#obsidian carbuncle is the alisaie of the two

[dovalore]

new clothes for the new year!

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Movement: Nocturne 2/2

Time Frame: Shadowbringers MSQ. Spoilers accordingly up to Holminster Switch.

Notes: Grief and angst and a whole lot of comforting the best girl. Platonic SFW with an older Alisaie.

Chapter one here.

Cross-posted to Ao3.

You're probably ALSO going to need this if you want an idea of what Alvaar is singing.

-

On the eve of Holminster Switch, Alvaar just wants to get some sleep on the first proper night he’s had in days. But there’s no rest for the wicked, and it’s more than worth staying up to comfort the person who needs it most.

Handling loss and grief is starting to feel old hat to him anyway.

-

  “So that’s it. That’s what happened, I swear, if you don’t believe me, ask your sister,” Alvaar murmured, sitting on the steps of one of the stairways after dropping off the Red Mage’s gear with the mender. Alphinaud was perched nearby, mulling over the recap of Alvaar’s evening he’d been told while his carbuncle was currently draped across the man’s lap.

Breathing out a slow sigh, the Scholar finally eased a bit, though his face seemed no less troubled by the news. “So that sin eater was someone she knew... that would explain her reaction then. Who was it?”

“Tesleen. One of the carers at the Inn she was close with. Seemed a very sweet woman... she didn’t deserve that fate,” Alvaar answered, fingers still buried in plush fur. “That good? Not going to kill me now? Because I’m certain she won’t be too happy with what I have said, and any further details you’d have to ask her yourself. That’s just what I know from the brief time I was there.”

“I don’t imagine Alisaie will be either,” Alphinaud mused, studying his own shoes intently. “And... you’re fine Alvaar. My apologies. I should have known better, but even so I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Glancing at him, Alvaar shrugged. “You were worried for your sister after she was obviously showing signs of upset and distress. I don’t blame you. If I were in a similar situation, I would have done the same even if one of the Twelve walked out the door instead. Speaking of, why were you there anyway?”

“When Alisaie still hadn’t returned, I thought it best to try and track her down to ensure she hadn’t been ambushed by sin eaters. Moonstone had just led me to your door before you opened it,” he explained quietly.

“Ah... neat trick. You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask before Alphi... who’s this cutie? Moonstone obviously, but I don’t remember you using a white carbuncle before. Last I knew was obsidian,” Alvaar inquired, ruffling the carbuncles long ears and grinning slightly at the rumbly purr it earned.

“Hm? Oh... I suppose you haven’t. I’d only just finished the basic geometries before I left for Garlemald. It’s based from white moonstone, designed for healing support instead of offensive arts,” Alphinaud answered, studying the carbuncle with a faint puzzlement as it continued to snuggle into Alvaar’s lap.

“So you’re the one who left all those paw prints in that shack in Kholusia,” Alvaar remarked brightly, ruffling soft fur and grinning at the bright chirp he got in answer even as Alphinaud pulled an annoyed face.

“I told you I spent most of my idle time on refining it Alvaar, don’t tease me,” he huffed.

“Well, they’re lovely. Hmm... Can I call you Carbi?” Alvaar asked the summon, tilting his head as the carbuncle’s fox like face looked up at him before chirping again. “Carbi with an I, it is.”

“You can’t be serious...” Alphinaud sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I can’t call it Mooni. That’s just silly.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m not the one that keeps designing cuter and cuter fuzzy pets for battle and then refusing to name them Leveilleur. You did this to yourself. But much as I would like to stay here and chat with you, and I do mean that I’ve rather missed our talks, I should be getting back.” He paused, mulling over the situation before meeting his friend’s eyes. “She asked to stay in my room tonight. If you wanted to talk to her before tomorrow, now might be the time,” he stated, offering an out that he knew the Scholar didn’t miss.

Glancing away in deep thought, Alphinaud sighed. “Knowing my sister if she wanted to talk to me than she would have. I fully expected her to be upset with my attempt to find her after she made it clear she wanted to be left alone. I had just wanted to ensure she was alright, and now I know she is. If she went to see you then that’s where she wishes to be.” Looking up at him, the Scholar gave a genuine if tired smile. “Contrary to my... less charitable reaction earlier... I know if she is with you, she’ll be fine. That’s enough for me. Anything further can be discussed later after we’ve all had some well-earned rest.”

“Sure?” Alvaar asked after a moment.

“Positive.”

“Alright.” Studying the Scholar’s face and the traces of weariness on it, Alvaar reached over to loop an arm around his shoulders and pull him into a one-armed hug. “Promise me you’ll rest? No staying up late for politics and research okay?”

A soft chuckle left the shorter Elezen after a moment. “I assure you my friend, the very next place I’m going to is my suite. ... Just... please take care of my sister.”

