Wow, it’s been nearly a year since I uploaded a FFXIV chapter? How!? I got stuck on these BRD quests but I felt they were important. (also work, yadda yadda, lack of energy, yadda yadda, cosplay yadda)
Gordon Lightfoot passed away since I last posted. I didn’t know his music as well as I should (and I should since 1: it’s gorgeous and 2: I’m Canadian), but I did know it a little bit, and I submit for your consideration Song for a Winter’s Night as a good song for Aymeric shippers.
I’m working on a Vivienne cosplay for Halloween! I tried to do it last year, starting with Cronus, but Cronus is a huge complicated scary project and I was still pretty burned out. I seem to be doing much better this year, I already have the chestpiece cut out of craft foam.
Chapter 33: A City in Chaos
“If you ask me, it sounds like naught but a faerie tale,” Guydelot said, folding his arms and glaring off at the gate of Tailfeather. “I’d wager that ‘heavens’ is just a metaphor for a natural phenomenon. We’ve hit a dead end – I say we return to Gridania for now and look for other avenues.”
“And if you ask me,” Sanson rejoined before R’nyath had time to say anything, “I think it far too early to draw conclusions. I, for one, mean to continue searching until I find a definite answer. If you wish to abandon our mission, I’ll not stop you.”
“That-” R’nyath began.
“But know that you would be judged a deserter,” Sanson went on. “You would lose your place in the Gods’ Quiver… and that would be precisely what your superiors had intended.”
“But-” R’nyath tried again.
“Look, Guydelot.” Sanson’s voice filled with passion – and pain. “You of all people must know the true reason they chose you for this mission. They wanted you out of the way! Your skills had naught to do with it! And it isn’t so different for me! I was a thorn in their side, demanding cooperation when they were loath to give it! They were pleased to be rid of me as well, yet naught would please them more than for us to come back empty-handed! That is why we must succeed! That is why we must find the Ballad of Oblivion!”
R’nyath had finally fallen silent in the face of Sanson’s tirade. He’d noticed Guydelot getting increasingly bored and discouraged on the past couple legs of their group quest, though writing off their current results as a dead end seemed a bit too dismissive even for him, but he hadn’t noticed Sanson’s demeanour shifting as well. And all this political stuff was news to him.
Guydelot turned his glare on Sanson. “If you want to find the song so badly, you can bloody well find it yourself. I’ve had a gutful. You’re no bard – I doubt you even understand what gives a song its power. Yet here you are gallivanting about searching for one. To you, the Ballad of Oblivion is just a means to curry favour with the brass hats. Well, that’s an insult to honest-to-gods bards like me and R’nyath.” R’nyath flinched at being dragged into the dispute, but then Guydelot simply turned and stalked out of the Tailfeather gate, turning south for Coerthas.
Sanson stood nearly as shocked as R’nyath, watching him leave, then bowed his head in shame. “Oh, gods, what have I done? I did not mean to be antagonizing…”
“I know,” R’nyath said. “Long day, things didn’t come out right.” It was pretty hard to motivate free-minded people by yelling at them, though. “Give me a moment, I’ll go after him, get him to calm down.” Maybe if he was taller like his friends, they’d listen to him more? Not much he could do about that, though. He barely came up to Guydelot’s pectorals, and even Sanson towered over him at the best of times.
Sanson shook his head, anxiously fiddling with his notebook. “Let us not force anything. As I just tried to do. Given time, I believe he will come around. I… shall wait for him here. I suppose you have things to do with the Warriors of Light…”
“Maybe, I don’t know right now,” R’nyath said. “I’ll wait a couple days with you – ehhh, I have a date tomorrow. But after that, they’ll send me word if they need me. And you’ll send me word if he gets back?”
“Yes…” Sanson said, still subdued. “My pride won’t let me tell him, but he truly is an exceptional bard. I hope… Well. Time will tell.”
When he got back to Ishgard the next day, Hilda was waiting for him at the Forgotten Knight – and she greeted him with a warm embrace and a kiss. On the cheek still, but it felt so much more natural than their first date.
Both his ears and tail pricked up in interest. He pulled back to look at her; she didn’t let go of her hug and he sure wasn’t letting go of her. “Well, hello! You’re very affectionate today! Not that I’m complaining!”
She grinned sheepishly. “Well, you see… Eh, let’s get drinks first.” Drinks gotten, and seated at a little table off to the side, she started again, her momentary awkwardness dissipating. “I feel I maybe owe you a bit of an apology for last time.”
He waved a hand. “No, not at all. What are you talking about?”
She fidgeted. “I didn’t give you a proper chance that time. I was holdin’ back. And that’s not fair to you. I had a right proper think about it afterwards, and I feel bad.”
“Oh.” So that was why things had seemed… weirdly tense, despite his best efforts. On the other hand, maybe he’d been trying too hard himself. “Well… I don’t want you to feel bad.”
“You see, it’s been hard for me to trust folk with a… romantic interest in me. Not just because of my mother, but from my own experiences.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I totally understand.”
“I was wary of committin’ all at once, and you… I thought you might just be playin’. I’ve never met a fellow who wears his heart so far on his sleeve as you do. It was strange. Maybe a little overwhelming.”
He thought that might be an indirect compliment! “I assure you I wasn’t acting at all. I really am like this.” He laughed.
She laughed too, ruby eyes sparkling. “I’m starting to see it as refreshin’. So I’ll let myself be all of myself too.”
“So we’re good?”
She toasted him. “We’re good!”
They talked until the stars came out, and then went for a walk along the walls of the city hand in hand. She pointed to the sky with her other hand. “There! See that star? The reddish-orange one?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve been learning about stars,” he said. “I mean, I knew stars from hunting, but I’ve been studying astrology from some Sharlayan lass – she’s not into me, I swear.”
