#vahne wolndara

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #29 - Fuse

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Fill under cut.

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The storm was a vicious one.

Nights in Garlemald were so cold that one could hardly call them pleasant but this one seemed to fling all its fury into the teeth of the Broken Glass encampment, with a wind so fierce it shook the windows and blew debris into stone walls, and knocked several outdoor pavilions askew. Even the most stalwart of the Ishgardians had fled into either the infirmary or the command pavilion.

Vahne supposed the streets would look as eerily deserted as they had upon the contingent's arrival, had the streets actually been visible. All she could see out the thin panes of glass - radiating a cold that no heater could dispell - was a wall of white.

Most of the time the infirmary was deathly quiet save the loud moan or scream but just now it was alive with the bustle of a moving camp. Grand Company soldiers and steppe warriors and Resistance officers filed in and lifted bed frames and rolls alike, helping conjurers and chirurgeons make room for those seeking shelter.

Something shifted in her peripheral vision and she startled, suddenly enough to make the tray in her hands jump and one of its contents rattle alarmingly. She felt quite foolish when she turned to look and saw only a tall Xaela man helping an Ala Mhigan in a snow-dusted fatigue jacket to haul one of those ceruleum-powered heaters from the pavilions into the room.

Thank the gods, finally!

At their back stood Ser Lucia Junius, commander of Ishgard's Temple Knights. The woman's gauntleted hand lifted, pointing to the corner closest to Vahne and her patient, and she was saying something to the two men that was just barely out of earshot. If Vahne listened very carefully maybe she could...

Her ears swiveled forward even as she pretended to busy herself with the tray.

"...should have enough fuel to keep these running through the storm," Ser Lucia was saying, a frown knitting her brow. The tall, beautiful Ishgardian knight was possibly the most formidable woman Vahne had ever met. She spoke even less than Aurelia did but her presence managed to fill a room regardless of her reserve, and her voice - quiet and even as it usually was - always held the air of unquestioned command. Her men all deferred to her without question, as did most of the contingent. Even that loud black haired noble boy who was always picking fights with the pirates. "We'll want to make certain the airships and tanks are secured. The last thing we need is for all our fuel to be scattered across the Magna Glacies because of these straight-line winds."

"Ma'am, I don't know that there's room for the crates in here," the Ala Mhigan man said, expression openly apologetic. "There's barely room for us and the heaters as it is. Could we not draw them up next to the building and lash them down with rope, or summat? On the leeward side?"

Ser Lucia crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the floor in silence, clearly puzzling it through. "We'll secure the crates outside against that lamp post," she said at last. "Bring three tanks inside for each location and three days' supply of rations. A-Ruhn-Senna will make it work."

"Yes'm. What about the other units? Across the plaza?"

"Relay the order to the others by linkpearl. Do what you can to shield the rest of the supplies from this wind, but make sure you take partners and don't stray from each other's sight. And don't attempt to cross the plaza. It's too dangerous right now."

She didn't sound particularly concerned about the storm, in all honesty, but it was probably for their benefit. Ser Lucia had lived here once and then in Coerthas so Vahne had no doubt she was used to weather like this and knew just how nasty it could get. She couldn't even see to the street from here and that wasn't exactly encouraging but she figured her job was to help keep the patients safe and comfortable.

Having decided to leave the matter in the other woman's obviously capable hands she turned her attention back to her patient. As they were currently short handed the chirurgeons had shown her how to change out the bag hanging on that little metal stand next to the bed when it started running low. Vahne was not a little fascinated to have found out that it was... not food exactly, but it was doing something to sustain him while he lay comatose, and that was the important part.

As always Vahne kept her eye on him while she worked, looking for any change at all. These last two days he had started to make small sounds in his sleep and she was quite sure she'd seen his fingers twitch against the coverlet a time or two, but she still wasn't certain the latter hadn't been a trick of the light. So she hadn't reported it to A-Ruhn-Senna. Not yet.

A sudden gust screamed around the warehouse and rattled the glass in the windows.

The lights flickered overhead. She heard alarmed cries from the other room, and someone a few fulms away muttering curses-- one of the two men who'd brought in the heater. The Xaela had excused himself, and the Highlander was struggling to get the heater working. There was a tall, thin man in the blue and white of the Garlond Ironworks now alongside him; Vahne hadn't seen him come in.

"We've got to get the pilot light going," he muttered. "Before it gets worse out there."

"You would think the Garleans would have better ways to deal with this weather."

"I don't think there's really much dealing with it, unless by 'deal with' you mean 'survive,' " the engineer said with a shake of his head. "It's the same in Coerthas. The weather is what it is and you do what you can to live, and in a storm this bad all bets are off."

"Odd that you lot can't get the lights on in the buildings. I thought I saw a fuse box near the door."

"Aye, and without knowing where the power grid for this town is located those boxes might as well be wall hangings for all the use they've been, mate. Our generators on the other hand... now if aught happens to them, we'll--"

I'm not going to listen to this anymore. No sense in worrying about problems I can't help solve, she told herself.

Her patient, of course, had nothing to say, still locked in slumber two days after his last tempering treatment. His still, drawn features -- the blue-black hair and long sooty eyelashes that flickered against his cheeks, the prominent nose with the slightly curved slope from its bridge -- had become a familiar sight to her over the past handful of days. What surprised her was how young he appeared to be, despite the marks of rank she'd seen on the sleeves of his heavy military coat (now tucked and folded neatly in the small box by his bed along with the rest of his uniform).

Vahne gently picked up his hand and winced. Cold as ice, and his fingertips were red.

Close proximity to the window had worsened the chill in this corner. She set it down on the mattress and reached for the fur-lined gloves in her pocket. They were warm, she noted, as she slipped them on with a relieved sigh.

With another glance at the blind white of the blizzard outside she wrapped her two hands about his fingers and started to rub as carefully as she could. She didn't want to hurt him on accident but perhaps the friction would help. Until the engineer got the heater in this corner working, there wasn't much else she could do but at least she could keep the poor man from getting frostbitten while he lay senseless.

"Hells," she grumbled after a few minutes of it. Her arms were starting to feel strain from the effort and his hands didn't really feel much warmer than they had been when she started.

A frown knitted her brow as her eyes scanned the room. Aside from the men setting up the heater most of the people in here were patients who had been moved from the other side of the partition and the small handful of chirurgeons and conjurers weaving their way through the makeshift ward. The people in the middle of the room appeared comfortable enough-- as much as it was possible to be in a field hospital in the middle of Frozen Arse-End, Ilsabard, at any rate. She could probably get an extra blanket from someone over there.

All of a sudden there was a sharp, bright sound like a snap and the room was plunged into darkness. Startled shouts erupted from the other room.

"What happened?" That was Ser Lucia.

"Blown fuse," someone else called- one of the other Ironworks folk, Vahne supposed. “We've been running the bleedin' things nonstop, 'twas bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I assume you’ve parts on hand to repair it.”

“Aye, Commander, we’ve spare parts on hand. It’s a simple fix. Half bell at the outside."

The rest of the conversation wound onward, and amidst the orders and the rising sounds of restlessness from the other end of the building, Vahne tried to think while she held that limp, chilled hand. Keepers had good night vision and the dark that impeded everyone else's ability to move about posed no particular problem for her. The engineer and his... assistant? had found a tiny light somewhere, maybe that penlight thing like Aurelia had, so they could keep working on the malfunctioning heater, but in the meantime she had to do something to warm her patient up again.

Sighing, she gently squeezed his cold fingers, then patted the back of his hand. "It's bloody freezing over here. I'm going to go get you another blanket," she told him. If this doesn't work I'll just... I don't know, I'll try and see if my gloves will fit him or something. I can go without them for a little while.

Vahne moved to stand up.

The cold fingers draped over her palm spasmed, then gripped hers in an answering squeeze.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #18 - Succor

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Fill under cut.

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Vahne Wolndara dragged the heavy coat tighter about herself and shivered. The skies over the snow had been absolutely pristine ever since Aurelia and the others had stormed the tower, but clear skies and dry air meant bitter cold and most of her fellows stood huddled around the fire pits trying to soak in what meager warmth they could, hands wrapped about tin cups of coffee and hot chocolate.

Never in her life before coming to Garlemald had she ever experienced cold like this.

How did she ever stand it? Why would anyone even want to live in this waste?

She was well familiar with winters in Gridania, wet and dark, the damp sinking into the bones like rain into soil, but breathing the air up here felt like inhaling a lungful of knives and it was nearly impossible to get warm no matter your proximity to a fire. The commanders were constantly nagging them to change out their stockings regularly, to check fingers and toes after every outing to make sure they hadn't lost their color. 

Many grumbled about it until Maxima (Lord Maxima? Ser Maxima? Vahne wasn't really very clear on the proper protocol and she didn't dare ask) had made it very clear to all of them that despite the wandering Telophoroi and the wild beasts and the rogue magitek, the most likely killers by far were exposure and frostbite - in that order - and he spoke of it with a grim frankness, the sort of familiarity borne of lifelong experience. 

It was oddly like talking to Ishgardians about the Dragonsong War. And even the Ishgardians, accustomed by necessity to the bitter cold of their seven-year winter, were faltering in the relentless ice and wind of far northern Ilsabard.

"Vahne," a calm, bright voice called at her back. She turned to see the ruddy-haired A-Ruhn-Senna, the Elder Seedseer's younger brother and a surprisingly steady leader. He commanded Gridania's part of the contingent, and had since their arrival in Camp Broken Glass taken it upon himself to oversee the operation of the infirmaries. That alone was enough to make her wonder why he'd approached her personally.

"Seedseer."

Hopefully he'd understand why she didn't wish to shake his hand. It was just too bloody cold.

"You look as though you should seek some shelter," he said mildly. It was difficult to see his eyes beneath his long fringe but his stance was that of someone who possessed sufficient familiarity with the elements and had few if any concerns about the cold. At least for all she knew. "I have a job for you."

Vahne wanted to protest, but the Padjal was already off, boots crunching through a fresh layer of powder snow towards the warehouse building they'd repurposed. White leathers against white and black and the eerie-looking spindles of the huge red pines that grew up here, about the only things that did. At a glance it made him look like a wraith, one of the spirits said to haunt the Amdapor ruins near her childhood home.

She shook off the illusion as she followed him. It didn't take long to realize they were entering the wing reserved for the tempered. Some stared sightlessly at the ceiling, muttering the same unsettling mantra over and over again. Some screamed without words, thrashing against the restraints that bound them to the bed, so compelled by Anima's final orders that they were a danger to themselves.

Others simply lay senseless, bound in unnatural sleep. So it was with the patient at whose bedside A-Ruhn paused.

Vahne frowned, wondering why they were here. Certainly there were older and more experienced healers among the contingent's medical corps who might show more skill with administering Mistress Leveilleur's tempering treatment to the afflicted imperial soldiers and refugees, but she knew full well that most of those present were simply those few still willing and able to care for them.

Truthfully, many within the contingent now found themselves struggling anew with old hurts. Trying to remain neutral in the face of the slurs and accusations that many refugees still hurled their way was a greater challenge than many had anticipated, and Vahne herself bore too many of her own scars to trust herself with the work.

"I entrust this young man to you," A-Ruhn said. "You will have the care of him forthwith."

Vahne felt her stomach give an unpleasant twist. She shook her head.

"I can't," she whispered. "I-I'm sorry, ser, but... I can't."

"Why? What is the matter?"

"I can- the conscripts, maybe, if there's any here, but-"

"Conjurer," A-Ruhn interrupted, "I understand your reservations. Truly. But we do not have the extra hands at present, and even if we did, healers are not meant to pick and choose whom we wish to treat. We come to the aid of those in need of our skills and do our work as best we are able. Regardless of our personal feelings."

She swallowed back the bile that burned her throat.

"He's a Garlean soldier."

"Most of the refugees are Garleans, Miss Wolndara. It was assumed that you understood you would be using your skills to treat them when you agreed to join the contingent."

It was impossible to miss the admonition in his tone, mild as it was. She colored, cheeks suddenly warm despite the numbing chill of the large room, and dropped her gaze to the hand that lay limp and unresponsive, wrist bound in a thick leather cuff.

"Would it help to know that Aurelia requested you personally?"

Her chin jerked upward and she could only stare at him in shocked silence, too stunned at the revelation to answer.

Aurelia-- but why? Why? She knows what happened to me! She knows what they did- she was there when it happened! Why would she ask me to-

"According to her account, this legate officer - despite his fear and distrust of us - was the only one willing to accept her help with the sick and wounded while she and the Leveilleurs were in their camp. All three of them were sorely grieved to see him tempered by the primal, and when I asked if she had anyone in mind whom she would consider to watch over him in their absence, she recommended you."

"I don't know why she would trust me with him. Friend or not."

