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Mauve stirred early that fateful morning, eased awake by the soft pink of dawn between the curtains and the gentle breathing beside her. For what managed to feel like both a long time and no time at all, she remained as she was, still and silent and pressed close to Thancred’s chest with her arm linked tight around his waist, as though afraid of disturbing this rare moment of serenity and setting time in motion once more.
But the peace and quiet soon ended, as it always did—but not before he appreciated the last of it with her, pulling her even closer and tilting her face up to kiss her. Wordlessly and contentedly, they waited hand-in-hand for the sun to finish rising and their short reprieve to come to an end.
Mauve moved first, sitting up and then taking a moment more to gaze down at him thoughtfully, affectionately, hopefully. “Let’s get this over with, then,” she murmured with a smile.
Together, there and back. They had passed Hydaelyn’s trial together, after all, they all had, and no one was found wanting. No one would be left behind. However long it took, however grueling this journey, they would succeed, as always. Together. There was no other option.
Sitting up as well, Thancred tipped his forehead against hers. “Don’t pretend you aren’t a little excited to journey forth into the unknown, now.” His smirk quickly softened as he gripped her hand tighter. “I’ve a mind to keep you to myself for a while when we return, by the by. So, aye…the quicker we finish this, the better.”
“Ah, good. I was concerned that the fate of the world might not be quite enough incentive for me.” And yet, as intimidating as that burden was, sitting here with him like this, feeling so casual and carefree for the moment, made it that much easier to shoulder, easier to face. She pressed a light, lingering kiss to that easy smile of his, grinning as she challenged, “Just try to keep up with me in the meantime, hm?”
A soft huff brushed her lips, and then suddenly Mauve was pressed onto her back, his strong hands loosely pinning her wrists beside her head and his warm, familiar weight on top of her. “Since we’ve still a little time,” he mused, nuzzling her shirt collar aside to kiss her shoulder, “I think I’ll give myself a head start.”
She hummed as he moved up her throat, tender and with purpose, clouding her senses until he was all she could think of, all she cared about.
* * *
And then he was gone.
It was nothing like what she had pictured when her fear and anxiety got the better of her in the past: nothing violent and brutal to be imprinted on her memory forever, nothing at all, just his sudden and inexplicable absence. Just a terrible, empty, ringing silence that left her with ice in her stomach and dread in her heart even as the other Scions assumed better, thinking logically and calmly.
No, she wanted to argue, to point out the obvious, no, that’s not it. It’s not that simple. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong, how can you not tell, why can’t you feel it, this isn’t right, he wouldn’t just disappear—
But she kept her silence and did her best to keep her wits about her, as well, and pressed on.
* * *
“Such a simple thing, unmaking men.”
Mauve’s blood ran cold at those words. Not with the shock that seized the others, but with fear, grief, anger, because she’d known already. A part of her hoped desperately that she was wrong, that this was yet another case of Thancred being misplaced by circumstance and that he would show up at any moment, likely several minutes too late to a fight—but that hope was simply denial, and she’d known it. As well as she knew him, all of him, by sight and sound and scent and touch, inside and out, how could she not notice the instant all of that was no more? How could she possibly overlook the loss of half of herself?
“—Thancred gave his life that we might come this far. We must press on.”
“Agreed. We cannot turn tail here. Not without something to show for our comrade's sacrifice.”
They spoke of it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, and she wanted to scream. She knew they were right to move forward, to keep cool in this place where emotion, despair, reigned over all, but it felt so dismissive and cold and wrong. Why was she the only one so choked by fury that she couldn’t speak, the only one shaking in her effort not to lash out senselessly at anything and everything—the only one being watched by the rest of the party, as if they awaited her approval to proceed?
Or, as if they were expecting a reaction.
The most she could manage, at length, was a numb nod. Swallow it, smother it, don’t let them see, it was nothing new; she just didn’t remember it ever hurting quite this much, nearly suffocating her in her stunned silence.
That seemed to put them at ease, although she thought Urianger’s gaze might have lingered a few beats longer than the rest.