“I will. Now then, up you get Carbi. Cute as you are, I’ve a job to do.” The Bard waited as the carbuncle gave him a brief look before slipping off his lap to perch on the stairs with a dutiful if squeaky chirp. “.... Oschon’s bow and staff you’re so damn cute,” he murmured, ruffling the carbuncles fluffy cheeks. “Alphi I like this one. They’re so chatty... little charmer you,” Alvaar crooned, ducking down to press a kiss to the creature’s forehead before hauling himself up to his feet. Giving a last fur smoothing pet to the summon, he started up the stairs towards his room. “Get some rest Alphi. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. Pleasant dreams Alvaar.”

-

Knocking on the door, Alvaar waited for the muted answer before letting himself in. Remembering to lock it behind him this time, he paused as he stared into the room. It wasn’t particularly difficult to spot Alisaie, especially where she was leaned against the side of the open window in a thin shirt and shorts, staring out into the night and edged in silver light. It only made her long wave of white hair glow even brighter in the dim where she’d freed it from its usual braid.

It wasn’t the first he’d seen it, given their travels and closeness in the past, but it was... different somehow. In a way he couldn’t quite place.

“It’s beautiful. I can only imagine what it must seem like for the people of the First. This would be the first time they’ve ever seen the night sky,” Alisaie mused aloud. “I didn’t think I would ever get used to that oppressive veil of light when we initially arrived. I spent the first few weeks perpetually sleep deprived and out of sorts because of it.” Trailing off a moment, she gave a single humorless laugh. “They used to tease me at the Inn. For patrolling at all the oddest hours. It took me what felt like forever to get used to it. Tesleen... she used to wait up for me, even when I told her not to. She said it was always important to welcome someone back home...”

Hearing the catch in her voice, Alvaar finally trailed closer. Stepping up beside her and meeting Alisaie’s gaze when she looked up at him with a watery and pained smile.

“I had hoped... I’d wanted her to see the night sky. She believed so... so firmly that one day things would be better...” Looking away abruptly she shut her eyes and hugged her arms tighter where they were folded over her chest. Gently thumping her head against the opened shutter, she let out a slow and shuddering breath. “Gods... I failed them Alvaar. A good soul was ripped away and it hurts... That loss and that failure hurts.” Falling quiet with a harsh sniffle she thumped her head against the wood again a bit harder. “Damnit... I’d always known one day I’d have to leave. It wasn’t even anything that serious... nothing there ever could be but... this hurts so much worse than before. It cuts so much deeper...”

Noting where her fingers were dug in against her arms, he tugged her away from the window and pried her hands free. Clasping them in his own and giving her a sympathetic look. “I know.”

“We used to go to the market together,” she continued thoughtlessly after a moment, voice soft even as her hands shook in his grip as she stared at them. “She taught me several recipes. We’d spar together in the early morning before the others woke. We used to stay up all hours talking about anything and everything. Every time another patient was too far gone, she would still smile and reassure them everything would be fine. She would hand them the poisoned food herself and I remember it... I remember her tears against my neck when I held her afterward as she would cry late in the evenings when the others were asleep... I remember the first time we kissed in the shade of those ruins. The way she looked so peaceful when she slept and-” Her words finally clipped off with a choked noise, burying her face against his shirt with a muffled sob.

Releasing her hands so she could grip against the fabric at his back, he settled an arm around her shoulders, gently soothing his free hand through soft glowing strands comfortingly.

“How could you stand this after Haurchefant...? It feels like my heart is ripping in two...” she whispered hoarsely.

That made him still, glancing out the window and into the moonlit night stretching out below…

He flicks his gaze back down to her quickly. “Sometimes I still can’t,” he admitted softly, going back to petting her hair gently. “But we endure. For those we have lost, for those we may yet save. We continue to carry on one way or another. It’s alright. Go ahead and talk. Cry. Whatever you need. I’m here for you Ali. And I promise you, I swear it, we’re going to save these people.”

-

Alvaar’s eyes are heavy when they’re finally settled back in bed, the Red Mage curled up against his chest quietly as they lay on their sides like before. Once again his arms are looped loose but protectively around her, humming softly out of habit. He almost thinks she’s asleep before Alisaie shifts enough to glance up at him, expression equally tired but still restless.

“What is it from? That tune. You said it was your take on Warden’s Paean. Did you write it yourself?” she asked softly.

“No, just a song my mentor used to sing. ... She was a healer. A White Mage. I tend to think of her when I channel it,” he answered calmly.

“Would you mind singing it?” Alisaie queried carefully. Likely because of how little he’d spoken of the woman in the past, only ever in the bits and pieces of memories as they came back to him.