"The Warrior is a Garlean herself, you know," he said, gently. "But I think that is somewhat beside the point. She is a woman of great integrity, and I trust her opinion. If she says you are the correct person for this job, then you are the person I want to take care of him. None other will suffice."

Swallowing heavily, Vahne looked away. Her eyes stung, either with tears or wood smoke, and in that moment it was hard to say which it was.

Being a healer means accepting death, but it also means accepting hard choices, E-Sumi-Yan's words to his novices - words now five years old - echoed in her mind. You will have to treat people who will curse your very existence and lose those you wished dearly to save. The world is a harsh and unfair place, but we must rise above it and know ours in turn. We must be even handed in our dealings with all who seek succor from the elementals.

She remembered fire. The sight of her home burning. Her aunt's agonized screams.

Only the wood can decide whether to give the gift of life... or allow it to pass and give way for something new.

She looked down at the limp hand on the coverlet, half-curled into the sheet like a wilting leaf. There was something pathetic and piteous about it.

She couldn’t see that hand anymore. Something hot prickled at her eyes and her throat hurt.

"Miss Wolndara?"

It took so much more effort than she could have dreamed, to force down her angry tears, to push past it. Every ilm of her being screamed against it, tried to remind her what had happened seven years ago. What his people had done to her aunt, to her home. To her.

She managed to keep her composure, but only just.

Slowly she reached for the Garlean man's hand - cool from the chill of the room, but not alarmingly so, not yet - and peered down at his face. Blue-black hair fell in a tangled waterfall against the thin pillow, the exposed third eye just above his brow a stark pearl-white against his bronze skin. Hollow cheekbones, mouth slack, lips cracked and pale. The only sign that he lived was the slow and steady rising and falling of his chest. He had been in this state for some few days at least.

His palm and fingers bore the patterned calluses of a swordsman, or at least someone who used a one-handed weapon very often, the nails short and chipped. She squeezed his hand, carefully, gauging. There was no response, not even a reflexive twitch from the pressure. Not that she had expected aught from him anyway.

At last, Vahne sighed-- resigned at best, but accepting of the task nonetheless.

If Aurelia thinks I can do it, I’ll try. I don’t... know how well I can do it. But I’ll try.

"What's his name?" she asked, then added (somewhat hastily): "I know it... probably doesn't make much of a difference right now if I know it or not. But- he'll eventually wake up and be able to ask what happened and if I'm the one taking care of him, it's probably going to be me. So..."

A-Ruhn offered a nod, a grave incline of the chin that Aurelia herself would have found rather reminiscent of his sister. There was a world of approval in it- and understanding. 

“His name is Jullus.”

[chrysalispen]

xxviii. dulce et decorum est

AO3 Link HERE from here on out the chapters are... probably gonna be pretty long XD 

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“Just one more…”

Aurelia wedged the bucket carefully beneath the wide throat of the hand-pump and scratched yet again at the cloth on her head. Sweat trickled steadily into the rough fabric as she worked, making it increasingly uncomfortable to wear as the day wore on. It was another hot, still day, the only sounds to be heard coming from birds and a chorus of cicadas, and if Vahne hadn’t been dogging her heels for the last two days as she helped care for the Wolndaras’ mysterious friend, she’d have risked removing it just to get some cool air.

But she didn’t dare do that. Too easy for a stray breeze to ruffle her fringe and reveal her third eye, and while Vahne might not care, she doubted she could say the same for the girl’s guardian.

Resolved to see this task completed at the very least, she turned back to the heavy curved iron handle. While it was a blessing that there was a large underground water source -- one Rhaya had said had kept them through the Calamity while so many others succumbed to flux -- it was certainly far less convenient than drawing from the river or using a water crystal.

“Miss Aurelia! Is the bucket full yet?”

“One moment!”

This time Aurelia threw her weight against it with a low, soft grunt. The handle moved perhaps a quarter ilm the first time, and the second time she was rewarded with the gushing babble of cool water spilling into the bucket. She eased off the handle and continued to pump until the bucket was filled, then lifted it back into its locked position and headed for the clotheslines she and Vahne had raised behind the house. The bucket thumped against her leg as she wove between the wet sheets freshly hung upon the washlines.

She rolled up her sleeves and dumped the fresh water into the spare washtub, ignoring Vahne’s lifted brows at her obvious clumsiness, and pulled up the washboard once more. The soap kept slipping from her fingers, and Aurelia cursed as the skin was grazed from her knuckles for the umpteenth time that morning. Shaking off the water and sucking on them gingerly, she noticed the girl was watching her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

“You aren’t using it the right way,” Vahne said after a moment.

“What?”

“It’s going to take forever if you keep handling the linens that way. Here, let me show you.” All business, the girl came trotting over the grass towards her and took the cloth and soap from her hands. “You have to push down and scrub. Like that. See? Really get the soap into the cloth. Else it won’t wash out proper, and you’ll have to have another go.”

Aurelia watched Vahne work, the small hands surprisingly strong and swift. “You’re very good at this,” she observed. “Do they not have washtubs in that village of yours?”

“The Hearer to whom I’m apprenticed has a young lady named Noline take in our washing twice a week. I’m certain the villagers do their own wash otherwise.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You come from a rich family, don’t you? Had servants to do your wash and the like. Am I right? I wager I’m right.”

Aurelia could only laugh, as much at herself as the absurdity of it all: without realizing it, her young friend had guessed correctly.

“Yes, I come from a well-to-do family. Was it so obvious?”

“Well… yes, it was, actually. Just ‘cause… you don’t know how to do some things I thought everyone knew and it’s a bit strange, that’s all.” Vahne’s brow crinkled. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Such as?”

“Laundry, for one. The way you wash dishes. You can’t cook-”

“What? Of course I can cook. I can make a pot of tea,” Aurelia protested. “And boil eggs.”

“That’s about it.”

“...Do you talk back to all your elders like this, or am I just especially lucky?”

The girl’s answering grin had regained much of its cocksure brashness, and she looked more now like the prickly, self-assured child Aurelia had rescued from the ruins. “You’re not special. I’m like this with everyone.”

“I see that.” She reached for one of the sheets to set in the wringer, the way the girl had shown her. “Rhaya must have had quite the time with you.”

“She’s used to it. I’ve lived with her since I was six summers old.”

“Six summers? That’s a very long time.”

“She’s had the care of me since Mum died,” Vahne shrugged. “Where’s your parents, Miss Aurelia? Do they still live in Gridania?”

“Oh... “ Aurelia hesitated. “Well, that’s… no. I don’t have any parents. I mean, I did, but they’ve been gone for a long time”

The girl looked some mixture of sad, surprised, and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, abashed. “Aunt Rhaya always tells me I ask too many questions.”

“That’s all right.”

“You’re an orphan then. Just like me…” Vahne’s nose crinkled and she paused in her scrubbing to scratch the tip with one soapy finger. “After helping us out, I bet she’d be happy to have you if you ever just wanted to come and visit and eat with us or tell stories or… something. If you have the time and all.”

“Perhaps you can show me how to properly do my wash.”

“And I can teach you to cook. No offense, Miss Aurelia, but I’m worried you won’t be able to feed yourself if all you know how to make is tea and boiled eggs.”

Aurelia laughed.

“Ah, you raise an excellent point. Well! I suppose I can find the means to submit myself to another teacher. Provided the Hearer is amenable.”

“What’s ‘amenable’ mean?”

“It means if he likes.”

“Or you could not worry about what he thinks and just come visit me anyway,” Vahne retorted with the cheeky cheerfulness of the very young. “Here, give me the soap. When you’ve put the rest of the sheets through the wringer, we can hang them to dry.”

I do believe, Aurelia thought with amusement as the girl continued to chatter, that I have been adopted.

~*~

Keveh’to Epocan sat belly up to the bar, morosely turning the faceted glass in idle circles. He’d long since drained its contents and now he was deciding whether or not to chance asking for a refill and thus calling attention to himself. At the moment he was the only Miqo’te man in sight, and while none of the few patrons huddled over their tables with their food and ales seemed to care about the presence of a Keeper man - which surprised him a touch - old habits died godsdamned hard, and so did the anxiety that always arose under curious stares.

That said, he was just inebriated enough not to pay it as much mind as he would have at any other time.

He tilted his head forward to rest against the wooden surface. Like the rest of the building it was still very new; the twin scents of tree sap and fresh varnish tickled his nose. He was supposed to have returned from his rounds a bell past, not that he supposed Mariustel Aubaints would give a damn one way or another. Laurentius Daye too often came to the Druthers, and he was far from the only one.

Buscarron’s Druthers - like many other places in the Twelveswood - had been born in the wake of the Calamity out of a need that had not always existed. Once this place had been naught save a single cabin just ahead of the lumberline, serving as both a rest stop and a watch station for travelers passing south into the marshes. There was a need for more eyes on the road in places where the Wailers and their reduced numbers could no longer venture and that had given way to business opportunities, and Buscarron Stacks had taken it upon himself to retire and open a bar.

Some had criticized him for it, lamenting the loss of the familiar watch, but Keveh’to personally found Buscarron’s decision to be a sound one. Running a tavern was just as good a method of information gathering as sitting in a cabin by the road - probably better, in fact. Drink had a tendency to loosen the tongue and relax the mind, and not all of the patrons of the ex-Wailer’s new watering hole were what one would call on the right side of the law. Most were trappers and hunters and the odd adventurer, and rural Wailer units on patrol, but Keveh’to’s keen eye had spotted one or two faces here that had been peppered across wanted posters in Gridania and nearby Quarrymill ever since the takeover of old Boughbury.

“Another?”

“Please,” he mumbled. “Bowl of walnuts too if you’ve got ‘em.” No sense in drinking himself stupid and paying for it the next day. He’d be expected on wall duty regardless of how miserable he felt.

His thoughts circled back to that piece of metal, burning a hole in his pocket.

Fumbling at his belt he fished around in the small pouch where he’d hidden it until his fingers, made somewhat clumsy with the whiskey, were able to safely retrieve it. He squinted it in the dim light, turning it over and over and all but enthralled by the way the curved cylinder caught the refracted bits of prismatic light from his tumbler and-

“Wouldn’t be flashing that about if I were you, mate.”

Keveh’to jumped, nearly losing his tenuous grip on the- what had Aurelia called it? A casing? He managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. Steel winked at him from his fist, curled half-open- and when he looked up, he saw Buscarron, the proprietor, grinning at him.

“You’re the new bloke, right? Sergeant… Evocan. No, Epocan. Got assigned to- where’s it, the Willowsbend outpost? Out there on the old Sentinel road?”

“That’s me.” The man slid a small wooden bowl full of shelled nuts towards him and reached for the decanter behind the shelf. Keveh’to watched the liquid spill into the glass, his ears twitching. “I don’t know that we’ve ever spoken but I’ve been in-”

“-a couple of times before. Aye, I saw you with young Laurentius, as I recall.” Buscarron’s lone eye twinkled at him, but there was something not quite mirthful about his words nor his demeanor as he slid the refilled glass over the varnished surface. “You take care ‘round him, you hear? I’ve known him since he was a young lad, and he don’t always think twice about judging the character of his friends while he’s about making ‘em.”

“I think there’s no danger of any close association.” Keveh’to picked up the glass. “I keep my business and my personal affairs separate. Try to, anyroad.”

“Probably for the best. Is this a personal visit, then? Or business?”

“It is, but…” Hells, he might as well get on with it. “...Might as well make it both.”

“Ask away,” Buscarron said, reaching for a cloth and a soapy glass. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere for the nonce.”

“I take it that you recognise this?” Keveh’to opened his hand. The casing lay in it still, lantern-light winking cheerfully back at the pair, and the Hyur squinted at it thoughtfully, the sun-wrinkles in his face bunched behind his eyepatch.

“Seen it once or twice. That ain’t from any Eorzean weapon.”

“That’s what my partner said too.”

“Your partner sounds sensible if you don’t mind me saying so. Where are they?”

“She’s tending to an urgent affair elsewhere,” Keveh’to said glumly, “or I’d have brought her with me.”

Buscarron’s brows arched, but he made no comment.

“I see,” was all he said. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you want to know if I’ve seen anything.”

“Have you?”

“I don’t think I’ve personally seen any imperials about these parts, but you understand I’ve been busy with the ales and spirits as of late. Short of one of ‘em walking in and asking me for a drink, I doubt I’d have had the opportunity to meet any of His Radiance’s finest.”

Keveh’to sighed, but the Hyur held up a hand.

“That isn’t to say I don’t want to help you. You might consider asking some of these folks hereabouts if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“If any of them will talk to me.”