* * *
Mauve was glad for things to fight. The wayward spirits, memories, illusions, whatever they were, the mindless and hostile iterations of these ancient and lost civilizations scattered across the wasteland gave her something else to focus on, something else to hate and hurt, however briefly. The blisters on her hands and the fatigue in her shoulders told her she was overdoing it, expending energy she shouldn’t waste, but it was the only outlet she had for the roiling emotions threatening to make her burst.
She knew the others watched her still. Their concern was palpable, but she avoided their eyes and only offered action in response to their words, walking on and going where they needed to go, doing what needed to be done. Y’shtola’s gaze wasn’t unkind, but it was as piercing and observant as ever, likely watching for the faintest hint that this had become too much for the Warrior of Light to bear; in contrast G’raha appeared openly sympathetic, offering what gentle optimism and direction he could, but that was all the more reason for Mauve to keep him at arm’s length. If she started talking, she might not stop, and giving voice to everything she felt would make it that much more raw and real.
Urianger watched her most of all. It was hard to tell which end he fell on, worrying more for her safety or her heartache, but he didn’t press either way. And even after he pulled her and G’raha aside, offering his vague part-warning, part-apology for what he was so clearly about to do, he still didn’t push her, didn’t ask if she was alright, if she would be alright…and Mauve could guess why.
On the way back to the Ea’s compound, she slowed her pace to let G’raha pull further ahead. When Urianger noticed, he also slowed, but it wasn’t until she spoke up—the first time since leaving the Ragnarok—that he turned his attention to her fully.
“Don’t,” she forced out in a hushed voice. “Not you, too. I can’t—” Her gaze dropped to the ground before he turned around. Thancred was bad enough, disappearing without warning before she could even think to try to save him, and Estinien had practically done the same, but this—to look someone in the eye as he decided to offer up his life, to let him do so—gods, which was worse? “I just—I need time to figure something out. I’ll find a way. But you…don’t…”
Slowly, Urianger approached. Even when he stopped in front of her, Mauve kept her head down, reluctant to look up and see that easy, trusting smile a second time. She would prefer that he be angry with her, disappointed and frustrated that she wasn’t strong enough this time—to save Thancred and Estinien, to save anyone—
“ ‘Tis plain Thancred acted selflessly, in the manner he deemed most efficient for the success of our mission,” he said quietly, solemnly, and she winced. As much as it hurt to see everyone recover and move past it so quickly, hearing someone say his name cut just as deep. “As his long-time comrade, I am certain that a man of his unwavering conviction harbored neither doubt nor regret in those final moments…save for whom he left behind.”
Stop. Stop it—
“Thou may be loath to hear it, but I am certain he made the correct decision—that he hath placed his faith accordingly and unerringly in the one who shall make the most of the opportunity she hath been given.” He paused, but she still didn’t raise her eyes. “As will I,” he said gently. “Like unto Thancred, never would I seek to burden thee with more than thou couldst bear. I act with full confidence in thy strength. And, like unto Thancred…” He paused for a nearly imperceptible moment before finishing, “The knowledge that thou wilt survive this, and witness the future to which we Scions have striven thus, alloweth me to perform my duty with joy for the assured rather than fear of the unknown.”
It was earnest, but it was unnecessarily wordy, as was Urianger’s wont, and that warm familiarity was a small spot of comfort amid their cold, unfeeling circumstances. Mauve exhaled shakily, her smile small and bitter. “You could just say you trust me.”
“Aye, so I could.” Now she did look up, and found the smile she’d been expecting. It was equal parts consoling and painful to see. “Pray forgive me if, selfishly, I sought even a moment more in thy company with a lengthier declaration.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you speak to me about being selfish. Don’t you dare.”
That smile turned sympathetic. He began to reach toward her, hesitated, and then set his large, warm hand on her shoulder. It was strange, in a way; he never initiated contact with her, and she couldn’t recall ever touching him at all, even casually…so the seemingly innocuous gesture brought the weight of reality bearing down on her again, cold and unforgiving.
Perhaps Urianger sensed that she was nearing her breaking point, as he only gave her a mild squeeze before withdrawing, and a milder remark. “Let us away, Mauve. To our comrades.”
