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“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t have better things to do, but the help is appreciated.” Erenville says, taking the squirming burlap sack from the Warrior of Light’s begloved hands.
From within the sprawling polis of Old Sharlayan, the scent of sea salt from the harbor is sharp on the wind, woven between the lively chatter of various artisans and their patrons. The warrior quietly soaks in the blue skies above and the sense of mundane happenings around them. Even with the Final Days no longer looming over the entire realm, the city of scholars remained as industrious as ever.
The two of them stand at the edge of one of the clear canals at the center of the city, a half-packed gondola tethered to one anchoring pole. Another gleaner on the boat holds the oar, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to another. She was clearly about to set off, until a sudden request was delivered to her linkpearl, near sending her into a fit of despair. Erenville offered to fetch the specimen in her stead were it not for the warrior happening upon the conversation.
“After the lengths you and yours went to aid us with the Scions’ endeavors, it’s the least I could do. Especially since you mentioned your clients might be audibly dissatisfied with your, ah, performance before the Forum.” The warrior adds apologetically, recalling how the other stood his ground before the most influential members of Sharlayan society.
The warrior watches Erenville gently handle the creature inside - a small marmot taken from Thanalan - and give it a precursory examination. There is a certain clinical grace to his actions; where the warrior was used to handling cargo in whatever manner did not cause it to break, Erenville’s hold on the rodent allows him to adequately search for injury or disease while dissuading it from twisting itself about.
“Ah, well. The earful I was promised never came - I suspect they were too busy rejoicing that the end of the world had not befallen us to remember my brazen insubordination.” The viera snorts, entirely unfazed as he continues to appraise the marmot. As much as the scholars of Sharlayan were like to bemoan the gleaners’ supposed inefficiency, they were an integral part to their research, and Erenville is all too aware of the fact. “It hasn’t stopped them from requesting my services, anyway.”
Deeming it acceptable, he quickly deposits the marmot into a holding cage resting on the boat. The creature squeaks at the indignity but quickly settles down. After giving the load on the gondola a final once-over, he nods in approval.
The gleaner manning the cargo looks immensely relieved; the warrior can sense her gratitude through her exhausted features when she bows deeply in thanks. Though the flood of shipments that came with the Final Days had now slowed to a reasonable amount, busy days for gleaners came and went capriciously as Sharlayan was adjusting to its new place in the world.
“It’s convenient that your reserves of aether allow you to traverse between aetherytes without consequence. Others are not as fortunate, so we gleaners must be prudent when planning our trips.” Erenville explains as he hops off the boat and unknots the tether, finally sending his companion off to Labyrinthos. The gondola smoothly cuts through the water and descends to the lower levels of Sharlayan.
Erenville glances at them, quieter as he watches the boat fade from view. “The gleaner you helped would have likely been afflicted with a bout of aether sickness had she been asked to make the trip. To be honest, I am at the bottom of my reserves for the day as well… but she is one of our newer workers, and I did not want to subject her to such a strain so early on.”
The warrior’s lips twitch into a smile. For someone who so openly expressed his grievances with his line of work, Erenville went to great lengths to ensure his colleagues did not suffer the same.
“If you’re finished for the day, perhaps you’d like to accompany me for a meal to replenish yourself?” The afternoon is beginning to wane into evening, and a series of earlier errands had made the warrior famished from forgoing a midday snack.
“A fine idea. And you're in luck,” Erenville says, his eye twinkling. “The recompense for my last job arrived just this morning, so it's my treat.”
“Shall we make for the Last Stand, then?” The warrior cocks their head in the general direction of the restaurant. Though the establishment’s popularity marked it as one of the more crowded venues in Sharlayan, starving scholars had yet to flood the streets in search of a meal to continue their research.
“I would have dragged you there regardless had you not suggested it. Just because I am away from Sharlayan most of the time does not mean I sorely miss the taste of archon loaf.” Erenville huffs a short laugh before setting off as swift as a rabbit, beckoning the warrior to follow him.
-
“Sharlayans always think they’re so clever when naming things, don’t they?” The gleaner notes airily while finally guiding the warrior to the familiar sight of the Last Stand. “But I suppose it is a fitting moniker for the sole bastion of palatable food on this entire isle.”
Though it is not the first time they have visited Sharlayan, the warrior professed to being less than adept at navigating the city and all its landmarks. It seemed like the layout of the city could rival the circuitous paths of the Crystarium, or the myriad passageways of Radz-at-Han. Still, they did their best to keep up with Erenville’s brisk pace, no doubt acquired from the endless list of tasks he was asked to complete each day.
After placing their orders at the counter, they settle into their seats, a table in a more secluded corner of the pavilion hosting only two people. Their table overlooks the sparkling waters of the sea, the sight of a fathomless horizon set before them like a painting. The venue lacks the same boisterous din of a tavern like the Quicksand or Drowning Wench, a rare sense of peace settling over the warrior. Though they know the Last Stand will be bustling before long, they indulge in the moment of calm after the storm.
