip on it.

Had they ever been this helpless.

Not just the body. The entire situation. Their friends were out of reach. A monster had taken their proper body, and was now on his way to mete out his sick amusement. Fandanial was unquestionably nearby, watching, laughing at his own cleverness.

Nehra felt empty.

They looked outwards, finding out for themselves which direction Camp Broken Glass would be in, and began to head towards it, keeping their head low, a tight grip on their borrowed weapon.

They would find their way home.

All they had to do was ignore that void in their chest gnawing at the edges of their soul.

~*~

Nehra watched, transfixed, as Hraesvalgr swept around the mighty Imperial flagship Gration.

Estinien crossed his arms, watching next to her.

“What is he doing?” asked Wedge nervously.

Nehra did not answer, frowning, watching closely as the mighty dragon rose high into the sky, corkscrewing as a single lone figure dropped from his back.

Nehra felt their heart go to their throat. “Ysayle!”

“What is that mad woman doing?” muttered Estinien.

Ysayle plummetted from the sky, two wyverns flanking her, and Nehra could only watch as she took the form of Shiva, the mighty Primal of ice.

The Enterprise Excelsior bucked as it twisted and turned, avoiding another barrage of Imperial gunfire, but it was no longer the primary target of the dreadnought’s strength. Guns turned to the new threat, rockets and bullets being exchanged with ice and winter storm.

Nehra held her breath. Could Ysayle do it?

Mighty spears of ice stabbed into the hull of the Gration, even as frost coated its engines and smoke began to pour out from its flanks, as ceruleum froze and machinery seized.

What did not freeze, however, were the ship’s main guns. Peppering the sky with flack, they at last found their mark, once, twice, many times, over and over and over again. With each hit, a puff of snow and ice flew into the air, as Shiva’s ice armor held out.

But not forever.

Nehra could only watch, helpless, as Shiva’s form dissipated. The two wyverns flanking her fell, and shortly after, Ysayle fell with them.

Nehra lunged out a hand towards Ysayle, as though she could reach across the distance and pluck her from the air. Next to her, Estinien rushed forward, holding onto a brace as he leaned out, his body tense as though to follow after her.

“I’m going to try to make a break for it. Hang on!” said Cid.

The Gration fell behind as the Enterprise Excelsior broke away, making for the floating island of Azys Lla.

And Ysayle fell away through the clouds. And as she did, Nehra’s heart fell with her.

~*~

Nehra felt so helpless.

They dug through the ruins of Garlemald, finding supplies as they went along, patching what they could into the armor from salvage that they found, applying medicine as best as they were able with fingers that were too large against a body that was too frail.

The emptiness gave way to something else, a dogged determination, and the beginnings of something simmering inside of them.

Something had gone terribly wrong in the world and had left Nehra here in this magitek armor in this abandoned body that was not theirs in the corpse of this once great city, but Nehra could make it right. Had to make it right. Had to make it home.

Had to get to their friends and loved ones before Zenos did.

Determination fueled them at first, but they felt it began to wane, as Nehra had to strike down victims of this nightmare much like themselves. But where Nehra still at least had their sanity, many of the soldiers they ran across had lost their minds to the enthrallment of that awful tower.

But not all of them.

Nerha found themselves standing alongside the survivors of Garlemald.

The survivors counted them as one of their own, because of course they did. Nehra looked exactly like one of their officers, this body clad in the armor of one of their fallen, but the others didn’t know that, and Nehra couldn’t figure out how to make this body speak to tell them otherwise, and had no desire to do so anyroad.

But they were just as hopeless as Nehra was, perhaps more so, and as Nehra gazed upon these people, just struggling to survive, something inside of them shifted, and ignited.

Nehra was not the only victim.

Nehra’s family was going to be the next victim.

Nehra would not allow that to happen.

Nehra would be the last victim of that madman.

The strength of determination faded and gave way to something far more puissant. The fire of vengeance began to burn, and Nehra found it potent indeed.

Nehra banded together with these poor remnants of Garlemald as they attempted to survive, facing off against rogue magitek weaponry.

