Chapter Text
It was yet another bitterly cold night in Ishgard. The snow fell gently, but in flakes of such large size that one was hard-pressed to see anything but a few feet in front of their face. Even from the height of the top floor room of Fortemps Manor, Fearless Willow could barely see much of the rest of the city below, much less the snowy peaks of Abalathia's Spine that surrounded it.
For a mercy, though, there was at least little to see. No dragonkin assaulted the walls, no flashes of dragonfire or exploding munitions lit up the sky, no soldiers dragging their fallen kin, or worse civilian countrymen, to safety. It was, for the moment, peaceful.
Fearless could not say the same for her own mind. Nor those of her companions, her fellow Warriors of Light and their fellow Scions that had escaped the...incident in the palace of Ul'dah.
She turned away from the window to regard them all. Count Edmont de Fortemps, their benefactor, had granted them the three spare rooms the top floor of his manor contained, generally reserved for visiting dignitaries from the Holy See or the other noble houses. For the time being, they served as the Scion's impromptu headquarters. The room they currently found themselves in was the largest of the three, generally used by the staff of whatever important person would be staying there. It had a group of four single occupancy beds, and would be occupied by herself, Rheika, and Tataru for as long as the Scions would make this their home. The two smaller rooms, if you could even call them that, were reserved for the dignitaries themselves, along with their spouses. Dahkar and Alphinaud would occupy one, leaving Franks with the last.
The boys had currently joined them in their room to plot out their course of action for the morning. They'd been given a brief tour of the city, which had ended in the early evening. Exhausted from their trek from Camp Dragonhead and the stress of the past few days, they'd elected to call it a day and get some much-needed rest. Alphinaud had requested that the group meet briefly before retiring.
Fearless idly wondered why exactly Alphinaud was not yet appraising them of the particulars of whatever approach he had doubtless concocted by now, when her eyes fell on Dahkar. The Au Ra was seated on a wooden chest at the foot of Rheika's chosen bed, still clad in the Drachen mail worn by Ishgard's own Dragoons, bent over with his face planted into his palms....and he was shaking.
This immediately set off alarums in her mind. Dahkar was perhaps the most even-tempered person Fearless has ever known, to the point he could be called stoic by those who didn't know him (and his rather dry wit) very well. He liked to claim that it was what allowed him to wield the powers of conjury, thaumaturgy, and those granted to him by the Eye of Nidhogg with equal levels of skill. In recent battles against the Dravanian Horde, it was the latter of those powers he'd been wielding most often, and in those instances; he was Fearless' stalwart companion on the front lines of the battle. Whilst she would occupy the enemy's attention with her axe, Dahkar was ever close, harrying their foe with brutal spear strikes. Even when he would take to the skies, she knew she would see him again a second later, crashing down on their foe. Though he didn't quite match her height, he was every bit as strong as she was.
He'd taken their exile and the loss of their friends equally as hard as any of them, but then he'd suffered a further indignity upon their arrival to the city. As they'd met the Fortemps manservant who was to escort them to the manor, an elderly Elezen, likely a noble by her dress, had spotted them. Dahkar, thinking that they were likely safe from battle, had removed his helmet, revealing his dark blue skin, snow-white hair, and blackscale horns attached to the side of his head. With the helmet on, most simply assumed his horns were part of his armor, but without it, there was no mistaking their true nature.
"HERETIC!" she'd screamed, pointing at them with a withered claw of a finger. "A HERETIC IS HERE! KNIGHTS, WHERE ARE THE KNIGHTS, KILL IT! HALONE SAVE US, KILL IT BEFORE MORE COME!" Her escort tried to pull her away, but she would not relent. Temple Knights had rushed to the scene, but luckily enough of them knew who the Warriors of Light were, knew that they had fought alongside them at the Steps of Faith, knew that they had been instrumental in the death of the wyrm Vishap. Unluckily, however, the commotion had attracted the attention of a passing inquisitor, and the group had to endure several minutes of his smug arrogant questions before he pompously dismissed them, considering the matter closed. He'd directed much of his condescension Dahkar's way, and while he ultimately did not delay them, it was entirely clear that he was not convinced the old woman's shrieking was entirely without merit.
