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Kiah’a didn’t remember much after Nidhogg tore his arm off. Alphinaud would later tell him that he fought with the strength of a voidsent and the recklessness of a trapped beast. His lance dripped with blood. Most of it was his. His skin and hair and teeth were stained red. He could recall swapping his lance to his left hand. It was a miracle it had not broken when Nidhogg’s jaws came down around its shaft.
He recalled stabbing Nidhogg-Estinien in the chest. He wrenched one of Nidhogg’s eyes from Estinien’s body and dropped it off the side of the bridge. Haurchefant smiled at him. Then he laid down to die.
The bards would sing about the enraged cry that emerged from his throat and made all nearby quake. Scholars would pen long sonnets about his tenacity. Taverns across Coerthas would raise a glass in his honor. In the moment, Kiah’a felt no rage. He had no thoughts about honor or pride or heroics. Just fear.
There was a faint thought, hardly more than a whisper, as he fought to keep his eyes open. Forgive me, Sidurgu. A quiet plea to the one person who would mourn when Kiah'a was gone. Then finally everything went black and he was at peace.
He woke up in agony.
The chirurgeons rushed to his side. He was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. They had wrapped his torso in bandages, tight enough to constrict his breath, and his clothes were not his own. One of the chirurgeons held him down while another poured a bright blue potion on his stump.
His stump.
Kiah’a wailed. The potion felt like molten iron against his flesh. His every nerve was on fire, the heat worse than Ifrit's flames. The bandages went from white to red as he ripped his wounds open again. He could hear a chirurgeon beg him to calm down, to stop struggling. It meant nothing to him. It was just noise.
The chirurgeons grew desperate enough that one of them pulled a staff out and cast a sleep spell on him. His heart raced faster than a surprised coeurl. He tried to sit up, but his muscles weren’t listening to him. His eyes grew heavy, his breathing slowed, and eventually the terror of nothingness embraced him.
The next time he awoke, Alphinaud was resting in a chair next to his bed. Kiah’a’s whole body ached, but he no longer felt like his blood was boiling. He was in new bandages. He hated the idea that someone, some stranger, had put their hands over him in his sleep. If they wanted his gratitude, they would not get it.
He still did not recognize the room. The creaking floors and muffled speech from outside the walls hinted that it was a well-populated building. There was a window letting sunlight in, but he couldn’t move his neck enough to see out. It was cold despite a fire that burned in the hearth. Aside from Alphinaud, there was no one else present.
His clothes were not his. He didn’t want to think about someone pulling him out of his armor like a snail being extracted from its shell. His body bore the marks of his past, scars that he did not want to share with anyone. Though he was still woozy from pain, he could still feel his stomach twisting as he processed what he must have been subjected to in his sleep.
Kiah’a licked his lips. There was a clay pitcher and a small cup on the bedside table. He tried to reach out for it, but nothing happened. He frowned. His stomach churned as he tried to shift closer. Alphinaud began to stir in his chair. Kiah’a ignored him. He tried to grab the cup again.
He couldn’t, because the lower half of his right arm was gone.
A wave of emotion slammed into him, a sharp riptide that threatened to drown him. Fear was something Kiah’a was intimate with, but what he felt now was enough to make him tremble. He felt nauseous and lightheaded, worse than any fever he had ever experienced.
His arm was gone.
Kiah’a lay against the sheets, sweat breaking out on his skin, and grit his teeth. The thought kept echoing in his head. Even his pain felt secondary to the understanding that he was missing most of the limb. His chest ached inside and out. His eyes burned. He realized, belatedly, that someone had removed his eyepatch so his blinded eye was bare to the world.
He already knew someone had changed his clothes, but at least they put him in something. The fact that they hadn’t extended the same courtesy to his eye hurt differently than all the rest.
“Kiah’a?” Alphinaud said, stirring from the last dredges of rest. The lad sat up in his chair, eyes bright with worry. Kiah’a looked away. There was a stain on the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what could have caused it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Being ignored had never stopped Alphinaud. Today was no different.
“You’re awake!” His relief was palpable. Alphinaud stood up, stepping close so his hip was pressed against the side of the bed. His clothes were rumpled and there appeared to still be flecks of blood on his tie, though they were pink. He must have tried to wash the stain out.