“Oh, ask around and be patient, and you’ll get a bite from some soul or other, I guarantee it. Might’ve actually worked in your favor, comin’ out here without your Wailer mates,” Buscarron observed. “Them what’s most like to have seen any wanderin’ ironcoats about the forest surely won’t be telling the law about it. Not if they think it’ll end with ‘em warming a space in a gaol cell.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted, but it did make surface sense. Even five years ago he’d associated the attention of the Wood Wailers with harassment at best, wrongful accusations at worst. “You have my thanks for the advice. And the drink.”

Buscarron let out a dry cackle.

“Don’t thank me now, lad,” he took the emptied glass, brows lifted in amusement across the weathered canvas of his face. “You haven’t got what you’re after yet.”

One bell later he had to admit, however grudgingly, that Buscarron’s warning carried some weight. Most of the responses he received were blank stares or simply a hostile, stony silence as he tried to explain himself. Some few souls said they would like to be of help but had no idea what object he was even holding, and others thought he was having them on. He needed another few bells to ask around the entire rest stop in all honesty, but he knew he didn’t have them to spare. The day was wearing on towards late afternoon, and he would be missed if he weren’t back by dusk. Resigning himself to the fact that his inquiries had proven fruitless, Keveh’to made for the chocobo paddock.

He was reaching for the braided reins to loosen them from the post when a sharp prickle ran its way down his spine and gooseflesh spread over his forearms. He froze in place, one hand still on the reins and the other on his mount’s flank, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw four Hyur in dark leathers with their faces covered. They had fanned out around him, and looking over their shoulders he watched four more put down what they had been doing to stand and grab a weapon where each had had one concealed among their tools.

So that’s how it is. As ever, the thought was barbed with cynicism. Same shite, different pile.

The Miqo’te bit back an exasperated sigh and his fingers closed around a dagger he’d concealed behind the saddle, just over the strap that held the blanket in place. “Right, gentlemen,” he said without turning around, his muscles already tensing in preparation to dodge a blow aimed for his back. “If you’ve come to ask for a dance-”

“Hold your weapon, Wailer,” one of them interrupted, the flow of his baritone like creek water, cool and unhurried. “We’ve not come to fight. Just to talk.”

“Have you now?”

“Aye, we have.” The man’s tone didn’t waver even once. He was in charge of this encounter and it was clear he knew it. “Boss said he wants a word with you.”

The boss, he thought. That sounded suitably ominous.

For a brief moment he gave idle consideration to the idea of fighting his way out, but it was just that: a flight of fancy and little else. It was obvious these men had orders to detain him, and he had no doubt they were likely to drag him off his chocobo and force him to do what they wished if he attempted to escape. Keveh’to was no coward and could well hold his own in any fair fight, but didn’t rate his chances against eight fully armed men, all of whom carried themselves with the casual swagger of battle-hardened veterans.

Those cold eyes locked with his, the faintest hint of a smirk tilting those smooth lips. No, he didn’t rate them at all.

His hand withdrew from the blanket to fall at his side.

“Well,” he said with forced cheer, “you’ve got my attention. Lead on, gentlemen.”

=

Buscarron didn’t even glance at Keveh’to upon his re-entry to the tavern, and he suspected that was by design, for this time he entered as a sort of vanguard’s spearhead, followed by the four men who had accosted him in the paddock. They led him past the bar without pausing and towards a small, round side table where a middle-aged Midlander in leathers sat alone, his lance leaning against the wall as he perused a book and sipped a cup of black Thanalan tea.

The entire scene was so incongruous that he might have laughed did he not know better; any of the men at his back could cause him undue harm or simply kill him, and he knew why they didn’t. A mild sidewise glance upwards, and hazel eyes locked with rain-grey. The man’s expression relaxed into a smile that was friendly enough, for all it was quite bland and didn’t reach beyond the curve of his mouth.

“Well. A Keeper! Don’t that beat shite all.” He folded a small corner of the open page, shut the book cover, and set it aside. “I didn’t think the Wailers recruited your kind.”

There was no point in lying to him. “They didn’t. Not exactly.”

“What’re you called?”

“I’m called Keveh’to Epocan. In polite society, anyroad.”

The man let out a delighted guffaw into the spine of his book.

“Seven hells,” he cackled, “finally I get one with a sense of bleeding humor. So, if you keep company with Wailers but you ain’t a Wailer, then who do you work for?”

“A Grand Company. I’m a sergeant with the Order of the Twin Adder in Gridania.”

“We found him about to leave town,” one of the men began, but fell silent at the lift of a hand.

“Sure the good sergeant can speak for himself. Go on, this is a private matter.” Out of the corner of one eye, Keveh’to watched the men exchange surprised glances, but they shuffled away and left him to speak with their leader alone. “Have a seat.”

Keveh’to sat. The act brought him face to face with the most nondescript-looking Midlander man he had ever met: sandy hair going to silver at the temples, rheumy hazel eyes, and absolutely no distinguishing features whatsoever. He could have passed this man in the street any number of times without having any idea who he was looking at.

By design, of course.

“I guess there’s no point in pretenses,” he said. “I’ll assume you’re the leader of the Redbelly Wasps.”

“One of many. But I see you’ve heard of us.” The bandit leader inclined his chin. “We’re an informal lot- we don’t much stand on ceremony. But if you need a name, you can call me Arthur. Keeps things friendly, like.”

“Well met, then, Arthur,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt his chances to be polite. He gestured at the half-cleaned plate at his host’s elbow. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all. I like to take my time with my meals,” Arthur said. “Sit back with a bit to read and watch the comings and goings ‘round these parts.”

“You’re a regular here?”

“I am. We’ve a deal with ol’ Busc, see. He knows all about our little feud with Gridania, but he wants this place to stay neutral and it’s in our best interests too. So we don’t bother no one while they’re here, and in turn, they don’t bother us.” Arthur smiled. “It works the same way for you and yours, Sergeant. A two-way road, you might say. You don’t call your Wailer friends to haul us off to rot in a gaol cell or swing from a gibbet, and we don’t send you back in small pieces to whatever hole you crawled out from.”

“A good system,” Keveh’to agreed mildly. He knew a veiled warning when he heard one. “So what was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“You’ve been showin’ a bit of steel about the tavern today, so I hear. Can I have a look? I know it’s in that pouch of yours.”

“Mate, you have eyes in this tavern waiting for me to draw a weapon just so they can put a dagger in my back. I’m not that much of a fool.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “Come now, Sergeant. I know you aren’t about to shoot me. We’re friends for the next quarter-bell at least, which means I’ll not raise a hand against you. You’re safe and all. Go on.”

Keveh’to’s eyes narrowed at the man, but he wasn’t about to accuse him of lying about their truce- and Buscarron’s reputation, at least, he did trust. His fingers eased loose the leather knots of the pouch and drew forth the spent shell. It rolled into his palm, winking steel and brass in the flickering lights, and he held it out to Arthur.

“Open your hand,” Keveh’to said, and when the Hyur did so, he rolled the shell into his waiting hand and watched as he squinted at it. “That look familiar? Something that one of your people might’ve seen recently?”

“Imperial ordnance,” Arthur mused. The fingertips of his other hand drummed a slow and constant rhythm against the surface of the table. “Where’d you find this?”

“In a copse just outside Willowsbend.”

“Willowsbend, eh…”

“You know the place?”

“I’ve got a couple of men with sweethearts in that very same village. Off near the old Amdapor ruins.” Arthur rolled the piece of metal in his palm. “Funny you should mention, though. One of ‘em said something about hearing what sounded like a gunblade discharge a few nights past while he were out making sport with his lass. Multiple shots, he said.”

“And he said it was gunblade fire? You’re sure?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sergeant, but we don’t just feud with the Wailers. The Garlean Empire wants the wood too, and their fancy magitek makes them far more of a threat than your lot with your bows and arrows.” Arthur squinted at the metal in his hand. “We’ve all of us got in skirmishes with imperial scouts here and there- though this is the first in over a year they’ve ventured out this far from their castrum. Could be they’re about to take another tilt at us, could be they had some other reason for being out here. You ask me, it’s probably the latter.”

Keveh’to’s brows arched. “That’s not much to go on.”

“That’s what I have.”

“Care to tell me who the girl is or did your man say?”

“You maybe could talk to her yourself if you’re so inclined? She heard the sound too, he said, and she’s one of your villagers. Makes it easier for all concerned - and I trust you’ll not be sendin’ your friends to set a trap for my man, now I’ve told you what we know? Fair exchange of information and all that.”

“I’ll not breathe a word. And the girl...?”

“Oh, aye, I can give you the girl’s name right enough,” the bandit leader said with a smile and a shrug, holding out his hand to pass the gunblade shell back to Keveh’to. “It’s Noline.”

~*~

The sun had long since fallen below the trees, and the sky had darkened to a deep, rich blue, limned with the brilliant pinks and orange of sunset. It seemed to cast the timberline in an otherworldly glow, and Aurelia found herself admiring the view while she removed her pattens and hoisted the basket of clean linens to take inside. She missed the dramatic skyscapes of Gyr Abania and even Garlemald, but the skies over the Shroud held their own mysterious allure that she couldn’t deny.

With a distant sort of amusement, she imagined how her aunt and uncle would react if they could see her as she was now. Filthy and tired after a day spent on her knees scrubbing dirty linens on a wooden and copper-plated board until her slender fingers had gone red and raw.

Aunt Marcella would have conniptions, that’s what. A rueful grin lingered upon her face as she nudged the door open with the flare of one hip and her mind turned back to the night’s tasks.

She would set the basket in the hall for Vahne to sort, then go back out to get water from the well pump to wash up and find a meal. Once she’d eaten it would be time once more to check on her patient’s vitals and change out his bandages. After that… well, chores or no, there was precious little to do whilst overseeing a single patient’s recovery so long as there were minimal complications. A cup of tea might not go amiss, and she could perhaps make some new entries in her journal tonight.

Cheered by the thought, Aurelia made her way into the hallway, set the basket on the floor, and plucked a washcloth from the pile.

“Ah, Mistress Aurelia.”

She paused. The voice had come from the direction of the stove, and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Rhaya Wolndara ascending the ladder.

“There’s stew in the pot,” she said. Her demeanor was still somewhat stiff and mistrustful, but she had seemingly decided to stay her judgment upon Aurelia for the time being. “I had a haunch of venison that needed finishing off before it went over. Since we’ve got four mouths to feed right now, that should be no issue.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said, and meant it. “I realize I’m an imposition here.”

Rhaya sighed. “I’ve no children and no particular desire to have them. Vahne is the closest I’ll get, and she’s… young and prone to thoughtlessness. And she seems to trust you, despite having known you for less than a sennight.”

Aurelia said nothing at the woman’s pointed words.

“Surely you have other patients. Why would you disregard them to help us?”

“Because that’s what I do,” she said simply.

“With no expectation of payment in return, I suppose.”

“Perhaps Vahne misunderstood or did not explain. I am not the conjurer in charge of the village where she found me, but rather the conjurer’s apprentice. I have a roof over my head and meals provided to me.”

“A novice.” Rhaya’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you seem to have a very thorough knowledge of field medicine.”

“I was originally a chirurgeon by trade. Before the-”

“Aunt Rhaya! Aunt Rhaya!!”

The panicked cry startled them both, as did the immediate slamming of the cabin door. Vahne’s fingers fumbled at the locks as she threw the big bolt, and the sounds of her rapid, heavy breathing filled the small space.

“Vahne?” Rhaya emerged fully from the root cellar, her brow indexed with a deep frown. “What’s happened? Are there wolves near the coop again?”

“N-not wolves,” she gasped and bent over to cough from her exertion, “bandits.”

“What do you mean, bandits?” Rhaya said, in a sharp and incredulous voice, and Aurelia watched her jaw tighten at the news. “That isn’t possible. Are you sure?”

“Yes! I was putting up the feed when I saw- they’re all hiding in the hay fields. They’re wearing that strange black stuff so it was really hard to see them, but they’re out there.”

“Did you see how many were out there?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Vahne panted. “I didn’t see how many there were. I thought they might grab me if I didn’t run away fast. But-but they didn’t follow me so I don’t think they know I saw them.”

Rhaya was already halfway across the common room in search of her bow, growling, every hair on her violently lashing tail standing on end. “Those lying bastards,” she spat, slinging her quiver over her back. “There’s not supposed to be any bloody Wasps out there.”

She sounded so certain that Aurelia frowned.

“I was under the impression that bandits don’t much care whether or not they’re trespassing.”

“You wouldn’t understand and it’d take too bleeding long to explain. Let me get these bastards off my property first and then we’ll-”

Aurelia never heard what Rhaya had intended to say. Her senses were overwhelmed by a preternatural, primitive flash of warning that snapped through her soul seemingly out of nowhere, and before she could even question it she had grasped both Miqo’te by their shoulders.

“Both of you,” she shouted, “get down! Now!!”

