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The blow to Korsica’s head had been both unexpected and unfortunate, as well as a great deal harder than they first realised. The Minotaur in the Fractal Continuum had caught her with a nasty backswing, and she’d gone down in a heap, though Sizhu’s swift casting had the Elezen warrior on her feet again in seconds, charging into the fray once more.
It was a tribute to the Ishgardian noblewoman’s strong will and fighting spirit that they’d fought their way through the whole godsdamned Allagan museum-slash-deathtrap before she turned to Sizhu and said, “...Pray forgive me my unfortunate lapse in memory should this question be seen as untoward, but...where are we? And who are you?”
Amnesia. It seemed so cliché, so unlikely. And yet, experienced healer that she was, Sizhu knew all too well how damaging to the short-term memory head trauma could be. She also knew that there weren’t any spells to speed up that sort of recovery; all the cures and medicas in the world wouldn’t make her most trusted companion recover her lost memories one second sooner. Time was, in this case, truly the only thing that could heal those particular wounds.
After returning to Ishgard and seeing Korsi safely to bed in her room in Fortemps Manor, with one of the servants lingering nearby in case the warrior stirred, Sizhu found herself making her way through the snow, to the grave she visited every time she returned to the city. It was a rare sunny day in Coerthas, and one with very little wind; Sizhu could barely feel the cold through her robes as she settled into the snow in front of the grey stone marker and turned her attention inward, to the matter at hand: Korsi’s recovery.
There were methods that could assist a patient in regaining those lost days, weeks, even months or years--returning to familiar places, revisiting familiar experiences, exposure to familiar faces… By all rights she should get to work at once, and do her utmost to help her friend find her lost memories.
...And yet...on this point Sizhu Jakkya, the Warrior of Light herself, hesitated.
Their journey together had been a tumultuous one, full of ups and downs...and of late, the downs had been particularly harsh. Korsi had only recently recovered from the injuries she’d sustained in the Vault--the physical ones, anyway. The emotional damage...that would doubtless remain for years to come. Haurchefant had been so many things to her, her childhood friend and fiancée and lover--which meant, in a way, that in one terrible instant, Korsi had lost a piece of both her past and her present, and indeed her very future.
Korsica had been through so much, had fought so hard, had given up so much. Sizhu knew full well that she couldn’t have come this far without her, Warrior of Light and beloved Daughter of Hydaelyn or not. Didn’t Korsi deserve a rest, a chance to fully recover from the physical strain of their arduous adventures? To be free of the mental and emotional weight of the grief crushing her spirit, if only for a few brief days?
The little Miqo’te bowed her head, averting her eyes from the smooth marble and gleaming, broken, still-proud shield in front of her. Tempting as it was to ease her companion’s pain, albeit through these artificial means...Sizhu knew she couldn’t do such a thing. The truth, bitter as it was, was always important.
Even though it would be difficult. Even though it meant Korsi would have to feel that first horrible instant of breathless, heart-shattering loss all over again. Even though getting back those memories wouldn’t get back what she’d truly lost.
“...But those memories are important. They shouldn’t be forgotten.”
Raising her eyes once more, Sizhu addressed the stone properly, exactly as if she were speaking to the person whose sacrifice it honoured.
“Korsi wouldn’t want to forget. Even though it hurts to remember. But...” She swallowed hard, tears prickling around the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall and freeze on her cheeks and lashes...and instead forced herself to smile. “But you were important enough, to both of us, albeit in different ways, that you deserve to be remembered. Especially by her.”
Pushing herself to her feet, the Miqo’te girl reached out to brush her fingers across the the top edge of the stone, lingering there a moment more before turning away decisively and marching back towards Ishgard.
A trip to Camp Dragonhead. That, Sizhu was certain, was all that would be needed to bring back Korsica’s memories. And so, after helping Korsi into some of her older warrior’s gear, she saddled up her draft chocobo and they were on their way. One House Fortemps manservant had protested the idea of Korsi wearing heavy chain-mail so soon after her injury, but Sizhu knew how dangerous it could be out and about in Coerthas, even around Camp Dragonhead. She wasn’t about to go asking for trouble, although she knew the Elezen noblewoman would’ve been much warmer in comfortable civilian clothes. Still, better to err on the side of caution--better safe than very, very sorry. Besides, Korsi had been wearing this exact outfit, or one very much like it, when she’d led Sizhu to Camp Dragonhead for the first time. The jingle of chain-mail and the well-known weight of the uniform might very well help jog her memory.
“...It’s so familiar.”
Those were the first words out of Korsi’s mouth as they stood in the courtyard of Camp Dragonhead. She’d been silent the whole time as Sizhu guided her around the fortress, walking along the walls, greeting the knights, looking around the various rooms. She’d paused for a telling moment while they were in the war room, her gaze fixed on the empty wooden chair behind the desk, a slight frown causing a line to form between her eyebrows.
Now they stood together in the courtyard, a light snow falling soundlessly about them as Korsi craned her neck, looking around with something like wonder.
“It’s so familiar,” she repeated, her voice soft and a bit distant as she attempted the mental equivalent of reaching out to brush away dust or cobwebs from a once-clean window. “I know this staircase, these walls, those people, that room.”
The Elezen warrior absent-mindedly accepted a proffered mug of some hot, steaming beverage from Sizhu, though she was so preoccupied with her surroundings that it was clear she scarcely noticed she held it.
“...And yet…”
The tall Elezen angled a troubled look down at the tiny Miqo’te, who had paused with her own mug halfway to her lips when her companion spoke.
“And yet...something is missing. Something isn’t here.” Bemused, she shook her head, taking a tentative sip of the rich, sweet drink she’d been given. “Something important.”
Sizhu’s ears drooped just a little, her eyes growing sad. Noting that subtle change, Korsi tilted her head inquiringly.
“What is it? Am I wrong?”
Sizhu looked up into the sky, at the gentle downwards spiral of thousands upon thousands of crystallized droplets of water. Her eyes caught on one flake as it fell, spinning and glittering like silver before landing silently and squarely in her mug of cocoa. For a heartbeat, it was there, a bright white form outlined by darkness, beautiful and unique, completely different from all the others; then it melted away, and was gone.
Lifting her eyes to her friend, the Warrior of Light smiled.
“...No. You’re not wrong.”