“The chirurgeons said you had a fit and needed to rest. I was quite worried. There was — was so much blood.” Alphinaud gulped. He looked paler than normal. “Estinien has come to and is stable. He should make a full recovery. He—”
“Get out.” Kiah’a’s throat hurt. He wanted water, but he wanted privacy more.
“Pardon?”
“Get out,” Kiah’a repeated. He curled his remaining hand into a fist. He could almost feel his missing arm. It was like the weight was still there, except he’d look down and the sensation would disappear. “I wish to be alone.”
Alphinaud hesitated. His fingers tapped on the bed in a rare display of anxiety. He spoke so properly that it was easy to forget that he was young, with few experiences in the real world. “I shall call the chirurgeons before I go. They will want to know you are awake again.”
Kiah’a bared his teeth. “I told you to leave, ” he snarled. Alphinaud jumped back. Whatever he saw in Kiah’a’s eye was enough to get the point across.
He stammered out an apology before exiting. Kiah’a was left in blissful solitude.
It took him five minutes to squirm, shift, and generally maneuver enough to get a cup of water. He spilled most of it down his front as he was too weak to properly sit up. The gash on his chest, from Nidhogg almost ripping him sternum to pelvis, started to bleed again. Magic could accelerate the natural process, but it could not alleviate so great a wound. He grit his teeth as his eyes watered. He thought losing sight in his eye had hurt, and it had, but this was different.
It wasn’t just pain. He could move through pain. This was tension and twinges that stopped him from sitting up. He exerted so much effort pulling the blankets up that he was soaked in sweat by the time he had managed it. He felt too warm, but the idea of pushing the blankets back down made him want to scream, so he laid there.
The fire crackled in the hearth. He wondered if he could even leave the room if it went up in flames.
—
A chirurgeon entered some time after Alphinaud’s departure. Kiah’a couldn’t keep track of the bells but would not be surprised if she was summoned by the boy.
She was Hyur, thin, and had a soft smile that was betrayed by the hardness in her eyes. He wondered how many patients she had lost. He marveled at the fact that he was not counted amongst them.
“My name is Charlene. The Lord Commander has put me in charge of your recovery. I must change your bandages,” she told him.
“No.”
She pursed her lips. “If I do not, then you may become infected and the pain will worsen. You may succumb to your wounds. ‘Tis already a grievous injury and ‘twas only by Halone’s grace that you survived the initial incident. Do not allow it to claim your life.” She waited for a response. When she got none, she sighed. “Ser Elakha, pray heed my advice. I have served the Temple Knights for over a decade and the Lord Commander picked me personally to oversee your care. At the minimum, allow me to check your arm.”
“Not much left to check,” Kiah’a snapped, but he raised the stump anyway. He didn’t engage with her at all as she unwrapped the mangled mess, but he watched.
Nidhogg’s jaws were strong enough to break through everything — skin, muscle, and flesh — which was probably Kiah’a’s saving grace. The cut was clean and the chirurgeons had sealed it with magic to prevent him from bleeding out. Despite how new the wound was, it was already healing well.
He was missing most of the limb. By his estimation, he had five ilms from his shoulder. His elbow was completely gone. Needless to say, he would not be swinging a lance or sword anytime soon.
In fact, he had no idea how he would fight now.
Kiah’a hissed as Charlene dabbed his stump with a cloth. She gave him a sympathetic look. He wished that she didn’t.
“‘Tis a healing solution that shall keep it from something called sepsis. The sting means that it is working.” She kept working, each of her movements bringing a sharp pain. He bit his tongue to avoid crying out. The taste of iron filled his mouth.
He didn’t say anything or give any indication that he was aching as Charlene finished her work. She didn’t push the issue about his chest, though they both could see the bandages were not spotless like before.
“I shall return in a bell, but if you have need of anyone before then, call out. There is always someone nearby and your care is of primary import to us.” No doubt she meant well, but that knowledge made Kiah’a’s skin crawl almost more than the gash in his chest. She gathered up the soiled cloth and her assorted supplies before exiting.