She threw them to the ground and dropped to join them just as she heard an all too familiar explosion and one of the window panes shattered. The gunblade’s bullet drilled harmlessly into the wall where Rhaya had been standing only moments beforehand.

Vahne screamed.

On its heels came another shot fired, then another, and another. Aurelia turned her face to the ground and made sure her body was blocking the girl’s, lying unmoving beneath the sensation of broken glass and wood chips pelting down onto her back. After what felt like an eternity but must only have been half a minute if that, the fields went silent. The stink of black powder rankled in her nose and she coughed.

From the other side of the broken windows, a heavily accented male voice barked:

“Sixth Cohort Velites, hold your fire!”

Aurelia Laskaris felt her stomach drop through the floor.  

Vahne cowered beneath her, shaking and crying and awaiting another barrage of gunfire. On her other side, Rhaya’s pretty face was livid with fear and fury, her ears laid flat against her head as she spat foul curses beneath her breath. Aside from shredded curtains and broken glass and chipped furniture, all else appeared as it ought. They hadn’t hit the lamp that sat in the front window, though perhaps that had been by design rather than providence.

The only other sound in her ears was the chime of broken glass dangling from newly emptied panes in the night breeze like cracked teeth and the crunch of multiple footsteps. The imperials were approaching the door.

A gauntleted fist crashed against the panels, once, twice, thrice, and Vahne jumped beneath Aurelia’s protective arm.

“We have come on behalf of the XIVth Imperial Legion,” came the shout from the other side. “We have evidence that a deserter is being sheltered upon these premises and have come to arrest the criminal, as is our right by imperial law. Surrender this traitor within the next five minutes and we will consider clemency. Be warned that any show of resistance or lack of response will be taken as a tacit admission of guilt in aiding and abetting a fugitive-”

“Piss on your swiving Emperor! This isn’t one of your provinces, you tin-plated whoresons,” Rhaya howled at the top of her lungs. “And if you don’t clear off my land right now, I swear by the Twelve you’ll live to regret it!”

“Miss Aurelia,” Vahne whispered, her eyes wide as saucers. She was trying to wriggle out from beneath the arm that pinned her to the floor. “Aunt Rhaya, what are they shooting at us with? Are they bandits?”

Aurelia struggled to sit up. Her head covering had been knocked askew by the last-moment dodge and only barely kept its perch, tilting so far forward that it covered her eyesight.

“No,” she said, her voice flat and grim. “Definitely not bandits.”

“This is your final warning,” the disembodied man’s voice shouted, now tinged with no small amount of irritation. “Present the deserter that you have been illegally harboring or prepare to face the consequences due for your defiance. You have five minutes. Choose wisely.”

“Bugger it all,” Rhaya hissed. “If it were Wasps that’d be one thing, but imperials?”

It was difficult even to hear her own thoughts over the relentless thumping sound of her heart in her ears. Outside there was the sound of shouted orders over the thrum of cicadas and the calls of birds - clearly, the soldiers were not bluffing, although she supposed they ought to be thankful for any sort of warning.

“We’ll have to drive them off if we can,” Aurelia whispered at last. “But first things first, that trapdoor-”

Rhaya reached for the bow and the arrows, which had scattered when they had dropped to the floor.

“Vahne, go down with our friend. Shut the trapdoor behind you and stay down there- and keep quiet.”

“But-”

“No buts. This isn’t a job for children.” Vahne opened her mouth, then shut it, seeming to realize an argument would be futile. “You’ll help me best by remaining out of sight. Go down into the cellar and shut the door behind you, and don’t you open it until one of us tells you it’s safe. Do you hear?”

“Yes, auntie,” she mumbled. Aurelia watched her go, spindly legs and still-awkward gait and all.

“It’s just you and me, then, conjurer,” Rhaya said. She grimaced at the broken glass all over the floor. “Damn it, this glass cost my grandmother a fortune- ”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Aurelia stood, and the moment she did the kerchief on her head fluttered loose and fell into her hands. She stared at it, chewing on her lip… then a slow and wicked grin stretched its way across her face.

Rhaya gave her a blank sidewise stare. “What’re you smiling about?”

“Pray tell me, Mistress Wolndara,” she said without looking up, still grinning, “might you show me where you keep your leatherworking reagents?”

~*~

Never expected I’d ever miss Ala Mhigo, Argas rem Canina thought to himself, but here we are.

The observation was silent for necessity’s sake, as he didn’t want the inhabitants of the cabin overhearing any orders he might have had to pass along, but he was miserable. They were coming into what locals called the dog days of high summer now, and though it was more temperate than the city where he had been posted for so long, that wasn’t to say it was more hospitable. Even did one discount the humid and sweltering heat, and the bandits, and the beastmen… well. Carbonweave might be effective at preventing death by immolation but it was utterly useless against midges, and the Eorzean variety were both vicious and plentiful. Vicious and plentiful, he thought. Just like everything and everyone else in this godsforsaken forest - even after having a blasted moon dropped on their heads.

Eorzeans, he was starting to realize, were an annoyingly resilient lot.

“My lord,” a voice muttered at his shoulder. Phoebus pyr Cinna, lips set in a cold and angry line, already reloading his gunblade - like the other frumentarii the pilus prior had handpicked for this mission, the man was an officer, albeit a junior one. “It’s been nearly five minutes by my count. Your orders? Do we take the door down?”

Argas took a moment to consider his next course of action. He wasn’t accustomed to fieldwork any longer and he knew it showed. He’d spent the last three years behind a desk- but by His Radiance’s Will, some things one never forgot. He still knew how to track down defectors, and that was why Fabian rem Corbinus had entrusted him with the task of leading a squadron of velites on his retrieval mission.

This one was worse than most of the criminal rabble that deserted their posting. Usually, the bastards were found again within days’ range of the castrum they’d fled, with naught save the clothes on their backs. But just turning tail and running away hadn’t been enough for him, Argas thought sourly.

At the very least, the Crow seemed to want the deserter either retrieved or dead and wasn’t terribly minded as to which solution they sought.

Pale hazel eyes tracked over the facade of the cabin. One of the others thought she’d seen movement inside earlier, but aside from the single lamp still burning in the window (and somehow untouched by their opening barrage of firepower), all remained still. He’d seen the child running through the fields to the house so he had no doubt the owners of the cabin were still present, likely hoping they might be left to their own devices if they remained silent.

He sighed aloud in disappointment. He’d heard tell that the primitive folk of the Black Shroud worshipped forest gods and in return held the power to turn the wood to their very whims, but there appeared to be nothing to such tales after all.

This didn’t promise to be much in the way of sport.

“My lord?”

“We've been more than lenient. Let's-"

Something came flying through one of the broken windows to crash at their feet with a tinkle of shattering glass. Its contents splashed against their carbonweave leggings, and as one the squad staggered backward, coughing -- the reek was enough to fell a behemoth.

“Seven hells,” came Phoebus' choked voice from behind him, and that was when the rock struck him in the chest and knocked the breath from him in a great gust.

Taken by surprise, Argas had little chance to defend himself. The force behind the wind gust that followed took him off his feet and sent him sailing clear of the porch to land at the foot of the steps, slamming against the stone and mortar lip of the nearby well.

“Open fire!” he snarled, over the levin shocks of pain radiating into his right arm from his side. If a fight's what these savages want, then a fight is what the bastards will get! "They've got him! Take them down!"

An arrow whistled through one of the broken windows, aiming at his face. Argus took hasty evasive action, rolling to the ground and covering his head with his arms, and the projectile struck the wooden panel bare ilms from the space his throat had so recently occupied. He heard another pained cry as a second arrow struck true, then the sound of a gunblade clattering to the ground. Another gust of wind punched into his back and cut tiny paper-thin slivers into the exposed edges of his tabard, near blinding him with tiny splinters and the tattered corners of leaves.

“Phoebus!” Argas shouted. “Don’t just sit there, smoke them out!”

His second immediately scrambled to obey. Between wild-fired shots with his gunblade, the other man fumbled at his belt until he unclipped a small device, pulled the pin with his teeth, and tossed it at the cabin. It crashed through another windowpane and with a tight, flat bang smoke began to billow everywhere, in the cabin and along the length of the porch runner. Eyes watering, Argus coughed and covered his mouth with his forearm.

There was a slam and then a loud cracking sound as the door was kicked open to slam on loosened hinges against the outer wall. Two female figures emerged through the smoke, their noses and mouths covered in cloth: one a wiry auburn-haired Miqo’te with eyes that burned as balefully as ghost-fire, the other a tall, blonde, and willowy Hyur.

The Miqo’te threw herself off the steps and lunged at his other two operatives. Behind her arrows came more flying stones and sharp bursts of wind; the force sent her targets crumpling to the ground with a groan. At his side, Phoebus pyr Cinna took aim and fired at the woman. The smoke obscured his sight, but the lack of response was enough to indicate his second’s bullet had missed its mark.

Grinning mirthlessly, his second opened the revolving chamber of his gunblade to reload--

“Take your hands off your weapon,” the quiet command drifted through the smoke plumes that still billowed out of the cabin door, “and keep them where I can see them if you please.”

They had forgotten the Hyur woman. Her voice was dulcet, clear- and, the pilus prior thought, her accent was immediately recognizable. There was something in it of Ala Mhigo, but she was no more an Eorzean than he was.

Another deserter, he thought in silent dismay. Two of them. Hells below.

Argas watched Phoebus’ hand freeze in place along the hilt’s trigger guard, heard coughing and swearing from the others, then his gaze traveled from his second to the young woman who now towered over them both. She held a glowing wand at the ready, a simple leafless branch with a small corona of light at its tip, and he had no doubt by the look on her face that she was willing to use it.

“Have your optio drop his weapon, my lord,” the Garlean woman repeated. “Tell your subordinates to stay where they are and keep their hands in sight.”

Phoebus was already baring his teeth.

“We don’t take orders from-”

“Do as she says, Cinna, you damned fool,” Argas snapped. His second continued to glare at the woman, but placed the gunblade flat against the ground and raised his hands in the air.

“Cease fire!” he shouted.

For a few moments, silence returned to the clearing and the sounds of the forest intruded once more. Full night had fallen, and the smoke made visibility poor besides, but the tall woman was close enough for him to see her face from the point of light gleaming ominously in the small stick she bore in one hand. Something on her brow, just beneath her hair, caught the reflection from the aether that cast the visible half of her face in a lambent blue glow.

Argas craned his neck up, squinting-

-and she kicked him roughly onto his back and planted a slender, pattened foot against his chest. The edges of his broken bones ground together beneath its pressure upon his sternum in a way that left him gasping and breathless.

“You dare to treat an officer of the imperial army in this manner-" A pained and very undignified moan escaped his lips as she leaned her weight into the foot on his chest, the pressure on his ribcage inexorable and, increasingly, unbearable. He spat a mouthful of dirt to one side, panting. "You will regret your insolence, madam. Mark my words.”

“Mark mine first, pilus: there are over two hundred bones in your body, and I know precisely where and how to break all the ones which would leave you able to answer my questions." The woman’s mouth was set in a tight line. "Who are you?”

“Argus rem Canina,” he managed. “And you are-”

Her foot bore down once again, and the pilus prior’s query ended in a howl of pain and a string of Ilsabardian vulgarities which she proceeded to ignore. “Why did you fire upon civilians with no prior warning?”

“He’s a deserter,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Harboring deserters and defectors is a violation of imperial law and the penalty-”

“I’m well aware of the provincial statutes, my lord, and none of them apply here. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Eorzea is not an imperial province.”

A shout caught their attention, followed by the sounds of cursing and grunting-- and the sharp bark of a discharged gunblade.

“Rhaya!” his interrogator shouted. Her attention turned towards her companion, all thoughts of questioning forgotten.

The moment he saw the window of opportunity, Argus took it. He unhooked the flash grenade from his belt, pulling the pin as he did so, and tossed the activated projectile at her feet.

The world exploded in white, blinding all of them; he could hear only the keening high-pitched sound of a magitek detonator-- but it had the desired effect. The pressure on his chest evaporated as she fell back. He felt arms fumbling around his shoulders to pull him to his feet, slapping his weapon back into his hand.

“We should press our advantage, my lord,” Phoebus hissed in his ear.

“No,” he winced, coughing and clutching at his hurt side.

“But--!”

The weapon in his hand felt as though it weighed tonzes; his fist remained tightly closed about the grip, for it would be inviting courts-martial if he lost it - but his arm trembled violently, weakened by the debilitating pain in his chest; the very act of breathing felt a torment. Argus knew he could not continue to fight if pressed, and with at least one other of their number wounded that would leave the others at too much of a disadvantage.

There was naught else to be done. He ground his teeth in frustration.

“Damn you, do not countermand my orders!" Argas snarled. "We withdraw!”