This body was so tired, but Nehra swallowed its weakness, and pushed it forward, harder, further.

They had to get home. They had to find out.

They had to find out what that monster planned to do, was doing, with their friends.

They had to stop him and his toady.

This was just one more step on the journey. They would catch up to Zenos, and Fandanial.

They could do something about this.

They could fix this.

They pulled others to their feet, and charged into the fray.

They could end Zenos and Fandanial.

They took fire from wandering weapons platforms, and pressed on.

They had to.

They were flung through the air as a magitek fuel cell exploded, nearly ending them.

They fought on.

They crawled along the ground, grinding the teeth of this body so hard they could feel the ache, the muscles in its legs burning, the fire in their soul licking out, threatening to consume them.

They had to stop him, and nothing else mattered.

~*~

Nehra looked down at what remained of Archbishop Thordan the VII.

Last of his line.

His last words, “What are you?”, echoed in their mind.

Nehra felt their arms go lax, and dropped their weapon. They were so, so, tired.

Was this what end Ysayle had bought with her blood? Was it worth it?

“…is it over, then? I had hoped that mine would be the hand to end it… but knowing you, there was little chance of that.”

Nehra bristled at Estinien’s words, but closed their eyes, and took a deep breath in before letting it out slow. They would not let Estinien get to them. Too much had been lost this day already.

And besides, they were exhausted. They felt as though they had ran every malm between Ishgard and Azys Lla, and perhaps in a way, they had.

The moment called for grace, not candor. So they turned to Estinien, and held out Nidhogg’s eye to him.

“‘Twould seem the Eye has served you well,” said Estinien, taking it. Nehra just watched as he walked over to Thordan’s sword, the last remaining artifact of the Heaven’s Ward, and reached down to pluck out the other dragon eye that its hilt had been formed around.

“Its twin… At long last… All that remains is to take them beyond the reach of man and dragon both. With this task accomplished, my toils shall finally be at an end.”

And theirs as well, Nehra thought. And perhaps after all this, they could take the time to mourn Ysayle properly. To remember her as she should be remembered.

A beautiful light just trying to bring some brightness to this dark world.

A crack of aether brought Nehra’s attention sharply back to Estinien. The twin eyes of Nidhogg roiled with blood red aether, and Nehra could feel the fury blooming off of them, a sickly miasma that burned at the edges of their very self and churned their insides on themselves.

“Thou hadst done well to resist mine influence, bathed in my power and blood as thou wert,” intoned the dark voice of Nidhogg in draconic, somehow speaking from beyond the grave. “Alas, in thine anticipation of comfort, thou hast lowered thy guard!”

Nehra’s breath quickened as the world seemed to slow down. They were uncertain as to what to do. Approaching Estinien seemed a fool’s task, the heat of the fury coming off of them warning Nehra away. But to flee was not in their nature and out of the question. They had to do something. Just a few moments longer, and they were certain they could figure something out..

“The keening of my fallen kindred… their smoldering desire for vengeance… mine eyes have partaken of a thousand years of pain-a pain which I shall bestow upon thee! Drink deep of my rage, mortal… AND BECOME ME!”

An explosive wave of heat blew through Nehra and they felt themselves go cold despite it, shielding their eyes before its powerful waves, and when at last they lifted their head once more, Estinien stood there no longer.

In his place was the embodiment of generations of pain and anger, the manifestation of vengeance itself.

Nidhogg.

With a roar, he took off, and Nehra could do nothing but watch as he flew into the sky.

Nehra gritted their teeth as their ears folded back and their tail thrashed. Vengeance was not done exacting its price today, not just yet, it seemed.

~*~

They could see themself.

This body was tired. They were now part of it, a soul clinging to a body that was not theirs. Their soul, its tendrils strung through the body of this thing, a puppeteer’s strings all tangled in the ribs of a corpse, and this body was so, so tired.

But they pushed it, dragged it, cajoled it, and through sheer willpower, managed to drive it to this point, here, now.

They could see themself.

It was not at all like looking in a mirror. It was wrong. They looked wrong.

And they were grabbing ahold of Y’vdola. Their hand, on Y’vdola’s arm, leering at her, leaning close, threatening her.