Kiah’a intended on remaining awake, but even the brief interaction was enough to cause him to fall into a fitful slumber.
He was woken up later by Charlene, who insisted that she be allowed to change his chest wrappings. If she had questions on the gnarled marks that underlined his pectorals, she was too professional to show it. The scars were clearly too old to have been caused by Nidhogg. His claw had left a jagged line from Kiah’a’s pelvis to his collarbone. It would never fully heal. He didn’t care about having scars, but he dreaded the effort it would take to regain his full dexterity. His armor had kept him from being skewered entirely. He knew he should feel lucky. All he felt was choking frustration and fury.
Charlene made sure that he drank water. She offered to hold the cup, but only frowned when Kiah’a took it from her. He drank two entire glasses. She set it aside before asking if he was hungry.
“No,” Kiah’a replied curtly.
Charlene did not look pleased by this, but bid him rest further before leaving again.
A few days passed. Charlene continued to check his wounds. She would come to help him hobble to the washroom, though Kiah’a absolutely refused for her to help him with the act itself. It resulted in him collapsing on the floor a few times, but he’d rather be humiliated in private.
Alphinaud came back once, but Kiah'a told him nothing and he left soon after. Some of the others visited — Tataru with tears in her eyes; Y’shtola, who checked how he was healing, and Thancred. He was quiet and stayed the longest.
“I’m sorry, lad. If there is aught any of us can do, pray let us know. We are here for you,” he eventually murmured, placing a hand on the bed.
Kiah'a had nothing to say to any of them.
Sidurgu did not visit, presumably because he was too smart to try to approach the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, which was where Kiah'a was being kept. The war was over, but that didn't mean a vigilante could stride up to the headquarters of the Temple Knights without consequences. Kiah'a told himself that he didn't care. It was mostly true. He didn’t want Sidurgu to see him like this, weak and incapable of protecting himself.
He was right-hand dominant. Had been, at least. And where he could perhaps learn to use a lance in his left hand, there was no chance he could swing a zweihander without both.
—
When someone next called upon him, about a week into his recovery, Kiah'a did not expect it to be Aymeric. The Elezen knocked on the door before announcing himself. “May I enter?” he asked.
Kiah’a was tempted to send him away, but he knew that he owed the man for his treatment. Besides, it didn’t hurt to play nice with the Lord Commander.
“Come in,” Kiah’a replied. He flinched at the sound of his own voice. It was scratchy and weak. Not the sort of tone that a strong warrior should have. Then again, he wasn’t much of a warrior now.
Aymeric was too polite to say it, but Kiah’a could see the look in his eyes when he opened the door and saw Kiah’a lying there. It was pity and guilt intertwined. Kiah’a would have preferred it if Aymeric spat at him. At least he knew how to react to that.
“How do you feel, my friend?” Aymeric asked as he sat in the chair Alphinaud had once occupied. Kiah’a sighed. He stared up at the ceiling. Aymeric was a gentleman and would most likely wait in silence until Kiah’a started the conversation.
It was tempting to remain quiet. He had done that to the others, but they hadn’t asked if he wanted company. They had simply emerged, their concern overriding their manners. Kiah’a just didn’t know what Aymeric had to talk about other than Kiah’a’s missing arm and the end of the war.
Which, he supposed, were somewhat important topics.
“What do you want?” Kiah’a cut to the point. Aymeric frowned. Kiah’a could see him out of the corner of his eye. He had spent long enough looking up that he was fairly certain the stain on the ceiling was blood. He really did not want to know how it got there.
“I wished to visit the man who saved Ishgard. ‘Twas no ulterior purpose than that, I assure you.” Aymeric folded his hands in his lap. “I hope that your care has been sufficient. I trust Charlene with my life.”
“Great. What else?” Kiah’a didn’t have patience for small talk in the best of circumstances. He hoped he didn’t need to explain that to Aymeric now.
If Aymeric was frustrated, he didn’t look it. He might have been a military man, but he was a politician at his core. It was why Kiah’a preferred to keep him at arm’s length. “I know that our relationship has been strained. I wished to reassure you, to the best of mine ability, that you have naught to fear. You are an honored—”
“Ally of Ishgard?” Kiah’a snorted. It tugged at his chest and he winced as pain shot up his spine. Aymeric started to stand, a hand outstretched. He froze halfway, clearly realizing that Kiah’a didn’t want him touching him but too far gone to sit down without making it worse.