Hilda snorted. “Should your reassurances worry me?”
“No!” Aw, crap. But she was mostly teasing. “No, you don’t have anything to worry about. Anyway. The Dog Star. What about it?” They leaned on the wall together, shoulder to shoulder.
“Well, it’s my star, innit? I’m The Mongrel, after all.”
“Oh, right! Yeah!” He laughed. “Come to think of it, it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re a dog, but you act more like a cat. I’m a cat and people say I act like a dog. Arf.”
She reached over to pet his head – she was taller than him. “Ha. Either way, you’re a good fella.”
He beamed at her, ears relaxing under her calloused touch. “Why, thank you, lovely miss.”
He was leaning towards her, she leaned towards him… He looked into her beautiful eyes, checking that this was okay, and closed the distance gently.
Gentleness became passion rapidly, until she turned, pushed him into the wall across the walkway, and kissed him again. “You’re real damn cute,” she said in between, and all he could do was chuckle. He wrapped leather and steel in his embrace and found only warmth.
On his return, R’nyath found Sanson resolved to carry on alone as best he could. That led them to the Churning Mists to find the Moogles there. Sanson was a little winded climbing Sohm Al, but he exclaimed in awe at the view. R’nyath figured everyone did, he sure had. And Sanson certainly had the energy to write a great deal in his notebook, more than usual, even.
“What are you writing about?” R’nyath asked after a while. “We haven’t even seen any Moogles yet, let alone clues to the Ballad.”
Sanson hesitated. “Er, well… You know I have no gift for verse. Were Guydelot here, he would doubtless be inspired to many songs. I am committing the sights to memory that I might convey it all to him when next we meet, so as not to deprive him of the opportunity.”
“That’s so thoughtful!” R’nyath exclaimed. Inside him, his romance detector was activating. He tried not to let it show – maybe Sanson just felt really guilty about yelling at Guydelot, and was trying to do something nice to ease his conscience, buuuut… It was tough. “Yeah, I know I can’t improv lyrics like he does. I’m better at making up tunes. Got a good ear for harmonies.”
“Indeed you do,” Sanson said. “Are you not inspired by this view?”
“Sure! I haven’t written anything about it, but shall I come up with something now?”
“If it pleases you,” Sanson said, trying not to show too much eagerness, and R’nyath pulled out his guitar and set about it. It was nice how chill it was to spend time one-on-one with his friends, so they weren’t fighting all the time. He was actually a little surprised Sanson was so chill, but maybe the remorse was still subduing him. Or maybe R’nyath was too adorable to be annoying.
Guydelot had been stalking them ever since he stormed out, like a lovesick maiden, and R’nyath managed to find him at the top of the mountain with Moogle Mogta’s help. “Heyyy Guydelot the Mopey, I got something to show you.”
Guydelot snorted at the new nickname, but took the thing R’nyath handed to him. “Wait, is this not Sanson’s journal?”
“Indeed it is. Told you he felt bad about your fight.”
Guydelot flipped through slowly, with pained wonder in his eyes. “It’s nigh filled cover to cover with writings on song. Huh… to see this, you’d think him a bard.”
“He just can’t sing, that’s all,” R’nyath said. Didn’t mean the man didn’t still appreciate art. “Here, look at this bit…” He tried to turn to the pages about Sohm Al.
Guydelot sighed deeply, not interested in the details. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since we last spoke, R’nyath. Though he’s no bard, Sanson’s bent on finding the song. Hells, he’s keener on it than any one of us, and I couldn’t understand why. But now I do.”
“Oh?”
“Sanson truly believes in song – it’s as simple as that. But in the heat of the moment, I accused him of using song as a tool. That was ill done, and I’m ashamed of myself. I can’t bear to be in his company.”
“Guydelot,” R’nyath scolded him. “You’re both upset about this dumb fight, so why put off fixing it?”
“I don’t have the right,” Guydelot said mournfully.
R’nyath just barely restrained a Vivienne-level eyeroll. “C’monnnn. It’s not that bad.”
Guydelot shook his head. “I need to be alone right now, and take a long, hard look at myself. You’d do best not to expect anything of me.”
Before R’nyath could adjust his strategy – pull out some more sympathetic words, pull out his guitar and sing something coaxing – Guydelot turned and walked away at a pace that suggested following him would be offensive.
With Sanson’s notebook still. Hells!
He was about to go after him anyway when a tone sounded from his link-pearl and he heard Alphinaud’s voice. “R’nyath, we have a situation. Ravana has returned in Loth ast Gnath. Achiyo and some of the others have already gone to fight. Can you get here as quick as you can?”
“Wha- How- On my way!” R’nyath checked his bow and started a Teleport. That was sadly, definitely more important than Guydelot’s feelings.
“Your song is bad and you should feel bad!” Guydelot yelled at the siren with a sassy head-flick, over the strains of his harp.
R’nyath laughed. The band was back together a few days later, fighting a powerful monster, and each using their skills in their own way to defeat her. Like a band. The siren’s music was bad, as far as music went, the most horrible love songs he’d ever heard in his life, but it was still dangerous, and it was a good thing that Guydelot was picking his harp for all he was worth. In fact, maybe the badness was part of the danger – the dissonance in her tones increased the potency of her destruction. It was too bad, she was hotter than the last siren he’d seen – besides the standard-issue huge rack, this one was a redhead! And frustratingly good at dodging their arrows.
“Keep your guard up!” Sanson barked as a violet-tinged wave of sound smashed into them – though he was probably the worst off of all of them, pale and shaking.