Erenville sheds his pack of supplies on the ground and stretches his shoulders with a satisfied noise. The warrior privately wonders how long it’s been since he was able to get a proper rest, and can scarce remember a time they did not come across him while he was working.
“I’m not sure what's worse, the Thanalan heat or the Coerthan cold.” The viera sighs, working out a knot in his neck.
The warrior pauses in thought. “I'd say the cold. I spent a great deal of time there during the Firmament’s restoration and I was worried the feeling would never return to my fingers.”
“You make a very compelling point.” Erenville’s sharp golden eyes finally open to fix on them. “I made mention of this before, but you've saved me a great deal of trouble. Twelve know why they insist on these last minute requests when the Final Days are no longer upon us. Still, I suppose cataloging any lasting aetheric changes to the fauna of the realm is an important task as any... Speaking of which, do you have any plans after this?”
“I’ve already finished my business here, so I thought I would rest a bit at the Baldesion Annex before heading off.” The warrior absently swirls their goblet of water in one hand before taking a refreshing swig.
Said business had been delivering a gift to Krile courtesy of Tataru - according to her, if Krile was going to usher in the new generation of Students of Baldesion, she needed to look the part. And, Tataru added, it would be unfair if she was to carry on Master Galuf’s legacy while G’raha was the only one sporting a stylish new outfit. “Let it not be said the realm’s finest seamstress ignores the plight of her closest companions!” She had said, furnishing them with another package when she caught sight of them idling about Mor Dhona.
“Though if you still require my services, I won’t object.” Being freed from obligation has made them somewhat aimless, not that they mind.
He raises a brow. “Is that so? At this point I may have to think you are seeking me out on purpose, my friend.”
They've crossed paths several times now in different parts of the realm, and the warrior always offers to assist him in procuring his latest quarry for lack of anything better to do. They can't deny that each time they flit in and out of a city, they keep their attention pricked for any sign of him, but it truly is coincidence to meet so often. Were they the romantic sort, they would deem it as fate, but there's little romance to being yet another merchant’s cart chocobo.
“Perhaps I am.” They have the decency to feel at least a little bashful. “Your work is a refreshing change of pace from slaying the odd beast or making deliveries for coin. And more delicate, too.”
“Aye, there is a certain degree of finesse required for this job that not many folk possess. Though gleaners may not work within the confines of Sharlayan’s illustrious institutions, we are scholars in our own right, however unorthodox. It is not an easy craft, and a necessary one, besides.” An easy smile touches Erenville’s lips, amusement plain in the way the corner of his eyes turn upwards. “Some take us for granted, but I trust you are someone who knows the merit in fetching things. Northota says you have been taking on side work for the guildship in your spare time.”
The warrior suppresses the urge to roll their eyes, thinking of the students who were practically clamoring for their services. “Each specimen has been more outlandish than the last. I’ve been wondering if I should bring them something from the First if only to stem their tide of requests.”
Now that the truth of their sundered star was known, no small amount of scholars had taken to researching the subject, creating a new field of study near overnight. The warrior reasons that transporting materials from the First for study should be fine, given they had done the same to gather necessary resources for the Firmament’s restoration. If anyone noticed their cotton bolls and stew ingredients were of otherworldly origin, they made no complaint about it.
“I believe that would only serve to whet their curiosity.” Erenville replies dryly. “If you have such an interest, perhaps you could find a formal position here? We could always use another well-versed in acquiring live specimens.”
The proposal gives the warrior pause. They don't possess a scholarly background in ecology or anything of the sort. Their prodigious ability to capture creatures was a mixture of honing the skill to sedate patrolmen in the midst of war, and because the Echo allowed them to discern a creature’s intentions better than most.
As if sensing their hesitation, Erenville looks them seriously in the eyes. “If I may be forward - I think your potential for being a toad is far greater than that of your companions. Don't tell me you were holding back the first time we met?”
The warrior snorts. “Hardly. I think I've been transfigured too many times by friend and foe alike.” Why toads of all things were the favorite companion of sorcerers and scientists, they would never know.
“I thought only those with unusual theses from the Studium were enthusiastic about turning their colleagues into various creatures.” He laughs softly. “That aside, most gleaners lack significant martial prowess. I can see why Northota coveted you for the guild. If you decide to consider my offer, I could recommend you personally.”
“I’m not overly fond of academia.” The warrior confesses after a beat. There was a reason their comrades were left to do intensive research while they were the one sent out to slay beasts.
“Between you and I, I am not, either.” He admits. “Field work is significantly more rewarding than poring over a pile of tomes. Of course, sometimes one must find the necessary information in a library when investigating a potential lead, but it's often more productive to traverse the realm and ask the locals.”