He could feel the resigned slump of the shoulder against his own.

“Velites!” Phoebus pyr Cinna shouted in the direction they’d last seen the others, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation. “Fall back!”

And under the cover of smoke and artificial light, Argas rem Canina and his comrades fled.

[chrysalispen]

xxix. whose bounty these have spurned

AO3 Link HERE

Chapter under cut.

====

As quickly as it had all started, it was over. 

Aurelia sat in the tilled soil of the Wolndara homestead, heart only now beginning to slow its hectic beat and her hands caked with dirt, and blinked furiously, eyes watering from the blinding flash of light from the Garlean’s grenade. 

Once the spots in her vision had cleared - for the most part - she took silent stock of what she could see, attempting to assess the damage. Smoke still belched out of the front door, and the eye-watering ammonia stench from her own makeshift grenade seared her senses even with the kerchief tied about her nose and mouth.

Most of it had been done to the house. Aside from small scrapes on her palms where she’d caught herself after losing her footing, she was unharmed. 

Rhaya, however-- 

Rhaya sat in the grass cursing. 

“Those buggering--!” 

“Don’t move,” Aurelia called. She regained her feet, coughing heavily. “Hells, but we’ve got a mess to clear out. Are you all right?”

“One of them shot me,” Rhaya answered, and now Aurelia could see the dark outline of blood soaking into the Miqo’te woman’s sleeve, just above the clutching grip about her upper arm. “If the bastards value their skins they had best stay gone!”

“Rhaya,” she coughed. “Sit still and stop thrashing about-- let me look at your wound.”

Still growling, ears flat and every hair on her tail standing on end, Rhaya’s hand fell away from her arm. Aurelia gently tugged at the torn threads of her hempen shirt, careful not to apply too much pressure. Restless tension thrummed through the smaller woman’s body, a stray current looking for an outlet. 

“Just a graze. Let me take care of it and we’ll go inside and clear out the smoke bombs and check on Vahne.”

A stiff nod. 

Aurelia gently placed her open palm over the injury, concentrated, and a steady stream of water-tinged aether flowed from her fingers. The bleeding stopped and the flesh began to knit beneath the cool glow. It wouldn’t require a bandage, she thought, although the shirt was like to be a total-

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Aurelia froze at the flat, matter-of-fact question; her chin snapped up to look into the woman’s eyes, and it was clear by the hostility in them that she would not be able to make any excuse which would satisfy. 

Rhaya knew. Somehow, she knew. 

Silence hung between them like an invisible curtain until finally the huntress let out a sound that was something between a sigh and a bitter laugh.

“I knew it,” she said. “I bloody knew it. You were playing us both for fools.”

“Rhaya-”

“You aren’t half as clever at hiding yourself as you think. I saw that bag of yours in the cellar- the one with the symbol on it that you tried to cover.” Her tail thumped angrily against the ground. “Tried to tell myself there must surely be some good reason why a conjurer from Gridania would be carrying around something like that. But it seems to me like the simplest explanation is like to be the most obvious. ‘Specially when you and him started speaking in tongues.”

She sat still, bewilderment creeping up her spine and dread twisting her stomach. 

When had she lapsed into Ilsabardian? 

“You didn’t think a couple of stupid savages would figure it out, did you?” Rhaya bared her teeth, and she saw in that moment that she’d lost all of the trust she’d gained in aiding Vahne. “When were you planning to tell us? Before or after those men nearly killed us?”

“Rhaya, please. I can explain if you would just--”

Clawed hands planted themselves in the center of her chest and shoved. Aurelia fell back, sprawling into the dirt. “Keep your filthy hands off me.”

Unable to think of anything to say in her defense, or to bear the censure and fury in the other woman’s eyes any longer, her head bowed and her gaze fell to the ground. The Miqo’te wasted no time in standing up, brushing the soil off her legs as she did so, tail still lashing from side to side. Her utter contempt settled like an invisible weight on Aurelia’s shoulders.

“When he’s able to leave that cellar,” she said, her words tight and clipped, “I want your bags packed and I want you gone. And I had best never see you anywhere near my lands or my niece ever again. Or you’ll see exactly where my mercy for your kind begins and ends. Garlean.”

Rhaya spat the word out of her mouth as if it were something that tasted foul. 

The huntress stomped back towards her cabin. Aurelia didn’t watch her go. She listened to the receding footsteps and slamming door, swallowed back the sudden tide of frustrated tears that threatened, and stared up at the stars’ cold fire until the urge to shed them had passed.

==

The stew had gone cold. Vahne passed it silently to her while she dried her cleaned hands on a piece of spare hempen weave and the pair listened to the dull grinding roll of the spent smoke bomb as it went over the threshold and out the front door. The girl looked unhappy and quite subdued, her eyes averted from Aurelia’s - clearly Rhaya had spoken to her when she’d told her it was safe to come out.

“How does he fare?” 

As ever, it was easier to simply concentrate on matters of work for the time being. She’d deal with her own emotions later.

“He’s awake,” Vahne whispered. “What happened? Auntie says I’m not to talk to you.”

“I thought as much.” Aurelia patted the girl’s shoulder with her free hand. “Go help her clean up the glass. She doesn’t… that is, I need some words with our friend either way.”

“Is there aught I can do? I can talk to her if-”

“Don’t place yourself in the middle of this, Vahne, love. Please. Your aunt and I had an argument, that’s all you need to know for now.”

Vahne worried at her lower lip with her teeth but stepped beyond the partition into the common room, and in a few more moments Aurelia heard the sounds of a broom sweeping up glass. The stew was hearty but she barely tasted any of it. Her emotions felt like the bottom of an old jar, scraped out for its contents and left to molder.

Except for her anger, of course. That was still in fine working order.

She stared at the closed trapdoor and shook her head and reached for the ladle and a spare bowl. Tea would have to wait. 

Aurelia had half-thought she might have to rouse her patient but she did not. Sewell was awake, watching her descend the ladder with a bowl in one hand. He still looked weak - his cheeks bore a faint flush and the rest of him was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - but his eyes were clear and alert and tracked over her face as she sat down on the stool at what accounted for his bedside. He was well out of danger, she thought, and there was little doubt now that he would make a full recovery.

The spoon and bowl rattled on the crate as she set them down without ceremony.

“I’ve brought your dinner,” she said, unable to keep the tight, clipped coldness out of her voice. “Tea will have to wait until I’ve changed your dressings. Eat.”

He said nothing, but picked up the bowl with his good hand; Aurelia could hear the slow-paced clink of the spoon as she reached for her bag. 

She dragged her burden from the foot of the pallet to the close side of the crate she'd been using as a makeshift side table and started to remove tools, one by one. The piece of cloth she had wrapped hastily about the strap back in Gridania had fallen away - the knots must have loosened over time with use and exposure to the elements, she thought. Not that it mattered now. Rhaya knew what she was, and presumably so now did Vahne.

The scarlet-and-ivory tripartite links winked in the dim light, mocking her. 

No matter how far you travel, no matter how much you might try to deny us, they said, you will carry us with you to the ends of the star, and beyond it.

Every time she thought she’d passed that obstacle, the black anxiety of being set adrift and rudderless in a foreign land, every time she thought she’d found friends and a place to set her feet- it came back to haunt her again. Always.

And it was always, always, down to this.

After all, you cannot outrun your own blood.

Her jaw set. She neither needed nor wanted the reminder.

She set out the bowl and ran fresh water into it, and by the time she had found the antiseptic salve she’d sought, she heard him set his bowl of stew aside. It was only half finished.

“My arm pains me still,” Sewell admitted at the questioning tilt of her chin. “It will be some time, I think, before I am able to eat at the same pace.”

“Once I’m done I’ll help you.” Aurelia reached for her shears and leaned forward to examine the bandaging. She held aloft the shears, adjusting by eye until the old linens lay betwixt the blades, and slowly and carefully began to cut. “You’ll need to finish your meals to regain your strength. The sooner you do, the sooner you can leave.”

“...You seem vexed with me.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “I am.”

“Why? What have I-”

“Don’t you dare finish that question,” she stripped away the soiled fabric as swiftly as she dared and dipped one of her instruments into the jar to spread over the exposed area, still in the process of healing, “You know precisely what you did.”

“If you’re talking about that commotion outside tonight, I warned them not to take me in. They were under no obligation-”

Aurelia tossed the depressor to the top of the crate where it rattled against the bowl alongside her shears. Sewell started at the sound, then let out a strangled yelp when she grabbed a handful of his undershirt and hauled him into an upright sitting position. She did not stop until his face was mere ilms from her own, her cheeks flushed not with fever but with righteous fury.

“Look at me,” she snarled. “Look me in the eyes, you craven, and tell me you bear no responsibility for what has happened this night.”

“I warned them not to do it!”

She shook him hard enough that it jostled his hurts, and he choked out an alarmed groan. “Upstairs are two people who did you a kindness and they nearly lost their lives for it. You could at least have the bare decency to appreciate the risk that they’ve taken for your sake!”

“I do appreciate it! What sort of opportunist do you take me for?”

“Your cowardice does not affect only you!”

“What do you-”

Aurelia shoved him angrily back against the pallet, ran the fingers of her left hand beneath the borders of her blonde fringe, and raked the handful of golden strands back to her hairline. The man’s eyes went huge and his jaw slack at the sight of her third eye, laid bare.

“Oh hells,” he said weakly. “Oh hells.”

Her throat felt tight again and her eyes burned, but she managed this time to keep her voice steady, fueled entirely by her rage given an immediate outlet. “I’ve seen retrieval squads before, Master Sewell. I served in the VIIth Imperial Legion under Nael van Darnus, and if you know aught of the White Raven’s reputation then you know we had our share of deserters and defectors. All of whom were dealt with severely.”

“Then you know the penalty for desertion is death,” he muttered.

“Yes. I do. I helped Mistress Wolndara to drive them off, but it was a temporary measure. If we remain here she and her niece will be placed in unacceptable danger. Those soldiers will return in short order, with wheat-counters to reinforce their numbers.” Aurelia dropped her hand and let her mussed hair fall back into place. Her anger had faded to something manageable, though her gaze upon him remained icy. “And I suspect they will not only have come for you.”

Sewell stared at her, still deathly pale, still frightened and astonished--- but shame had begun to creep into his eyes as well. She sighed.

“You have naught to fear from me,” she said. “But the very least you owe your hostess is an honest explanation as to why she has risked her home and her life. Tell me everything that happened up until you came here.”

His eyes fell shut and his expression twisted in something very like pain.

“You asked me before,” he began, “who Imanie was.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I had best start from the beginning.” He plucked listlessly at a stray thread on his coverlet. “Imanie was my best friend from the village where we grew up - Ala Ghasti. You’ll not have heard of it - and when we were of a goodly age, or good enough for the Empire to see us as grown, we were drafted along with a number of our mates. Most of them were sent off to other lands. Imanie and me were the only two who ended up in the viceroy’s legion. We all had linkpearls and the like, of course, and we had each other’s shells, but we fell out of touch. 

“Well, about a moon ago, I got a message from Imanie. Couldn’t make nothing out of it - bad connection, I thought. Static bursts and the lot, but I didn’t think much about it. Communications have been more difficult through anything that isn’t official army channels ever since the moon fell. But she said she was going to be in Ala Mhigo in a fortnight’s time and she wanted to meet me. I thought she was allowed leave and wanted to catch up, so of course I agreed to it.”

“I take it things did not go as planned.”

“Not so much, no.” Sewell allowed himself a quick, humorless smile, one that ended in a grimace as Aurelia pulled the bandage taut and began to roll it in place. “She looked bloody awful when I saw her. Haunted. Like she’d seen things no one ought to see. Told me she had something important she’d come across. She wasn’t making much sense, though- kept repeating the same thing over and over. Something about a flower.“

“A flower?”

“Aye. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.” His brow knitted in a deep frown. “...She kept calling whatever it was--- aye, I recall now. She kept saying ‘black rose.’ But there ain’t no such thing as a black rose, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware. One would have to engineer a flower of that color, and I doubt very much the Empire is interested in horticulture.” Aurelia's fingertips tapped against the edge of the crate in thought. “...Perhaps she was speaking in some kind of code. A phrase to denote some classified project or other? You said yourself she worked in research and development.”

“Maybe. Don't suppose it matters now. She wanted me to come out to the lab with her and…” Sewell hesitated. “This bit’s where everything went tits up.”

“I’m listening.”

“It wasn’t far away, the place where she was stationed.  I recall thinking it strange that there wasn’t hardly anyone about when we arrived. Couldn’t be they’d all gone on leave, but Imanie didn’t want me to wait outside. Said it’d be too suspicious. So she uses her pass card to get me inside the gate and through the facility doors, and then we get to the lab. 