Their tactics had come together on the fly – Guydelot protected their ears, so they couldn’t get too far from him; Sanson made sure with his lance that the siren didn’t get too close to them; Mogta and R’nyath were aiming for the siren’s wings with arrows. They’d hit her a few times, but since she was a being of magic, it wasn’t going to stop her until they hit a really vital spot.
“Just a little further, kupo!” Mogta said, fluttering to R’nyath’s other side for a better angle.
“Mama said never sleep with crazy!” R’nyath told the siren, and sank two arrows into one of her left wings, right in the joint. A look of pain crossed her face and her song and her fight faltered.
“Our own Ballad of Oblivion… for your consideration, fiend!” Guydelot cried with a sweeping chord on his harp, and Sanson stabbed forward with his spear. The siren gave a last wail that sent them all stumbling back, and… the sealing stone flashed as the siren was trapped again within it.
“Oh thank goodness,” R’nyath said, shoulders and tail slumping in weary relief. “I couldn’t stand one more awful cheesy rhyme. Hilda would thump me if I tried any of those on her.”
“They didn’t work on us, why would they work on her?” Guydelot asked him. R’nyath shrugged with a sheepish smirk. “But really, the only thing she could have done worse would be to rhyme ‘pillow’ with ‘willow’.”
“How did you get here?” Sanson asked Guydelot suspiciously. “How did you know to come here?”
Guydelot shrugged nonchalantly. “I stowed away on the airship.”
Sanson stared. “But there’s scarcely any room to- Ack, never mind that now! Wherever it was you were hiding, you made us all worried sick! Do you know that!?”
“I wasn’t worried,” Mogta said. “R’nyath wasn’t worried either.”
“Shh!” R’nyath told him.
Guydelot held up Sanson’s journal. “If I didn’t know before, I certainly do now. I also know how hard you’ve been working, thanks to this.”
Sanson spluttered and turned red. “M-my journal! Where did you-!? Give that back this instant! I need it to write my report!”
Guydelot did not give it back and put his hands on his hips, leaning over the shorter Hyur. “Balls you do! We composed our own Ballad of Oblivion – that’s all you need to write!”
“Just kiss already,” R’nyath muttered under his breath, watching the two of them glare at each other a handspan apart.
“My superiors are going to demand more tangible results than that!” Sanson barked right back at Guydelot. “What am I supposed to put- Ah!” He snatched his journal back from Guydelot’s hand and began writing in it. “Of course! Our skills and abilities as honed during our journey and combined during that battle!”
Guydelot threw up his hands, piqued at being ignored. “Bah, make up your bloody mind!”
“I’m glad you’re getting along again,” R’nyath said cheerfully.
“Of course!” Sanson yelled, still sounding mad. “My plan can’t succeed without you!”
“Yeah, well… I’m going back to being a Quiverman!” Guydelot said defiantly, folding his arms.
“Oh yeah!?”
“Yeah! I might even try to behave myself from now on!”
“I’d like to see that!”
“Good start, good start,” Mogta said, watching them yell and gesticulate.
“I’ve never seen them happier,” R’nyath agreed.
Aymeric woke blearily and knew something was wrong. He didn’t normally wake up so utterly befuddled, not to mention in pain. It took him a second to figure out he was heavily bandaged. It took him a second or two longer to remember why.
The last thing he remembered was Count Edmont calling his name while he lay gasping for air on the wet cobbles, curled around the knife in his gut, and Artoirel growling in the background as he presumably subdued the attacker. And before that, some nondescript Hyuran man bumping into him, punching him in the stomach – except it wasn’t a punch, it had been a blade, and the realization had triggered the suddenly blinding pain that crumpled him where he stood.
And now he was waking up in the Congregation, in the private room behind his office, his body reluctantly relinquishing its hold on healing sleep, bandaged and aching and twinging. Much better than it could have been. He shifted, trying to get up. He had work to do.
“Ah, no you don’t,” came a gruff but patient voice, and Lord Edmont leaned over him, pushing him back down. “You’re not to strain yourself until that wound heals, Ser Aymeric. It was quite severe. The chirurgeons could not heal it in one pass, they’ll be back tomorrow. Do you require relief from pain? Would you like a sleep aid? Sleep is the best cure for you now.”
“No,” Aymeric rasped, then tried to swallow as best he could and start again. “I’d like some water. And then to hear what the situation is. Is Lucia returned yet? The Scions of the Seventh Dawn? What of the city? Why do I smell smoke?”
Lord Edmont gave him a cup with a bent metal straw so that he could drink without moving even his head, then sat back down on the chair next to the narrow bed. Had he been there all night? “Dame Lucia has returned, and is commanding in your absence. The Scions have not yet returned, but there is no ill news of them either. The city is managing, and you are not to trouble yourself over it until you are fit to stand again.” He patted Aymeric’s shoulder. “You will heal faster if you relinquish your worries for the time being.”
Aymeric frowned. “But-”
“There are no ‘buts’, Ser,” Edmont told him firmly, giving Aymeric the impression that he’d had to have this conversation before – undoubtedly with Artoirel or… or with Haurchefant. “Halone knows you overwork yourself when you are not gravely wounded, and I’ll not see you do it while you are injured.”
Aymeric tried not to glare at the ceiling. He’d already been weakened by his imprisonment and torture by the Heavens’ Ward, and now he had to recover yet again. When would he be permitted to be hale, to aid his friends and his people instead of being a burden to them? If he had been in his home, he might have been able to cajole his staff into letting him do something, but he wouldn’t be able to move Edmont.
“Dame Lucia knows your mind well enough, and your paperwork is in such order she can ably command until you are well,” Edmont told him soothingly. “You shouldn’t have to be injured in order to take a break once in a while, Aymeric.”
