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“On a long journey, the first step is often the hardest to take.”
The Warrior of Light’s words come back to her more often than not these days. When she looks at her new home, with all of its comfort and domesticity, and realizes she must reconcile that with what has become of her husband, the unease sometimes threatens to overwhelm her. She refuses to let it, however, and so she tells herself the words she heard when it all began: this is just the first step.
Surprisingly, the hardest thing to adjust to isn’t learning how to live with a dragon. The logistics of it came quickly enough, albeit with no small amount of awkwardness. Marcelloix’s resigned suggestion that he live outside was rejected as soon as Audaine had seen how the snow fell around his shoulders like a hound that had been locked out in the winter. The house wasn’t so small they couldn’t accommodate him, she reasoned, and he wasn’t that much larger than a typical Elezen. This was being overly generous: at roughly seven-and-a-half fulms tall and with a tail nearly as long, Marcelloix would dwarf most Roegadyn. He had to carefully duck to enter through the door of the house, and the frame only barely accommodated his width. A less deft man—dragon—would have taken the frame off in the process. As he stood in the entrance just past the threshold, Audaine took a deep breath and reminded herself once again: it’s just the first step.
In truth, Noalle was the deciding factor. She had quickly begun to warm up to her father after the initial shock had passed. Audaine quietly thanks the Fury for the resilience of children; if Noalle refused to accept her father’s return, it would have made Audaine’s acceptance that much harder. Despite her initial shock, Noalle welcomed him back before anyone else was able to even contemplate cohabitating with a dragon. Upon expressing her enthusiasm, Audaine vowed that they would find a way to be a family again—whatever form that might take. So, she weathers the initial awkwardness and uncertainty with as much patience as she can muster.
Still, there are times when Audaine doesn’t know how to move forward.
“Mummy, where’s Daddy going to sleep?”
Noalle’s question fills her with an odd sense of panic, and she immediately locks eyes with Marcelloix. Her bed isn’t big enough for him—wouldn’t be big enough for him by himself—and after everything that’s happened Audaine can’t bring herself to picture sharing a bed with her husband again. Not yet. Marcelloix, thankfully, has a suggestion that calms her rapidly-beating heart.
“There’s room in here by the hearth. I do not mind sleeping on the floor. ‘Tis… remarkably more comfortable than anywhere else, to be honest. And the fire will keep me warm.”
It makes sense, though Audaine does not feel too pleased at the idea of making her husband sleep on the floor. As soon as she sees how his legs fold under him and his tail curl up by the fireplace, however, she can’t help but admit how comfortable he looks. She’s able to procure a large rug at the marketplace, and Noalle takes it upon herself to build a makeshift fort for him out of goose down pillows and spare furs. Despite her uncertainty, it warms Audaine’s heart to see her daughter and her husband playing together in her imaginary fort, as they did so long ago.
No, learning how to live with a dragon isn’t the hardest part. The hardest part is reckoning with the knowledge that her husband is back in her life when she had mourned him and forsook him for leaving her and their daughter all alone. For days, she had cursed his name for joining the heretics—whether it be out of disdain for abandoning his family, or for not taking them with him—and the wound that had formed in her heart had eventually healed into a dull ache she was able to ignore most of the time. Seeing him again, hearing his voice through that rough and raspy throat, feels like tearing the scab off before it had fully healed. And yet, she knows she must try to endure. She knows, deep down, that to forsake him again is not fair, and to deny Noalle the opportunity to reunite with the father she so desperately missed would be unkind. So, Audaine endures. And when she cries into her cold bed that night, her face muffled into the furs so as not to disturb anyone with her hitched sobs, she tells herself again and again: it’s just the first step. The first step is the hardest. Everything else will be easier after this.
In a way, things do start to come together after that. The floor in front of the hearth becomes the area where everyone sits and talks together, although Audaine still insists everyone eat their meals at the table. Noalle asks Marcelloix for stories about Dravania, to which Audaine is initially hesitant—if only to spare Noalle from what she can only imagine must be grisly tales. But Marcelloix is calm, calmer now than he ever was before he left, and his stories are mostly of travelling and seeing sights that sound wild and fantastical to his enraptured daughter. He tells them about meeting Ehll Tou, the adolescent dragon he had saved, who had taken it upon herself to accompany him back to the Holy See. Unlike most who partook of dragon blood, Marcelloix could not fly, thereby making it much more difficult for him to travel. Ehll Tou insisted on keeping watch over him, though he says he thinks she was just bored and curious. His descriptions of the chocobo forest and the ancient winding spires of Anyx Trine are so vivid that Audaine, too, finds herself getting lost in the imaginary tapestry he’s woven, his words as deftly crafted as anything he ever made with his hands.