“Can’t sing on my side like this, it’s bad posture for breathing. But let me lie on my back and I can if you promise to go to sleep.” It’s a pointless bargain when he knows how haunting the first night is himself, but her nod is something at least. Rolling onto his back, he frees the arm that had been slipped under and about her as she shuffles closer again to rest her head against his shoulder and stretch an arm over his chest. Curling his arm high at her back so he can rest his hand against her shoulder.

It reminds him of Ala Mhigo abruptly. That victory that has now been... Gods... how long had it been? Almost a year on the Source now surely but it feels like a weary lifetime and yesterday all at once. When he’d been so tired and soul sick after his multiple clashes against Zenos. The weight of so many attempts, deaths and failures, and the familiar and loving arms that had held him tight in that space between. The familiar gentle voice offering advice and encouragement in those scant moments. How badly, even now, he wanted to let go and let that quiet space keep him safe and warm with the man he loved…

But he couldn’t. Not when the warm press of Alphinaud and Alisaie, curled up against his sides on that overcrowded cot, had seemed to keep his soul chained to his body. Silently reinforced all the reasons he’d needed to stay with the support and companionship of his dearest friends and allies.

“Alvaar?” Alisaie asks softly, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Sorry. Lost in thought. Almost feels like Ala Mhigo... Your brother had been looking for you by the way,” he replies, almost smirking at the expected annoyed huff that leaves her.

“Why am I not surprised... I told him to leave me alone and he can’t very well trust me on that can he the meddling...” she groused, grumbling again as Alvaar chuckled.

“Don’t be mean, he was really worried for you. I would give up a lot of things to have family that cared so much about me,” he reminded gently. Surely Alphinaud hadn’t wanted him to mention it, but he was certain her stoked temper would cool by morning. Perhaps it would even open the way for them to talk. One really couldn’t have too many friends to help them with their grief.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of singing Aldaviir. Quit bringing up distractions,” she grumbled sourly.

“You say that like you’ve never heard me sing before,” he joked.

“I haven’t,” Alisaie returned curtly.

That made him blink, staring at her blankly. “Bullshite. I’m told I scarcely ever shut up in combat.”

“In combat, sure. The practice yard, yes... But that’s more instrument than voice. Whatever use of aether you do to call music without needing to play. But I’ve never heard just you sing...” she argued flatly.

“Lucky you. Alphinaud likely wishes he could have gotten me to shut up.” It’s accompanied with a soft chuckle as he remembers the Scholar’s hastily beaten retreats in the past. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m tired and won’t be projecting properly.”

“I’ll withhold my critique.”

“That’s very kind of you. There’s a long build to it first, let me catch the tune before you get mad at me.” Settling back he studied the ceiling in the dark a moment, taking a few experimental deep breaths before starting to hum again. The same soft tune as he had before, slow and calming, though clearer and stronger now that he could breathe properly.

The lyrics were ones he’d long etched into his heart, and they rolled easy off his tongue on well-practiced habit. Words of comfort, almost like a lullaby, but speaking too deep for the different weariness that could fill a heart. A meaning he had only learned in the many years since, a world away from the echoes of thunder as he’d first heard them. The rasp of rain against treated fabric as he’d clutched into the warmth of Rosa’s robes when he’d been young, fragile, and small with malnourishment. Shivering with fear and chill in the nights storm. Afraid for what might haunt that dark when he couldn’t hear the approach of footfalls in the rain, a warning he’d learned to wake for in his troubled youth.

Rosa hadn’t been anything approaching a Bard. Her voice too untrained to hold the notes proper, more whisper singing than anything... But deep in his heart, as he’d spent many hours since contemplating and perfecting his craft, he knew it must have been the first flicker of Bardsong he’d ever heard. A melody and lyrics that had passed through the years into folksong, changing hands many times like a worn Allagan bronze before it came to him.

Strength. Endurance. Rest and peace in those moments they were most needed. Hope amidst the promise of those words.

All would be well in time.

He’s not surprised to feel her settle further into his side as he sings for her, the faintest bit heavier as the tension in her muscles ease. There are a few hot pinpricks of unconscious tears that sink against his shirt even as she falls asleep, the even and slow rhythm of her breathing an unconscious accompaniment he matches on instinct.

Finishing the last meter, he listens to the notes as they echo in the large room, a soft prickle against his skin that waits like a question. It’s something he’s learned is the hum of Resonance waiting for use, the aether primed from his music ready to find use with his additional skills. He lets it slip away as he closes his eyes, curling a bit closer and fussing the blankets about the young woman buried against his side unconsciously.

There’s a faint... something. A subconscious feeling, a knowing, that stirs in his head sleepily. The same way many of his memories come back to him, suddenly coming to his mind as if stepping free from a fog. But even when he waits it doesn’t reveal itself, and he falls asleep before noticing the other entity in the room. A pale ghost perched on the windowsill, sitting still and quiet with his eternally bloodstained axe shining like a crescent moon in the night.