* * *
Every step felt heavier, every sacrifice cut deeper. Again and again she failed to find a way forward; again and again it cost a life; again and again she watched someone dear to her wish her luck with a smile.
She had no voice left for the twins. Not until her fear was confirmed—Stop--not another word.—but she knew she might as well have said nothing at all. They all came here knowing the risks, the potential price they might each have to pay, and Alphinaud and Alisaie were no less determined than the rest had been. It was unbelievably cruel—Mauve had steeled herself against the idea of dying in battle long before now, swallowed her fear of losing others and pushed forward, prepared to keep fighting until her last breath for this cause to end all causes, but this… This was something she couldn’t fight, couldn’t outpace, couldn’t outwit. She walked, blind and useless, all this time, and now she was about to keep on walking, alone.
And she did.
Suddenly, inexplicably, an old prayer resurfaced in her memory, one of the many she’d heard in Yanxia over the years. It was a simple little recital, offered to the kami in thanks for good health and one’s family, and as a request for safe travel, spoken often by those setting out on a journey. Originally used by merchants and others who traveled regularly from their loved ones, she’d come to acquaint it with tragedy more often than business, uttered by those torn from their homes and shuffled about the Garlean-conquered provinces like cattle. It was a bitter memory, and yet…Mauve found herself reciting the words silently all the same, finding a strange sort of comfort in them. She had participated respectfully in what few small rituals were performed secretly in the villages, memorized some of the names and elements of the more prominent kami, even believed in them to an extent…but she never really prayed, not like this, not hoping so desperately that she would be heard by some wayward spirit that might happen to hear her heart’s cries so far out here in the emptiness. Part of her, perhaps, simply feared to be so truly alone again.
* * *
Mauve Skye did not cry.
She had slipped a handful of times, tearing up here and there across the past few stressful years, most noticeably when she finally, finally gave voice to those terrifying feelings inside her for Thancred—but on the whole, she simply did not, would not. Not early on, when she returned to the Waking Sands full of blood and corpses and terrible silence; not when Rhalgr’s Reach was decimated and left to burn in a scene right out of the worst of her memories; not when she bore witness to the horrors and sorrows of Werlyt firsthand, nor any of the number of tragedies she’d seen in between. Perhaps because it was often Garlemald—always Garlemald—at the center of it, she choked back her grief and smothered her fear, pushing it all down somewhere dark and hidden where it could hurt and fester without showing on her face. Never giving her away. It was mildly unfortunate that she found herself reflexively treating other emotions the same way sometimes.
Mauve Yumioka, however, had cried a lot. She cried when she was separated from her parents, stolen away with so many others by imposing, armored strangers, and when she was dumped in a strange village thousands of malms away from home. She cried the first couple times she witnessed an imperial soldier strike a civilian down in cold blood.
She cried herself to sleep often those first few years. She cried the day she was old enough to understand why some Garlean men would order—sometimes drag—women of the village away, and they would return solemn and red-eyed and bruised. If they returned at all.
She learned quickly not to cry when they hit her. It angered some, it amused others, and neither was good. Reactions from their imperial overseers were never good. Indifference was the best people like her could hope for, and in turn she had to feign indifference herself as best she could. More than once, she was punished for her temper and attitude, and many times she was punished for nothing, for the crime of being different, or for simply existing, but she didn’t cry again. Not from fear, not under pain, not amid grief.
She didn’t cry when they burned the village down because of her. Perhaps she was already Mauve Skye long before she took the name, or perhaps they just pushed her too far that time, beyond her breaking point and simply right to broken. And when she was caught again, when Gaius van Baelsar saved her life and attempted to take it for his own interests all in one severe act of self-serving mercy, there was nothing but anger left. Too much of it to accept any more of those undeserved cruelties, too much of it to live any life except the one she wanted. That anger remained after she escaped, after she found a life in Eorzea, after she discovered a new family in the Scions, but like her tears, she kept it in check, rarely allowing it to show except for when it became too much. And when she had to choose one, anger always seemed the better option. The stronger feeling. The less vulnerable.
Mauve Skye did not cry, but there were times when it all hurt so badly and felt like too much for her to choke back, and she wished her pride and her circumstances felt safe enough to let go.