Kiah’a barrelled ahead.
“I saved the city because it was the right thing to do. Not for honor or renown. If you came here to thank me, don’t. I neither wish for it nor need it. Now I am missing an arm, so unless you can reattach it in working order, I do not want anything from you.” It was the most that Kiah’a had said since the fight. His entire body ached, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. His lungs strained like he had run through Ul’dah at the height of the afternoon’s heat.
Aymeric remained standing next to the bed. He didn’t put a hand on Kiah’a, but his eyebrows were furrowed in concern. “Pray, do not exhaust yourself. I shall call for Charlene—”
“ No, ” Kiah’a insisted. He clenched his jaw, which was a mistake. Something stretched and another flash of pain danced behind his eyes. He yelped, jerking his stump back. His shoulder burned. He thought that missing an arm would mean less pain, but he had quickly learned how wrong he was. “Fucking Menphina’s tits.”
“You need succor. Charlene, or perhaps another—”
“Shut up and sit down or leave,” Kiah’a ordered, voice hard as stone. Aymeric sat down.
The two were silent as Kiah’a recovered from the flare of pain. He didn’t keep track of the time. When his breathing was slowed, Aymeric held out a cup of water. Kiah’a wanted to tell him to piss off, but he was thirsty. He reached out with his stub, then turned so he could grab it with his left hand.
Aymeric did not comment. His gaze softened as Kiah’a spilled most of it over himself. There was pity again in his eyes. Kiah’a was going to be sick.
"Estinien has recovered?" Kiah'a asked once his nausea faded. Anything to move the conversation in another direction.
"Aye.” Aymeric adopted a small, gentle smile on his face. Kiah’a knew it was not for him. “He shall suffer no permanent consequences, just the scars of his encounter.”
“Good for him.” It came out about as bitter as Kiah’a wanted, which was very. Aymeric paled.
“Mine apologies. I did not mean—”
“It’s fine,” Kiah’a interrupted. He did not want to hear how sorry Aymeric was. It wouldn’t bring back his arm. “I’d do it again.” That was true, at least. Kiah’a would rather be alive without an arm than dead with both. And he had helped save the city. Thousands of people were alive thanks to him. That should count for something.
It does. Just because no one was there for you, does not mean you cannot help protect others.
Kiah’a found himself thinking about Sidurgu and Rielle. The girl was so small huddled next to her protector. She had hidden behind Kiah’a too when her mother appeared. Despite her fear, Rielle had still confronted her, had still started the rites when it came time for Sidurgu to deal the final blow. Kiah’a had wanted to exact justice himself, but he knew it was right for Sidurgu to have the honor. He was just glad he could be there when it happened.
Whatever Kiah’a’s face showed Aymeric, the man decided that it was time to leave. He stood and gave Kiah’a a polite bow.
"You are a good man, Kiah'a. Whatever happens next, know that you will always be welcome here." If he was bothered by the lack of a response, he did not show it. "Rest well. The war is over. You deserve a moment's respite."
The door shut gently behind him.
—
One week turned into two. Kiah’a argued with Charlene about being allowed to end his bedrest sooner, but she put her foot down. After two weeks were up, he would be moved to Fortemps Manor and he could resume light exercise — with an emphasis on light. It was not ideal, but it was better than staying at the Congregation even longer. He was, at least, no longer falling asleep every bell.
Out of lack of anything better to do, he requested books. It was hard going, partially because he was still learning to read but largely because most of the stories were dull. He had no interest in reading about brave knights rescuing fair maidens from dragons or clever mages outsmarting stupid tyrants.
There was a book about two children who were trapped by a witch, then managed to use her own spell against her. They escaped and went back home to their mother and father, who loved them dearly. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Beyond that, he found it surprisingly difficult to read a book on his back and one-handed.