Their Dola.

Their wife.

Nehra almost felt themself vanish in the white hot ignition of sheer rage that burned through their entire soul and seemed to threaten to light the body they were inhabiting on fire. Aether had not come to them yet for this entire wretched journey, but it flared now in the heat of their fury, leaping to them, as they felt themselves become soul fire itself. They wrenched their sword up in an overhand grasp, and with a powerful heave, their power flowed into it, and they speared it across the field.

The sword slammed into Nehra’s right thigh.

It may well have ended a lesser being. As it was, Zeno’s grip on their body faltered, and Nehra watched themself fall.

Even as their own grip on the shambling wreck they had been steering faltered, the last burn of effort being too much to continue to maintain a grip.

Fandanial chose now to appear, of course.

The bastard.

Nehra was going to teach him that there was enough room in this grave for two.

But not just yet.

He taunted Nehra, declared the little experiment over, that the time was just about up, but Nehra could barely hear him for the rushing of the fire in their ears.

They both would die. Zenos first. It mattered not what body he inhabited. He would never get the chance to harm anything that mattered to them ever again.

~*~

Nehra glared up at the tower, and clenched their fist. Their body was theirs once more, and Zenos and Fandanial had fled, and the group was determining what needed to be done.

“We go after him, that’s what we do,” they declared. They could feel the fury burning inside of their veins, and they could feel its power in their own voice, almost as if roaring from a distance, as they spoke. “We storm the tower, find them both, and we kill them. Put an end to all of this, one way or another.”

Nehra turned to see the others looking at one another. Alphinaud cleared his throat and spoke first. “Well, yes, obviously, that is naturally our next course of action, but I was rather hoping to speak of how we might go about doing that, exactly.”

“What is there to talk about? We’ve got the people. We’ve got weapons. We gather our forces, and we storm the tower.”

“We must needs plan our exact methods and not rush in rashly,” said Y’shtola, and damn her for being reasonable. “Word needs to be disseminated, and we must needs be diligent about our preparations, lest we come to an ill end.”

“Fine. Let me go first. I’ll rush the tower my damned self,” said Nehra.

“Surely you do not mean that!” said Alphinaud.

Estinien was standing nearby, his arms crossed, but he was almost staring at Nehra. She glared at him, meeting his eyes. His brow furrowed, but his gaze did not break.

Nehra looked away first, feeling her face burn as she looked to the ground.

“…no. No, I guess I don’t,” she said sullenly. “Fine. We make our plans. But as soon as we’re able, I want to strike.”

She looked up at the group, and saw heads slowly nodding, some more reluctantly than others.

Damn them all and damn their caution.

She turned away from the group suddenly, stalking off. “Start the planning without me. I’ll be back.”

“Nehra, wait -” began G’raha, but they did not listen to him. They were too angry. Too upset, and they had neither the time nor the patience for any of their friends just now.

How did they not understand? How could they not understand? Zenos had threatened them all, he had almost hurt them, under Fandanial’s mocking words. And the longer they took to go after both of them, the more time they had to scheme and come up with more wretched plans of their own.

Nehra would see their blood in the snow before the day was out if they had anything to say about it.

They walked through and around buildings, past people and boxes, angrily ignoring refugee and ally alike. Nehra stalked past them all, not seeing or hearing anything until they at last looked up to see where they were going.

They were in a clearing. Behind them, the small little spot of civilization that the Garlean Contingent had managed to make into a temporary home. In front of them, the gnarled trunks of frozen forest, dark in the unforgiving winter.

Nehra turned once more towards the menacing tower that dominated the landscape and loomed over everything, dwarfing even the tall spires of the ruins of the capital of Garlemald.

And nearby, far nearer than he had any right to be, was Estinien.

They had been dodging him practically since he had joined the Scions properly, after the events of the First, but there was no ducking him this time, and a part of Nehra didn’t want to. A part of Nehra wanted this, now. The opportunity to vent their frustrations on him. Anger welled up, but Nehra realised it had nowhere to go just now, but they dug in anyway.