“My apologies,” Aymeric mumbled, humbled by both the logic and the lack of honorific. He had no arguments to defend himself with, either. He only wished to do his part for Ishgard, and his position bestowed power and responsibility in unequal measure. And also he’d always been something of a bad patient, though never as bad as Estinien, but though he was going to fret at the restrictions placed on him, he couldn’t be stubborn with Edmont. “I hadn’t thought my enemies would go so far as to attempt assassination…”
Count Edmont sighed. “When they believe it of you?”
“Right.” He would have to watch himself much more carefully, even when he was among friends.
“I will bring you some breakfast, and if there is news of the Scions, I will inform you,” Edmont said, rising, and reaching for his cane. “If Dame Lucia sees fit to keep you abreast of other doings, I shall leave it to her judgement.”
“Thank you,” Aymeric said. “I am truly grateful you would care for me thus.”
“Think nothing of it,” Count Edmont said with a brief smile, and went out.
Ishgard was unexpectedly wreathed in smoke when the Scions – Achiyo, Alphinaud, Rinala, Chuchupa, Aentfryn, Y’shtola, and Thancred – returned by airship from Falcon’s Nest. They’d had to travel by chocobo and foot, as Thancred did not have the aetherytes attuned. Vivienne had already gone back to Azys Lla. R’nyath met them at the Ishgard Foundation aetheryte, and together they headed to the Congregation.
“What d’ye think’s happened!?” Chuchupa asked, watching another bunch of soot-stained Temple Knights and commoners carrying buckets rush off towards the Brume. “Couldn’t be another dragon attack, could it? We didn’t miss a whole bunch of action, did we?”
“I didn’t think Nidhogg was ready to move yet,” Aentfryn grumbled. “He only just returned, and we dealt him a blow when we slew that large one a while back.”
“Then what…” Achiyo murmured.
“If Dame Lucia is returned, she will know,” Alphinaud said, and pushed open the door to the Congregation.
Lucia was there, frowning, and Hilda with her shining black ripples of hair – R’nyath smiled involuntarily and waved. “You have returned!” Lucia cried. “In this at least the fates are kind.”
“Greetings, First Commander!” Alphinaud said. “It pleases me to inform you that Vidofnir has accepted Ser Aymeric’s invitation.”
The tightness of Lucia’s face eased for a moment with relief and even a little happiness. “She has!? These are glad tidings indeed…” And then the stress returned. “Would that the Lord Commander were here to hear them.”
“Ah, is he otherwise engaged?” Alphinaud asked delicately, not mentioning what was on every Scion’s mind – the chaos outside.
“Aye, sleepin’ off a knife to the gut,” Hilda said bluntly.
Several Scions outright flinched. “What?” Rinala gasped. “What happened? Is he okay?”
Lucia nodded. “The chirurgeons tell me he will make a full recovery. But had Lord Edmont and Lord Artoirel not been on hand when the assassin struck, he would not have been so fortunate. For a mercy, they subdued the fiend before he could land the telling blow.”
R’nyath tried not to look at Achiyo, even though all the Scions shipped it, but even looking around casually he saw she’d gone pale. And no wonder, he’d felt his stomach lurch sickeningly and he wasn’t even half as much in love with the man.
“The attack was just the beginnin’, though. Not long after, buildings all ’round the city – includin’ several of ours – burst into flame. Bastards caught us completely by surprise. We’ve been dowsin’ the fires, but for every one we put out, it seems like two more start up. Casualties are mountin’ – especially in the Brume. All them narrow streets with wooden houses crammed together… it’s kindlin‘ is what it is.” Behind their group, a couple of sooty knights hurried in to report to Handeloup, then ran off again.
“Oh no,” Rinala said. “Shall I go and help?”
“That would be greatly appreciated,” Lucia said. “But stay a moment while we make our plans. ‘Tis plain these fires were started by the assassin’s conspirators. Until they have been rounded up, there will be no end to this. Will you help us find them?”
“Of course!” Alphinaud exclaimed. “Have you been able to determine the precise locations where the fires were set? Mayhap there is a pattern.”
“If there is, we have yet to discern it,” Lucia answered. “Fires have been reported throughout the city, in both the Pillars and Foundation. We must divide our forces and spread out to cover the entire city. The Temple Knights are engaged in fighting the fires, and while they are on alert for suspicious individuals, it is not their main concern at the moment. I have faith that Ser Aymeric will soon return to assume command. And when he does, I would welcome him with a gift – our arsonists, bound and begging for mercy.” Her face hardened briefly.
“I understand,” Alphinaud said. “Then how shall we split up?”
“You offered your services,” Lucia said to Rinala, and beckoned to a knight standing by. “Destalline, escort Miss Rinala to Syndael and Miss Penelope, if you please.”
“I’ll go as well,” Aentfryn said, and the two healers hurried after their guide.
“Master Alphinaud, Mistress Y’shtola, I would have you take charge of the investigation in Foundation,” Lucia said.
“As you wish,” Alphinaud said. “Mayhap Tataru can be of assistance as well.”
“I’d better go with ye,” Chuchupa said. “Might be rough sorts, and none o’ ye look scary enough.”
Hilda tried not to laugh at the fuchsia-haired Lalafell’s implication. “Well, well, I suppose I’m gettin’ the Pillars, then. Oh, they’ll like me up there.” Her eyes twinkled. “I hope you’re coming with, R’nyath.”
R’nyath sprang to her side. “Without question!” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
“And Achiyo may be safer in the Pillars than in Foundation,” Lucia said, looking troubled and uncertain. “The attempt on Ser Aymeric’s life occurred in Foundation – though I do not forget that the last attempt upon Achiyo occurred in the Pillars.”