If it bothered Dahkar at the time, he hadn't let a single bit of it show on his face. However, now that they were in private, it seemed the stress had finally gotten to him.
"Dahkar? You alright?" Fearless asked him. She wanted to move closer, give him a reassuring hand on the shoulder (She'd gotten fairly decent at avoiding his armor's many spikes), but she waited for a response, hoping to gauge if such a thing was welcome.
"I'm going. To kill. Them all." His voice was tight, full of more anger than she'd ever heard from him. His shaking stilled, as though giving words to his thoughts had taken all the energy roiling inside him.
"Who?" asked a deep quiet voice off to her left. Fearless glanced in the direction it had come from. Franks, their nominal field leader; stood there with his eyes on Dahkar, concern and fear evident on his face. Fearless knew where it came from. If Dahkar planned to retaliate against the prejudices he'd endured earlier, it would make their situation far worse than it already was. The sanctuary they'd found would quickly become another Ul'dah they'd have to escape. Fearless scanned her eyes over the others, but like Franks they also stared at Dahkar.
"Ilberd. His scumsucking cohorts Yuyuhase and Laurentius. The other Twelvesdamned Braves who spit on the oaths they took! Lolorito and every damned one of the Monetarists who conspired with him and Adeledji! Seven Hells, I might just dig up his corpse and burn it! AND ANYONE ELSE WHO AIDED THEM!" Dahkar yelled, his voice breaking as he rose from his chair. He stared down at Franks, his eyes mixed with tears and the fury of a dragon soul that welled within him. Franks to his credit did not back down, despite being a few ilms shorter than his angry companion.
The sounds of a single step taken on the wooden floors and a series of choked-back breaths quickly broke the tense silence, and everyone turned to their source: Alphinaud. Dahkar spun towards him and kneeled, bringing himself at eye level with the Elezen, then pointed a gentle finger at him.
"And I will not hear another word blaming yourself for this, Alphinaud." His voice was much calmer now. "In case you've forgotten, I agreed with you on the merits of the idea of the Crystal Braves! You set them on a grand course, you are not the one who chose to co-opt them for the sake of greed, you're not the one who chose to break the words they swore, and you aren't the one who orchestrated to use them, and us, to take greater control of the reins of power! So don't think for a minute that I blame you, nor plan vengeance against you!"
Alphinaud wiped tears from his face, but smiled. Dahkar's words appeared to have the reassuring effect that Fearless knew he'd intended. The Au Ra had always had a soft spot for the Leveilleur twins (not that she had any room to talk).
Dahkar rose and spun again, facing the rest of the room's occupants, stepping back as he spoke. "But our friends, our family...these....vermin have gotten them at best imprisoned with all the good the Scions have done tossed aside and forgotten, and at worse....k-..." He choked up, unable to give voice to the very idea that they were gone forever. After a few seconds of deep breaths, he moved on. "And we are stuck out here, malms away from any of them, from ANYTHING we can do to help them, in a city where our allies are few and most of the denizens are fanatics who would likely execute us for some imagined offense, while they who put us in this position laugh and grow fat on our suffering."
He looked at each of them, in turn, for a few moments, as if gauging their reactions for support. "They think they've schemed their way to victory, but they don't realize the price their actions will cost them. Well, I'm going to collect from every. single. one of them. They will learn, as they take their final Twelvesdamned breath, the price of betraying the Warriors of Light."
He was shaking again, the wellspring of fury within him having filled anew. Franks stepped forward, about to address Dahkar, but Alphinaud spoke first.
"I share your desire for reven...no, for justice, my friend." Alphinaud appeared a bit startled as five pairs of eyes quickly were on him, but he regained his composure and continued "And I appreciate that you hold me blameless for all that has occurred, even if I cannot yet do that for myself. I will accede to your wishes, however, and not beg for forgiveness for mine own failings."