“What do you want, Estinien?” Nehra practically snarled at him.

Estinien just raised his head at them, and tilted it ever-so-slightly. They turned away from him, but began to pace around him, and tried not to think too much about how much they were like a predator circling its prey.

“I came to look after you. It is not like you to be so full of rancor.”

“And you would know a lot about that, now, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, aye.”

Nehra paused, stopping. How long had they known Estinien, that they did not anticipate his candor? Even next to the likes of Y’shtola, Estinien tended to be blunt and to the point.

“Well what about it. I hope you weren’t planning on lecturing me on how righteous my anger is or isn’t, especially after everything that happened back in Ishgard.”

“You seek vengeance.”

“You’re damned right I do.”

“I know where such a path leads.”

“Do you intend to try to stop me, then?”

“No. Nor do I want to. When I went to face Nidhogg in the aery, despite my rage, my need for vengeance, your vision was clearer than mine, and you saw the necessity of the work. You went with me, despite your misgivings. It is much the same now. Your vision remains clearer than mine, no matter how bad your need for revenge may cloud it. These mad men need to be stopped, and I intend to be with you every step of the way.”

“Then what, Estinien? What could be so important that you’ve followed me all the way through camp and halfway to the woods to tell me?”

“You aim to go into that loathsome tower and see an end to the former crown prince, and none will gainsay you, and nor shall I. But I cannot help but wonder what toll you are willing to charge for the privilege.”

“What toll? How can you ask that? I’m going to stop them, Estinien. By any means I can bring to bear. I will see an end to their pointless, useless campaign of terror and bring peace to these lands.”

“And what of the people of Garlemald?”

“I would think they’d be grateful. But whatever they do, they’d better stay out of my way.”

“And your own?”

“I’m doing this for them! They can either help or get out of my way too.”

“And once you’ve killed him, once you have sated your righteous anger, what then?”

Nehra stopped pacing, and faced Estinien, throwing her hands out to the side.

“I don’t know. What do you mean, what then? Nothing! Then nothing, because he’ll be dead, and everyone will be safe!”

“Will they?”

Nehra’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that, Estinien.”

Estinien’s words were harsh, but his tone… his tone was gentle.

“Have you forgot that mad woman’s screed so easily? She rejected my rage, my righteous anger, perhaps even more stridently than you. Because she believed, and though she was wrong about a great many things, she was right in her own way about one. Vengeance begets vengeance, but it will never bring you peace.”

“How dare you,” said Nehra. “I cared for Ysayle. More than you can know. I failed her. I will not fail -”

They stopped themself, and clenched their fist.

Estinien looked out over the snow, and continued as though Nehra had not said anything. “I remember standing in that room with you, Thordan’s plans undone. Do you remember Nidhogg’s words? About the anticipation of my coming comfort? But while it may have been hope for release from that burden that caused me to lower my guard, that was not what let him in.

“It was the hollowness that had been left in my soul in the wake of what I had thought to be the fulfillment of my vengeance. Aye, I had killed Nidhogg. But doing so had not brought me peace. My parents, my family, my countrymen. They were all still dead. And I had never had to face that, not truly. I let my need for vengeance blind me from the pain of my heart. And for that, I paid dearly.”

Estinien looked at Nehra. “Are you willing to pay the same price?”

“Any price to keep my friends and loved ones safe.”

“And I ask you again, will they be safe? What will you do, to always keep them safe from this world? There will always be another threat, another to call enemy. Shall you wait for it to come to you? Or will you search it out, eager to stop a perceived danger before it can rise too far? Knowing that your actions will never lead to the peace you wish?”

Estinien looked up at the night sky. “Even when you become the last one standing amongst the ashes of your enemies.”

Nehra stared at Estinien.

“He - he threatened you, Estinien. He threatened my wife, Estinien. He’s - he would see us all dead.”

“Aye, that he would,” said Estinien. “And what will be left behind, once he’s dead?”

Nehra looked down at their hands.

“I ran from the faces of my parents. What are you running from?” asked Estinien, quietly.