“Imanie says ‘wait here’ and comes back out with what looked like a wee tomestone on a chain about her neck. She hides it under her shirt gives me that look again- the one like she’d peered into a hole and seen all the seven hells stare back- and says ‘Let’s go.’ We got as far as the gate, and there were-” 

Aurelia paused as he took a long, shaking breath. 

“There were armed men, in full battle armor, blocking the way out. They says, ‘Hand it over.’ She says ‘Hand what over?’ and they says ‘The information you stole.’ They knew she was going to take whatever it was she took-- they’d laid a trap for her. There’s no tomestone any longer, because it was destroyed when they opened fire on her. Shot her down in the road like a godsdamned rabid animal. I guess as long as there wasn’t anything to take back to anyone like she wanted, her secret dyin’ with her was just fine by them too.” 

He stared into space. Grief and pain etched deep lines into his face, and though he was only a scant handful of years her senior, he appeared in that moment old and haggard. 

“Whatever it was they were doing in that place, it must have been bad. Bad.”

She could hardly belabor that, speculation or not. After all that she’d seen for herself at Castrum Novum, Aurelia had no doubt that he was right.  

“How did you escape?”

“I bolted for the gate while they were... occupied. They weren’t off their guard long; I felt a couple of shots whip right past me before I was able to get on the chocobo and get out of range.” Sewell swiped at the tears trickling down his beard-scruffed cheeks with his good hand. “I didn’t know where else to go so I made for the Twelveswood. I knew they’d kill me if they caught me, and they’d certainly kill me if I went back to Ala Mhigo.”

“They would have,” she said simply. “You were fortunate.”

“Aye… I traded the chocobo to one of the bandits smuggling folk across in exchange for passage. Most of ‘em were headed for Gridania but that road passes too close to the Oriens garrison, so I went with the caravan long enough to make it through before heading south. I guess I hoped maybe it would take them longer to find me than it did.”

She set down the last of her gear, dipped her soiled hands in the water to clean them, and gave him a long and steady look. “You didn’t, by any chance,” she said, “venture near a village on your way out here, did you?”

“Don’t rightly know, my lady. I might have. Truth be told, I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going. I was just running. I kept seeing my best friend, the girl I’d known since we were children, cut down by gunblade fire. Blood everywhere. Her head--” 

The hands that lay on the bedding began to tremble. 

“...I knew I’d deserted my post and I knew the penalty, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Imanie. How she’d wanted me to live. So I ran. I knew they’d find me eventually. And on the third day out, about a sennight ago, they did.

“There’s a man in Castrum Oriens they call ‘the Crow,’ and a more ruthless scoundrel isn’t to be found in the entirety of the XIVth Legion, they say-- save, mayhap, the man to whom he answers. But he’s the one who sends out the retrieval squads. And they might fetch you back to the castrum to face a courts-martial - if you’re one of the lucky ones. They ain’t above killing their targets, as you’ve seen.”

“No. No, they’re not.”

“And they’ve more reason to see me hang than most. When they caught up with me on the other side of that creek-- I still had my lance. One of them was blocking my way out, and when he wouldn’t move, I put the business end through his chest and ran.”

“You killed a frumentarius?” 

“Not on purpose. I wager I only managed to escape because they thought I’d surrender rather than run from them. They started shooting at me once the shock passed. I thought for sure I was a dead man. One struck true, the other three went wild. It hurt like anything, but I was worried if they had even the slightest notion where I was and a good clean shot to take, that would’ve been the end of me. I managed to get across the creek and spent the rest of the night wandering through the forest. Finally stopped under a tree to catch back a second wind, and next thing I knew I was lying on a pallet inside this good lady’s root cellar. She tried her best to patch up what she could, but then the wound started going bad…”

“And so that’s where I came in.”

“Aye. ‘Tis obvious they were able to track me here.” He reached for the bowl again, fixing her with a pleading stare. “I know you’re angry, my lady, and you’ve every right to be. But you have my thanks, anyroad, for keeping me alive long enough to tell me what a coward I am.”

She stared at him for a long moment and picked up the spoon she’d slammed onto the crate. 

“Pray accept my apology for calling you a craven,” she said. “I was angry, but that was unkind of me.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.”

“I’m not anyone’s lady. My name is Aurelia - just ‘Aurelia,’ if it please you. I’ve little reason to use my family name these days and even less use for a rank or a title.”

He opened his mouth and she spooned stew into it. After a moment of chewing, he asked, “And what’s a lass like you doing in the middle of the woods patching up deserters?”

“I was but one of many who were taken prisoner at Carteneau, in the aftermath of the eikon attack.”

His eyes flared with astonishment. “You saw the moon fall?”

“I don’t recall much of it,” Aurelia lied, “but after everything that Legatus van Darnus had wrought upon this realm, the Eorzeans were out for blood. They were like to make an example of me by letting me swing from some gibbet or other, did I not acquiesce to their demands to formally defect. As part of that bargain, I relinquished my rank, and...”

“And?”

“Suffice to say my presence here is not what one would call welcome, but I certainly can no longer return to Garlemald even if I wished it. It’s not important, I suppose.” The naked sympathy in his eyes made her feel uncomfortable so she quickly changed the subject. “...What is of paramount importance is getting you back on your feet so we can get you up that ladder and out of this house before the retrieval squadron comes back. I judge you’ll be fit to travel again in a day or two, as fast as you’re mending.”

“But there’s nowhere for me to go either.”

“I know where we can start. I’ve a very clever partner, and I promise you that between the three of us we’ll come up with some sort of plan.” She patted him on the hand and lifted another spoonful of venison and gravy. “Now open up.”

~*~

Their departure from the Wolndara homestead three days later was without preamble. Rhaya’s reception remained chilly, though she was somewhat warmer towards Sewell, and she would not pass a moment in the root cellar while Aurelia was there - which was just as well, for Aurelia’s unease never once lessened each time she set foot on the ladder. She passed the time helping with makeshift repairs of the windows, and tried to let nothing of her regret show each time Vahne shot her a sad and questioning stare. 

Thus it was with surprise when, on a cool and foggy morning, Vahne led them out to the small chocobo paddock at the edge of the property. Two modestly sized sacks of goods sat at the gate, alongside a large and placid-looking bird.

“Aunt Rhaya’s payment,” she said simply, “for your aid. I’ll come with you as far as the ruins and take him back with me, but she says Master Sewell is in no condition to go so far on foot.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said. Vahne’s eyes didn’t lose their mournful cast, but now was not the time to discuss it. She adjusted the strap on her bag, and the new linen covering she’d placed over the imperial seal. “Master Sewell, you go first. I’ll ride behind.”

With some effort they were able to get him astride the bird, and Aurelia clambered up behind him with her arms about his waist. Vahne patted a handful of fluffy yellow feathers, then took the reins in hand, and the three were off.

The journey was slow and careful and tedious even on chocoback. It was late afternoon by the time they reached the ruins where Aurelia and Vahne had first met. They lay still and silent now, save for the wind rustling in ivy creepers and tall stands of belladonna, and she thought to herself how strange it was that so much seemed to have happened in such a very, very short amount of time. It had been all of a sennight since she had met Vahne Wolndara, and it felt as though it had been months. 

She sighed aloud as Vahne clicked her tongue at their mount and pulled him to a stop. The girl continued to watch with that sadness in her eyes as the pair dismounted and began to collect their things before she finally mustered the wherewithal to speak.

“Miss Aurelia?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about… what happened.” 

“So am I.”

She could tell by the uneasy way the girl kept shifting her weight from foot to foot that something else was bothering her, and it was only moments before the truth came pouring forth, like a flood gate that had been released.

“I keep asking why she’s so cross with you,” Vahne blurted out. “She won’t talk about it. She just says you’re not welcome back and that’s the end, and I shouldn’t keep asking her so many questions when there’s work to be done.” 

Aurelia said nothing. Vahne chewed on her lip, staring down at the ground before lifting her chin so that her gaze met the Garlean’s. “You aren’t going to tell me either, are you?”

“I’m afraid not, darling.”

“Why?”

“Your aunt’s disagreement with me is not something you would be able to set to rights. And-” Aurelia put her hands on those small shoulders and squeezed. “...Vahne, you are going to be grown one day. You will have to learn how to make judgments about people independent of your aunt’s opinions. This is a very large star, and there are many, many people on it. And you will meet good and bad in the course of your life.”

“I won’t meet that many. Unless I leave the forest. And… and I don’t know if that’s what I want. Not yet.”

“Of course you don’t have to leave the forest if you don’t want to do that. But I think you will be a great woman no matter what you decide to do, or where you go in life.”

Wiry little arms wrapped about her waist. She gently combed back the wild hair between the girl’s flickering ears with her fingers. 

“I don’t want you to go back,” Vahne sniffled. “I never had so much fun washing clothes.”

Aurelia laughed. “You were a very good teacher,” she said. “And I am quite certain I shall be in need of further instruction.”

“...Can I still come visit you sometimes? If that’s all right?”

“Of course, Vahne. I would be happy to have you.”

“And the villagers won’t mind?”

“Goody Miller certainly won’t. Some few might, but I think given time and familiarity they’ll come around just fine.” 

Vahne stepped back, swiping furtively at her eyes. They were still red-rimmed, but no longer wet. She took the chocobo’s reins, set one small foot in the stirrup, and leveraged her weight onto the beast’s wide back. Aurelia’s brows arched into the fabric of her head covering.

“You’re going to ride him back?”

“Why not? Old Fred knows the way back. We’ve had him forever- Master Buscarron gave him to her as thanks for being one of his road scouts a long time ago.” Vahne grinned. “Besides, I’ve been riding him about the fields since I was eight summers.”

“Fair enough. Be careful going home.”

“Be careful going back to the village. Those awful men might be out here.”

Aurelia only nodded. Vahne gathered the reins and hesitated, looking as if she meant to say something else but thought better of it. Instead she clicked her tongue twice against the roof of her mouth and dug her heels into the chocobo’s sides, and with a soft kweh the aging bird began to saunter back towards the direction of the road. She watched the pair go until they had disappeared into the trees once again, then looked at Sewell.

“Guess it’s you and me now,” he said.

“So it is. We’d best get going if we want to make it back before nightfall,” she said. “Follow me.”

~*~

“We must report, my lord. When you-”

Argas rem Canina barely heard his second’s suggestion, as all his concentration was fixed upon the sharp and sudden pains lancing from his side in hot spikes into his shoulder and hip with any sudden movement. It felt as though he’d been stabbed with a handful of darning needles.

“Shite and hellsfire!” the pilus prior swore, sputtering out the mouthful of merlot he’d just taken. It spilled down his chin and the front of his undershirt, staining the linen a deep violet-red. “Damn it, Salvitto, can’t you be a bit blimmin’ careful?” 

“Broken from the look of things, my lord,” Lavinia jen Savitto interrupted blandly, enduring her superior’s ire with the patient air of a mother bringing a stubborn toddler to heel. He groaned again when her fingers brushed over his bared side, winding a linen field bandage about his torso. 

“Salvitto--”

“I am taking as much care as I can, my lord.”

“Well, take more care. I’m not a godsdamned rack of lamb in some farmer’s market.” Her expression remained carefully neutral. Argas gave in with an exasperated sigh. “And I can’t very well lie here like a gormless lump when there’s work to be done. Can they not be set?”

“By the look of the injury there is little to be done save wrap them and otherwise leave them to heal, my lord. I’ve alchemics that will speed the process, of course, but I must strongly advise you against strenuous activity for a sennight.” At his derisive scoff, she added: “The bones will need that much time to knit.”

He waved an impatient hand. 

“Get on with it, then.” Argas watched the medicus excuse herself before he turned his scowl upon his second. “And what has Lord Fabian to say?”

“He asks that you contact him with your report.”

“What report? There’s nothing yet to report.”

"Nothing at all," Phoebus said drily, “save the entire operation was undone by two women and a jar of antelope piss, you're injured, Caelius quo Merula's got an arrow in his gut, and Blackthorne was most likely able to escape with-”

“I am doing my bloody best,” Argas snarled, “to capture a criminal while deep in enemy territory with minimal resources. If you or his lordship believe you can do better, then I invite you to try.” 

Something ugly flashed through Phoebus pyr Cinna’s eyes - the belly of a trout surfacing for just the barest second - before it was submerged once again beneath a layer of ice.

“Be that as it may, the tribunus militum is still expecting a report, and we must needs have one ready for his review.” Phoebus’ voice dropped in volume so that only his superior could hear. “You know how the Crow is when he receives bad news.”

Argas set the cup on the side table with a clumsy clatter and dragged himself upright despite the pain it caused him. Wheezing, he spat out, “The transceiver is in my belt pouch.”

“My lord?”

“Bring it here. I might as well get this done and over with.”

“Of course.”