"I must, however, beg your patience. Because you are quite right. We are stuck here, in Ishgard, a decidedly unfriendly-to-outsiders location, and it will take time to unravel all that has been orchestrated against us. It will take time to hear word of our friends. And it will take time to rebuild ourselves and to plot the downfall of those who have committed these crimes."
Alphinaud's eyes narrowed. "But all of these things WILL happen, I promise you. And when it does, I shall be right next to you all, seeing that....that justice is done".
To Alphinaud's credit, he didn't flinch from Dahkar's withering stare, Fearless noted. Nonetheless, she felt an urge to protect the young man welling inside her, until she could ignore it no longer. She walked over and interposed herself between the two, crossing her arms as she did. Dahkar's head snapped up to regard her, only a few ilms taller than he. His eyes still fairly blazed with anger, though his expression shifted just a minute amount, enough that Fearless could read as slight confusion. She smiled at him. "All right, Dahk, that's enough. I know you're pissed. I am too. But you remember the promise we made each other?"
Dahkar held his eye contact for the two seconds of a breath, then exhaled, closing his eyes as he did, and nodded. Behind him, Rheika's purple-furred ears perked up. Wait, when had she sat down on the bed? Fearless hadn't even noticed her movements. Rheika leaned back, enough to bring her head into Fearless' line of sight. "What promise?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. Normally she was the group's "face" in conversations, happy to talk to anyone from the beggars on Ul'dah's streets to heads of state. She had the ability to put anyone at ease around her, not at all hindered, Fearless thought, by how exceptionally beautiful she was. Now, however, she seemed not to know what to say, letting Fearless lead the de-escalation of the situation.
Fearless turned to her. Whether she knew it or not, Rheika had done the absolute smartest thing she could in this situation. "I've told ya how I fight, remember? The Inner Beast. It's a part of me that's savage, bloodthirsty, and gives me more strength that I could have on my own. But I gotta keep it under control, right? Otherwise it'll take me over and try to just....butcher everything." Rheika's eyes went wide, a reaction that Fearless had seen enough times to know that she was imagining a Fearless with no morals, no restraint, and no cares for anyone, swinging her axe at her own friends, screaming with a frenzy. Fearless wasn't offended, the love and friendship she felt for all of them, and the other missing Scions, were the source of her own strength to keep her Beast tightly leashed. She continued.
"It's the same for Dahkar, kinda. He's got that dragon power within him, all that fire and rage, and he's gotta hold that in line. Or else he'll end up like Estinien. Remember what he told us about what happened to him?" Fearless paused to give Rheika a moment to answer. Her only reply was a simple nod. "So we made each other a promise. We'd call each other out if we were afraid the other was losin' control. We'd respect that, and walk away, no question." Fearless turned back to Dahkar, looking him right in the eye, and adopted her most stubborn expression. "And I'm callin on that promise right now. Get outta here, take a walk and get your head on straight." She held his gaze for a few seconds, as if daring him to break his word to her. Dahkar looked back at her with anger in his expression, as though he was about to do just that. Their gazes held for the span of a few breaths. To the others, it seemed like an eternity, but soon, Dahkar's head fell, and he exhaled. When he looked up again, tears were falling from his eyes, the blue limbal rings shining with wetness. Fearless placed a hand on his shoulder. The pair nodded at each other, and Dahkar moved towards the door.
"Dahkar?"
He stopped at the voice, and turned to regard its source. Franks had retrieved his helm and held it out towards him. "You probably should wear this. We really do not need a repeat of the...incident...from earlier."
Dahkar's expression darkened a bit at the memory, but he knew Franks was correct. The Drachen mail was designed with a great number of spiky protrusions, the better to defend against being eaten by dragons. When donned, his own horns practically blended right in, aside from their black coloration. In the current lateness of the hour, no one would likely notice. Dragoons commanded a great deal of respect in Ishgard, and most did not disturb them. He'd be far more likely to be left alone this way than he would in the robes he wore as a Black or White Mage.
