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The sun was rising over Ishgard, golden light flooding into the small dining hall of Manor Fortemps. Outside, the venerable old maple was ablaze with its autumn colors, just like its brethren across the Pillars, in the Haillenarte gardens. The sun did not quite reach every spot in the garden, and so the stone benches and the western faces of the statues all bore silver traces of frost from the night’s chill. The streets were lined with whimsical decorations, many of them pumpkins with unique carvings; in two weeks it would be time for the festival of All Saints’ Wake. In past decades the festival had passed by without being observed by any other than the High Houses - but not this year.
Such merriment was not the only change wrought upon the city by the ending of the Dragonsong War. Freed of the burden of constant patrols and the attrition of frequent dragon attacks, the lesser noble houses found themselves with energy, men, and supplies to spare. With gentle encouragement from Ser Aymeric and the other leaders of the city, the nobility had begun to minister to the families in the Brume - seeing to their needs for the first time in far too long. The Vault was matching their efforts, gil for gil, and even from the Fortemps manor the difference was visible. It was entirely possible that this winter, no one in Ishgard would die of cold or of hunger.
“And Francel has gotten past the last hurdle in his Restoration Project,” Emmanellain said. The young lord was, as usual, chattering away even as he buttered scones and quaffed tea with cream. But his news was all cheerful, and so no one really minded. Gossip over breakfast was just another part of these quiet days, stretching into six weeks now as Sage rested and recovered. The Scions had all gone back to the Rising Stones, pursuing their own recovery and recreation, but Sage remained in Fortemps Manor. Fully and formally adopted, this was his home now. He was almost used to it. After breakfast, Lord Edmont would go to the library to resume working on the chronicle of the War’s ending. Sage himself had been taking pen to paper in the past week. Nothing so formal as a chronicle - he had attempted to compose a song or two, but that kind of music had never really been in him. He was not that sort of bard. But still he wrote, whatever came into his head, and the long quiet hours in the library had become as much a part of his recovery as the medicine, and the careful stretches.
“The talk is all over town about the newest costumes showing up in the Crozier.” Emmanellain devoured his scone. “Exotic things from Thanalan, even one or two outfits that they claim are Doman robes. Say, aren’t you from that corner of the world, Sage, old boy? Perhaps you might cast an eye over the offerings?” Then he grinned, the particularly smug grin that the whole family knew meant another “I am a genius” idea. “Or perhaps you can show them all up! I’m sure none of them would hold a candle to you in such finery!”
Sage went pale, and he turned his face towards the window, away from the men at the table.
Typically, Emmanellain didn’t notice his adoptive brother’s reaction, as he tossed back the last of his tea and rose from the table. “I’m off to work, brothers, father. See you at dinner!” And with an overly flamboyant salute, he was gone.
The room was quiet in his wake, enough that when the front door opened and closed, the three diners could hear it. Sage cleared his throat, and stood. “I believe I’m full,” he said, not meeting Artoirel’s gaze, or Edmont’s. “Pray excuse me.”
The Warrior of Light left the dining room, his breakfast only half eaten. Artoirel exchanged a concerned look with his father. Sage had never once failed to finish a meal.
“I sincerely hope my newest brother has not taken offense at Emmanellain’s brainless babble.”
Edmont shook his head. “Sage is not the sort of man to take offense where none was ever meant. I expect he simply has something on his mind.” The old lord smiled. “Leave it in my hands, my son. I’ll take care of our newest family member.”
Edmont stepped into the library, and found Sage staring at his open journal, pen laid aside, his bottle of ink not even opened. The older man sat down in his usual spot, set up his writing things, and wrote a line or two, as if he didn’t notice how quiet the Warrior of Light was.
After a few minutes, Sage sighed, and Edmont took the opportunity to speak.
“You seem quite pensive this morning, Sage. Perhaps this old man might lend you an ear?”
Sage rubbed the scales near his right horn, eyes cast down. “I…”
“I shall not command you, son,” Edmont said. “But please know that as your adoptive parent, I am and always will be here for you, to listen, or to aid, or to comfort. At your own pace.”
Sage looked up, meeting Edmont’s eyes, his mouth slightly open, as if he'd heard something completely inconceivable. Then he dropped his eyes again, blinking rapidly, and set his hands flat on the table, almost as if he would stand up to leave the room.