Lord Francel comes to visit them often, to see how they are getting on. Every time, Marcelloix expresses his gratitude for the young lord’s willingness to vouch for him, and every time he is met with a beaming yet humble smile. Audaine is grateful for the young lord’s kindness as well, and thinks that if it were not for his continued support she would not be nearly as level headed.
He informs them of work opportunities—he tells them Gibrillont’s kitchen could use some extra hands, and Audaine knows her way around a stew pot enough to take him up on the offer. It was difficult at first, but certainly no worse than the scrounging for scraps she and Noalle had endured after their house had burned down. Hard work was better than begging and selling one’s belongings just to make ends meet, and Gibrillont is a kind man besides. He makes certain no one in the kitchens leaves without a little something extra, and so Audaine often comes home with extra meat pies and bread rolls, and one night he even slips her a warm bottle of mulled wine. When a school opens up in the Firmaments, Lord Francel comes and invites Noalle to attend, and insists on waiving tuition fees for the first year. Audaine nearly bursts into tears on the young man, flustering him greatly, and gladly accepts. She had been able to teach Noalle her letters and a bit of arithmetic and history, but that had been more or less the sum of her own education. When Noalle returns from her first day at school with her face lit up, unable to stop from excitedly telling her parents everything she had learned from her instructors, Audaine feels something like contentment.
Marcelloix, for his part, is determined to contribute in whatever manner he can. It was truly fortunate that his transformation had not robbed him of his manual dexterity, for he is eager to return to crafting. It had always been his strength, Audaine muses, as she watches him carefully weave strips of fabric and fur into a child’s winter coat. She recalls many years ago, when Noalle was just learning to crawl, how he had spent hours sewing another blanket for her. She had gently chided him at the time, saying Noalle had enough blankets, and that he should use the materials to make goods for selling in the marketplace. She remembers his smile, humbled but not apologetic, and how it had melted her heart then. The thought makes her chest ache now, and she shakes her head to try and banish it. When Marcelloix presents his work to her, there’s only one extra scarf set aside for Noalle, and she decides to say nothing of it. He volunteers to sell the goods at the market himself, but Audaine tells him she doesn’t mind doing it for him. She can hear in the moment of silence between them the unspoken suggestion that the items will sell better if there is a human face attached to them.
“Just… give it some time,” she tells him. “Everyone already knows these are your crafts, and no one can deny they’re well-made. It will just… make things easier for everyone involved.”
Marcelloix agrees, and though she has little understanding of how to decipher the expressions of dragonkind, Audaine has come to recognize her husband’s disappointment and resignation. In that moment she yearns to reach out for him, but the unease is crushing, and quickly she gathers up the clothing and leaves for the marketplace. True to form, it sells well, especially as more families with young children move into the Firmaments. People are polite enough not to look upon the wares with outright disdain, and their quality makes up for any other trepidation they might have. When she hears people whispering as they pass by the stall, Audaine repeats the words that have become a personal mantra: the first step, the first step, the first step. As though summoned by a prayer, the Warrior of Light shows up in the marketplace, much to everyone’s surprise. It’s not unusual to see them from time to time, given how they took a personal interest in the rebuilding project, but everyone knows they have far more important tasks on their hands. Audaine can’t help but express polite but bemused surprise when they visit her humble little stall, and though they only exchange a few words, it’s as if their presence has banished a pall of anxiety and doubt lingering in the air around her.
Dinner is a simple but comforting affair that evening. With the gil from the sales she made, she’s able to buy meat to make buffalo stew with popotos—one of Noalle’s favorites. As the meat simmers in the pot over the fire, the house fills with the smell, and everything feels warm and comforting—the way a home should be, Audaine thinks. Abruptly, there is a loud noise like rumbling thunder in the distance, but it’s coming from Marcelloix. Audaine and Noalle both glance at him, confused.
“Pardon, that was my stomach,” Marcelloix says, sheepishly.