Dahkar took the helm. "Right, thanks Old Man." He placed it on his head, taking care to hide his shaggy white hair within it, and twisted the switch that locked the visor in its lowered position. He then turned and exited the room.
"I'm still not quite sure I'll ever understand why you insist on having everyone call you that" Alphinaud spoke up, not long after the doors closed. He turned and walked to the room's small table, sitting himself down in one of its three spartan chairs. Though he sat with some poise, the others could see the sheer amount of emotional weight he seemed to let go of as he finally relaxed, if only a small amount. "You could hardly be described as even close to middle-aged, the color of your hair notwithstanding. And you certainly don't carry yourself as though you were aged, in battle or otherwise".
Franks chuckled. Fearless found his deep voice comforting, and had ever since the pair had met in the wilds of Eastern La Noscea, novice adventurers who decided to share the responsibility of a guild-assigned task. Franks leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he replied to Alphinaud's query. "Told you plenty of times before, young one. I don't care for my given name. Never have. Back home, "Old Man" s'what the neighboring children used to call me. Probably making light of my white hair. Whatever the reason, it stuck as a nickname, and I prefer it."
"And remind me again, just where is home, exactly?" Rheika's silvery voice chimed in. She had flopped herself onto the bed, head resting on her hands, with a playful expression on her face. "You never talk about it. You look like an Ala Mhigan, but they never seem to stop reminiscing about their homeland, yet you just avoid the topic altogether!". She dragged out the "you" while lazily pointing an accusing finger in Franks' direction.
Franks simply shook his head, still smiling. "You're right. I don't talk about it, for good reason. There's nothing left for me there, nothing left that I had once cared about. Maybe one day, after all this is over, I'll take you there. Maybe you'll see why I don't call it home anymore. Home's here in Eorzea, specifically the Rising Stones. And right now we have way too many obstacles standing between us and getting back there, none of which we can deal with now." Franks stood up from the wall and began moving towards the room's exit.
"Where are you going?" Tataru called after him. Everyone in the room jumped, just slightly, and turned to the last bed, on the far end of the room. There sat the Scion's secretary, having observed the proceedings so quietly, they'd all completely forgotten she was even present.
Franks turned back to regard them all, smiling underneath his bushy mustache. "Our tour guide didn't take us near enough to that Skysteel Manufactory place for my liking. I'm going to see if anyone's still there, maybe see if I can learn anything from their forging techniques." With that, he departed their room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Fearless and Rheika turned to the other and shrugged. It was likely that the place would not be accepting of visitors at this late in the day, but Franks was their resident expert in the various crafting disciplines. Perhaps he'd learn something, or perhaps he'd return within a bell empty-handed save a desire to try again on the morrow.
Rheika turned her attention to Tataru, the two of them beginning a somewhat animated discussion of things they'd seen since coming to Ishgard, places they planned to explore more in the morrow, and the like. Alphinaud soon joined them. It was simple conversation, likely intentionally on Rheika's part, to keep either of them from dwelling too much on the unknown fates of their friends. Fearless tried to pay attention, but her gaze continuously wandered to the door, worry for her friend Dahkar continuing to plague her. Perhaps she shouldn't have let him go alone.
"Hey, uh....I'm gonna go look for Dahkar. Hopefully he's cooled off, if not, I should be there to help". The others smiled at her briefly, then returned to their conversation. Fearless grabbed her overcoat and made for the door. A truly flustered servant of House Fortemps was on the other side, babbling about another of their wards now wandering the dangerous streets, pleading warnings to her about avoiding certain areas, and the like. She smiled and nodded politely, not giving the words much attention. She was a Warrior of Light after all, and though she would not be openly carrying her axe in the streets, it rested safely in the Armory, able to be summoned at a moments notice.
She soon reached the manor's door, and after soothing the stressed servant with a promise to be careful, she made her way into Ishgard's cold evening.