“She’ll be with us, she’ll be fine,” Hilda said, and Achiyo nodded calmly. “Only remaining question is, will the grizzled old rogue strikin’ a pose over there be joinin’ us?”
Thancred’s eyebrow rose to his hairline over his eyepatch, but he took his hand from his hip and made a sweeping bow. “Thancred, of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. And may I say what a pleasure it is to meet you too, my lady.”
Hilda snorted with a glance at R’nyath. “I’ll bet. The name’s Hilda. A Scion, eh? And there I was thinkin’ I’d found a fellow ruffian amongst all these illustrious personages.”
Thancred chuckled as they headed out of the Congregation, turning towards the Pillars. “You’re not completely far off – though I’m not sure ruffian quite suits me.”
R’nyath felt a pout coming on. Yes, Thancred was hot, but R’nyath had already had a crush on a girl who liked Thancred, don’t tell him it was happening again!
“Oh, take that look off your face,” Hilda assured him. “He’s too old for me.”
Thancred clutched at his chest. “Ouch, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady,” Hilda retorted. “Call me Hilda, or else.”
Thancred shook his head. “…Grizzled I will accept, but old?” He sighed.
Achiyo was not looking very distracted by their banter. “How shall we begin? We must find the nearest place of arson at once.” Clearly she meant to throw herself into work to make herself feel better about Aymeric.
Thancred thought for a moment. “While we could begin by sifting through charred rubble and questioning random passersby, in my experience, every town has at least one individual who can be counted on to know things he or she should not.”
Hilda snorted. “Oh, aye… the infamous Lord Emmanellain de Fortemps, lover of women and wine – though neither care for him that much. They say he could gossip for Ishgard.”
“Just the sort of fellow I had in mind,” Thancred said. “Capital suggestion, Hilda.”
“And maybe while we’re at it, we can swing by Ser Aymeric’s house to say hi,” R’nyath suggested, not looking at Achiyo. Sure, he wanted to see him too!
Achiyo shook her head. “We do not have time for social calls. It is enough to know he will recover.”
“He might recover faster with a friend to encourage him,” Hilda said, picking up R’nyath’s drift. “He’s at the Congregation, though. It was closer.”
Achiyo shook her head again, once more completely in control of herself. “And the city will recover faster if we solve this mystery. Let us go find Emmanellain.”
The fires were contained and put out by the next day; it seemed that those commanding the arsonists had drawn off their attacks due to the Scions’ investigation. But the damage was done, and there were still few to no clues. Achiyo focused on her breathing as the Scions met again in the hall of the Congregation with Lucia, early in the morning. She could not be shaken, nor openly frustrated, nor openly worried for Aymeric, not while she was in front of others. She must be calm, in control, and ready to act, without hesitation and with wisdom.
“I do not mean to diminish our accomplishments, but until we identify the ones who ordered the fires set, our work is far from finished,” Lucia said.
“Between the various conservative and religious factions in Ishgard, I daresay there is no shortage of parties who would like to see the status quo preserved,” Thancred said. “Do any likely suspects spring to mind?”
“I wish Tam was here,” R’nyath muttered.
The lift to the Lord Commander’s Seat opened, and Aymeric walked out, with Count Edmont on one side and Artoirel on the other. “Far too many to count,” Aymeric grunted, and winced as he walked.
Achiyo’s control was tested to see him thus. Though he was dressed in his armour, he was very pale, and his movements were unsteady. Perhaps it was only the steely determination in his blue eyes that held him upright at that moment. Achiyo could not help her eyes straying to his midsection, but his armour had been repaired, of course, and she was trying very hard not to wonder where exactly he had been stabbed – what his body looked like there, surely smooth lines of lean muscle, stabbed or not. It was not the time!
“Oh!” Rinala cried. “I don’t think you should be up!”
“Lord Commander, your wounds!” Lucia exclaimed at the same moment.
He nodded gravely to Lucia. “Are healing well, thank you.” But Achiyo still heard the strain in his voice.
Rinala approached nervously. “I’m sure you’ve been fussed over by everyone already, but could I…?”
That wrung a little smile from him. “You may.”
Rinala drew her staff, and set her stance, eyes intense with concentration. Glowing lights swirled around her. “Benediction!”
Aymeric seemed to relax all at once as the sparkly glow of the spell faded from him. “That… You are truly gifted, Miss Rinala. I feel myself again. I thank you.” She nodded in thanks, very relieved, and Aymeric turned to face all of them. “Time is of the essence. Lest we forget, these men would sooner put their own city to the torch than see it change. When our enemies learn that we have apprehended at least one of their arsonists, there is no telling how they will react.”
The door to the Congregation slammed open, and a panting Temple Knight dashed in. “Lord Commander! An armed mob has seized control of the Vault!”
“And now we know,” Aymeric said to himself, then turned to the knight. “Tell us everything, Syndael. Spare no detail.”
The knight removed his helmet, still trying to catch his breath, and his golden ponytail shimmered in the torchlight. “We were directing refugees into the basilica, as you ordered, when all of a sudden, men brandishing weapons were all around us. It happened so fast, my lord, we had no time to respond. They’ve taken some of the refugees hostage and barricaded themselves inside the Vault. The other refugees and my fellow knights managed to escape. I… did not, but they…”
“They allowed you to go free to deliver their demands,” Aymeric said calmly.
Syndael nodded. “They – the True Brothers of the Faith demand that a conclave to select the new archbishop be held forthwith. Furthermore, they… they declare that you, Lord Commander, are guilty of patricide and high treason, and that you must surrender yourself at once to receive of the Fury’s judgement.”
There was an outcry among the Scions, but Lucia’s voice was the loudest. “Ridiculous! Do they honestly think that executing Ser Aymeric will change anything? That the truth will somehow die with him?”