But instead of standing he took a long breath, and offered Edmont a very tiny smile. There was pain and shyness in that smile, as vulnerable as a new plant reaching for the sun for the first time.
“Now is as good a time as any to tell you about my birth parents.”
His hands remained on the table, as if the contact of his palms with the polished wood was somehow grounding him in the present.
“I am not from Doma, though I am content enough for others to assume so.” He indicated his scales with a motion of his chin. “I was born and raised among the tribes of the Azim Steppe, neighbors to the Domans. My birth tribe was very small, and not favored at all, for we were pale Raen rather than Xaela like most of the rest; they permitted us a territory on the edge of the Steppe, but granted us no honor. It is a point of pride among the tribes, that they have never, will never, bow their necks to a foreigner’s yoke. They have even maintained their independence in the face of Garlean expansion.” His tone turned grim. “Their pride makes them strong. But that pride is not always a blessing to their children.”
“I was sired upon the woman Yaskso, by Aiatar, the Khan of that tiny tribe. I was the second-born of twins, coming perhaps five minutes after my brother. But our birth was not much cause for rejoicing, for we were brought into the world out of a sense of duty. My brother’s name even meant “responsibility.” Affection had nothing to do with our conception: the Khan required an heir, nothing more. My brother, being first-born, was taken up as the heir. I was…” Sage swallowed. “I was merely an inconvenience. Yaskso never wanted to bear children, and resented her mate’s insistence on it - resented us. Cul- my brother claimed the greater portion of the Khan’s attention, and she resented that too. She would go on long hunts alone - would be gone for months at a time. And in her absence, the Khan raised his son as he saw fit. Me, he only tolerated. The name I was given at birth translates to “burden,” in your tongue.”
Edmont shifted in his seat. “A man who cannot treasure all his children is a fool.”
“Yes.” Sage took another long breath. “I was kept like a dog, sleeping outside in the dust, given scraps of food at best, and set to working at whatever tasks needed doing, work fit for a grown man or woman. The fact that I was an underfed toddler meant nothing to that man; in his eyes, I was worthless, and he would not feed me if I did not earn that privilege.”
Edmont scowled, but Sage seemed not to notice. His eyes were turned inward now, looking with old pain, old anger, on the past. “My brother showed me kindness, but even he was distant, for he could not understand that I was his twin. We no longer looked alike, and certainly no one ever spoke of us as kin. The other adults of the tribe turned their heads, not approving of the Khan’s treatment of me but unwilling to confront him. Their children ignored me, not even tormenting me as they did the camp dogs. I was untouchable, invisible, to everyone but the Khan and my brother.” His fingers tensed, the nails digging into the wood. “But seeing his abuses, added to whatever other poor decisions that man made, led the tribe to discuss a replacement for him. When at last they had a champion, they backed that new young warrior in a challenge duel. Of course the younger man won, and thus the old Khan was unseated.”
The bard’s face twisted. “The old Khan was enraged, of course. Too proud to admit his failings, too stubborn to change, he stormed away from the tribe that day, leaving behind his woman and most of his possessions, vowing never to return.” Sage swallowed twice, and his voice creaked as he continued. “He did, however, take both his heir and his unwanted brat.”
Sage paused, bowing his head. Edmont stood from his chair, and came to sit in the chair right beside the au ra. He did not reach out, but his voice was warm and quiet as he spoke.
“If this tale weighs too heavy upon you, there is no need to continue.”
“It is indeed a great weight,” Sage breathed, “but I will finish this story.” His nails were scoring the wood of the table now, his knuckles pale from the pressure. He took another long breath, as if preparing to dive beneath dark water.
“At first, it seemed like a change for the better. I was given new clothing - my brother’s old castoffs, but they were not rags. I was given food at every fire, as we made our way across the Steppe, heading west and south. There were no beatings, even. I could not understand, back then, the ice in that man’s eyes. What it meant. Even when we reached Yanxia, I was too struck by amazement at my first sight of the sea to question why we piled into a little rowboat. Too full of wonder at the wide world to have room for wondering what that man was about to do.” His jaw was tight, and he spoke through clenched teeth. Even so, his voice trembled.