Despite his air of annoyed impatience, he knew the queasy and unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach was due to anxiety, not pain or irritation. He stared down at the module Phoebus had deposited in his hand, then snapped, “Go and close the door behind you. Let Salvitto know I am meeting with Lord Fabian first.”

His second snapped a perfunctory salute and quit the small room. 

Argas watched him go, eyes narrowed. There were words he needed to have with Cinna- but that could come later. Girding himself with what courage he could find, he thumbed the switch that would patch him through directly to Fabian rem Corbinus’ personal line.

Five minutes, a burst of static, and an indeterminable number of dial tones later, a gruff voice crackled across the transceiver. “Who is this?”

“Argas rem Canina, my lord.”

“Mm.” A pause. “I see you’ve received my message.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cinna tells me your team discovered the whereabouts of the traitor Sewell oen Blackthorne. By chance were you able to capture him alive?”

He hesitated.

“Well?”

“No, my lord. There were... unforeseen complications and oen Blackthorne is still at large.” At the lack of response, he continued, “We tracked him to the location of a safe house not far from the town of Quarrymill, but we were met with resistance and myself and one of my men were injured. As we realized that we faced an unknown number of enemies and had no reinforcements with which to subdue them, it was my opinion that we stood to lose additional personnel-”

“Then you retreated.”

“I… yes, my lord.”

“You had all the resources that you requested, including two tracking experts at your disposal, and you could not capture one criminal. One unarmed savage.”

He swallowed and wiped his sweating palms on the coverlet. "With all due respect, my lord, you don't understand. This circumstance is extraordinary; we did not expect to fi-"

"Methinks it is you who lacks understanding. I have no interest in excuses." The tribunus militum’s barked words, as biting as they were precise, halted Argas mid-sentence. "You have been tasked with retrieving the blackguard by any means necessary. Pray tend to those orders with due diligence, lest I am given further cause to reconsider the calibre of those under my command."

"Requesting permission to speak, my lord," he began.

"Permission granted."

"We have good reason to believe the local population within this region of the Black Shroud has granted succor to at least one other defector. A Garlean woman." Once again there was no response forthcoming, although he knew the man was listening behind the small bursts of static that marked aetheric interference. "My lord, the Empire cannot be thought to fear a handful of unarmed savages living amongst the trees. There are consequences for harboring imperial fugitives in defiance of the law, but without tangible support we cannot-"

"Yes, yes, I’m aware. You needn't quote the officers' handbook at me, pilus.”

“Yes, my lord. I apologize.” 

“On the other hand, I suppose it would be rather unseemly of us to leave this woman you mention to run about the area unchecked.” Fabian rem Corbinus sighed. “Very well. You have authorization to request what additional resources and personnel you may need, and further to take whatever measures you deem necessary for her arrest. I will draft the paperwork so that the praefectus at Oriens knows all is in order-"

"Thank you, my lord."

"-but do not forget that the primary objective is to neutralize Blackthorne. If you find the woman, take her into custody by all means... but I want his head.”

“Yes, my lord. I won't forget-” 

"It will be your head if you fail,” the tribunus militum interrupted, the words flat and matter-of-fact. “Do I make myself clear?"

Argas rem Canina swallowed with a soft but audible click in his throat. "As glass, my lord," he said.

"Excellent. I’m so glad we understand each other. Feel free to return to the castrum for your reinforcements.”

“You have my thanks, my lord,” Argas said, relieved--but that relief was short-lived: 

“As you are injured, Phoebus pyr Cinna as your second has my express authorization to obtain information upon the deserters’ whereabouts in your stead until your recovery is deemed complete."

His stomach clenched unpleasantly. “My lord, I don’t think that--”

“Are you questioning my orders, Canina?”

“...Not at all, my lord, of course not-”

“Good. I expect a timely postmortem report.”

Before Argas could protest further, the connection had lapsed into hollow static.

[chrysalispen]

xxiv. they breathe like trees unstirred;

UPDATE: This is now on AO3. Link is HERE

===

”Help!”

The distressed cry shocked Aurelia out of her paralysis. Hastily she slung the bag of herbs over her shoulders and secured them, fumbled with the knife sheath as she tucked her tools away, running as fast as she could down the incline that led into the partially excavated ruins.

Another roar, another dull cracking, another cloud of pebbles and ancient mortar showering her head and shoulders. She ducked and wove her way through the flying rock and soil as best as she could manage. In another moment she rounded the corner, wiping dust and sweat from her eyes with the back of one hand.

A second scream directed her gaze upwards to the source of the commotion: a young Miqo’te girl clinging desperately to the overhanging root system of an old-growth tree, her eyes huge and pupils blown wide with terror. Her tail lashed in sweeping circles while her feet made frantic and rapid kicks and found naught but empty air.

The treant that had cornered the Miqo'te bellowed in rage, swiping at the small and compact frame. As Aurelia watched, the trapped child managed to curl her knees upwards and tuck them beneath her tail. It was all that saved her. She narrowly avoided a vicious blow that would have crushed her on impact; the treant’s open claw impacted instead with a portion of the stone wall which shuddered, crumbled, and fell to rubble, leaving a dirt and root-adorned crater in its wake.

The girl wailed, near mindless with fear.

Cursing softly, the Garlean loosened the strap on her belt where she kept her novice’s wand at the ready-- her heart thumped heavily in her chest in a way it hadn’t done since Carteneau as this was neither a combat simulation nor a lecture hall. Although she had mastered the basics of aether manipulation and control, she was painfully aware that her current skills with her wand were not yet sufficient on their own to appease a berserk woodkin.

This initial point, however, dovetailed into the second: it couldn’t be helped. Unless she acted quickly, the girl would lose her tenuous grip on the exposed roots of the tree and fall to her death - and Ewain wasn’t here to dispatch the miserable thing, meaning the decision to turn the land’s magicks against a denizen of the forest would have to fall to her. She couldn’t very well run and leave the girl to her doom. Her skills, such as they were, would have to do.

“Hold on!” she shouted at the girl. “I’m coming over there to get you! Don’t let go until I tell you!”

No answer: only hoarse screaming broken by great, whooping sobs. Aurelia wasn’t certain if she had understood or even heard the orders through the panicked fog that clearly had her in its grip. Seven hells take the bloody elementals if they had issue with it, Aurelia thought, and the Hearer could yell and lecture her behind closed doors all he liked later. Swearing under her breath, she held out her wand and reached with her mind’s eye for the aether in the air, then loosed it at the frenzied creature.

Wind coalesced in a sphere and flew towards the treant in a small and contained explosion, slicing into bark and branch. It had the desired effect; the treant reared upwards with an angry cry, spindly appendages flailing as it roared its fury to the forest canopy. Leaves shivered and hissed, and the cursed thing barreled towards its new target.

In response, Aurelia took several leaping steps backward out of range and lifted a fist. Debris rattled and swirled around her willowy frame, brought aloft by the manipulation of wind-aspected aether, rippling in smooth currents from the ring of trees growing in and around the ruins.

She kept her control as steady as she could manage, watching as twin tendrils of air and stone wound themselves about her right forearm like a ribbon. Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. The treant was sweeping its arms -- what passed for arms -- wide to strike and had left itself open.

With a flick of the simple ash wand in her hand, she hurled the projectile. The composite stone crashed into the treant’s branches, its trajectory bolstered with the force of compacted wind. Aurelia caught the scent of sap and the sound of snapping limbs; its roars were now laden with pain as well as anger. Clawing at everything within reach of its limited perception, it shambled forward to rid itself of its tormentor, gnarled roots scraping into old stone and packed earth like overgrown toes.

But for all its size and ferocity, its movements were ponderous and slow, and she found it a simple enough task to predict its next attack and react accordingly. She tucked and rolled under its wildly swinging limbs and had already regained her feet to run for the trapped child before the fiend could change track. Sweat trickled into her eyes and distorted her vision but she did not pause. The urgency of their current situation had rendered both the irritant and its mirroring sting at her hairline unimportant.

“Now!” she shouted to the girl, lifting her arms. “Jump! I’ve got you! Jump now!”

The Miqo’te’s breath hitched audibly in her chest but she had stopped screaming long enough to watch the fight with wide eyes, and only hesitated a moment before she released her grip on the roots. Aurelia caught her before she could hit the ground, set her down feet-first, and grasped her wrist.

“Run into the woods! Don’t look back and keep running until I say stop!”

“Miss-”

“Don’t talk,” Aurelia barked, ”run!”

For the first two breaths the girl hesitated, then she got her feet under her and the two fled into the depths of the wood, crashing through bush and briar without stopping or sparing a glance at any possible pursuit.

The treant’s furious yowling echoed once from the direction of the ruins, the leaves of the surrounding trees seeming to shiver with a dim reflection of its ire, but did not seem to have left the bounds of that clearing. Once Aurelia judged them to be safe her sprint slowed to a trot and then to a walk; she grasped a handful of the girl’s kurta to signal that they were safe.

At her side, the Miqo'te first tilted forward to brace her hands upon her knees before she dropped into the dirt and dead leaves at their feet, panting. Her tail slapped with visible agitation against the forest floor.

”Hells,” she said, explosively. “That near ended poorly.”

Aurelia raised a brow at the oath that fell from those young lips; their owner couldn’t have been more than ten summers- though she allowed that she might be wrong, as Sazha had been small and spindly too. The look of the girl rather put her in mind of the wood sprites she remembered from childhood fairy tale books. She had a build a bit like Sazha’s had been, but it was less compact and more slender, with long and skinny limbs. Her skin was perhaps a shade or two darker than Keveh’to’s and her eyes a soft grey with large and rounded pupils. Brown ears the color of oak tree bark flickered idly, swiveling at each small noise that came from their surrounds.

“Yes, it did,” Aurelia said at last. More sweat trickled into her eye and she blinked again. “What were you doing in there?”

“Could ask you the same, miss.” The girl paused, carefully swiping at her face to clean it of her tears. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but they were clear and her expression was calm now that she was well out of immediate danger. “Though I’m full glad you were there, make no mistake. I was looking for something in the ruins.”

“By yourself?” Aurelia was immediately concerned. “Those ruins are no place for a child.”

An affronted scowl furrowed soft brows and crinkled that little button nose.

“I’m not a child,” the girl declared irritably.

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course not! I’m fourteen summers!” She paused, then added: “Well, nearly. I will be at the end of the season. How old did you think I was?”

“Ah… twelve, mayhap,” Aurelia hedged, unwilling to admit she had assumed younger. The girl appeared only slightly mollified.

“Mayhap twelve is naught but a child where you’re from, miss, but for me that’s practically grown.” She squinted, annoyance forgotten. “I saw that wand you were using. Are you a Gridanian?”

“No.” Technically it was true. “I learned my craft in Gridania but my homeland lies to the north.”

“Hm.” The Miqo'te girl looked her up and done once more as if coming to some sort of decision before she regained her footing, dusted the leaves off the backs of her legs, and thrust out a small, soiled hand. “Well, Miss Mysterious Conjurer, since you asked, my name is Vahne. Vahne Wolndara. Thank you for saving me.”

With a faint smile, Aurelia clasped the proffered hand and shook slightly.

“Aurelia Laskaris. Pleased to meet you, Vahne -- I can call you Vahne, can’t I? What were you doing poking around a place like that? You know what it is, surely?”

Vahne shot her a slightly withering look as if to say ‘are you stupid? ‘

“Aye, I do. It’s part of the old city of Amdapor. Said to be haunted.” She crossed her arms, expression smug. “Your Gridanian conjurers aren’t the only ones who know about that sort of thing, you know. We Keepers have our own stories.”

Not about to allow an adolescent girl’s cheek to provoke her, Aurelia merely shrugged.

“Well, if you know that much,” she said, “then one would assume you should have already known about the traps placed all over these ruins, not just by us but your own people. That treant shouldn’t have gone so wild as to attack you without cause. Unless you touched -- or stepped on -- something that was meant to be left alone.”

Vahne flushed, her expression equal parts indignant and embarrassed, and the veneer of self-assurance faltered beneath it.

“I-I know that!” she sputtered. “I’m not stupid, I just-- I was worried, all right? I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking and I didn’t see the roots until I stepped right through them-”

Aurelia held up a hand. "It’s not a lecture; I only want to help. If you know as much as you say about these ruins, then I would think you also know they aren’t a place that most people would go unless they had a very good reason.”

The girl muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

Vahne sighed. “I said I was trying to find some lavender. And cloves.”

“Surely there are safer places to look.”

“Not as many as there used to be,” she said dismally. “Ever since last summer, it’s been much harder to find. It used to grow all over our hunting grounds but the fires destroyed most of it. You would think the Gridanians could spare some, but their bloody Wood Wailers-”

“Language,” Aurelia interrupted absently. The girl rolled her eyes.