Noalle laughs. “Daddy, why’s your stomach so loud?”
“I am quite hungry, evidently. You can hardly blame me when it smells so good,” he responds, and there’s an odd rasping sound in the back of his throat that Audaine eventually recognizes as laughter.
“My stomach’s not that loud,” Noalle retorts, grinning, but she is interrupted by her own stomach growling, a much fainter—but no less noticeable—echo of her father’s. Audaine laughs.
“You’ll both just have to be patient, or else the neighbors are like to complain about sudden thunderstorms.”
They both laugh at that—Noalle a girlish giggle, and Marcelloix a raspy chuckle. When the stew is finally ready and served, Audaine serves a slightly larger portion to Marcelloix. He’s never complained about the amount of food she serves, and truth be told she’s relieved he doesn’t ask for larger servings, but she still wonders if his appetite has grown large along with his stature. Visions of fearsome dragons devouring wild chocobos whole fill her mind, but she shakes them off. For all that’s changed about him, Marcelloix still retains so much of his humanity that it sometimes surprises her. She had expected him to come with more “beastly” habits, but either such things never took hold with him, or he is determined not to let them interfere with his domestic life. In either event, she is grateful. He says nothing of the larger portion, just glances at her with an unreadable expression for just a moment. Audaine gazes back, and gradually realizes he must be smiling. It looks so different from what she’d always known, but she makes a mental note to memorize what it looks like.
After dinner, Audaine finds Marcelloix reading one of Noalle’s story books to her by the fire. The image of it strikes her: her daughter, just ten winters old, curled up in the lap of her dragon father, whose scaled and spiked tail has gently coiled around her while she listens, enraptured, to the words on the page. She doesn’t seem scared or disturbed by the position at all, focused only on the book. As his claw turns the page, Audaine worries for a brief second that it will tear the parchment, but the deftness with which he moves dispels any momentary fear. By the time Marcelloix finishes the book, Noalle has begun to drift off, warmed by the fire and a full belly. Audaine kneels down next to them, and takes the book to set it aside.
“Time for bed, my dearest,” Audaine murmurs, and before she realizes what she’s doing, she reaches out to pick Noalle up from where she’s held in Marcelloix’s lap. It’s the closest she’s been to her husband since he returned, and that sudden realization freezes her in place. Marcelloix seems similarly stunned, his own hands—claws—hovering in midair. Just as Audaine is about to lift her head and meet Marcelloix’s eyes, Noalle makes a wordless sound of protest, and the spell is broken. Marcelloix uncoils his tail from Noalle, and Audaine picks her up. Her fingers brush the soft and somewhat oily underbelly of her husband’s body, and the tips of his claws barely touch her hand as he helps her. They’re sharp, she can tell, but they don’t hurt—and Noalle demands both their attention now, so she doesn’t have time to linger on it.
After she tucks Noalle into bed, Audaine returns to the kitchen to clean up. She has to do something to occupy herself, something to keep from lingering on the way his skin felt under her fingertips. Part of her mind recoils at the unfamiliarity of it, at how it feels so different from every memory she has of his touch. Part of her mind is curious, relieved that she was able to overcome this obstacle without giving in to her feelings of unease. She takes a deep breath and tells herself once more: it’s the first step. You’re taking the first step.
And then, in a voice of uncertainty: But towards what?
Before she can linger overlong on that thought, she hears Marcelloix’s footsteps from behind.
“Pray let me help,” his voice is a quiet rumble, almost soothing. “Your hands did quite a lot today, whilst mine were mostly idle.”
She scoffs. “’Tis hardly a great hardship selling wares at the market. My hands are far from weary.”
“Still, I shouldn’t like you to think I am unappreciative.”
“I do not.” She glances back at him with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “But if you must insist, I shan’t turn down the help.”
Truth be told, it is tiresome. The work at the kitchens, selling goods at the marketplace, coming home and making dinner for her family—but Audaine feels more fulfilled now, knowing she doesn’t have to worry about her and her daughter going hungry while the world continues to fight a fruitless, bloody war. For all her uncertainty and misgivings about Marcelloix, the life she has now is better, and she knows it. She wants to settle in the comfort of that knowledge, but something still tugs at her heart, picking at the scab of a wound that still won’t heal properly. Marcelloix quietly picks up a rag and leans over the basin next to her, and they clean in silence for a while. The distance between them feels far less vast than it has since he first showed up at the Arc of the Worthy, but there is still some invisible border there. Audaine wishes she had the courage to cross it, but her uncertainty holds her back.