* * *
“So, go on. Call them back to your side.”
A distrustful part of her doubted, not daring to raise her hopes for fear of having them dashed. It would be the final push she needed to give into the grief clawing her heart raw, rendering every sacrifice pointless. Mauve regarded the Ascian warily—no, no longer an Ascian, but Emet-Selch as he once was, more than she had ever known him to be: Ancient, Amaurotine, Convocation member, and unexpected ally for a time, though still not forgiven in her eyes, perhaps not ever—but try as she might to dig down deep inside herself for the familiar anger and bitterness and suspicion of the past, she found none of it. Only sorrow, exhaustion, and the desperate desire to put her faith in someone here in this lonely expanse.
Her eyes moved to Hythlodaeus, seeking reassurance in his smile that she should dare to hope. She found it.
Her fist had clenched so tightly around Azem’s crystal that her palm ached, but she held it close and finally allowed all of her wishes and regrets to come rushing to the surface: the simple but daunting desire to save them. Even when light danced across her eyelids, she didn’t look, unwilling to relinquish her trembling hold on the crystal and every hope it carried for even a moment—
“How disappointing. Not even a single scar in the making to brag about.”
The voice was a shock, so focused was Mauve on her wishful thoughts, and the world threatened to tilt as she opened her eyes to see them—Alisaie, Alphinaud, G’raha—
An amused grunt sounded behind her. “You'll find a way regardless.”
For a moment she didn’t turn around, fearful of discovering that the first voice was naught but a figment of her grieving imagination; but just as she had known that he was gone, she knew now that he was here. Her ears could play tricks on her, but there was no mistaking the relief blooming in her chest, something deeper and truer than fear confirming what the rest of her senses doubted.
Mauve turned and felt her legs grow weak, her throat constricting under the weight of Thancred’s gaze. His face said so much, from the relief and apology in his crooked smile to the concern and single-minded focus in his eyes as he watched her. He looked…fine. Unharmed. Whole. Himself.
In the distant background, she heard Y’shtola say something, and then Urianger—everyone was alright, all of them—but her normally sharp hearing was muffled, dulled by the thunder of her rapid heartbeat. Old habits fought and struggled against the sting in her eyes and her quickening breath, insisting that she crush it all down and deal with these feelings later when she was alone and thinking straight, when it was safe, but Mauve had done just that for the last few…hours? Days? Her time in Ultima Thule seemed like an eternity, and it managed what no other trial in her life had: quenching her fire and shattering every wall she’d built. She was simply too exhausted to fight against herself anymore.
Thancred waited for her to move first, taking a step forward once she did, and then letting her close the distance at a hesitant pace. He started to reach for her, and she him—and as soon as she was close enough, her hand curled into a fist that she drew back and slammed squarely into his jaw.
The way he immediately dropped was viciously if hollowly satisfying, the heavy thud and his pained grunt and the complete lack of surprise in the apologetic expression he turned up at her all just barely soothing over her burning, emotional, nonsensical urge to wrap her hands around his neck and shake him. She almost never lashed out at people like this, not outside of a battle, and yet—and yet—
Mauve stood over him with fists clenched and arms shaking, her jaw set so tight that she could barely get the words out. “You…!” She wasn’t sure she sounded as angry as intended, or if the relief and heartache drowned it out. The last of her physical strength gave out and she hit her knees. “You…” Her breath shook as she drew it in and her vision blurred until she could barely see his face, or anything at all other than the soft glow of the Elpis flowers around them. “You stupid…” She seized the front of his coat, roughly at first, and then her grip quickly weakened as that tightness in her chest became too much. The warmth in her face grew to a burn as her throat continued to tighten, and try as she might, the tears began to fall—and then the soft touch of his hand on her head, her face, undid her completely.
She crashed into his chest as she sobbed, loud and wavering and breathless. Thancred’s arms encircled her, solid and real and warm, to hold her there and reassure her that he was here, but that only made her cry harder. She cried until she couldn’t anymore, her eyes finally running dry and her throat too raw to make any more sounds. When he gently eased her back, she knew she was a red-faced mess and avoided his gaze, recovered enough to begin feeling a little self-conscious about her outburst; but he cupped her face and tenderly turned her back towards him, smiling when she looked at him.