“...all right, fine, blasted Wood Wailers are near as like to shoot at us as talk to us if we get too close to their settlements. The village folk think we’re all thieves and poachers so they won’t treat with us, but they won’t dare cross the ruins for fear of curses and ghosts and such.”

“So you thought you’d find those things in the ruins? Hardly anything grows in there other than belladonna and poison oak.”

Vahne shrugged, grey eyes finding their study of the ground suddenly very interesting, and Aurelia felt the familiar twist of guilt in her gut. Dalamud’s shrapnel had set a large portion of the Black Shroud ablaze, and once the Greenwrath had been quelled along with the wildfires few if any of the people in the Gridanian settlements had spared a thought for the forest folk or their losses. Herself included.

She stared thoughtfully down at her bag.

“I think I might have some herbs I could give to you, but to do so would require a trip back to the village in order to obtain it.” At Vahne’s cautious stare, Aurelia added, “You would owe me nothing in compensation if that’s what concerns you.”

“No, miss, it’s not that, it’s… if my aunt knew I got anywhere near any of the Gridanian settlements she’d have my hide. We keep our distance for good reason. ...But you do have some? And you’ll let me have it?”

“Yes.”

“Might you also have foxglove?”

“That I cannot promise. Foxglove comes from Coerthas and their snows have killed most of the harvests. The rest I can get for you-- if you tell me why you need it so much.”

“Healing,” she said, perhaps a touch too quickly, and the Garlean raised her brows at the obvious evasion. “...What? Don’t look at me like that! I’m serious!”

“What sort of healing?” Aurelia pressed. “Lavender and cloves I understand, but foxglove can be quite toxic.”

“Just… you know… the usual sorts of things! Easing pain, and all that.”

Her gaze lingered upon the Miqo’te - rather pointedly - but the girl continued to stare at the ground in strained silence as she awaited a response. It was more than obvious she was hiding something but would offer nothing further without duress, and Aurelia knew better than to think she would have any luck coaxing her into breaking whatever personal code she held close to the chest.

Not without compromising what fragile trust she’d gained, anyroad.

“Oh, very well,” she said. Whatever the girl’s secrets, she saw no reason to withhold supplies if they could be spared. “Follow me. You don’t need to enter the village. If you come with me as far as the wall, I’ll fetch what is needful and bring it to you.”

Vahne’s grey eyes came alight with relief. “Oh, miss, thank you, tha-”

“You’re welcome,” Aurelia said, not without a touch of wryness in her tone. No good deed goes unpunished, after all.

~*~

It was nearing dusk when they reached the treeline that stood on the far side of the creekbed from the village. Most of the wood already lay shrouded in shadows and visibility was so poor Aurelia could barely discern the path even once it became familiar again.

She was relieved to see she hadn’t completely lost her way in their mad dash from the Amdapori ruins since she hadn’t exactly paid attention to where they had fled at the time, but her third eye afforded her a variety of advantages over most hyur, and one of those things was a reasonably good sense of direction. If the Twelve actually existed, she’d thank them for small favors.

Vahne paused, hanging back in a stand of brambles, tail lashing and ears flat.

“This is as far as I can go, miss,” she said, though not without a note of apology. “My aunt-”

“I know. ‘Tis all right.” She parted a stand of low-hanging ivy from an ash branch overhead and stepped into the clearing. “Stay here. I’ll be gone less than a quarter bell. Do you know how to find your way home?”

Vahne scoffed, and like that her confidence had returned. “Auntie used to tell me that a Keeper who couldn’t survive a night alone in the Shroud by the time she was able to string a bow wouldn't be a huntress worth the name. I’ll be fine.”

“Where’s your bow?” Aurelia asked, curious, and that flush returned.

“That stupid tree--”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

The creek was near full this time of year, the banks muddy and steep, but Aurelia had quickly discovered the safest place to ford it. She skipped from rock to rock and splashed across the water, adjusting the leather bag on her shoulder. A glance at her back showed no sign that she had been followed at all, which meant Vahne was probably hiding in the brush.

Ewain’s place, befitting a conjurer’s hermitage, lay one foot in and one foot out of civilization. It had been nestled behind the old palisade line along with the rest of the village but he had declined to rebuild his portion during the recent reconstruction, confident there was precious little in the way of threats that his link to the land could not turn back. The creek itself provided a natural border to his gardens, and the wall receded to little more than neatly stacked rows of stone.

“Miss Aurelia!”

A small, sandy head, peeking over the stones. Aurelia exhaled, smiling.

“Just the lad I was hoping to see. You’ve stayed in the village while I was gone?”

“Yes, miss. I was about to go home.” He shuffled from foot to foot, looking agitated, but making no move to leave her to her own devices. “Do you need me to open the gate?”

She didn’t but wasn’t about to say so. Just the fact he’d offered to do so without prompting was a positive sign; of all his family Bran had proved the most difficult to win over. “That would be lovely, Bran. Thank you.”

For a few moments he disappeared completely from sight, then there was a quiet creak as the small, low-slung gate - more suited to holding sheep than aught else, she thought - eased open on its iron hinges. She slipped through the opening and latched it shut at her back, then smiled at him. He stared at her with huge and solemn eyes, a frown creasing his brow.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said. “I’m sorry I took so long to come back. Have you taken your basket back to your mama?”

“Not yet, miss.”

“Pray tell her that I’ll be along tomorrow with her dried grass for the weaving once I’ve done my rounds.” Aurelia refrained from ruffling the boy’s hair as she might have done were they more familiar with each other. “Now go straight home, you hear?”

He was already halfway down the path to the main street before she had finished speaking. Amused, she watched him trot away and adjusted the leather strap of her gathering bag before crossing between one of the rows of cabbages Trevantioux had planted on her way to the front porch steps. Aubin briefly lifted his silvered muzzle in greeting, sniffed the air, then settled back on his haunches to doze again once he had determined the familiar scent.

Scratching absently at her hairline, she rapped on the door only for it to swing open immediately; a man’s hand snaked around her wrist and yanked her across the threshold so abruptly she nearly dropped her belongings. Panic, bright and sharp like fire, sparked across her nerves for a split second before she saw the familiar outline of fluffy hair and ears. Keveh’to’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the cabin.

“Where in hells have you been?” he demanded, his teeth flashing as he spoke. “You know you have a curfew! I was about to send a search pa-”

“That’s a bit dramatic of you, don’t you think?” Aurelia shook her head, pushing past him to make way for the herb cabinets. “As you can see, I’ve arrived in one solid piece and I promise I’ve been a very good little prisoner. In fact, I shall have you know I’ve not attempted to cross the border wall even one time today, which to hear Trevantioux tell it is quite the accomplishment.”

“Very funny. Perhaps you might answer the question with something other than sarcasm?”

“For goodness' sake, Keveh'to! I was foraging for lavender and ended up near the old Amdapori watchtower. I would have returned earlier but I got a bit sidetracked, that’s all. And before you ask, I’ve already sent the lad home to his mother.”

“Good. He needs to stay there, and you and I need to speak. Something’s happened.”

“Can it not wait a few moments? I've a quick delivery to make.”

“Delivery? Aurelia, you can’t go back outside. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“If you’d sit down for a few moments, I could tell-” His eyes darkened. “Twelve, you’re bleeding!”

Keveh’to’s face, even in the poor lighting, had paled visibly. Aurelia could only offer a blank stare in return.  “...What are you on about?”

“How could you not have noticed? There’s blood all over your face.”

“What… oh,” she raised a hand to her hairline and winced at the stinging sensation she felt. What she’d thought was sweat was, she realized now, dried blood. “I suppose it must have nicked me.”

“What nicked you?”

“A treant in the ruins. I’m fine,” she said with perhaps a touch more impatience than she had intended. Without a pause, she brushed aside the hand on her arm and reached for the pinned bundle of dried lavender overhead. Removing roughly half the sprigs, she set it aside, then began to rummage through the cabinet for the cloves. “Get me that empty hemp bag on the hook, would you?”

Keveh’to had already handed the bag to her before he had formulated a response, but whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. She was already shoving the herbs in the bag.

“As I thought. No foxglove,” she said aloud. “She’ll have to live with it.”

“You're being far too cryptic for my liking. Who are you talking about?”

“A girl whom I met today at the ruins. Feel free to come with me if you’re concerned for my safety for whatever mad reason, but I’ll not make her wait longer than needs must.”

“Aurelia, this is-”

“She only needs some healing herbs and she’ll be off. I promise we’ll talk as soon as possible, but pray let me handle this one matter first. It won’t take but a moment.”

Keveh’to shook his head, frustration evident in the deep knit of his brows. "I see you’re not going to listen to me until I’ve done as you asked - and I'm not letting you out there alone.”

“A bit of a wait won’t kill you.” She swept past him to reach for the door latch. “Come on.”

Spring in the Black Shroud was waxing to its zenith and wearing on into summer, and the scent of late perennials and the reedy sounds of tree frogs hung heavy in the air. No other soul seemed to have marked their departure, Aurelia noted, as the pair slipped between Ewain's flourishing vegetable rows and back towards the gate.

“It’s oddly quiet this early in the evening,” she murmured. “Where’s Ewain and Trevantioux?”

“They’re at the Millers’. Talking to the children- look, I’ll tell you when we get back, but let’s hurry. I really don’t want those two listening in.”

“All right, all right, don’t fret. Hand me that bag.” He did, unlatching the low gate as he did so with a disapproving frown. “Stay here.”

“What? Where are-”

Keveh’to trailed off, watching her hop nimbly from one outcropping to the next down the creek bed as if she were born to it. In the winter months, a great deal of the water had slumbered deep under ice as the excessive rains had filled it near to its flooding point, and he found himself observing yet again that this small village had been almost absurdly fortunate. Few others had managed to escape the damage that had destroyed other settlements lying closer to Mor Dhona’s borders.

Aurelia grinned back over one shoulder, trying to ignore her limp and the vague soreness in her leg; though it had largely healed it did still ache if she overtaxed it (which she had very much done, this day), then turned her attention back to the timber line.

“Vahne,” she called. “I have your herbs.”

For a long moment nothing happened. She frowned, wondering if the girl had perhaps lost her nerve upon seeing her companion, when a quiet rustle of the undergrowth below a nearby sycamore tree caught her eye and one small hand extended outward in an expectant silence.

“Let me see you,” Aurelia said.

Another rustle, then a displeased mutter: “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about me.”

“Keveh’to is a Keeper like you. He’ll not harm you nor will he give away your secret.” Reflective grey disks peered between the blind of leaves, looking at her, shuttering in a blink, then narrowed in a distrustful squint as they focused past her upon the Miqo’te man standing at the opposite side of the creek bed. “I’ve told him to stay where he is.”

Cautiously Vahne’s ears came into sight, swiveling and flickering wildly, then the crown of the girl’s head, before she stood completely upright. Her hand was still extended.

Aurelia held out the hempen sack.

“Lavender,” she said, “and some of our cloves. I don’t have aught else to spare right now, unfortunately. There’s little enough to go ‘round since the ice storms overtook Coerthas last summer. I’m sure the botanists’ guild in Gridania will manage to get their hands on a seedling or three for cultivation but in the meantime, we all must needs make do.”

She waited as the girl opened the bag and sniffed its contents, then made a satisfied nod and tied it shut.

“Thank you, miss.”

“It’s Aurelia,” she repeated. “If for some reason you do ever need help, you can come and find me here. Or if you can’t find me, look for my companion. His name is Keveh’to and he’ll be easy to spot, being as he’s the only Keeper in the village.”

Vahne cradled the bag close to her chest.

“I best be going. My aunt will be wondering where I’ve got off to if I’m not back soon, and there’s also-” She cut off abruptly, wincing, as if she’d nearly let something slip Aurelia wasn’t supposed to know about. “....Well, anyroad, cheers.”

“Be caref-”

The girl had already melted into the shadow with little more than a rustle of leaves before she could even finish her admonition.

Aurelia shook her head ruefully. She had extended the offer suspecting the girl would have need of aid if she was truly this desperate for healing items, but doubted anything would come of it. Ewain had emphasized that there were Keeper tribes in the forests who refused “civilized contact” and would rather keep to the old ways than cooperate with Gridania, and Keveh’to’s accounts seemed to at least partially back up that claim. If the girl would rather keep to herself, then that was her right, and it was hardly the place of an outsider who knew nothing of Eorzean ways to deny it to her.

You’ve done what you can here. Right. Time to go talk to Keveh’to about whatever it was he wanted to discuss with you before he has kittens.

As she turned her back on the forest to find her way back across the creek bed to Keveh’to and the Hearer’s cottage, Aurelia felt the sensitive skin around her third eye prickle, and a chill crawled up her spine.

Yet again, she realized, they were being watched.