Once he moved to the Fortemps estate, he was no longer under constant medical supervision. Kiah’a did not consider himself particularly close with any of the Fortemps, but he knew that Edmont felt guilty even now over Haurchefant and considered letting the Scions stay there as part of his penance. Kiah’a didn’t have many options so he acquiesced, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something uncouth.
Ironically it was not his missing arm, but his torso wound that proved the biggest barrier to his recovery. His balance was completely lost but he didn’t need two arms to walk. It was just difficult to move when his body kept threatening to fall into two pieces. The various chirurgeons constantly marveled at the fact that Nidhogg hadn’t simply yanked his lungs out, or pulled his intestines from his body, or any manner of grotesque comments that he had never wanted to hear. The resulting scar trailed a line down his body that would be impossible to ignore.
He supposed that was fine. With his blind eye and the scars on his face, he was never going to win a beauty contest.
Being in Fortemps Manor meant that there were more people around. Mostly servants, but also the other Scions and the Fortemps themselves. The presence of others made Kiah’a confront the truth: he missed Sidurgu. Two weeks was not the longest that they had gone without seeing each other, but usually Kiah’a was able to go and do things. He had duties that took up his focus. Now time stretched on and on when all he could do was read or stare up at a ceiling.
Kiah’a would also rather eat his own tongue than admit his weakness. He was stuck marinating in his frustration while pretending to listen to Alphinaud talk about magic or Thancred give an update on some mission.
Alberic, of all people, came by the mansion. Kiah’a regarded him with distant suspicion, wondering if this was not the first time the knight had to comfort someone who had lost a limb fighting dragons.
“I shall not ask pointless questions like how you are feeling,” Alberic began, then paused. His brows furrowed, age appearing in long lines on his face. “All dragoons enter the service understanding they may lose their lives. ‘Tis worse, sometimes, to learn that death is not always the end of one’s career.”
“I still have one arm,” Kiah’a argued, even if his chest ached for a reason entirely unrelated to his injuries. “As soon as I am recovered, I will learn with the other.”
Alberic did not look convinced, but he nodded all the same. It was a rare moment of mercy that Kiah’a did not detest. “If anyone could do such a thing, t’would be you. I will teach you to the best of mine abilities. It’s the least that I can do.”
Kiah’a closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Alberic let him have the moment. His words were not a surprise, but it still stung to hear them — to hear the implications. It was what everyone was thinking. He was needed to slay Primals, Ascians, and Garleans alike. If he could barely hold a lance, it was questionable at best how he would accomplish that goal.
“You are one of the most tenacious, stubborn lads I’ve ever known. Whatever you decide, it shall be but a matter of time before you succeed.” Alberic lay a hand on the bed, not quite touching Kiah’a but close enough to his personal space that Kiah’a tensed. Alberic’s gaze was soft. “I am sorry this happened to you, lad. If it were not for mine own failings…”
Again, Alberic fell silent. Kiah’a scowled. He was in no mood to entertain any self-pity.
“If not for your failures, or Estinien’s, or Aymeric’s, or even Twelve-damned Haldrath then I may still have my arm, yes. But I do not and will never have it again, so stop that line of thought. I have no use for it,” Kiah’a told him flatly. He raised his good hand up in the air. “I am cleared to resume light exercise. In another week, I should be ready to train properly. If—”
He was interrupted by a quick knock on the door. He had come to recognize it as belonging to a quiet Elezen maid, not even past puberty. She was scared of him and did not linger when it came time to bring him meals.
“Come in,” he said, giving Alberic a look that meant this conversation was not over. “What do you — Sidurgu?”
The Au Ra strode in behind the maid, his armor half-hidden by a heavy cloak. He had an expression of disquiet on his face. It was barely perceptible, but even with only one eye Kiah’a could still read his moods. He was good with people. He was better with Sidurgu.
Alberic eyed the person he considered a stranger with polite curiosity. He stepped forward and held out a hand.
“I do not think we have met before, Sidurgu. I am Alberic Bale.”
Sidurgu took Alberic’s hand and shook it. He said nothing. His brilliant green eyes glanced at Alberic before returning to Kiah’a. It looked like he was going to open his mouth, that he had thoughts in his head that were almost formed into proper words, but then the moment came and went.
