Work Text:
Klyn fyr. Grym fyr. Why did you have to carry his flame?
Sthalgeim kissed the top of her baby’s head. She had finally worn her daughter out after an unusually active afternoon, and the quiet gave her time to think it all over.
A clatter and a toddler’s shout. Sthalgeim had not been quick enough to rescue her daughter from the inevitable fate of every toddler’s crude little tower, and it had fallen all around and on top of her. A wood block had collided with Grymfyr’s forehead, but her daughter did not run to Sthalgeim for comfort as was her wont. Instead, she screamed with a fury, grabbing the smooth wooden toy and slamming it onto the mess of blocks on the ground. The sound of wood splitting had shocked Sthalgeim more than anything else.
“Greh, greh…shhhh,” Sthalgeim murmured as she scooped her daughter into her arms. Grymfyr was warm to the touch, thrashing and hitting, though most of her rage had been spent on the toys. Sthalgeim didn’t mind a bruise or two anyway. She walked Grymfyr about her small den, humming a soothing sort of shanty she’d picked up in her brief time at sea. Sthalgeim’s song brought her daughter’s intense orange eyes to meet hers, and she could see the storm behind them begin to calm.
“Guht…guht. Greh dein abyl, thota,” she urged again, smiling at her precious child.
“Ahct? Sehe wyta?” Grymfyr asked suddenly, twisting to point to the door.
Sthalgeim looked at where the sun was in the sky, working the inside of her lip. “I suppose there is time for the river,” she conceded. “Go get your boots.”
She put Grymfyr on the ground, and her daughter shuffled to the door where their shoes rested on a stand. Sthalgeim quickly picked up the cracked blocks and threw them in the woodstove before closing the iron doors to smother the fire. Grymfyr took no notice as she sat down and threw her shoes in her mother’s general direction.
“Grymfyr, nein…” she sighed. She picked up the boots and sat by her giggling child to get her ready for their excursion.
The rest of the afternoon Grymfyr was like a force of nature. Driving like rain in a monsoon, crashing into things with the force of a tiny tidal wave. Boisterous didn’t begin to cover it. Sthalgeim didn’t want to think about it.
However, one cracked block remained just on the edge of the fire, demanding her consideration. Sthalgeim stared at it, rocking Grymfyr as she slept.
Wuot.
If the Warriors knew, they would take her. They would take Grymfyr away, and they would hone her into a weapon until she died in their service or proved herself useless to them…as Wiltbyrm had. The few Warriors Sthalgeim knew outside of the clan were either too old to fight anymore or had been disabled by the life they were forced to lead. They were physically cared for, provided with whatever they needed to survive in their retirement…but many of them carried an emptiness around with them as heavy as an anchor.
Some of Sthalgeim’s friends had family members that had been “summoned” to service by the Warrior clan. One thing Sthalgeim knew about it all was this: no matter how young someone was when they joined the Warriors, their families didn’t see them again until the clan had wrung every drop of use from them that they could. Many aspired to join them: the vanguard of the Roegadyn people, protecting the Nortyr clans: their seas, their ports, their fishers and farms and villages. But just as many were “summoned.” This was the tax the Nortyr clans paid for safety and peace.
“Urscheisse,” Sthalgeim spat. Not her. She’d given too much already. Not Grymfyr.
* * *
“You cannot hide her!” Swygelak said, aghast.
“Fatyr, I cannot give her away!”
“They’ll find her! They always do! You know how it was for Synglona! Lasted till eighteen, sure, but the shame on her and her entire family when they summoned her…”
“Grymfyr is not Synglona!”
“Grymfyr ist ein klin, how do you know she’ll be any better at hiding than Synglona? Our klyn fyr is not a quiet child.”
Sthalgeim looked for a long moment at her daughter who was trying to play with Swygelak’s old cat (who was having none of it).
Grymfyr never did anything discreetly. Everything was accompanied with shrieks, shouts, clatters, and calls for attention. Sthalgeim’s father was right. “Nein…sie ist meine loet fyr,” she sighed, fond and dismayed all at once.
They sat in silence, watching the cat outmaneouver Grymfyr, who seemed malms away from tiring of the game.
“We could leave.”
“Where would you go?”
Sthalgeim shrugged. “La Noscea, perhaps?”
Her father shook his head. “Too many marauders with ties to the Warriors.”
“The Sharlayan colony?”
“You think the scholars will take you? What’re you studyin’? How to best part a man from his large intestine?”
Swygelak was not being mean, just realistic. Sthalgeim was a rogue through and through. The mothering bit had surprised her just as much as anyone else.
Grymfyr made her way unsteadily to Swygelak’s side and reached up to be held. He twisted around, using his one arm to reach across himself and haul her into his lap.
“Yer gettin’ big, klyn fyr!” he smiled. His whole face crinkled with joy as Grymfyr stood on his lap to kiss his chin. He leaned down and scratched her face with his stubble.
“Tickle!” she shrieked and fell, giggling, back down to sit in his lap, dodging away from him.
The love they shared only made Sthalgeim’s heart drop.
She set her jaw. “I can’t let them take her.”
Her father looked up to meet her eyes. His face fell. “Sthal Haerz…”
“I’ll take her to Wiltbyrm.”
Swygelak’s face burned immediately with anger. “That whoreson!”
“Just for a few years!”
“He couldn’t care for a chocobo, much less a child !”
“He’s not—” well, he was an idiot, but Sthalgeim mostly felt that way because she hated him.
Wiltbyrm was passionate, quick-witted, and more stubborn than any other person she’d met. A mountain of a man, strong and impressive even if he never mastered Warrior skills, it was easy to see why Sthalgeim had loved him in the beginning. And he was selfish, covetous, insecure, entitled, and unyielding. It was easy to see why she hated him in the end. But he had something like security in his life now. First mate on the Ocean’s Howl, land of his own (though only the most basic of shelters had been built there), and, if rumours were to be believed, considerable wealth. He could take care of a kid, or hire someone to help, Sthalgeim was fairly confident. Grymfyr wouldn’t be the first little Roegadyn girl to be raised at sea.
And the “at sea” part was especially appealing. Pirates were hard to keep track of, even for the Warrior clan. Never in one place for long outside of their usual annual stops…it would be near impossible for them to find her daughter. Sthalgeim knew as well that Wiltbyrm had no love for the Warriors, and would do anything to spite them.
“He’s got enough now he can hire a nanny, then,” she finally said.
Swygelak stared at her a long time, that dismay creeping back into the lines of his face. “Could you live like that, mein haerz?” He started idly braiding Grymfyr’s hair. “She’s your child. Ain’t never seen you so proud as when you’re lookin at Grymfyr.”
Sthalgeim blinked hard against the burning threat of tears.
“I have to.”