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When Claudius sees Gyr Abania for the first time, it’s through the eyes of a machinist. He scans the horizon for threats, at a range where he can still pick them off comfortably, before they become a danger for him and his own. His fingers twitch at his side, running through the steps of resassembly, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. It draws him notice, too, in the form of feathered vilekin sweeping down upon him. It’s easy to do the dance with them, to call for his chocobo to take the vilekin’s attention aside, then circle back, line up the shot, and fire. But it’s a bother, even as he’s twirling his pistol at the end, safe and confident.
So next, he walks the land a botanist. With a lighter step, so as to draw less attention. He’s had more experience being a botanist than being a machinist — it takes his eyes from the horizon, and directs them to the ground beneath his feet. He knows the soil and how it shifts, knows which patches of lush vegetation promise the most life, and the most likelihood of yielding rarer stalks of wheat. He plucks them delicately from the earth, leaving enough to regrow, in the way the Botanist’s Guild in Gridania taught him. Taking what he needs, but never taxing nature so much that he’d be a thief — rather than a guest — in nature’s house.
He’s coming to Gyr Abania as a guest, with Lyse leading the way: this is her country, her cause, her passion, so it’s only right she should take center stage for it. It’s funny that Claudius used to know her mostly as the girl whose name started with Y and who always stood by Papalymo … but Papalymo is gone.
And Lyse has become more herself, under a different name which was her true name to begin with. With that in mind, Claudius decides to respect the land behind Lyse, using a botanist’s grace, until he has to draw his gun again.
Alphinaud and Alisaie bicker the whole journey. At the edge of the water, Alphinaud’s determined step wavers, and he hangs back, reassuring himself it really is quite shallow. Alisaie leans over to tease him, saying, “No one would blame you for donning in buoyancy aids, just in case.”
It’s on the tip of Claudius’s tongue to say Alisaie, be nice to your brother, but he bites it back. As much as he’s come to think of the twins as family, he can’t be that much of a father to them.
But he can hardly help himself. “Alisaie," he says, “do try to be nicer to your brother.”
“I’m being perfectly nice, thank you, Claudius,” she says, with the roll of the eyes a youth always thinks their elders don’t see.
Well, he rolls his eyes right back. But it is nice, in its way, to witness their harmless teasing after all they’ve been through, to think a family can be like this, too. “Alphinaud, I know you’re worried about what lies ahead,” he says, and he means more than the water. “But you’ll make this crossing because not a one of us would let you drown. Between Lyse, Krile, Y’shtola, myself, and your sister …” Claudius put a weight on the word. “Do you think someone wouldn’t dive in, cast a spell, or at least put out a hand for you if you slipped?”
Alisaie’s expression softens. “He’s quite right, you know. Have a little more faith in these Scions you worked so hard to get me to join. And,” she says, taking the cue from Claudius, “have faith in me.”
That settles something in Alphinaud, something Claudius recognizes — it’s the same swirling thoughts Claudius falls into when there’s nothing to hold on to, no one to tell him the next step is possible. Strange, to be the one to tell Alphinaud. “Yes, of course,” Alphinaud says. He nods to himself, then smiles with refreshed confidence. “I do have faith in the Scions. And you are a Scion, too, sister. Lest you forget.”
Smiling, Claudius leaves the siblings their space. He heaves the gun to his shoulder again, looking out to the far edge of water, prepared to protect these children with his life. At the other side, he’ll return to protecting the earth beneath their feet. It’s the least any sort of father can do.