Kiah’a swallowed. He felt the urge to flee out the window. Odd, because usually his instinct was to lash out. He had grown out of his running phase, or so he thought. The thought of obeying the impulse filled him with dread, though, not relief. His tongue felt as if it were made from lead.
“I was — am — Kiah’a’s instructor in the arts of the dragoon,” Alberic continued, realizing he would get no words from Sidurgu. It felt like he was underselling himself somewhat, but Kiah’a didn’t bother correcting him.
“I know,” Sidurgu offered. The maid shifted from side to side. She looked like she wished to melt into the carpet.
“I’ll talk to you later, Alberic,” Kiah’a said, taking pity on him and the maid. “I wish to be alone with Sidurgu.”
Alberic was good at hiding his curiosity, but not good enough to escape Kiah’a’s notice. He was, however, polite and gave them both a nod before steering the trembling maid out of the room. The door closed lightly behind him. Sidurgu took a deep breath.
“I missed you,” he said, then looked startled at himself for the confession. Kiah’a felt his face warm.
“I’ve been a bit busy,” he replied. It was both true and untrue. Sidurgu nodded because he was a good man like that. Neither of them spoke at first.
“I—”
“How—” Kiah’a bit his tongue. He nodded at Sidurgu to continue. Sidurgu shook his head.
There was a light dusting of snow in his hair. The flakes were almost impossible to see. Kiah’a wished he could reach up and brush it out. That would have required sitting up — a painful task — and being tall enough to reach — an impossible one.
“You first,” Sidurgu insisted.
“How is Rielle?” Kiah’a asked. Sidurgu blinked. His eyes were brighter than the fire that crackled in the hearth, and more comforting by far.
“Managing. She is worried for you, but I insisted she stay behind. I was not certain I could approach without incident,” Sidurgu admitted. He glanced about and found a chair. He pulled it to the side of the bed and sat. It creaked dangerously under his weight. “I am sorry it took me this long.”
“Did anyone give you trouble?”
“No. I came in through the servant’s entrance.”
“Good.” Kiah’a paused, then realized he had forgotten what little he knew about manners. “How are you?”
Sidurgu did not respond immediately. His face flashed through a myriad of emotion, but each was as clear as day to Kiah’a. There was concern, his eyebrows drawn tight. Then he saw anxiety, jaw flexed as he bit his bottom lip. This gave way to fear, the slightest widening of his eyes and twitch of his hand.
But why? Why is he scared of me? Kiah’a’s heart hammered in his chest, threatening to break his barely-healed ribs. What have I done to deserve his ire?
“I was worried. The streets are full of rumors. Half of them say you are in a coma. The other half believe you are turning into Nidhogg. I needed to see you myself.” Sidurgu’s gaze softened. He rested his hand on the bed, palm up. If Kiah’a wanted, he could reach out and touch him. “I feared the worst.”
Kiah’a wasn’t certain he understood. “What?”
“I feared you were lost.”
A rush of frustration surged, smashing aside any other emotions in Kiah’a’s heart. He narrowed his eyes at Sidurgu — he had not been given a new eyepatch and he had not asked for one — and snarled,
“You think me so weak as to lose my nerve while on bedrest?”
Sidurgu’s fingers twitched, but he did not pick up his hand. Kiah’a found it difficult to breathe. He felt like a weight was placed on his chest, just enough to make each inhale a struggle and each exhale a relief. Sidurgu did not let the silence stretch overlong.
“I do not think you are weak. I heard how the battle against Nidhogg transpired. The strongest soldiers of Ishgard have faced him, and with less success than you.”
“We kill soldiers of Ishgard,” Kiah’a replied flatly. It was true and Sidurgu did not try to argue otherwise. “You trained me to not fear loss. I may not have my arm, but I will learn to fight again. Is that not what being a dark knight is about? Sacrifice?”
Sidurgu’s gaze hardened, and for a terrifying moment Kiah’a did not know what he was feeling.
“I do not question your strength nor your resolve, Kiah’a. I know you will pick up a weapon again, whether it be lance or sword or otherwise.” Sidurgu’s shoulders slumped. “I thought you may not be able to do so. I thought that you may have given your life to save an ungrateful, desperate city.”