“There’s a face I’ve never seen before. Quite the lovely one, at that.”
“Not now, Thancred,” she croaked, wiping angrily at her wet cheeks. “Don’t…don’t jest. I’m…”
“I’m not.” His thumb swept over her tear tracks and the strands of hair plastered to her skin. “I prefer to see you smiling, aye…but seeing you so honest and barefaced about what you’re feeling—it’s a beautiful sight, I assure you.”
Mauve huffed, unable to force her trembling lips into a frown like she wanted. He was going to make her cry all over again. Ducking her head, she tried both in earnest and in vain to clean herself up, muttering, “Everyone’s staring, aren’t they?”
“They are,” he confirmed casually, and she noticed his voice was likely too low for anyone else to hear. “But worry not, love, I’m the only one who can see you.” There was something both fiercely protective and gently reassuring in those soft words; a reminder, whether or not he intended it as such, that only he knew why such raw emotion would embarrass her, only he truly understood what it meant for her to break down like this…as well as a promise that he wouldn’t turn away. She still felt awful—exhausted both inside and out, her throat thick and her head aching and her chest tight and congested with emotion—but that simple remark gave her strength.
When she pushed herself to her feet, Thancred rose with her, one hand on her arm—more an assurance of his presence than any unnecessary support—and from that touch she felt her strength returning bit by bit, enough to stand up straight and square her shoulders and face her friends with a tired, open, honest smile.
* * *
Mauve awoke aching all over. It was a dull throb compared to the piercing pains of when she was last conscious, but she grimaced and drew in a sharp breath, frowning against the light piercing her eyelids. Sunlight, she noticed.
She also noticed the warm weight on her right hand and reflexively, weakly squeezed it. “Thancred?” Her voice was flimsy and weak with fatigue.
“I’m here, Mauve.” Another gentle warmth grazed her forehead. Laboriously, she opened her heavy eyes, squinting in the blinding light until they adjusted. She was in bed, in her room at the Baldesion Annex. A long, relieved sigh left her, making her ribs ache. She was back. They really had made it home.
“How…how long has it…?”
“Long enough for us to start worrying again.” Thancred smiled fondly as he stroked her hair. “You’ve been asleep for three days.” She hummed idly in response. Honestly, she felt like she could have slept longer. “How do you feel?”
“Like…I was hit by a mountain.” Well, Mauve considered, close enough. She still couldn’t feel her left arm at all, shoulder or fingers or anything in-between, but she didn’t want to think about that yet. “I’d feel better if you moved closer,” she muttered, and Thancred’s soft chuckle made her feel warm even before he left his chair and slipped carefully into bed with her. As much as Mauve wanted to wrap herself around him and bury her face in his chest, the most she could manage was tilting her head into his shoulder, and even that made her wince. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly ravaged in a fight. Perhaps she never had.
They were silent for a bit, Thancred’s hand cradling her face and gently caressing her cheek, nearly lulling her back to sleep before she spoke up again. “You alright?”
It was a general question, more an invitation to talk if he wanted to. Everything had happened so fast back there, as things often did, and this was the first proper moment they’d had together since. She wasn’t in a state to say much, but she could listen.
He kissed her forehead and lingered there, his breath warm. “Aye. Not sure I’m quite finished taking it all in yet, but…aye,” he repeated, “I am.”
Mauve’s head felt like a sack of stones as she rolled it back to look up at him. Thancred looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes and his gaze looked distant, as if there was much more on his mind that he wasn’t saying. Her good hand reached for him, fingertips touching beside the faint bruise on his jaw line. She was surprised it was still there. “…Sorry for hitting you. I might have overdone it.”
He turned into her touch with a soft huff against her palm. “Not entirely undeserved, I don’t think. I’d say you should be as free with your emotions going forward, but I’m rather fond of my teeth.” That made her laugh under her breath, and then give a tired sigh, too spent to feel much other than relief and overwhelming affection. Sore or not, she wanted to stay like this as long as they were able, together and whole, not saying or thinking much of anything.