“Well… if they are in power, they could try,” R’nyath said. “We’ve talked about how it wouldn’t work, but it might work enough.”
“Enough that Nidhogg will find the city even easier pickings once he comes calling,” Aentfryn said. “There is no chance they can gain that much control that quickly.”
“Mayhap some would think a godly King Thordan would be an ideal choice to fight Nidhogg with,” Achiyo mused, pressing a hand to her heart so she did not reach up to where her nose had been broken. “But without the aether of Nidhogg’s eyes ready to hand, they will struggle to accomplish such a summoning, though I know not whether to thank the kami for that or not…”
“These fundamentalists rage against the passing of the old ways, unable to accept there can be no going back,” Artoirel murmured.
Count Edmont looked at him, and then to Aymeric. “Given the… fanciful nature of their demands, a peaceful resolution does not seem likely. If the hostages are to be rescued, it will be by force, I fear.”
“Good!” Chuchupa shouted. “‘Bout time we got to fight back against these slimy squid-brains!” Achiyo put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her.
“Agreed,” Aymeric said to Count Edmont, and began to give orders. “Lucia, take a contingent of knights and establish a perimeter outside the entrance.”
“At once, Lord Commander!”
“Hilda, I need your people out in force throughout the Brume. When word spreads of the situation, the friends and families of the hostages may try to take matters into their own hands. I will not give these militants more targets.” Hilda nodded.
Aymeric finally smiled. The grim determination had not left, but no trace of the pain from his injury remained. “I shall lead the assault on the Vault. Master Alphinaud, can I count on the support of the Scions?”
“Of course!” Alphinaud said.
Aymeric bowed to them. “We are in your debt.”
Artoirel walked forward. “I shall join you as well, Lord Commander.”
Aymeric glanced at Count Fortemps, who nodded his assent. “Your assistance is more than welcome, Lord Artoirel. To arms then, friends! Time is against us!”
“I shall meet you on the way,” Artoirel said to them, and hurried for the door. Lucia began giving orders to Handeloup. Hilda ran off, a hand to her linkpearl. Syndael put his helmet back on, clearly intending to be among the knights going back.
“You are coming as well?” Achiyo said to Alphinaud.
He nodded. “Naturally. I fought in the Vault previously, recall. I would wish our other friends to be with us…”
“I’m calling Vivienne, maybe she’s in linkpearl range now,” R’nyath said. “She’d hate to miss this, this is her kind of thing.”
“I gotta wonder if Aymeric woulda fought even if ye hadn’t popped another heal on him?” Chuchupa said to Rinala. “I bet he would. I think he’s been feelin’ left out.”
Achiyo caught a glimpse of Aymeric’s face, wondering if he’d heard that. If he had, he gave no sign. But it was a relief to her that he was not going to be fighting on a gut wound, especially after the way he’d entered their conference.
And Handeloup pulled her aside specifically before the knights marched out. “Pray keep in mind that the Lord Commander, though he appears hale after your friend’s healing, is not in top condition. Though the safety of the hostages is of paramount concern, I would ask that you do your utmost the dissuade him from engaging in any… heroics.”
“I understand perfectly, Ser Handeloup,” Achiyo answered. “Though I have heard it said it is impossible to dissuade him when his mind is made up. I will do my best.”
“That’s all any of us can do with him,” Handeloup said, with a subtle smile. “The Fury go with you, Lady Achiyo.”
In half a bell, Lucia reported her perimeter secure. The morning sun was incongruous with their grim mission, as the Scions, Aymeric, and Artoirel met near a small side gate into the Vault grounds. Vivienne had been reached, and was with them. Tam had not. A shining line of knights blocked all access to the Vault from the city, out of line-of-sight from the main doors – they had already been shot at with arrows. But there was a group ready to charge in and hold the gate when it had been captured from within.
“Just like old times, eh?” Thancred said to Rinala, who looked at him and smiled.
“Listen well,” Aymeric said. “We will enter the basilica silently via this gate. According to our latest reports, there are at least six hostages being held within. The numbers and readiness of these ‘True Brothers’ are unknown.”
“I am told one claimed to have served under Thordan VII,” Artoirel said. “Might the same be true of the rest?”
“Given the swiftness with which they seized control of the Vault, I think it highly likely, yes,” Aymeric said. “Which means that they may well possess the knowledge required to turn the building’s defences against us.”
“What, like those horrible chess pieces and gargoyles that we fought last time?” R’nyath asked with a shiver.
“Indeed. Be that as it may, we have no choice but to press on. Lord Artoirel – you are a brave man and true, and none would dare question your honour if you chose not to risk your life in this endeavour. Are you certain you wish to join us?”
Artoirel’s face hardened, and he tapped his mailed gauntlet against his chest. “I am no stranger to the battlefield, Ser Aymeric. My arm will not falter, my shield will not break! Halone as my witness, we will bring these fanatics to justice!”
Aymeric let a tight smile cross his lips. “Well said, my lord! Friends – follow me!”
He had a key to the gate, and unlocked it softly. As silently as they could – with all the armour amongst them – they entered, the Scions taking up formations drilled into them by Kekeniro, but Aymeric was ever at the forefront.
Soon enough, they were spotted, and battle was joined. Y’shtola lunged for the hostage there at the gate, creating a shield before her just in time to spare her from arrows, and Vivienne charged in front of Y’shtola, just in time to shield the White Mage from an attacking knight. All was confusion, but they managed to unbarricade the door and throw it open, and Temple Knight reinforcements streamed inside, taking the freed woman out to safety.