It takes her a minute to realize that Marcelloix has stopped scrubbing at the mug he holds in one claw, and she realizes he’s looking down at her hands, soapy and callused as they are.
“What is it?” She asks.
His voice is the softest she’s ever heard it like this, barely more than a murmur. “The ring… you sold it?”
Audaine doesn’t realize what he’s asking at first, and then the reality hits her: she hasn’t worn her wedding ring in months, not since she pawned it. She lets out a breath and nods.
“Aye. I was out of options. There was… naught else I could do. I wasn’t about to let Noalle go hungry. And… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Audaine tries not to let the bitterness seep into her voice, but she fears he can tell anyway.
“I… understand. You were desperate. I never should have left.” His voice sounds sorrowful, remorseful, and it’s all Audaine can do not to break down right there, her throat tight with a pain she had thought she’d long since swallowed.
“Aye, you’re right. You never should have left. Now you’re back, and… I want to pretend it never happened, but I can’t.” Her eyes feel hot, and she can feel her breath come out in unsteady gasps. “I want to forgive you, but I… I know not what to do with this pain. ‘Tis like a weight in my chest. If I could pretend, I would, but every time I see you like this…” She trails off.
“Audaine…” He murmurs, and she can hear the note of remorse in his raspy voice. It’s that recognition that finally seems to break something in her.
“I just… I know not what to do with myself. I want to be rid of this, this… terrible feeling.” The tears fall, and try as she might, she can no longer swallow the sorrow and anguish that’s been choking her. It all comes tumbling out, in hot tears and shuddering sobs and the desire for catharsis. Through her blurred vision she sees Marcelloix’s massive arm move, and she hears the sound of something breaking—a mug, she thinks faintly—and feels herself suddenly wrapped in an embrace. It’s enough to stun her out of her crying for a moment, the novelty of it. How long has it been since she had been held like this?, she wonders in the midst of her tears.
With her face pressed to her husband’s chest, Audaine does not linger on the strangeness of scales or spikes or oily skin. She lets them drift away as passing thoughts, and instead focuses on the warmth of his arms, and how gentle his hold still is, after all this time. Her tears come freely, seeping out of her like poison from a wound, and she winds her arms around him. Her fingers find the ridges adorning his back and she holds on, feeling the way his roughened skin moves over bone, and she feels the pressure of his snout against the side of her head. It’s comforting, far more than she expected it to be, and the pain in her chest begins to ease.
“My love…” he croaks, “I am so sorry. Please, is there anything I can do? Tell me, and I shall do it. If you wish it, I shall leave, I never wanted to be a burden on you—”
“No.”
Audaine is surprised by how vehement she sounds, how she rejects the idea so quickly, but her uncertainty is melting the more he holds her, like the thaw of ice in spring.
“No,” she repeats softly. “Not again. Never again. Stay with me… with us. I still do not know how to forgive you… but I know I cannot do it so long as you are apart from me.”
Marcelloix responds with a quiet rumble, and holds her. Audaine closes her eyes and tucks her face against his chest. She isn’t certain how much time passes, standing there in the dim light of the kitchen while the lantern’s flame slowly flickers down. Everything but the warmth of her husband’s arms around her feels irrelevant and far-off in this moment. All other thoughts and worries drift away, until he speaks up.
“I think the mug broke when I dropped it. I am so much clumsier with these claws… pray forgive me.”
Audaine can’t help but smile. It’s just like him to call himself clumsy when he’s shown nothing but immense skill with crafting, she thinks. “You’ll just have to make one to replace it,” she says softly. He smiles, and this time Audaine recognizes the expression instantly.
“Aye, I suppose I must.”
That night, when the flames in the hearth have finally started to die down, she takes her place at his side, no longer filled with anxious uncertainty at the thought of sharing her bed with him. If the bed is too small, then the rug will suffice, she reasons, though she knows she needs no excuse. She lays down extra furs and curls up next to him—her husband, her love, her Marcelloix. Gently, he drapes his tail over her legs, and the weight of it comforts her.
As she closes her eyes and begins to drift off, the last thought she has before sleep takes her is: You did it. You took the first step.
What now?