“…You aren’t here to tell me I’m needed somewhere, are you?” she asked after a moment.
“Nowhere but here,” he assured her. “If the world finds itself in another mess tomorrow, I’m afraid it will have to do so without you.”
That wasn’t like him. More than anyone, Thancred understood the necessity of putting a cause before oneself. Perhaps it was just a lighthearted remark that he didn’t intend to be taken all that seriously, and yet… Everything between now and the fight with Zenos was a painful blur, but she remembered hearing frustration in Thancred’s voice, that glimpse of angry relief when the Scions dragged her back from the brink of death. Perhaps, this time, he was upset enough to shift his priorities.
Mauve placed her hand over his and squeezed. “You’re my designated keeper now, hm?”
“If that’s the word you’ve chosen.”
She thought about that for a moment, and then hummed. “I’m alright with that.”
“That implies you’ll actually listen to me, you know…”
“I listen to you all the time. Whether I do as you suggest is another matter.”
His low grunt of a laugh stirred her hair. “I can’t have the last word even now, I see.” When she only replied with a smirk, he leaned down and kissed her, light and lingering. It was warm and reassuring, and yet something inside her tightened painfully. Sensing it, perhaps, Thancred drew back and studied her, and she suddenly found it difficult to meet his eyes.
“I don’t…want you going anywhere, either,” she whispered. “I want you here.” With me. Where I can see you. So I know you’re alright.
He smiled solemnly, maybe even apologetically, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “I do need to make up for some lost time, certainly.”
Mauve had no playful remark, no witty banter to that. Just a small, hushed reply of “I’m still angry with you. And I’m probably going to be angry for a while still. I know I shouldn’t be—I understand, I understood then, but…” Her voice caught, the suffocating weight of grief returning despite Thancred’s warm, living presence beside her. It already felt so far away and long ago, and yet…the memory of losing him still hurt. She closed her eyes and drew a long, shaky breath, settling her nerves and reining herself in, and it caught when she felt him touch his forehead to hers.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t hide it. If you’re angry, say so. If you need to cry, don’t hold back your tears. And if you want me to look away, I shall. But don’t bottle up those feelings anymore, love. Not if it hurts.”
She tried to crack a smile, tried to laugh and tell him he was one to talk, but it came out as a grimace, a slow inhale and a quiet hiccup, as she lightly shook her head. “Don’t look away,” she pleaded, voice thick. “I want your eyes on me. Always.” When she opened her eyes, her vision was a wet blur of color. “I think…I’m only strong enough to cry when you’re watching.” Wordlessly, his expression nothing less than utterly understanding and loving, Thancred leaned up to kiss her hair, and that small, simple gesture undid her.
When her shaking and her tears finally stopped, fading along with what little strength she still had to begin with, Mauve shifted in his embrace to press her face against his shoulder, her fist balling loosely in his shirt. As much as she hated feeling so physically weak, there was something oddly comforting about showing that vulnerability to someone else. To him, specifically. He wouldn’t judge her. He wouldn’t think less of her. He would step in—he was stepping in to make up the difference, offering the solidarity she needed. The phrase better half suddenly made sense.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much and it terrifies me.”
“I know,” he said gently, stroking her hair. “I know the feeling exactly.”
Do you? a stubborn part of her wondered—the part that acknowledged what she chose to ignore, a truth made all the more obvious and inevitable after losing him once. Are you afraid of outliving me?
She shoved that thought down, deep and far away, hidden and hated. It didn’t matter yet, not now. For now there was only him—his breath on her skin, his hand in her hair, his warmth around her, and there was no end to that just yet. Not for a long time, she swore silently.
“Stay,” she murmured. “Stay until I say you can leave.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
Another kiss, and she detected a weight behind his lighthearted tone. “Forever and always, love. I thought you knew that by now.”
Mauve pressed herself closer still, wanting no space remaining between them after all they’d been through. For now, this was good. This was enough. This was all she could ask for and all she had hoped for amidst her growing despair at the edge of the universe. Perhaps her prayers were heard, or perhaps she was simply lucky, but here she was, right where she wanted to be.