The adventurers pushed on. “They can’t kill the hostages before we get there, or there’s no point,” Vivienne said grimly, yet there was a kind of glee under her words that made Achiyo wonder if she was quite sane. Still, she was correct, and as they drew closer to the front of the cathedral, they were ever in the nick of time to save helpless civilians from being executed. Enemies came to attack their rear, and the team split up to deal with all the threats at once.
It was Aymeric, Achiyo, Artoirel, and Rinala who reached the high dais, and found there the knight who seemed to command the terrorists. “Ser Simeonard!” Aymeric cried in a loud voice. “Lay down your arms and release the hostages, and you will be shown mercy! I give you my word!”
The knight snarled. “Hah! The word of a heretic and kinslayer! I would sooner trust a dragon. Activate the knights! We shall show the hostages the same mercy he showed the archbishop!”
Achiyo stepped forward. Perhaps the time for words had passed, but she could not let that stand. “The mercy he showed the archbishop? Aymeric-sama showed every mercy to the archbishop. It was I who struck down the archbishop, not he. Reserve your hatred for me and me alone.”
“Lady Achiyo-”
The knight spat at her. “I rescind my words. I would not trust a dragon either. Does Ser Aymeric not hold your leash, Dravanian? Did you not murder the archbishop upon his command?”
“No,” Achiyo said, but she knew she would not be believed. Even if he did believe her, what was the next step? To offer her life to appease him, that he would stop attacking Aymeric and they wouldn’t have to kill him? She would not do that. All she wanted was to defend Aymeric, even uselessly as this.
Aymeric stepped up beside her. “There is no reasoning with him, Lady Achiyo. Do not waste your breath. Well, Ser Simeonard?”
The knight’s eyes flashed with contempt. “Unlike you, Ser Aymeric, I am a man of honour. By my hand, you shall receive of the Fury’s judgement!”
Aymeric nodded. “So it is to be a trial, then. Lord Artoirel, Lady Achiyo, Miss Rinala, leave us and save the hostages! I will deal with Ser Simeonard.” He brandished his crystal blade in both hands and set his stance. “Come, then! Let us see whom the Fury favours.”
The knight prayed as he charged. “O Halone, render unto us Your judgement! Raise up the righteous, and cast down the wicked!”
“Come,” Artoirel said, grabbing Rinala’s arm when it seemed like she would stay. “We have been charged with a duty.”
“I don’t trust that man!” Rinala said. “He has other knights behind him, what if he’s just trying to get Ser Aymeric unprotected and then overwhelm him?”
“Then we will be quick,” Artoirel said, but Achiyo could hear the anger in his breath. “On a good day, Ser Aymeric can hold his own against that number of enemies. Today, I think, is not a good day.”
They rejoined some of the others in fighting those mechanical monsters that Achiyo remembered all too well from their last fight in the Vault. They had not been long when she heard from the dais: “Traitor! Kinslayer! By what sorcery do you yet stand? Enough! All of you – attack!”
“You underestimate me!” she heard Aymeric reply. “This knight does not yield!”
“So much for honour!” she exclaimed. “Lord Artoirel, go to him!”
“At once!” he cried, and ran off, though at that moment a heavy mechanical limb slammed down upon Achiyo’s shield, jarring her dreadfully. Rinala healed her, and then Vivienne swept up, her greatsword parting the monster’s head from its body.
Achiyo did not hesitate, running for the dais as quick as her small stature would allow her. “Aymeric-sama!”
“Welcome back, Lady Achiyo,” he said, breathing hard, yet as she looked him over, he still looked largely uninjured, though his armour was battered and his coat torn. Thank the kami. She would not allow anyone to hurt him while her heart beat in his vicinity, and took up a position on his left flank to carry out that private vow. Yet he did not need protection or guarding, not in a fair fight, she already knew what a skilled warrior he was. He was as beautiful in battle as he was at any other time, but she was not distracted.
Alone, Aymeric had survived against five knights for a long minute. Together with Artoirel, the three of them – and then four, as Rinala joined them, and then five as Vivienne did as well – were far more than a match for the knights they faced. They had not been the Holy See’s finest…
The little group gathered themselves, panting, looking around at the bodies of those who had tried to kill them. “I had wished to fight by your side again, but I had not thought it would be like this,” Aymeric said to Achiyo.
“Nor I,” she said. He must be grieved by it all.
“The hostage!” Rinala cried, and scampered up the stairs to the next level, where a young boy lay bound.
“Fury be praised,” Aymeric said, as Rinala released the boy from his bindings and gag.
The boy was shaking and on the verge of tears. “He… he took Maelie… You must hurry! The priest took Maelie upstairs when he saw you kill his men!”
Aymeric knelt beside him to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Have no fear, child. We will save her!”
“Then stop sitting around!” Vivienne exclaimed, halfway up the next flight of stairs. “Kid, it should be safe to run to the exit. Look for the red-haired cat-boy, he’ll take care of you!”
The five of them dashed up the stairs, looking for any clue as to where this priest might have gone. “Where is he?” Aymeric growled to himself, several more flights of stairs higher, and flung open a door to the exterior.
Achiyo had thought to search down another corridor, but Aymeric’s sudden terror-filled cry of “Achiyo!” brought her sprinting through the door in his wake – and crashing into his outstretched arm. She had to grab at him to keep herself from falling over from her momentum, but then looked up and gasped. The others followed, thankfully not quite as precipitously.
They were on a walkway that overlooked the Hoplon, many stories below. Out in the middle of the walkway, the priest stood at the edge, holding the girl they sought at arm’s length dangling over the long drop. “Come no closer!” the priest snarled at them. The girl was familiar – Achiyo had spoken to her on the previous day while investigating the fires.
“You have nowhere to run!” Aymeric called. “Release the girl and surrender!”