“He rowed until we were far from shore. Too far for anyone to see what he was doing, too far for anyone to stop him. He pulled in the oars, and took out a pistol. I had never seen such a weapon. I did not know, then, to fear it.” His breathing was ragged. “He said nothing. Only loaded the gun, and pointed it at my face. Then, then I knew what it was for, and fear filled my heart, fear that turned my belly to water and stole my voice. But I spoke, I whispered, the only thing that was in my heart at that moment. ‘I do not want to die.’ And the old Khan nodded once. The gun moved away from my face…and without a word he shot C-C- “ Sage’s voice crumbled into a mere whisper of anguish. “He shot his son. He killed my brother.”
Edmont set his hand on the bard’s shoulder, gripping firmly. Sage’s nails had left tiny furrows in the table; the fine grained wood lay in little curls under his fingers. But his eyes opened, and his voice was steadier.
“Then he shoved us both overboard. I do not know what happened next, exactly - I did not know how to swim, of course. The next thing I recall clearly is clinging to a scrap of wood, and I do not know where the wood came from or how long I drifted on the sea, alone. The sun pummeled me, the salt water scoured my scales. I would have died ere long, it is certain. But the Twelve saw fit to send sailors across my path, and they took me on board. They exclaimed over me in a tongue I did not know, and wrapped me in strange clothing. Knowing what I know now, they likely took my old clothes to sell them; Steppe silk is precious even when stained by salt and blood, I suppose. Certainly the silk was worth more than I was. But the sailors kept me, as a cabin boy of sorts, until they reached Limsa Lominsa. There, they took me off the docks, set me down in the middle of the marketplace, and abandoned me.” The smile that bent his mouth was ugly; full of bitterness and old rage and remembered confusion. “I didn’t speak Eorzean of course. I learned as fast as I could, but I kept silent always, using my hands to speak, to steal, to stab if need be. I haunted the alleyways and the middens for a time, eating what I could find, relying on the few charities in the city for food and shelter when I had no other choice. Even so, I was eating better than I had in all my life, and I grew quickly in size and in strength. Before long I was able to wander the hills beyond the city walls, where I could forage better food. I was nimble, quick, and vicious enough to persist against the wildlife and even the petty bandits that infest that part of La Noscea. There were whole vales full of an herb: salt-spray sage, less potent than the sort found in South Thanalan but very popular in Limsa for creating flavorful foods. Cooks all over the city liked it, stuffed it in sausages, or used it in smoking fish. It was considered dangerous to hunt for the stuff, and so I found myself in possession of a good commodity. No one else could range as far as I, no one else could access the hidden pocket valleys, tucked up in the rocks where bigger, heavier men could not go. They called me brave for bringing in so much of the salt-spray sage; then they tried to cheat me, but by that point I was more than vicious enough to deter them from more than one such attempt. I earned gil with those plants - quite a bit of it, in fact.” His lip curled. “ Bravery . I was not brave, of course. I was angry, and foolhardy, and willing to hurt anyone and anything smaller than myself in order to stay alive.”
Edmont squeezed his shoulder again. “You did what you had to do. It does not make you a lesser man.”
“Perhaps.” Sage fell silent for a time, then sighed. “Eventually, I did learn better, in no small part because of the efforts of some very kind people. And I learned the ways to persuade others to do my bidding. I built a business of sorts, training up scrawny street brats to do as I had done and scout out ever higher hills and valleys, for the herbs and other botanical treasures hidden there. Those boys never went hungry again after I gave them work, and that fact also helped me put away my past.” His smile was more genuine now. “I can even thank the salt-spray sage for my name.”
“And so you made the most of a terrible situation,” Edmont nodded.
“When I came of age, the Garleans were trying to overrun all of Eorzea,” Sage said. “The Maelstrom put out the word all over La Noscea: they wanted young men to fill the ranks, to replace the fallen. They promised food, clothing, a place to sleep, and coin on top of it all. Of course I wanted to sign up, but I had no family, and they would not allow me to apply without a parent’s consent.” He lifted one shoulder, his smile turning a bit slanted. “So I paid a man to lie for me on the paperwork, to claim that he was my father. I bought the right to use his surname as well, not that he cared much about it. Neither did I: it was a business transaction and nothing more. I don’t even know if that man yet lives.” He bent his head for a moment, then raised his eyes to look at Edmont once more. “I hope that you understand now why it means so much to me to be able to call you father. I have a brother again - two of them. I have a family. It is a blessing I could never have hoped for.”