The warrior hums in agreement - many of their escapades involved treating with various peoples and their direct method of scouring for information had yet to fail them. “Is there any place you like visiting in particular?”
Erenville taps his chin in thought. They had seen him in all corners of the star, from Ishgard to Kugane, and he always maintained a stoic professionalism while on the clock. “The Black Shroud; I find it quite calming to be within the woods undisturbed. It is also the most troublesome to bring back specimens from, however. The woods are sacred and petitioning the Gridanians for permission is quite the elaborate endeavor. You must be blessed by the Padjal or sanctioned by the Wood Wailers if you so much as wish to bring a single leaf out of the forest…”
The warrior listens with rapt attention, finding it novel to listen to another's travels when they were usually the one asked to regale a crowd with tales of their exploits. The moment is broken when a waitress arrives at their table bearing a tray with two dishes. One consists of a clay pot thick with the smell of spice and a plate stacked with fluffy naan. The other is a sandwich on a lightly toasted baguette, expertly stuffed with an appetizing series of fresh ingredients.
The first is placed before the warrior, whose expression is outright beaming at the prospect of a hearty meal after a day’s work. Erenville offers the waitress a small thanks when she sets his more modest plate before him.
“What did you decide to settle on, friend?” Erenville asks, deftly unwrapping the paper cradling his sandwich.
The warrior lifts the pot’s lid to reveal an orange-ish dish with a plethora of delights stewing within. Various herbs between chunks of fish create an overflowing font of flavor. The wafting scent makes their mouth water near immediately, their stomach protesting at being made to wait a moment longer.
“Fish curry - I met a fisherman in Thavnair who impressed upon me the wonders of the dish, but I never got a chance to sample any before I was called away.” With the number of Hannish refugees still residing within the city, they reasoned this would be an apt substitute to partaking in another banquet held by Vrtra. “I’m unsure if the recipe would differ using Lominsan fish, though.”
“It smells heavenly.” Erenville notes approvingly. “I always resolve to try something new, but I cannot help but request the same dish when I have the spare time to visit.”
“Is there something special about it?” The warrior curiously peers at the sandwich through the steam rising from their curry, pausing from where they were spooning a generous helping onto a piece of naan.
“Not that I know of. It's no different than any other bánh mì, but one could say Nagxian fare is a comfort to me.” Erenville shrugs before taking a bite of his meal.
“Is it because of the time you went to capture those ‘grizzled mice?’” The warrior recalls their first meeting in Labyrinthos, where it was clear the strain of the Forum’s demands were driving him to his wits’ end.
“Unfortunately, that was far from a pleasant memory.” He grimaces slightly. “Golmore, my birthplace, borders Nagxia, so the cuisine is similar. Dishes like these remind me of my childhood, I suppose.”
“Golmore?” The warrior echoes. Their grasp on geography was not always polished, but their encounters with the Dalmascan resistance were a world away from the isolated isle of Old Sharlayan. “If you don't mind me asking, how did you find yourself here?”
Erenville chews thoughtfully before speaking. “This may come as a surprise, but I am probably older than you think I am. I was a young man when Dalmasca fell, and those of us not skilled enough to defend ourselves fled far from home while the rest guarded the wood.”
He casts his gaze over the gentle waters in the distance for a moment. The sea breeze threads through his dark hair, sweeping his bangs aside and revealing a contemplative expression. Distantly, the warrior finds a strange urge to brush away the stray strands away from his face welling up, like the rising tide in a storm, but they stay their hand.
The viera does not notice, still lost in the endless blue and memories of decades past. “The empire had yet to claim the eastern part of Othard, so seeking passage across the sea was slightly easier than during the peak of imperial rule. I ended up in Old Sharlayan by chance and have cast my lot with them since.”
“...Do you ever wish to visit home?” Many of those displaced by the Empire as either refugees or conscripts were slowly beginning to find their way back to their homelands. Given the right connections through the Eastern Alliance and the number of friendships they fostered along the way, it would be a plausible feat to deliver Erenville back to Dalmasca.
He tears his gaze away from the horizon. “Probably not. Those who abandon the wood are barred from returning without reason, and I’ve long since cast off my name.” He gives them a small smile. “You needn't worry about me. I've spent more of my life in Sharlayan than Othard - I consider it my home now, and she has given me a new reason to carry on.”
After the countless tales of sorrow and struggle, knowing that Erenville found peace and purpose in the world they saved from despair makes warmth take within their breast. The warrior softly returns the gesture. “I see; it heartens me to hear that.”
He blinks, his ears twitching. “Truly? I feel as though I'm incessantly chattering on. Something about you turns me into one of those lecturers who are enamored with the sound of their own voice…”
“I rather like your voice,” The warrior replies without thinking.
