Chapter Text
Sometimes, Tataru misses the sound of the ocean. She wonders if that’s why Urianger often chose to remain, to fall asleep to the sound of waves. Did it remind him of home?
Tataru has no childhood nostalgia for the ocean, having grown up in Ul’dah. But the yearning is there. Perhaps one day she’ll be old and hobbled, dreaming of the sea. Dreaming of the port-side energy, the desert sun on the plaza tiles, the sand scattered across the floor. Dreaming of the nighttime waves outside her window, easing her into sleep.
Krile keeps the infirmary dark. The air is stale with the scent of sweat and aether with only one small window open, letting in the slightest of breeze. It’s not enough to clear the air of fear that’s settled in like an increasingly heavy blanket.
Tataru peers in through the doorway, a shock of yellow light from the room behind her. There’s not much to see in the darkness, just silhouettes. She balances the tray on her hip and closes the door behind her, letting the last bit of light blink away.
Except there’s still one light, off to the side, and Tataru walks towards it, careful not to trip over the bedposts.
“Lunch!” she singsongs, quietly, carefully setting the tray down on the floor next to Krile. “Archon loaf, as requested, with homemade lemon curd, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a small Landtrap salad. Oh, and two sesame cookies for dessert!”
Krile is kneeling, head bowed, leaning on Y’shtola’s bedside. Misty light curls out from her palms. “The entire point of the Archon loaf is that you don’t need to make anything else, Tataru.”
“Well, maybe I want to,” Tataru softly declares, hands on her hips. “It certainly doesn’t taste good by itself.”
Krile sighs, and even in the dark Tataru can catch the way her shoulders sag. “The loaf isn’t supposed to taste good, it’s just supposed to provide enough sustenance for the soul.”
“Well, maybe the soul can subsist on bland nutrients, but I don’t think the heart would be happy.”
“Tataru,” Krile murmurs, closing her eyes, “you don’t need to mother me.”
Tataru opens her mouth, a sharp retort quick on her tongue before she thinks better of it. “Alright,” she says, flatly. “In that case, I am simply showing you friendly compassion and concern. Even if it wasn’t my job to care for the Scions, and yes, that includes you, I would still bring you lunch. I don’t know how much sleep you’ve been getting, but you at least need some fresh air.”
“I’ll be alright.”
And, somehow, it’s that, the quiet lie, that makes Tataru snap. She gently clasps one of Krile’s hands in hers, trying to hide the fact that she’s shaking in anger. “You haven’t been outside in four days, Krile.”
Finally, Krile opens her eyes and looks at her, unfocused. “Has it been that long.” Her voice is soft. It’s not a question.
“Yes.” Tataru squeezes her hand tighter. “And, if naught else, a walk would do wonders for your constitution.”
Tataru is an early riser, setting about to make breakfast before dawn crests over the lake. She lays it out on the tables in the Rising Stones but keeps two portions out on the balcony near the kitchens. As the orange light begins to catch and reflect in the crystals that dot the horizon, Krile comes to join her.
She’s brewed two pots of tea: one bright and caffeinated, the other an herbal blend, relaxing and mellow. It may be Tataru’s breakfast, but Krile will be asleep within the hour, having stayed up the entire night. They eat together and talk, Krile’s voice scratching from a night of disuse; Tataru can’t bring herself to comment on the dark circles under her eyes. All she can do is add a pastry to her plate each day, which Krile always scolds her for and then eats anyways.
After the first few meals together, Krile runs out of things to talk about. There’s only so much change in the Scions’ aether each day, and acknowledging the stasis of the situation is infinitely more terrifying. So, Tataru rambles, desperate to smooth over the silence. She talks about her latest sewing projects, the strange visitors that travel through, and the dreams she has of Feo Ul. It’s a relief to hear that the Scions are well, even if it’s been actual years for some of them.
“I wonder how different they’ll be, when they get back,” she muses.
“To be fair,” Krile says, cradling her teacup in both hands, “Thancred, Y’shtola, and Urianger are all fairly set in their ways. They’ll most certainly be recognizable.”
“But what about the twins? I feel like my life changed so much when I was sixteen, seventeen.”
“Well,” Krile considers, “they haven’t been gone as long. But you’re right, a whole year at that age feels so much longer.”
They try not to acknowledge that it’s not a when they’ll return, but an if.
Krile helps her back to their rooms at the East Aldenard Trading Company. It’s somewhere close to noon here in Kugane, but nearly midnight in Eorzea. Tataru feels warm and bubbling with laughter, throat still burning from the sake. Perhaps she did have too much. Krile had gently encouraged her to stop three cups ago, but Orn Khai had kept offering to pour more. Perhaps he’s paid extra for how much the customers drink.
“Do they have dragons in Garlemald?” she asks, pulling down her hair and starting to untie her obi, “I hope Estinien will make some friends when he’s traveling.”
“I haven’t heard of any, at least not in the current era,” Krile says, politely looking away as Tataru throws on an old tunic. “But if anyone could find them, ‘twould be the Azure Dragoon.”
Tataru giggles at that, stumbling and catching herself on the wardrobe. Krile reaches for her; not necessary, but Tataru appreciates it regardless. “I’ll have you know,” she points a finger at Krile, “that I could drink you under the table if I wanted to.”
Krile raises a fond eyebrow at her. “I’m certain you could. But I’d cry uncle far before I wound up on the floor.”
Tataru laughs again. “Between us, aren’t you supposed to be the university girl? Didn’t you go to all sorts of parties?”
Krile smiles wryly at her, leading her towards the futon. “I certainly did, but that doesn’t mean I stayed late. The reason most young people engage in reckless behavior at school is because they’ve escaped their parents. But my father was ever-present in Sharlayan, so.” She shrugs.
Tataru frowns, curling into the covers. “Well, you’re always welcome to join me when I break out the spirits,” she says, trying to forget that they’ll be back at the Rising Stones in just a day. It’s been good to get Krile out of the stone walls and into the sunlight. She’s glad that Krile’s here; she doesn’t think that she could’ve convinced Estinien to help on her own.
She smiles into the pillow. “I’m glad you came with me, you’re so smart and clever and pretending to have a vision-thing of his past was so smart and I would’ve never thought of it.”
Krile laughs, bright and clear. “And I’m not certain you could’ve convinced him you had the echo at all.”
“Oh, right,” Tataru murmurs, content under the soft blankets, the melody of the port outside gently pulling her under.
She feels a soft brush of lips on her forehead— a kiss, she realizes, a moment too late. She opens her eyes.
Krile smiles down at her in the afternoon light; it catches in her blue eyes, bright, glowing. Like sun on the sea, Tataru thinks. She reaches up, clumsy, sliding her hands into Krile’s hair and pulling her down. Their lips never quite meet; she presses against the corner of Krile’s mouth.
There’s a hand, firm but gentle, on her shoulder. Tataru drops softly back onto the futon.
“Good night, Tataru,” Krile says, with a look that has to be pity. She pulls away, the door sliding shut behind her.
Even with alcohol and the sea breeze curling through the window, it takes Tataru far too long to fall asleep.