“Surrender to whom?” shouted the priest. “The blasphemer who throws wide the gates to our enemy, who breaks bread with him and calls him brother? Ungodly swine! I would sooner die than surrender to you!”
“That can be arranged,” Vivienne muttered. “What good does the girl’s death do you, then?”
Aymeric’s fists clenched until the leather of his gloves squeaked. “Is it godly to spill the blood of an innocent child!? To burn the homes of your brothers!? Tell me, priest – is that godly!?”
“Do not speak to me of godliness, heathen!” raved the priest. “Your father’s blood is on your hands – as is hers!”
It seemed to happen so slowly – the turn, the shove, the girl’s hands flailing to grab a hold of the priest’s robe, the edge of the walkway, anything – and then she was gone with a shriek.
Vivienne was upon the priest in another blink, but it was a blink too late, though she ripped him away from the edge of the platform and slammed him against the wall behind. The others rushed to the edge and watched helplessly, though Rinala turned away and covered her eyes-
A great white swoosh cut through the air below them, and Vidofnir whizzed by, making a great loop out over the city and back towards the Hoplon, the girl safe and sound upon her steady back.
Aymeric nearly melted on the spot, putting out a hand to steady himself against one of the walkway pillars. “Thank the Fury.” Artoirel let out a long breath, and Achiyo let her knees give way to sit fully upon the ground. Rinala peeked through her fingers, squeaked, and cheered, squealing with joy, jumping up and down with her hands in the air.
“Thank Vidofnir,” Vivienne retorted; she’d looked away from subduing the priest long enough to see what had happened. “Do you want anything special of this one, Ser Aymeric?”
Aymeric cast a stern gaze at the man. “Bring him to be handed over to the Temple Knights. While I would not consider it unjust to execute him here and now, he must have a proper trial.”
“You won’t appreciate it, though, will you?” Vivienne growled at the priest, who glared back at her defiantly and spat at her. “That’s it, I’m gagging you too.”
“Keep him out of Maelie’s sight,” Rinala said. “She’ll never want to see him again.”
“A wise suggestion,” Aymeric said. “Quickly, we must meet our guest.”
They emerged from the Vault to find a huge crowd had gathered. Maelie was hiding behind Lucia from the dragon, but her body language suggested to Achiyo shyness rather than fear. But though Lucia, who had met Vidofnir before, and the Scions were all calm, no one else was. Achiyo considered it a wonder that Vidofnir had not been shot at as she approached the city. Then she wondered why Vidofnir had come. She had not set a time to meet with Aymeric, at least not to the Scions.
Aymeric gave the dragon his most welcoming smile. “Never did I think to be indebted to so unexpected a saviour. But full glad am I to be so.”
Vidofnir looked at him for a minute, then completely ignored him and turned to Achiyo. “Friend of Ysayle, warrior of warriors. I had hoped to meet with thee. I bear a message from my sire.”
Achiyo blinked. “From Hraesvelgr?”
“Upon returning to our lands, Nidhogg’s shade did sing unto his brood, and they for skies unknown did then take wing. This thou must know, for your fates are inextricably bound.”
Alphinaud stepped forward to stand next to Achiyo. “What of Estinien? Is he truly lost to us?”
Vidofnir made a gesture that Achiyo could not read. “Such matters are beyond my ken. I but bear my father’s words. Take from them what thou wilt. Fare you well, mortals.” She spread her wings and beat them mightily, raising a cloud of dust in the Hoplon, and sprang into the air. In a few moments, she was a distant speck on the horizon.
Where she had been standing, Count Edmont walked up, leaning on his cane. “So it is as they say, then. A great white dragon swooped down from the heavens to rescue an innocent child.”
Aymeric smiled at him; the fact he had been ignored did not seem to bother him at all. “A most unexpected turn of events… but not an unwelcome one. The people will not soon forget this day.”
Count Edmont’s brow furrowed at him. “Yet how will they choose to remember it, Ser Aymeric? And will these events serve to bring man and dragon closer together, or drive a deeper wedge between brothers?” Aymeric’s face fell. Tam would tell him he was still too idealistic, Achiyo thought… “After a thousand years, the world these men once knew is changing – and with ungentle swiftness to boot. Though their actions are misguided, their sentiments are only to be expected. You may be sure that others will rally to their cause. I share your desire for a lasting peace with the Dravanians, I do, but I would not see it built on the bones of our countrymen – nor on our own.”
Aymeric bowed his head. “I know.”
“I see much of Haurchefant in you,” Count Edmont said, and went on haltingly. “And I… could not bear to… mourn the passing of… another son.”
Aymeric looked up at him, his face awash in emotions, surprised, vulnerable. “Lord Edmont…”
The Count turned and began to descend the stairs towards Fortemps Manor. Artoirel hesitated, then followed his father. Aymeric stared after both of them.
The ten assembled Scions of the Seventh Dawn were sitting down to a nearly normal breakfast with the Fortemps family after a truly well-deserved night’s sleep, when Alphinaud put a hand to his ear. “Do excuse me, I’m getting a call…” He slipped from his chair and went into the hall, but they could still hear him – and Emmanellain was unabashedly cocking an ear to hear better. “Kekeniro, how lovely to hear from you. We were just… What was that? …Kekeniro, we do have a linkshell for the Scions. And I think everyone should hear that.”
Aether twitched around all of them, and Kekeniro’s voice sounded from the air. “Right, sorry, I forgot. Hi, everyone! Um, I went to Azys Lla to check a few things, and… you remember how the archbishop activated something within the Flagship while we were fighting him?”
“Get to the point,” Vivienne said shortly.
“There are primals on the Flagship,” Kekeniro said grimly. “And they’re waking up.”