“I do not want to die for anyone,” Kiah’a assured him, “but we both know it may happen nonetheless.” They both thought of Fray, a cold body left in the dark. Kiah’a wished that they had met. From Sidurgu and Rielle’s accounts, the two of them would have gotten along.
“I do not want you to die,” Sidurgu said softly.
“I am not planning on it,” Kiah’a echoed. He still felt on edge in a manner that he had not felt even when speaking with Aymeric. He knew why. It was because he did not care what Aymeric thought, but he held Sidurgu’s opinions close to his chest. “I’m not weak.”
“I know you are not,” Sidurgu repeated. His eyebrows were drawn into a perfect point above the bridge of his nose. He was quiet for a moment, but Kiah’a could tell that he was thinking. Kiah’a let him ponder his next words. “Perhaps I am weak. As you said, we are dark knights. Death is part of our fate. I have always known that. But I’ve already lost my master and Fray to death. I do not want to lose another.”
Kiah’a scowled. His remaining hand flexed.
“You know I live. If that is all you wished, you need not linger.” Kiah’a didn’t want him to leave, but didn’t want to hold Sidurgu hostage. He couldn’t help but feel relieved when Sidurgu shook his head.
“I wanted to see you. ” Sidurgu slowly slid his hand across the bed to nudge Kiah’a’s side. The touch was gentle even with Sidurgu’s gauntlets. Kiah’a shivered, though the room was warm. If anything, it felt like it had warmed up since the Alberic left.
Part of Kiah’a recognized that it was his turn to talk. He was supposed to say something, reassure Sidurgu, but he didn’t know what to say. Anything that came from his mouth would feel too much like empty placations. He had a feeling that Sidurgu felt the same way. Both of them were better at showing rather than saying.
“I’m going to train again,” Kiah’a suddenly repeated. “Alberic agreed to train me with my left hand, and I may learn other skills.”
Sidurgu nodded. “As I said, I do not question your resolve. I know you will learn to defend yourself and those you love.” He paused. Kiah’a could see his thoughts swimming in his head. Sidurgu took a deep breath, steeling himself before adding, “I hope I can be counted as one of those people.”
Kiah’a’s stomach flipped. He almost died two weeks ago and somehow this was a more harrowing experience.
We slept together, what do you think you count as, Kiah’a thought, but the words didn’t leave his mind. He knew that it wasn’t a real answer. It was funny, almost. He could be blunt with everyone except Sidurgu, when suddenly he was tongue-tied and obscuring facts like a politician.
“I should not have said anything,” Sidurgu murmured, drawing his hand back suddenly. He made to stand, to leave, and Kiah’a made a noise in the back of his throat. Sidurgu froze.
“You may stay,” Kiah’a said.
“Do you want me to stay?” Sidurgu’s question was simple, but Kiah’a found himself still. Sidurgu frowned. “Mine apologies. I should not have asked.”
“What?” Kiah’a shifted, struggling to sit up. It tugged at his injuries but he managed to squirm into an upright position without ripping anything open. Sidurgu’s hands hovered nearby, but he didn’t grab Kiah’a or try to move him without permission. Kiah’a liked that about him.
Once he was sitting properly, Kiah’a focused back on Sidurgu. His eyes really were the brightest shade of green, almost blue, that Kiah’a had ever seen. Kiah’a didn’t usually like eye contact, but Sidurgu never made him feel threatened. Looking at him now, Kiah’a saw his relaxed posture and his wider-than-usual eyes and the clench of his jaw.
He’s worried, Kiah’a thought. And he’s trying not to show it.
“Stay,” Kiah’a mumbled, ducking his head. His hair flopped over his eyes.
“What was that?” Sidurgu asked.
“Stay with me,” Kiah’a repeated. Sidurgu nodded.
“As long as you will have me.” He settled back in his chair, tail lightly smacking the ground. There was still worry in Sidurgu’s eyes, no matter how well he tried to hide it.
Kiah’a flexed his remaining hand. He felt an even more intense desire to regain his strength and to pick up a weapon again. He would do anything to chase away that look from Sidurgu’s eyes. He would not — and could not — let this stop him.