Though Erenville was unflappable in the face of most adversity, they think they can pick out the hint of embarrassment on his features. He lightly clears his throat. “Enough about myself. When I heard the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had disbanded, I was quite surprised. What do you intend to do now?”
That was always the question posed to them, and they could never conjure a suitable answer when probed for specifics. “Return to being a simple adventurer, I suppose. Now that the realm is recovering, I'm sure they could use extra help from wanderers of all kinds.”
In truth, the uncertainty both frightens and excites them. They were used to voices weaving through their linkpearl and unconsciously tracing their steps back to the Rising Stones after each onerous ordeal. But they cannot deny an opportunity to explore the realm without the weight of looming war upon them is an elusive dream they had been harboring for moons.
“That is well. There have, regrettably, been times where I could not offer aid to another as much as I would have liked due to my duties.” The viera’s expression takes on a wistful quality. “To be unfettered and beholden only to your thirst for the unknown and desire to help others... I can see why it's such a prolific profession in Eorzea.”
“Perhaps you’re the one who should consider a change of careers?” They ask teasingly.
There is, admittedly, a fleeting fancy that passes through their periphery - one of taking Erenville along with them for one of their more aimless endeavors instead of their usual arrangement. He was knowledgeable about the realm in ways the warrior did not have the time to slow down and appreciate, and they wonder what sorts of secrets the gleaner could share with them from a naturalist’s perspective. But more than that, they think Erenville could benefit from travel without the pretense of duty, to indulge in the realm without a list at hand.
“My work here remains unfinished.” Erenville shakes his head. “As you are already aware, most Sharlayans tend to regard Eorzeans and the like with a sense of wariness, and it's become worse with the colony’s abandonment some years ago. It will be difficult to undo the mindset brought about by the policies centered around the lunar exodus, as they have been an integral part of Sharlayan culture for centuries.”
The warrior hums in acknowledgement. “Krile mentioned as much when I asked how she and G’raha planned to contend with the Forum’s dated legislature.” Even when Alphinaud asked his father what new course he intended to chart for the Forum, they had yet to form a solid answer. Eons of knowledge remained safeguarded to be preserved on a new star, but with the threat of annihilation averted, there was much debate on how to handle Sharlayan’s bounty of knowledge.
“Aye. But I have no doubt we will be able to help our fellow man without hesitation going forward.” The gleaner spares a nod towards his pack, which sits propped against one leg of the table. “We gleaners frequent the far reaches of all three continents, and have an understanding of the common folk and their struggles. If we can serve as a bridge between Sharlayan and the peoples of the realm, then I would be there to see it through.”
A sense of hope pervades his voice, and the warrior is all too familiar with the stirrings of change that come from it. They were no stranger to seeing nations forced to reevaluate their way of life now that tenacious survival was not an utmost priority. With those like Erenville looking to the future, they are certain Sharlayan will follow suit and emerge stronger for the experience.
“Won't that put more work on your plate?” The warrior points out, mirth touching their features.
“All good things necessitate sacrifices, and sometimes that sacrifice happens to be the last of my sanity.” He casually shrugs. “Besides, I am not a gifted warrior aside from some basic archery. I'll leave the slavering beasts and untold treasures to you, eh? Tell me all about it next time.”
“Of course.” The warrior grins. “Should I send you a letter or attune my linkpearl to yours?”
“My linkpearl is nearly always at capacity for linkshells due to both the demands of my clients and the need to coordinate with my colleagues...” Erenville’s brow furrows in thought. “Ah, but - Qih Aliapoh is allowing me a rare day off next moon. If the hero of the realm finds themself similarly unoccupied, perhaps you'd care to join me?”
Their mischievous expression softens. A rendezvous with their new companion without being harried by death and doom creates a childish sense of joy that unfurls in their chest. “I’d love to.”
Just as Erenville is about to speak, his spine straightens, his ears flicking at attention. He brings up a hand to the linkpearl nestled in one ear, a resigned expression passing over his face. “Speak of the devil - she has another assignment for me.”
Though it is less than ideal, the warrior considers themself fortunate their meal hadn't been interrupted thus far, given their record of handling crises on a partially filled stomach. Erenville rises from his seat and gathers his belongings, strapping his rucksack on his back. The bánh mì sits half-eaten from their idle chatter, but not before the gleaner snatches it up and downs the rest with the efficiency of a seasoned adventurer.
He takes a hasty swig from his goblet that would put Thancred to shame and turns towards them, visibly apologetic. “I believe we must part ways here. You’re more than welcome to join me on tomorrow’s job, if it suits your fancy. For now, I must be off to the Studium. Take care, Warrior of Light - ‘til next we meet!”
With a short wave, he scurries away, leaving them with a fluttering sense of lightness in his wake. They allow themself a small laugh and bask in the momentary quiet, already looking forward to the morrow.