Nehra squeezed their eyes shut. They could feel a tension in their chest. They could feel a pain gripping their heart. They could see it, in their mind’s eye -

“My wife,” said Nehra, their voice hushed and harsh. “I could - I couldn’t save Ysayle. She trusted me, and I couldn’t keep her alive. And my wife - my wife trusted me. She - she saw my face, and she trusted me, and I almost failed her. I - I can’t fail her again, Estinien. I - I’m sorry. I can’t. I just… I just can’t.”

Even as the words spilled out of them, they could feel the tears begin to spill out of their soul and down their cheeks, hot fire burning rivulets into their memory, seeing again as their own body, driven by Zenos, reached out and grabbed Y’vdola’s arm.

Seeing Ysayle fall through the sky.

They had never felt so helpless. They sunk into the snow slowly, and they wailed, as their fury broke, and the grief behind it welled.

Estinien was right.

Damn him, he was right. And they were hollow.

“You must find me cold comfort indeed,” said Estinien, his voice still quiet. “But consider that there are those that you care about that still yet live. Go. Face them. Talk to them.”

Nehra took a deep, shuddering breath in, and then nodded, standing up again. The two returned to the house where the Scions were staying, walking in silence. The pain receded as they went along, as Nehra found themselves, at last, able to face what they had feared all along, inside of themselves. And as they went, Nehra found Estinien’s presence oddly comforting as they went back, even as they felt themselves quiet inside, the fire receding, and leaving behind the aching pain.

The fear of it all. The terror. The sorrow. The feeling of helplessness.

But now, Nehra would face those feelings, accepting each as they came. Even as they came to a stop outside where they were staying, Estinien looking Nehra over one last time before opening the door for them.

Nehra looked up to him, and he nodded, just once. Without returning the gesture, they took in a deep breath, summoned up their courage, and walked inside, to find the waiting faces of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn looking back at them.

Among them, the face of their wife.

Estinien closed the door behind them, as Nehra shared with them their fears and concerns, and accepted the comfort of their friends, and at last, began the plan of how they would confront this latest threat to the star.

And perhaps beginning to heal.

~*~

It was late when Nehra sought out Estinien and found him leaning against a wall, his arms crossed, as was typical. He barely acknowledged their presence as they approached, his hooded eyes that seemed to miss little, flickering over to look them over before returning to gaze away.

Only this time, Nehra thought they saw a glimmer of light in them. How long had that light been there?

How long had Nehra willfully ignored it?

Nehra clasped their hands behind them as they settled in to lean against the wall next to Estinien.

“We are still going after him,” they said.

“I should certainly hope so,” replied Estinien.

He was not as talkative as he had been in the clearing, and fell silent. Nehra, in turn, did not know how to say what they needed to say.

So they just said it.

“I have been avoiding you since you joined us. Or being short with you when we did have to interact. I haven’t been fair to you, and… and I’m sorry. I’m going to try to be better about that.”

“Hmph. I shall hold you to that.”

Nehra just smiled and snorted a bit at that.

“…thank you.”

“All I did was prattle on too much on matters you would’ve figured out on your own. I just thought to maybe get to them sooner, rather than later. Better, before the regrets had a chance to settle in.”

“Yeah… I think I understand.”

“As I said. Your vision has always been clearer than mine. That’s why I’m here. And if I may be so bold… I think that is part of what she saw in you, too.”

Nehra felt the pang of memory.

“Ysayle.”

“Aye. That mad woman… she was my friend too, in the end.”

Nehra nodded, at last, accepting it.

“You’re still with me, then?”

“So long as you march ever forward, my spear will be at your side,” said Estinien, before smirking at Nehra. “So no, I’m afraid you’ll not be rid of me so easily.”

“What - you’re impossible, you know that?”

“That is what she said as well as you recall, aye.”

“Well, she was right!”

The two looked at one another, and then they both fell into laughter, which faded away quickly, but something had changed between them. They were not yet as friends, perhaps.

But they had found something, at last, to build on between them. Something more than the foundation of vengeance would have allowed them.

A better future.

#final fantasy xiv #biot writes #gift exchange #nehra mewrilah #estinien varlineau #endwalker #what vengeance brings #202307-09

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